Page 41 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

T he sun was warm on her face as she strung up their clothing under the bright sunlight. She could feel his eyes on her, following her movements. When she turned to look at him, his gaze darted away.

She hid a smile.

“There’s a small village, about an hour’s journey. I’ll go tomorrow for supplies. Will you come?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek. “No.”

Her name was a sigh on his lips, and it sent a shiver through her.

“You won’t hurt anyone. You’re in control of your light. And I’ll be with you the entire time.”

“No,” she said, firmer this time. “I want to stay here.”

He looked as though he might argue further but loosed a deep sigh instead.

He left to bathe by the stream, and she busied herself with practicing her light.

Repeatedly, she lit and extinguished the firepit until her head felt heavy.

Still, she pushed herself harder. Closing her eyes, she focused and coaxed her power to her palms, forming a small orb of light.

She could feel it pulsing in her hands, a burning ball of pure energy.

She opened her eyes and gasped—he had returned from the stream and was watching her, face etched with awe.

And he wasn’t wearing his tunic.

It was the first time she’d seen him so unclothed, and her greedy eyes roved over the sharp contours of his body. He had a circular tattoo on his chest, obsidian ink branching out in symmetrical whorls.

Her eyes rose to meet his and found them crinkled in amusement. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she tore her gaze away.

“I dropped my tunic in the stream,” he said by way of greeting, walking past her to hang it to dry.

“You’re getting very skilled with the light.

Think it over again about coming with me tomorrow.

” She gave him a weak smile, eyes still fixed on the ground.

A searing heat that had nothing to do with her power curled low in her belly.

Later that night, she awoke, shivering under her thick blanket. The small fire had gone out. Her eyes fell to his large, slumbering form close to the mouth of the cave.

Teeth chattering, she tried to summon her light and start a fire, but her fingertips barely glowed and quickly fizzled out. A strong wave of fatigue hit her, and she stumbled, bracing against the cave wall for support. With a shaky breath, she grabbed a flint and tried again.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice husky with sleep.

“The fire went out,” she replied lamely. “My light isn’t responding. I think I pushed myself too much earlier.”

He rose slowly, kneeling before her, and took the flint from her shaky hands, his warm fingers heating her cold ones for the briefest of seconds. Deftly, he relit the fire, slowly coaxing its flames until shadows danced along the cave wall.

His gaze locked on her, spellbound, as the backs of his fingers traced a feather-light caress along her cheek. His eyes widened, as if his hand had betrayed him, and he jerked it back as though her touch had scorched him.

Hurt flared within her, but she tamped it down. She bolted to her feet, heading to her blankets, but he grabbed her arm. “Wait—”

She didn’t.

Layna’s heart raced as the walls of Shahbaad Palace came into view.

It was magnificent, with large, emerald domes embossed with intricate calligraphy, though the colors seemed faded.

Arched doorways led to the spacious courtyard, weeds reaching for the sky between flagstones.

She imagined her mother as a little girl, splashing in the large fountain as she and Soraya had done as children in their own courtyard.

A wistful smile curled her lips, her heart aching to be reunited with them.

Soon.

Zarian had scoped the palace earlier and found a barricaded side door.

He knelt beside her behind a large copse of trees where they’d secured Najoom.

The crease between his brows had taken permanent residence.

He was dressed in his chainmail-lined baldric, every pocket concealing a weapon.

She rubbed her thumb over the crease, smoothing it gently.

He met her gaze and sighed, his features softening.

“There are barely any guards. Getting to the door and back was too easy.” The stubborn crease returned. “We’re walking into a trap.”

“Do you think they’re still alive?” she asked quietly. He didn’t respond, staring again at the palace, gears turning in his sharp mind.

“Is there any chance I can convince you to wait here?”

“None.”

“Then, stick to the plan.” He didn’t miss a beat, clearly expecting her answer.

“We enter through the side door, find Soraya and your mother, and we get out.” She nodded and began to rise, but he grabbed her hand and tugged her back down.

“Layna, this can’t be like Sendouk. The Medjai are not petty criminals in an alley.

You need to listen to me.” She nodded again, slower this time.

His face was stark, his mouth a tight, grim line.

“If we’re attacked, get your back to a wall and use your light.

Don’t try to fight hand-to-hand. And if I say run, you will run.

” Her brow furrowed, anger flickering at the command, but he continued.

“Promise me you’ll leave me behind and never look back.

Go east to Baysaht. There’s another library under his palace.

Keep practicing your light.” He bared his teeth, as if it pained him to utter his next words.

“I know he’ll give you the rest of his army.

Reclaim your kingdom. Reclaim your kingdom and live .

For me. Promise me, Layna, you’ll live and be happy. ”

Furious, she opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.

“ Promise me .”

“I promise.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. A muscle feathered in his cheek, but he didn’t press her.

Instead, Zarian claimed her lips, stealing the air from her lungs in a fierce kiss.

He cradled her face with one hand, fingers digging into her cheek and chin.

His other hand found her lower back, pressing her smaller frame against his massive one, as if he wanted to hide her away within himself.

His teeth knocked against hers as his tongue pushed past her lips, wrestling and overpowering hers until she had no choice but to let him take what he wanted.

It was a deep, intimate kiss, one that would have stoked the flames of her desire had it not tasted of fear and desperation.

No, it tasted too much like farewell.

Instead of arousal, it fanned the flames of her anger. How dare he say goodbye to her? How dare he think she’d ever be content in the arms of another man? Not now, not when her very soul was irreversibly tangled with his.

When he finally released her, she wanted to rage at him, to beat her fists against his chest. She wanted to scream he wasn’t allowed to even think about dying and leaving her alone in this wretched world.

But he had already stood, his feet carrying him to the palace.

She followed, and they walked together, shadows in the night. They easily avoided the handful of guards and crept to the side entrance. Zarian pried it open, scanning inside before entering, Layna close behind him.

She had never visited her grandfather’s castle, but Zarian had been here years ago. It was late, and the corridors were mostly deserted save for a handful of unfortunate souls that Zarian incapacitated.

Her grandfather’s office was empty.

Their next stop was his bedroom. Again, there were only a handful of servants and no guards. The door was unlocked.

A loud, familiar gasp.

It was her mother.

“Layna!” Hadiyah’s wide eyes took her in, face pale and panicked. Then her gaze slid to Zarian and morphed into a glare. “Why did you bring her here?” she hissed.

Her mother had lost weight since Layna last saw her—the hollows of her cheeks were deeper, and her collarbones protruded starkly.

Next to her sat Dharaid. Layna had only met him once as a child when he’d visited Alzahra.

His face was deeply lined, his white beard cut short.

He had aged significantly from what she remembered in her blurry, faded memory.

He rose from the sofa, hands clasped tightly.

“Mama,” she whispered, crossing the room and pulling her into an embrace. Her mother melted into it. “Where is Soraya?”

Her mother shook her head. “She left with the other one. To find you. Have you seen her?” When Layna shook her head, she grabbed her shoulders, meeting her eyes in a frantic gaze. “It’s not safe here. You must go. We are being watched.” She glanced at Zarian. “Take her and leave.”

“Medjai?” Zarian asked from by the door, sword angled and ready.

“Yes,” her grandfather said, his voice withered with age. “They arrived weeks ago searching for you. Ordered most of my guards to flee, killed the ones that didn’t.”

“Where are they now?” Zarian asked, his voice low.

Her grandfather shook his head. “They drop in from time to time, make their veiled threats. They must be nearby.”

“Why do you stay here? You should have left,” Layna insisted, glancing between her mother and grandfather. Dharaid looked at her, really looked at his granddaughter. His eyes softened.

“We tried, child,” he said softly. “They stopped us before we even reached the trees past the palace.” He gingerly unclasped his hands, holding the right one to the light.

Layna gasped.

Where his thumb should have been was a short stump, wrapped in white gauze dotted with dark blood. “They said next time, they would take her hand,” he said, nodding to Hadiyah. “We didn’t try again after that.”

Her mother pursed her lips, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I suspect they are only letting us live to prevent further unrest. Another kingdom with a missing monarch?” A humorless, dry laugh escaped her, face pinched with anger. “Layna, you must go. Now.”

“I’m not leaving you.”