Page 91 of The Moon's Fury

With wary eyes, Zarian watched as Dharaid broke away from Kharteen and stumbled toward them. He knelt, wide eyes fixed on Layna.

“It’s true,” he whispered. “The rumors are true.”

He bristled, tightening his grip around Layna. Dharaid passed a gentle hand over her hair before brushing a kiss against her forehead. He took a deep, shaky breath. “Will she wake?” he whispered, his voice hollowed by loss.

“Yes,” Zarian replied without hesitation.

“But—” Dharaid’s eyes tracked the drying blood marring her face, the paleness of her skin.

“She’ll wake,” Zarian said sharply. He huffed a breath, then added more gently, “She will. She’s gone through this before.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. Turning to Kharteen, he asked, “Are there more?”

Kharteen nodded. “We have less than an hour before they arrive.” The Medjai often operated this way—splitting larger missions into two phases. The first group initiated the plan, while a second followed later, either to eliminate the target if the first attempt failed, or to clean up whatever remained.

It was enough time to bury Hadiyah.

In Shahbaad, they buried their dead in the ground.From the soil, we emerge, and into the soil, we return.

Zarian dug a grave in a quiet, shaded grove within the palace’s surrounding forest. Dharaid sat beside his daughter’s body, cradling her cold hand, his tears never ceasing.

Zarian fulfilled Layna’s role—gently weaving Hadiyah’s hair into twin braids, looping them over her head.

He looked to Layna’s still form. His heart twisted painfully in his chest. It was a cruel enough fate to be unconscious through one parent’s funeral, let alone both.

Dharaid tossed the first shovelful of dirt over Hadiyah, and Zarian finished the rest while Kharteen tended to his burns. The forlorn father sat beside the fresh mound, whispering soft words as if Hadiyah might yet hear him.

Zarian and Kharteen gave him a few moments alone.

He was saddling Najoom when Kharteen came to stand beside him.

“Her light didn’t burn you,” he said quietly.

Zarian said nothing, his mind too drained to untangle that mystery. Kharteen’s eyes narrowed, and he casually crossed his arms. “That caravan bound for Valtisaan—it never made it. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Again, Zarian remained silent.

Kharteen released a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

Zarian’s gaze drifted to Layna’s slumbering form resting nearby. “Thank you,” he said at last.

He measured his next words carefully.

“My father … does he live?”

Kharteen’s eyes shone with pity, and it grated at his already frayed nerves. “I don’t know. The elders threw him into the dungeons before giving the order to kill the Moon Que—sorry, I mean Layna,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know his fate after that. But, brother,” he cautioned, “to go to the Oasis now is to seek your death.”

Zarian clenched his jaw.

“Take her and go,” Kharteen urged. “I’ll bring the king to safety.”

“Where will you go after that?”

“North,” his friend said. “To find my brothers. My time has finally come. I’m free.”

He met Kharteen’s gaze with stony resolve.

“I would ask one more favor from you first, brother.”

“Name it.”