Page 47 of The Moon's Fury

Jamil loosed a heavy sigh. He had vowed to Zarian he’d get Soraya and her mother to safety.

He was beginning to regret half that promise.

Ahmar, his rust-colored mount, nickered softly as Jamil brushed him down, as if sensing his troubled thoughts. Next toAhmar was a dark brown stallion, stolen from Alzahra’s stables. The brown horse was standoffish and quick to bite, but luckily, the two had taken to each other.

Unfortunately, that was where his good luck ended.

Jamil finished tending to Ahmar and turned back to the makeshift campsite, nestled in a shaded area at the base of a large mountain in the Zephyrian range.

Soraya smiled at him as he sat across her and her mother. He didn’t look at Hadiyah. He felt the sharp dagger of her gaze anyway.

If looks could kill, he’d be long dead and buried somewhere in the Alzahran desert. She had been shooting him murderous looks ever since she’d awoken on his horse in the middle of the night.

Soraya had been easy to convince. She was friendly with him after he’d brought her to the Oasis and back during the war—she’d quickly packed a bag, donned aniqab, and led him to her mother’s chambers. Hadiyah had refused outright, becoming increasingly agitated despite Soraya’s attempts at persuasion.

When she began to shout for guards, Jamil had no other choice. He placed her in a chokehold until she passed out, limp in his arms. Soraya had fitted aniqabover her mother’s head as well, and Jamil carried her to the stables.

Soraya had ridden the brown stallion, her own horse left behind, while Jamil propped Hadiyah against him on Ahmar, and they’d fled Alzahra through a smaller, seldom used checkpoint. Jamil had been lining the overseeing guard’s pockets with gold for months now—it was how he entered and exited Alzahra in secret.

He stoked the crackling fire with a long branch. Keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering flames, he said, “There’s still time to change course and head to Sendouk.”

“Absolutely not,” Hadiyah declared. Without looking, Jamil knew she was scowling at him. “You will take us to Shahbaad, as agreed. My father will provide us with an armed guard. Then, we can find Layna, and you can be on your way.”

He gritted his teeth. He hadn’tagreedto anything. Hadiyah had threatened to shout for help the second they encountered other travelers. She had nearly done it, and Jamil had hastily agreed to ferry them to Shahbaad.

He glanced up and caught Soraya’s gaze across the fire. She gave him a tight-lipped smile and a one-shouldered shrug.I’m sorry, she mouthed. She had nothing to apologize for—Soraya had tried to convince her mother to travel to Sendouk as he and Zarian had planned, but Hadiyah had sharply rebuked her. Soraya looked crestfallen, and Jamil had to physically stop himself from placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

They lay out their bedrolls—Soraya and her mother on one side of the fire and him on the other. The two women lay down to sleep, but he remained awake.

Waiting.

When Hadiyah’s breaths were long and even, Soraya quietly slid out from beneath her blankets and sat beside him. She’d begun doing this a few nights after they had fled Alzahra—waiting for her mother to fall asleep, then coming to sit with him.

He didn’t delude himself into believing she actually soughthiscompany. She was probably desperate for any sort of human interaction aside from her unpleasant mother.

She settled cross-legged beside him. The firelight danced across the angles of her face, glinting off her dark, chin-length curls.

He forced himself to look away.

“I’m sorry about Mama,” she said quietly, brown eyes flicking in her mother’s direction. “She wasn’t always this way. Baba’s death … it broke something in her.”

He nodded, more to appease her than anything. He didn’t bother mentioning that while her father’s death may have changed how Hadiyah treatedher, it likely had nothing to do with her mother’s opinion ofhim.

No, the festering hate in Hadiyah’s eyes could not have been birthed so quickly.

“How is the horse treating you?” he asked instead, nodding toward the brown stallion. “I’m sorry we couldn’t bring Sirocco.”

She twisted her lips to one side, something he’d noticed she did when she was trying not to frown. “He’s been fine. He acts grumpy and mean, but he has a gentle heart. And he’s been easy to ride—despite Mama gasping in my ear at every turn.” She smiled, bright and open, and his heart stuttered.

The first time she gifted him that smile was in the Oasis, when he brought her stacks of parchment for her agricultural plans. Even then, it had tugged at something deep inside him—but he hadn’t yet understood what his heart was trying to tell him.

They stared at the fire in amicable silence.

“Tell me your favorite color,” she asked suddenly.

“My favorite color?” he repeated, arching a brow.

“Or food. Or animal. Tell meanythingyou like, as long as I don’t have to pry it out of you,” she said in an exasperated rush. Words didn’t come easily to him, whereas Soraya had no shortage of them.