Page 98 of The Moon's Fury

The shopkeeper’s eyes widened, appraising Jamil’s face and lingering on his scar. “He said you’d come,” he breathed. The tall man disappeared beneath the counter, the clicking of a safe sounding out. He emerged with a piece of folded parchment, sealed with a drop of dried wax. There was no sigil, only three straight lines, perhaps etched with a blade or clean quill.

Jamil opened it, and his deep sigh crushed her hopes.

“When did he write this?” he asked, holding up the parchment.

“He and the woman left weeks ago, brother,” the man said sadly.

Jamil cursed under his breath. He handed her the note—they had left for Shahbaad, likely passing them on the way.

“We’ll never catch up,” she whispered, her heart constricting in her chest.

“Maybe they’ll wait longer in Shahbaad,” Jamil said. She looked into his green eyes and knew he didn’t believe his own words. His hands wavered at his sides, and he clenched them into fists. He turned back to the shopkeeper. “Is the room still stocked?”

“Yes, brother. Follow me.”

He led them through a narrow hallway to a small space in the back. Jamil explained that Baran, the turbaned shopkeeper, kept this room for Zarian.

Baran left them alone. She sat at a small desk and watched as Jamil scoured through boxes and satchels, inspecting weapon after weapon before deciding which ones to take. Amongst the weaponry, there were two pouches, heavy with coin, that he pocketed.

He checked the room one last time before standing before her. He handed her a sword—it was smaller than his, the hilt a simple, matte black. She examined it, testing its weight. It was heavier than she was accustomed to, but not overly so.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. She moved to hand it back, but he shook his head, drumming his fingers against his sides.

“It’s yours. I mean, if you want it. I can help you train, keep your skills sharp.” His eyes found hers. “Zarian mentioned you’re quite good with a sword.”

Her lips curled into a sad, yearning smile. “Layna and I would train together often.” A sharp pang pierced her heart. Her sister had likely sat in this very chair weeks ago.

Moons, she missed her. She had no doubt Layna was safe and happy—Zarian would move the heavens and earth just to coax a smile from her lips.

But Layna was her best friend and closest confidante, and there was so much she wished to tell her.

Her watery eyes cut to Jamil.

Though she had a feeling she knew what her sister would say.

“I’m sorry we missed them.”

“It’s not your fault. If Mama hadn’t insisted on traveling to Shahbaad first, we would have caught them.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “How will we find them, Jamil? I know you don’t believe they’ll wait for us in Shahbaad.”

He sighed wearily, leaning against the desk where she sat. “You’re right. Zarian won’t remain long in one place, not with the Medjai hunting them. Especially not in Shahbaad. But he’ll leave a trail for me. I’ll take you across the entire continent until you’re reunited with your sister. Beyond it, if we need to. I give you my word, Soraya. We’ll find them.”

A wet tear slipped down her cheek. Jamil’s hand wavered again, indecision warring in his eyes. Slowly, almost reverently, he wiped her tear away with his thumb. Her eyes cut to his emerald gaze, and she could’ve sworn there was yearning reflected back. She’d seen it often enough in Zarian’s eyes when he watched Layna.

Jamil faltered, as if snapping out of a fog. He pulled his hand back, and his eyes shuttered.

Something squeezed her heart.

She ignored it.

“Thank you,” she whispered instead. He nodded, avoiding her gaze.

They bid Baran farewell, exiting into the street and heading toward the inn. On the way, they stopped to buy a simple lunch ofmanakish. The warm flatbread topped with minced lamb seemed a feast after surviving on rabbit.

Soraya stopped in front of a shop selling women’s clothing. “Can I buy a few things?”

“Of course,” he said, opening the door for her. The shopkeeper, an elderly woman, greeted them. Her curious gaze appraised Soraya quickly, but lingered too long on Jamil’s scar. He stiffened beside her, and an instant dislike for the woman coiled in her chest.

The elderly woman tugged her away, trying to entice her to buy the most expensive abayas and shawls. She refused every item, quickly selecting simple, warm garments and a new cloak.When she was finished, the woman brought her items to the counter.