Page 51 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

T hud! Thud! Thud!

Layna brought down her sword—well, Zarian’s smaller sword—on either side of today’s unlucky tree, yanking it out of the bark each time with a grunt. It had been a week since she woke on this moonsdamned mountain.

She drew her cloak tighter around herself, staving off the brisk wind that blew through the trees.

Thud!

Thud!

Thud!

In the space between her strikes, there was nothing but silence. She could feel Zarian’s eyes boring a hole into her back—he’d been watching her for the past thirty minutes now, likely growing more concerned with each thud .

But he was smart enough today to keep his mouth closed. Unlike yesterday, when he’d tried to coax her into taking a break and found himself on the receiving end of her sword.

“You’re going to fell that tree,” he called. “That family of chiryyobins will be without a home. How will you live with yourself, then?”

She rolled her eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t learned his lesson.

Ignoring him, she resumed her one-sided battle with the tree. Wood chips flew in the air as she hacked and hacked and hacked. One flew in the air and struck Najoom’s side, and the black stallion snorted in displeasure.

With each strike, her anger receded slightly, though it never left completely.

Thud!

Her parents were dead.

Thud!

Her sister was missing.

Thud!

Her kingdom was no longer hers.

Thud!

Her light had vanished.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

With all her might, she struck the tree one final time.

The first two days after she awoke, she tried to call her light during every waking moment.

She tried to heal, to light a fire, to summon fierce blasts from her palms. She tried to conjure thin streams from her fingertips.

She even searched for the seething, coiling cable that had always frightened her.

But she always came up empty.

Her powers had simply vanished. Her mind was blissfully free of the incessant buzzing she’d grown accustomed to.

And she hated it.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she pulled the sword free from the tree bark and sat by the fire. Wordlessly, Zarian handed her a whetstone, and she began sharpening it.

“When do we leave? I’ve rested enough,” she said, her hand rhythmically dragging the whetstone over the blade.

“You’ve done the opposite of rest, actually.” He arched a brow at the splintered tree bark.

“I feel fine, Zarian,” she sighed, setting aside the sword and cradling her head. “I slept for three days, remember? I’m ready.”

He studied her for a beat, then came and sat behind her, bracketing her with his long legs. Muscled arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her against his solid chest.

Zarian surrounded her completely, until she could feel and see and smell nothing but him. She buried her face in his neck, familiar sandalwood and spice enveloping her senses.

It didn’t soothe her as it once might have.

“Do you still want to go to Thessan?” he asked softly, trailing his fingers up and down her side.

“Yes,” she replied immediately. “We go to the Grand Libraries. I need to figure out how to get my powers back. There must be some scroll, some Medjai tome that can help me.”

“And then?”

“We return to Alzahra.” His hand stilled against her. “I’ll reclaim my kingdom, whether my people like it or not. And I’ll destroy the Medjai. All of them.”

Zarian was silent for several heartbeats.

“All right, my love,” he said finally. He tilted his head, staring at the trees overhead. “From here to Tarakshan is about three weeks. A brutal three weeks trekking across the Mountains. Then maybe another two weeks to Thessan, give or take. I’ve never crossed the entire range.”

“Can we descend and travel across the Shahbaad flatland?”

He shook his head. “The Medjai will be hunting us. We’re better concealed here.”

“All right,” she agreed. “We leave tomorrow.”

His arms tightened around her.

“My sword is yours to command,” he murmured so softly she almost didn’t hear it.

They set off the next morning. Surprisingly, Najoom allowed her to ride while Zarian walked beside them, holding the reins. It was slow moving—a slower pace than they’d kept during the entire journey so far—but the dense, uphill forest demanded careful steps and precision.

The thick greenery had taken her by surprise.

On the Navrastan side, the Mountains were burnt orange, dotted with sparse handfuls of trees.

Zarian had explained that was true on the dry, desert side of the range, but as the land grew more fertile across the continent, the same change was reflected on the Mountains.

Trees and shrubs grew in abundance, thickly carpeting the landscape.

Weeks ago, she might have appreciated it. She might have stared at the new species of trees in awe, marveling over the strange, needle-like leaves. She might have asked Zarian if they could climb the tallest peak and gaze out at the continent, foolishly hoping to glimpse the sea.

But that was before.

Before her mother was murdered in front of her eyes.

Before the light she’d come to depend on had abandoned her.

Now, the thickly packed greenery only made her angry. If not for the stubborn, unyielding trees, they could travel faster. They’d reach Tarakshan, and then the Grand Libraries of Thessan sooner.

The Libraries were the largest on the continent. Maybe the entire realm. There had to be something about her powers.

And how to get them back.

She needed to get them back.

It was a strange thing—she had despised her powers before, fervently wished them gone. And now that they were, it felt like a part of her was missing. A deep hollow was carved within her, as if a piece of her soul had grown wings and taken flight.

Was the light still inside her?

Would she be able to find it again?

She had to. She couldn’t avenge her mother’s murder without it. She couldn’t reclaim her—

“You’re brooding.” Zarian’s voice yanked her from the vortex of her thoughts.

“I am not brooding,” she said hotly.

“You’re digging your legs into poor Naj’s sides. My arm is about to fall off from holding him back.”

“No, I’m n—” She looked down. He was right.

Her entire body was tense, and her legs were pressing hard into Najoom.

The large stallion was huffing and snorting, his head swinging from side to side.

Zarian gripped the reins tightly, the corded veins in his forearm bulging as he kept Najoom from bounding off ahead.

And she hadn’t even noticed.

She searched for a sharp retort, something to satisfy the simmering rage that now lived inside her where the light used to reside.

Nothing came to mind, so she settled for silence.

She was careful, though, to keep her legs relaxed even as her mind tightened a noose around her.

They rode through the morning, stopping briefly for a short lunch.

He watched Layna closely as she ate their modest meal of yet more dried meat and nuts.

She caught him staring and narrowed her eyes as if to say, Why the fuck are you staring at me again, you big brute?

He quirked a smile, and she huffed, turning back to her meal.

She often retreated inside her mind, hands clenching into fists. Sometimes, he could hear her jaw working furiously as she ground her teeth.

So much anger. It reminded him of when they first met, when everything he’d said grated at her nerves. As much as it stirred his nostalgia, her fury worried him. He remembered the rage he’d felt after his brother was banished—the writhing, burning anger that took precedent over everything else.

The insatiable need to destroy, to avenge, to hurt .

He remembered the crushing sorrow that followed the rage.

He remembered the cold despair that wound itself around his heart and seeped into the marrow of his bones.

The all-consuming grief melded itself to his skeleton.

It became part of him. He had drowned himself in alcohol to escape it, to feel nothing, remember nothing, if only for a few hours.

And it had worked. He felt nothing for years.

Until he met Layna.

He looked at her now, sitting across from him. She was tearing into the meat with sharp bites as if the poor animal had personally affronted her.

Fire raged in her eyes.

Fury underscored every line of her body.

He looked at her and saw himself.