Page 54 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)
W hen dawn found Layna the next morning, wrapped in Zarian’s arms under their blanket, something had shifted inside her. The grief was still there, winding around every nerve, searching for fissures to burrow in. But she also felt a lightness she hadn’t in weeks.
She wouldn’t let her fury win today.
She rolled over to face Zarian. Warm, hazel eyes watched her closely. His lips curled into a tentative smile, and she met it with her own. Zarian breathed a relieved sigh, as if that had been the first time she’d smiled at him in days.
It might have been, and the thought made her heart clench.
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, then her nose, before capturing her lips. His fingers traced languid strokes down her spine, venturing lower with each pass, sending pleasant shivers cascading through her.
Suddenly, she gasped and bolted upright, thick blanket falling to her waist.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up beside her.
“I forgot to drink the tea yesterday,” she breathed. She’d been so consumed with making things right with him that it had completely slipped her mind at dinner.
He rested his chin on her shoulder, face scrunched in concentration, likely counting the number of hours that had passed.
“We should be fine,” he reassured after a few painstaking moments of calculation. “I’ll make a cup for you now. Drink another in a few hours just to be safe.” He brushed a kiss to her forehead before rising to start on her tea.
Moons, she had been so stupid.
She had been religious about drinking the tea. What if it was too late? With the Medjai hunting them, they had never even discussed the possibility of a child these past few months.
She watched Zarian as he prepared her tea—he’d be an incredible father, she knew this in her soul. But did he even want children? She wasn’t sure if she did.
Briefly, she let herself imagine it.
Soraya would be a doting, loving aunt. Layna could picture her sister now, chasing after a chubby toddler with hazel eyes and inky, black curls down a torchlit hallway; Soraya sitting cross-legged in her greenhouse, teaching her niece or nephew about motchuplant and zuhur .
And Mama and Baba—
Her heart cracked as an icy wave crashed into her.
Her imaginary child would never know a single grandparent.
Cold, merciless grief clawed at her heart, threatening to tear it into ribbons. It rose up like a sandstorm, ravaging her emotions in an unforgiving wave.
It hurt.
It fucking hurt.
She wanted nothing more than to escape it, to be free from its dark depths. Anger, she knew, would help her stay afloat.
She drew in a deep breath, greedily sucking in air until her lungs begged for release. But Layna held it inside, keeping the oxygen captive until her heart slowed. Only when the pressure became unbearable did she finally release it.
Blinking back tears, she glanced at Zarian. His attention lingered on the tea, every movement slow and measured. But she knew better—he was always aware of her. He just wasn’t pushing. And for that, she was grateful. He was giving her the space to pull herself back together on her own.
Wordlessly, he brought her the tea and sat beside her, blowing cool air over the steaming purple surface. It was a metal cup, the only material suited for such travel. If it burned his hands, he didn’t show it, but he didn’t let her immediately take the cup either.
When he finally handed it to her, the metal was pleasantly warm, and she accepted it with a grateful smile. In between sips, she quietly asked, “Will you spar with me after breakfast?”
His hazel eyes trailed over her face for a moment before his lips curled into a slow, lazy smirk. “Only if you aren’t a sore loser when I win.” Rolling her eyes, she swatted his shoulder.
“Arrogant man.” A chuckle rumbled through him, and a genuine smile lit her face.
Their routine remained the same, except now she embraced it when Zarian called for a break.
They’d alternate sparring with swords, her dagger, and bare hands, each round leaving her breathless.
Zarian never went easy on her, and by nightfall, her body ached from both the grueling journey and constantly being knocked flat on her back.
It only stung a little less when he pinned her beneath him and made her forget just how thoroughly he’d bested her.
She was improving, though. Panting, she ducked and narrowly avoided the fist aimed at her face.
Spinning quickly, she crouched and aimed a kick behind his knees, but Zarian stepped forward and easily avoided her swipe.
When he turned, she lunged, forcing him to grab her as she knocked them to the ground, hands squeezing his neck.
Breathing heavily, she demanded, “Did you let me win?”
“No,” he wheezed, raising his hands in surrender. She huffed and let him up, not quite believing him. “That was good. Next time, don’t hesitate. When you have me down, throttle me out of my senses.”
She frowned. “I don’t actually want to hurt you.”
“You need to build muscle memory. No hesitation in a real battle. Even a second could mean your life. Or your death.”
They sat, and Zarian handed her a canteen. “We’re three days from Tarakshan. You’ll stand out in your niqab there, so we’ll need to be extra vigilant without it.”
“Your vigilance has varying degrees? I thought it was just ‘ terrify anyone who dares glance at Layna ?’” she teased with a grin.
He scowled, lightly pinching her side as he took a deep swig.
That night, after dinner, Zarian grabbed her hand and tugged her up.
“I want to show you something.” He pulled out a small lantern from his pack, giving Najoom a firm pat.
He held out his arm as if he were escorting her to a ball, and she took it with a smile.
“Where are we going?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the ground to avoid tripping over rocks or gnarled roots that twisted underfoot like thick, brown snakes.
“I can’t tell you all my secrets,” he murmured. “But you’ll like it.” With sure steps, he guided her up the mountainside.
They didn’t climb long, already high up on the mountain, and soon, the steep terrain leveled off, the dense trees thinning out.
Her breath left her.
Millions and millions of bright stars twinkled in a glittering sea of possibility, her first unobstructed view of the open sky in weeks.
The proud, full moon hung overhead, a regal monarch amidst its subjects.
Shades of indigo and deep blue streaked the inky night.
Layna had never seen the stars this close, this bright.
She must have stared for minutes before the night’s sky reluctantly released her from its thrall, and her gaze slid downward.
To the kingdom of Tarakshan.
Carved into the Mountains.
She had never seen anything like it. Tall peaks stretched out ahead, and cut within the sides, were winding paths and buildings.
There were tiny fires dotting the kingdom, flickering lights that looked like jugnuflies searching for their mates.
Tarak, the capital city, rose in the distance, the palace’s domes and minarets carved within the bones of the mountain itself.
She stood in silence for what could have been hours, absorbing the magnificent sight around her.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. Zarian’s eyes were fixed to her face as he hummed in agreement.
They sat together, Zarian cocooning her against his chest, gazing out at the awe-inspiring landscape. His sandalwood and spice scent, underpinned with fresh mountain air and pine, eased the weight on her soul.
It was a contentment unlike she had ever experienced.
He retrieved a small pouch from his cloak, pouring out a handful of perfectly round, bright green berries into her palm.
“ Akhdani ,” he said, in response to her quizzical look. “I picked them this morning.”
She frowned at the berries. They looked inconspicuous enough, but—
“They’re safe to eat,” he chuckled, tossing one into his mouth. She plucked one between two fingers and followed suit.
Exquisite flavors exploded on her tongue. It was sweet and tangy and bright all at once—like mirsham fruit, but sweeter. She devoured the berries, then eagerly presented her hand for more. She gobbled those down as well, and he kept refilling her hand until the bag was empty.
Here, on this secluded mountainside, so close to the stars, the ball of grief inside her seemed to shrink. Maybe it was momentary. Maybe tomorrow, the despair would return, stronger than ever.
But for tonight, this was enough.