Page 39 of The Moon's Fury

He dismounted and firmly patted Najoom’s side, bidding him to behave. Wrapping his cloak around himself, he drew his scarf up over the lower half of his face.

With one final glance at Layna, he approached the worn structure. The front was open, a long counter stretching across. Behind it was a middle-aged man, perhaps his father’s age.

Guilt raked its sharp nails over his conscience, but Zarian brushed it aside. His father had made his choices.

And now, so had he.

The merchant’s skin was deeply tanned, and he wore a long, flowing thobe, a hallmark of Samdan craftsmanship. He smiled wide, revealing more gaps than teeth.

“Morning,sahib!” he greeted. “What can I offer you? Water? Food? Maybe some silks? I just received a new shipment, the finest in all the continent!” Though the man addressed him, his beady eyes were fixed over Zarian’s shoulder.

Zarian stepped to the side, blocking his view, and the man met his steely gaze. “Half a kilo each of dried mirsham fruit, nuts, and dates. Mirsham juice if you have it.” He paused, raking a hand through his hair. “And do you have any pastries?”

“Of course,sahib! Freshbasbousaandqatayef. My daughter made them just this morning. Right away,sahib.” The man turned and rummaged under the counter, pulling out several small sacks. He busied himself gathering the items Zarian had requested. “What about fresh mirsham fruit?” he called over his shoulder as he scooped dates into a sack.

Zarian eyed the overripe fruit in a bowl on the counter. It had seen better days. “No, thank you.” He cast a quick glance back. Najoom seemed to be behaving. When he turned, the man was once again staring at Layna. Though she was covered from head to toe, the merchant’s vile, hungry gaze trailed over her form, as if trying to undress her with his eyes.

His fingers flexed as hot anger simmered in his belly. He contemplated bashing the man’s head into the counter.

No. No, they couldn’t draw attention to themselves.

Zarian rapped his knuckles loudly on the counter, and the man jerked, tearing his attention away from Layna. He dropped his eyes to the counter, packing the pastries in another sack.

“Have you had any trouble with bandits?” Zarian asked gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No,sahib.” The man shook his head. “Ever since the Moon Queen slayed the Zephyrian soldiers, the bandits have been quiet. They avoid the open desert.” He turned to Zarian, voice rife with fearful awe. “My brother-in-law witnessed it with his own eyes! The Moon Queen turned into a giant sand snake, hundreds of leagues long, and swallowed the entire army whole!”

Zarian raised a brow.

The man busied himself again with the food, tying strings to secure the sacks. Slowly, his eyes lifted, falling on Layna again.

Like lightning, Zarian reached out and clamped his hand around the man’s face, yanking him clear across the counter. “Look at her again,” he growled, “And I will cut your eyes from your skull and feed them to my horse.” He roughly shoved the man back.

The man stumbled, nearly crashing into crates stacked on the ground. “My apologies,sahib!” he stammered.

The merchant kept his gaze lowered, not daring to look up again as he passed over the sacks. Coins clattered against the wooden counter as Zarian tossed them down.

He stalked back to Najoom.

“Everything all right?” Layna asked. He couldn’t see her eyebrows but knew they were knit together.

“Yes.”

Zarian stuffed the burlap sacks into his pack and mounted Najoom, spurring him into a canter. He glanced back at the outpost—the man was staring again.

He resisted the urge to fling a throwing star into his eye.

He pushed Najoom hard, keeping a breakneck pace until they reached a cluster of massive boulders. There, they finally dismounted. Layna sank into the shade, her back resting against the stone, watching as he tended to the horse. He tilted a canteen to Najoom’s mouth. The horse drained it in greedy gulps, and he let him finish all of it, frowning at the spilled drops soaking the sand.

They had one partial canteen and some mirsham juice left between the three of them. It would be tight, but if he limited his intake to the bare minimum, they’d make it to Janta. With a sigh, he set some food out for Najoom and sat beside Layna who was munching on theqatayef.

Her bright smile when she’d opened the sack had almost melted his fury at the merchant.

Almost.

She handed him a piece ofbasbousa, and he took a bite. It was stale, at least two days old.Fucking lying merchant.

Layna didn’t seem to mind, though. She offered him the canteen, and he allowed himself one shallow sip.