Page 5 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)
“ N ow, that we are all present,” began King Farzin, “Let us decide the just course of action.” They were seated at a massive round table in a large, open room. Tall, arched windows dominated most of the wall, and bright sunlight glinted off the black marble floors.
At the table, Layna was flanked by Zarian and Lord Ebrahim. The other monarchs occupied the remaining seats, a parade of color and splendor and regality. One seat remained empty, its placard reading King Dharaid of Shahbaad —a gesture of respect for the absent monarch.
Nizam sat directly opposite her, and Layna keenly felt the weight of his gaze.
She refused to meet it.
“Should not Valtisaan and Ezanek be present? And Zephyria?” asked King Jehan of Sendouk, steepling his fingers beneath his bearded chin.
He turned to Nizam. “Impressive work by your army, by the way—managing to pry those three from their kingdoms and deliver them here? A moonsdamned miracle. Alzahra is truly in your debt.”
His beady, gray eyes bored into Layna, and she stiffened, a prickle of dread traveling down her spine at the thinly veiled reminder.
“I thought it best to reach a decision on our own, then pass the decree. Without their interference,” explained King Farzin.
His long, black sleeves billowed as he gestured around the room, necklaces of glittering gems shifting and clinking.
“Are all in agreement?” Everyone raised their hand except King Jehan, who scowled.
“We have the majority. Queen Layna, you are the aggrieved party. Please proceed.”
She steeled herself, straightening her spine.
“Our demands from Valtisaan and Ezanek are simple. Shipments of food to supplement our devastated crops, weapons to fortify our defenses, and a substantial tribute of gold. And an apology, of course. And from Valtisaan, we also demand architects and resources to rebuild what they helped destroy,” she proclaimed, her gaze sweeping the room.
“Tamzin isn’t going to like that bit about the architects,” said King Malik, looking almost bored in his straight-backed chair. His son sat beside him, eyes fixed on the table.
“Architects?” questioned Queen Rhapsin of Thessan, the only other female monarch.
Her voice was quiet and wise, befitting the ruler of the kingdom home to the Grand Libraries.
“I heard Valtisaan has hordes of a special metal, still unknown to the continent. And that his workers disappear without a trace.”
Zarian stiffened beside her.
She glanced at him, but then King Petragh tutted, “No, no. I’ve heard rumors that his workers can wield magic. That’s how his buildings are so moonsdamned tall .” The room erupted in scoffs.
“In any case,” King Malik said loudly, speaking over the din. “Tamzin is very protective over Valtisaan’s advancements.”
“He should have thought about that before joining a war against my kingdom,” said Layna coldly.
“Queen Layna’s demands are more than reasonable,” Queen Rhapsin interjected, adjusting her spectacles. “Anything else from Ezanek and Valtisaan?”
“Peace treaties,” added Layna. “I want a guarantee that neither kingdom will ever attack Alzahra unprovoked again.”
“Fair enough,” said King Farzin. With a long-suffering sigh, he asked, “Are we all in agreement?” A chorus of “Ayes” rang out in the large hall. “Good. Now the matter of Zephyria. Queen Layna, what are your demands?”
“Gold, crops and land. Besides that, Jorah and his heir are both dead.” Zarian’s hand clenched into a fist on the table, and Layna resisted the urge to cover it with her own. She took a deep breath and added, “I have no desire for further bloodshed. What position has Zephyria’s council taken?”
“They have laid all blame at Jorah’s feet. They claim they tried to dissuade him from war. Their council unanimously proposed Lord Ebric be named the next king,” said King Farzin.
“Interesting,” remarked King Petragh, resting a hand on his chin, gold rings glinting in the light. “I met him once when he visited Minhypas. He was sweating the entire time. It was our cold season.”
“We will abolish rule through bloodline, then?” asked King Malik, examining his nails. “Insist the monarch is elected? Though that didn’t seem to work out well in Valtisaan.”
“What other choice do we have?” asked King Petragh, glancing around the table.
“We should implement term limits. Perhaps five years?” suggested Lord Ebrahim.
“Agreed,” said Nizam, who had been silently listening until now. Layna avoided his gaze, still fixed to her. “And a probationary period for the first year. If Lord Ebric does not meet expectations, then the monarchs reserve the right to remove him.”
“That seems severe,” protested King Jehan, leaning forward. Layna appraised him with narrowed eyes.
“Zephyria’s actions were severe. It is well within reason,” Zarian said, scowling as if even the slightest agreement with Nizam challenged his moral code.
“Then, we are all in agreement?” asked King Farzin.
A final chorus of “Ayes” rang out. “Bring them in.”
She held her breath.
A strange mix of apprehension and anger swirled within her. These men had waged war on her kingdom—all of them had indirectly played a role in her father’s death.
Two guards opened the black double doors, and a sad, defeated party slowly filed in. They dragged their feet as if chained, though they were unfettered.
King Faimal of Ezanek, King Tamzin of Valtisaan, and Lord Ebric of Zephyria, the latter who was indeed sweating, his tunic damp under his arms and across his back.
Seeing their faces—their defiance—stoked the flames of her anger.
The guilty trio stood before the assembled monarchs, their gazes surveying the men and women who would decide their fates. The two kings stood defiantly, chins raised. Lord Ebric glanced around nervously, his eyes darting about like a raithbee.
He did a double take when his bespectacled gaze landed on Zarian.
The color drained from his face, knees buckling beneath him. He reached for Tamzin’s shoulder to steady himself, but Tamzin shot him a withering look, lip curling in disgust as he shrugged off the sweaty man’s grasp.
Ebric stared at Zarian, hands shaking at his sides. Realization seemed to dawn on him as his wide eyes lingered on Zarian’s slightly crooked nose. His gaze dropped to the placard in front of Zarian that read Nahrysba Oasis . His breathing steadied slightly, but he still looked pale and terrified.
Like he’d seen a ghost.
Zarian’s mouth ticked up at the corner, and he arched an eyebrow at Ebric, as if daring him to say something. Ebric finally tore his gaze away and stared at the floor.
King Farzin cleared his throat. “Let’s get to it then.
Faimal, Tamzin and Ebric, the monarchs have agreed to the terms of your penance.
Valtisaan and Ezanek are hereby commanded to repay your blood debts to Alzahra with crops, weapons, and gold.
Both your kingdoms must sign peace treaties with Alzahra and agree to never attack unprovoked again.
Valtisaan must also send architects and resources to aid in Alzahra’s reconstruction.
” Tamzin scowled but remained silent. “State your acceptance of the monarchs’ decree. ”
Their answering silence was deafening.
Layna glared at the defiant men, her fingers drumming impatiently on the table.
Her anger rose in a violent tide.
Inhale . Exhale .
Zarian’s words flitted through her mind once more.
Show no weakness .
“I accept,” Faimal said. He finally looked at Layna and added, “Queen Layna, please accept my apology for our actions in the war. Jorah painted an irresistible picture, and well, I let greed rule my decisions.” Layna scowled, hands clenching into fists.
“And you, Tamzin?” prompted Farzin.
“I … accept,” he said begrudgingly.
He did not offer an apology.
Hot waves of anger roiled inside her, pulsing in her ears. It was all she could do to refrain from shouting.
The fucking nerve —
“Good,” said Farzin, pulling her from her thoughts. “The details of the deals and treaties will be sorted between your respective councils. Now the matter of Zephyria.”
Lord Ebric visibly swallowed as all eyes swung to him.
He looked as if he’d willingly walk into a raging sandstorm than face his judgment.
“Queen Layna demands gold, crops, and land. The monarchs hereby abolish rule through bloodline in Zephyria. You will serve as king for a five-year term. If your actions are unsatisfactory, then the monarchs will remove you. State your acceptance of our terms.”
“I … I accept,” he stuttered, nervous gaze landing on Zarian again.
“Very well. It is decreed. And I suppose you’re King Ebric now.”
Ebric did not look very happy about it.