Page 18 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

T he sun was just beginning to set when the outskirts of Janta came into view. The neighboring kingdom was known for its perfumes, and the scent of warm frankincense and myrrh mingled with oud’s sweet musk greeted them as they entered the capital city.

Layna secured her niqab , and Zarian drew up his scarf. On edge, his eyes scoured every face, every shadowy corner as Najoom trotted through the city, clay walls rising up around them.

The aroma of street food wafted from nearly every corner, battling for dominance against the scent of perfumes that ruled the open air. They neared a cart where a large rack of lamb spun over an open flame. Zarian’s mouth watered, and he purchased three portions before continuing on.

Their destination was a modest traveler’s inn with a small, attached stable. They dismounted, gathering their bags, leaving Najoom with a lanky stablehand who warily eyed the large stallion.

“He’s served me well,” Zarian said. “Take good care of him. As much water and food as he wants.”

“Yes, sahib ,” the stablehand said, wide eyes fixed on the stallion.

Zarian clasped Layna’s hand, and they headed inside.

The front door opened to a narrow foyer that led into a cramped, dimly lit room.

A small staircase curved up to the second story, and toward the back of the room, a man sat reading a book behind a wooden desk.

He was so focused that he didn’t notice them until they crossed the room and Zarian quietly said, “Hello, friend.” The man glanced up and did a double take, mouth dropping open. His book landed on the ground with a thud as he shot to his feet.

“Brother!” the man exclaimed. He grabbed Zarian’s hand and kissed his knuckles before pressing them against his forehead. The man’s gaze slid to Layna for a heartbeat, and then he lowered his eyes in respect. He held his hand over his heart and bowed in greeting.

Turning back to Zarian, he asked, “What brings you to Janta, brother? I thought I’d never lay eyes on you again.”

Zarian felt his lips curling into a smile. “It’s good to see you, Hamzh. We need lodging for a few days. I could use some clothing.” He cleared his scratchy throat. “And water, please.”

Hamzh nodded with his entire body. “Of course. Stay as long as you like.” Grabbing a key from a drawer, he gestured for them to follow.

He led them up the stairs, where he entered the first room and quickly returned with a stack of clothes.

They continued down the narrow corridor to the last room. Hamzh handed him the key.

“There is plenty of water inside, and I’ll have more brought up shortly. If you need anything, anything , do not hesitate to ask.” He clasped Zarian’s hand again and pressed it to his forehead, eyes closed tightly in reverence. With a small bow to Layna, he disappeared down the hall.

Layna turned to him, a question marked between her brows. He shrugged one shoulder. “Hamzh owes me a favor.”

He unlocked the door to reveal a modest room. There was a bed pushed against the wall, windows framing it on either side. Opposite the bed was a quaint kitchen with a small dining area.

Dropping their bags on the ground, he did a cursory check of the room while Layna plated their food. She poured him a tall glass of water that he downed in seconds, then another that he gulped as well.

They sat and ate quietly, until the gnawing hunger in his belly was sated. Layna’s worried eyes repeatedly traced his face.

Moons, he felt like camel dung. Probably looked like it, too.

“Sleep,” she said. He could tell by the crease between her brows that she had more to say. “We can talk after.”

Fatigue weighed heavily on him. “I’ll wash up quickly and sleep on the couch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She frowned. “Take the bed. I’ll be up for a while yet.”

Too tired to argue, he trudged to the washroom.

Layna watched as the washroom door closed quietly behind him. The incessant humming in her veins grew louder, as if protesting the distance between them. With a sigh, she dropped her head into her hands.

She had done it.

She had actually left her home, her kingdom, and her family behind.

Yet somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to feel guilty.

She was being hunted, and she felt relieved of all things. Ebrahim would likely take her place ruling Alzahra, but whether she’d ever return— if she even wanted to return—was a question she couldn’t yet answer.

What kind of person does that make me?

Her mother and sister flickered through her thoughts, and guilt stabbed sharp and sudden—they’d been forced to flee as well because of her. Where were they now? Were they safe?

The shower shut off in the bathroom, pulling her from her thoughts. Her gaze slid to the closed door.

And Zarian … things had changed rapidly between them. They had been apart for a week after a horrible fight—she hadn’t even apologized for her harsh words, let alone think about what they should do next. It was a discussion long overdue.

Zarian emerged from the washroom, borrowed sleep trousers resting low on his hips, inky black hair still dripping. Her heart clenched at the sight of his face.

He was pale, with deep purple bruises shadowing his eyes, barely managing to keep them open. Zarian leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before crossing the room and collapsing onto the bed. Within moments, he was asleep, his steady breathing the only sound in the small room.

For a while, she remained at the table, afraid to make a sound in case it disturbed him.

She was content to just watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest. When she was certain he was in a deep sleep, she cleared the table and rinsed the dishes in the small sink.

Afterward, she bathed quickly, eager to be free of days’ worth of sweat and grime, changing into a navy nightgown she had brought with her.

The sun had set only an hour ago, and she was wide awake. Their dinner had been delicious—tender, seasoned lamb over yellow rice with a tangy yogurt sauce—and her stomach was pleasantly full after three days of surviving on nuts, dried fruit, and stale pastries.

Her gaze darted back to Zarian’s slumbering form, and her mind conjured up Soraya’s teasing face and cheeky smile. A wave of grief, almost comforting in its weight, washed over her at the thought of her sister.

Her eyes landed on a small stack of books on the table. She grabbed one filled with classic folk tales and settled onto the couch. Another hour passed as she lost herself in tales of magical lamps, murderous husbands, and daring sailors.

When her eyelids began to feel heavy, she snapped the book shut, eyeing the bed where Zarian slumbered.

With hesitant steps, she approached. He was truly a massive man, taking up nearly the entire bed, limbs splayed haphazardly in every direction.

An affectionate smile tugged at her lips, and without further thought, she lay down next to him, curling up against his side until sleep claimed her.