Page 64 of The Moon's Fury

Zanjeel wouldn’t have killed him so quickly. No, the malicious elder would have kept Tahriq alive to gloat.

His heart constricted painfully in his chest.

Were they feeding him enough? Was he injured? Sick?

A pile of charred bones flitted through his mind, followed by Zaarif’s youthful, innocent face. Any softer feelings were flattened by his anger. His father’s betrayals. Zarian pushed him from his mind, fixing his gaze on the slumbering woman beside him.

He lay awake with his thoughts for another hour before she began to stir. As soon as her sleepy brown eyes met his, he pulled her atop him, driving away the painful thoughts that plagued his mind.

After breakfast and Layna’s dailysilpharoontea, she began to clear away the plates. Zarian waved her away, insisting he’d wash the dishes while she dressed. Her simple gray abaya skimmed her curves, blackniqabfastened over her face.

Hand in hand, they exited the inn into bright sunlight and a bustling crowd, and it took all of his willpower not to drag Layna back inside. He steadied his heart with a deep breath.

He could do this.

For Layna, he could do this.

As they walked through the stone-paved streets, heading toward the nearest market, many curious eyes fell on them. He bristled, eyeing every man in their path, searching for deception, evil,anything.

They crossed a street, and a group of women clad in finely embroidered abayas pointed at Layna, whispering amongst themselves.

Layna glanced at him, her face covered, though he could still read the worry in her eyes.

Then, it dawned on him.

There were no other women inniqab.

Shit. He’d forgotten the norm in Senta. He was about to tell her to remove it, but a loud mention of “Alzahra” stole his words and his breath. Layna’s eyes widened with alarm. They slowed their steps, pretending to browse a shopfront.

“—heard the news from Alzahra?” one man said, leaning against the side of the building.

“Who hasn’t?” responded his taller companion, his thobe a pristine, gleaming white.

“The Moon Queen, her mother,andsister all battling illnesses? Seems far too convenient. I bet that greedy old adviser had them murdered and stole the throne. He’s been passing decrees left and right.”

Layna tensed beside him.

The man continued, “A woman without a man is an easy target, that’s what I always say. Even queens, I suppose. And did you hear about the festival? There was a flamingpartycelebrating her disappearance.”

His fists clenched, hot anger licking up his sides. And if he was angry, he knew Layna was moments from launching herself at the men. He steered her away from the gossips.

“Those fucking donkeys,” she seethed. “Ebrahim wouldneverharm us. And a festival? Are they fucking serious? They hate me that much?”

“Lower your voice, love,” he murmured, glancing around them. “Theymust be using him as a puppet to explain away your disappearance.”

“Will they hurt him?”

“No. They need him.”

The tension lining her shoulders eased slightly, though the worry didn’t completely leave her eyes. They continued toward the markets, passing more shops and street vendors. When they came across a cart selling sweets, he purchased a few pastries, which coaxed a smile out of her.

Across from the sweets cart was an inn. Near the roof, a large portion of the stone was charred and crumbling.

“What happened there?” Zarian asked the vendor.

“Bad fire,sahib. We thank the moon no one died. Repairs will start in a few weeks.”

As they continued their walk, Layna kept her arms crossed tightly against the cool breeze, her thin, gray abaya offering scant protection from the chill. Zarian tucked her into his side.