Page 23 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

T he wind whipped through her hair as they rode through the rough, dusty terrain. After they passed the major caravan trail that cut through Janta, blessedly without incident, Layna had removed her niqab , savoring the cool breeze on her face. Soon, they’d cross into Navrastan.

The weight of her new quiver, laden with arrows, felt comforting against her back. Zarian had ventured into the markets earlier to secure supplies for their journey to Sendouk and returned with the black leather quiver and accompanying bow.

“In case we need it on the way,” he had said.

She was a skilled archer, though if given the choice, she always favored her sword. Still, the bow rested across her back—a familiar weight she hoped would stay just that: reassurance, not necessity.

They had bid farewell to Hamzh, who had packed them food, several canteens of water, and a heavy pouch of coins that Zarian reluctantly accepted.

“Will you ever tell me what favor Hamzh owes you?” she asked, lips close to Zarian’s ear.

The sandy desert had long since given way to cooler, rockier terrain.

They were near the Mountains that rose within the center of the continent, spanning from Navrastan, through Zephyria and Tarakshan, reaching the borders of Baysaht and Thessan.

“Maybe one day,” he replied, his deep voice carrying on the wind.

They rode until the edge of the Mountains came into view.

Her breath escaped her.

Towering cinnamon-colored peaks that stretched into the sky, dotted with greenery as if painted by a brush.

The view from the peaks must be breathtaking—to see the entire continent spread out before her.

A child of the desert, she had never before seen such a sight, not even when she’d traveled for the three Summits in her lifetime.

She must have stared, slack-jawed, for minutes before Zarian asked, “First time?”

Shaken out of her reverie, she laughed in delight. “Yes! They’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” Turning back to gaze at the tall, rusty peaks, she added, “Have you ever climbed them?”

“I’ve climbed two peaks on the Baysahtian side. Jamil’s traversed them end to end, though.”

“Maybe we’ll climb them together one day,” she murmured wistfully.

Zarian kissed her hand. “We will,” he promised.

She tore her gaze away from the Mountains, refocusing on the dirt path before them. “How many days to Sendouk?”

“A little over a week, if we limit breaks.”

He was more serious now out in the open, more warrior than man. She missed their brief time in Janta, in that small room where worries couldn’t reach them.

“I’m ready for a break,” she teased, gliding her hand up his thigh.

“Are you, now?” he rumbled, the timbre of his voice dropping. “And here I thought I made sure you were—”

An arrow whizzed through the air, passing mere inches from his face. Najoom whinnied, loud and shrill, and reared up.

To her left, there were at least five cloaked shadows emerging from behind trees near the base of the closest mountain.

Most of the men had long, braided hair, adorned with beads and trinkets.

Crude tattoos marked their faces—faded black symbols inked across foreheads and cheeks.

The closest man leered at them, his lips peeling back to reveal a horrifying smile—his teeth were shaved down into sharp points, resembling a wild animal.

Bandits.

Zarian dug his heels into Najoom’s sides, spurring him onward, but three more bandits waited up ahead, all armed with bows. Another arrow flew, embedding into the ground in front of Najoom. The stallion reared up, whinnying loudly, and she clutched Zarian’s waist to avoid being flung.

“ Be asb zarar nazan !” one of the mountainside bandits shouted, gesturing at Najoom.

Zarian swore, pulling two throwing stars from his baldric and launching them at the bandits in their path. One pierced through a man’s eye, but the other missed its mark as the man dove to the ground.

Her heart began to race, her powers humming beneath her skin along with it. Taking deep breaths, she commanded the erratic, untamed light to remain inside her. She quickly unstrapped her newly gifted bow from Najoom’s side and nocked an arrow, aiming it at the bandits on the mountainside.

She inhaled and held it within her lungs.

She loosed. The bandit fell to the ground, arrow jutting from his chest.

She exhaled. She could do this.

As she focused, the humming dimmed in her ears.

In her periphery, she saw another man fall ahead of them. Zarian dug his heels into Najoom, urging him into a thunderous gallop. She tightened her thighs, using them to grip the stallion while keeping her aim steady.

She loosed.

She didn’t miss.

Zarian closed in quickly on the last remaining bandit in their path. The lone man fired an arrow, but Zarian yanked the reins, and Najoom veered swiftly to the side. The bandit dropped his bow and turned to flee, a foolish attempt to outrun his death.

When they neared, Zarian easily cut down the man with his blade. As he sheathed his sword, he froze, his gaze seemingly catching sight of something.

Two more arrows.

Headed right toward them.

She blinked, and Zarian’s hand shot out and caught the arrow that would have pierced her arm.

But he couldn’t stop the second one.

The arrow embedded itself into his side, and a pained grunt escaped him, the ragged sound turning her blood to ice. She nocked an arrow and took aim, but he threw himself in front of her, shielding her with his body as another arrow sliced through the air, burying itself in his shoulder.

“Zarian!” she cried. He ignored her, taking hold of the reins and urging Najoom into a frenzied gallop.

“Grab the reins,” he gritted out. She reached around him and held them in her shaking hands.

He gritted his teeth and gripped the first arrow with both hands, a pained groan slipping out as he snapped the shaft. Without pause, he reached for the second and did the same.

She tried to see over his shoulder, tried to inspect the wound in his side, but he kept his hand pressed over it, his skin slick with dark blood. He urged Najoom faster, his body tensing with every jolt.

“We need to stop. Let me see it,” she begged.

The humming in her ears grew louder as her panic spiked.

“We need to”—he bit out—“get farther away.” He took a shuddering breath, one that took far more effort than it warranted.

“Could be more.”

And he was right.

As they thundered past the base of the mountains, glinting arrows rained down on them, a handful of bandits trying their luck. Blessedly, none of the arrows met their mark. She managed to kill two more with her own arrows.

She had never heard of bandits hiding out in the Mountains—the desert was their way of life. What had driven them to find new homes?

Najoom rode farther away until they cleared the valley. Wetness spread along her thigh, seeping in through her clothing. To her horror, she realized it was Zarian’s blood, having drenched through his tunic and pants, now soaking into her trousers where her leg pressed against his.

“Zarian!” she called urgently, raising her voice over the whistling wind. “Stop Najoom now. We’re far enough.”

Mercifully, he listened this time, tugging on the reins until Najoom halted near a small patch of trees.

She slid off and came around to Zarian’s wounded side.

He was slumped in the saddle, face pale and ashen.

Her knees buckled under his weight, but she managed to help him dismount.

They stumbled to a large tree, where she helped him sit.

“Tell me what to do.” Her voice shook as she peeled back his cloak. Layna unlaced his baldric at the side, gingerly pulling it away from his slick tunic. She grabbed his dagger and cut through the fabric, mindful of the broken arrow shafts.

The sight set her heart into a frenzy.

His side was covered with fresh blood. The arrow was lodged beneath his ribs, the sharp head burrowed completely beneath his skin. The one on his shoulder was not as deep, the arrowhead only halfway embedded, but the skin around both wounds had turned a disturbing shade of green.

“Rocks … and dried … wood,” Zarian rasped between labored breaths. “Start a fire. Cauter—” His words failed him as he ran out of air. Najoom ambled over and lay beside him, snorting as he nuzzled Zarian’s face.

She darted between the trees, rushing to follow his instructions, afraid to leave him alone for too long. Najoom’s presence was only the smallest of comforts. The buzzing in her ears was almost deafening, a raging sandstorm threatening destruction.

Once she had a small pile of dried twigs encircled by stones, she used Zarian’s dagger and a small rock to create sparks. But tried as she might, it just didn’t catch. She kept frantically striking the rock, but something was missing—she had to be doing something wrong.

Useless, useless, useless .

What good was her royal education?

He was going to die because she couldn’t light a fire.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her movements grew erratic. Her heart pumped frantically in her chest, and the power in her veins was inconsolable, crackling with hot anger until Layna couldn’t see through her tears.

He was going to die.

He was going to die.

He was going to die because she couldn’t light a fucking fire.

A desperate cry escaped her, and light shot forth from her palms, a pulsing, blinding white light.

Her eyes squinted as the pitiful pile of twigs disappeared in the glowing beam.

She tried to stop it, to reel it back within her, but it didn’t heed her call.

The power escaped her hands in thick, blinding torrents and refused to be tamed.

Vaguely, she was aware of Najoom’s panicked whinny, but it was drowned out by her own earth-shaking cry.

Then, in a blink, the light vanished.

Her palms returned to normal, the bright glow fading away.

The buzzing in her ears dimmed.

And there was still no fucking fire.