Page 58 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

S he woke to Zarian brushing a kiss against her temple, whispering something about “feeding Naj” and that “incompetent boy.”

Sleep loosened its hold on her after that. She dressed, smiling when she found a lukewarm pot of silpharoon tea on the stove.

Downing it quickly, she headed downstairs, wanting to check on Najoom as well.

She’d come to love the frightful stallion.

He’d come to tolerate her.

Voices floated up as she descended the tan, stone steps.

“…take this out to Zem, will ya? Tell him I sent it.”

A loud groan, followed by, “Will ya cut it out, Lasha? The two of ‘em are obviously married. Yer gonna scare away our only customers in weeks.”

“There’s no ring on her finger!”

“They could be Minhypani.”

“No, then she’d have—”

Layna stomped off the last step, and the siblings’ heads snapped toward her. Stone-faced, she grabbed the tray Lasha had been trying to push onto her brother.

“I’ll take it out to Zem,” she said stiffly, giving the woman a fierce glare. “We’re lucky to have such hospitable hosts.”

Nylasha flushed but said nothing, shuffling papers on her desk.

Layna headed toward the stable, and Lash quickly fell into step beside her.

“Don’t mind my sister, Miss Ahna,” he said quietly, glancing behind him.

“Lasha’s been takin’ care of me since our parents passed.

She’s lonely. She’s like this with all the handsome men that pass through.

” He quickly added, “Not that I think he’s handsome.

I don’t know what ya both see in that grouch. Him and his demon horse.”

A surprised peal of laughter tumbled out of her, and Lash snatched the tray out of her hands before anything spilled.

When her laughter subsided, she softly said, “I’m sorry about your parents, Lash. What happened to them?”

A frown marred his features, muted grief dimming his blue eyes.

“It was ages ago. It had been a particularly rainy season. The mountain was all kinds of muddy. They got caught in a landslide. Lasha took over caring for the inn. And me,” he said softly.

“She’s gotten a few proposals over the years.

But I think those men just want the inn. And they definitely don’t want me .”

Her heart twisted. “I’m truly sorry, Lash. I lost my parents, too. It’s an emptiness that never truly leaves.” She pursed her lips, opening the door that led to the stable. “Your sister is very … noble.”

Lash grinned. “Ya look like yer about to hurl all over me.”

She burst out laughing again, and the sound drew Zarian’s attention from where he stood brushing Najoom’s glossy coat. His gaze darted between them before settling on her, his mouth tipped up.

He set down the brush and leaned against Najoom. Lash set the tray on a nearby stool.

“Breakfast is served,” he announced grandly. Zarian rolled his eyes. “Yer eyes will get stuck like that. Then people will really wonder what the lovely miss sees in ya.”

She hid her giggles behind her hand as she rubbed Najoom’s flank. Moons, her cheeks ached from laughing. A muscle ticked in Zarian’s jaw as he glared at Lash, but his gaze fell to her and her shaking shoulders, the anger in his eyes receding.

Breakfast was a small assortment of flaky pastries and berry jam. While Zarian washed his hands, Layna spread a thick layer of the sticky jam over a large pastry. She handed it to Zarian as he walked back, but Lash plucked it from her hands and munched into it.

Mouth full, he asked, “So how did ya two meet?” He seemed oblivious, or uncaring, of Zarian’s murderous expression and the white-knuckled fists at his sides.

“Our families knew each other,” she replied with a smile, handing Zarian another pastry. He accepted the second offering with a scowl.

Lash hummed. “And is it yer first time in Tarakshan?” He licked the jam from his fingers.

“Her first time. Not mine,” Zarian said gruffly.

“I could show ya around town!” Lash exclaimed, ignoring Zarian. “I have to pick up some things for dinner anyway.”

“No—”

“We’d love that!” she interrupted. Zarian’s glower burned into the side of her face, but she ignored him.

Lash beamed. “I’ll be back in a lash ,” he said with an exaggerated wink that had her chuckling again. The sunlight glinted off his blond locks as he darted inside.

She turned to find Zarian glaring at her as if she’d snapped his favorite sword in half. Hand over heart, he said, “I thought you loved me.”

Layna doubled over, laughing again until her sides ached.

Zarian’s lips twitched.

“He’s sweet,” she defended, taking another bite of sticky pastry. “I love that he goads you so much. Bigger men are terrified of you. He’s just a kid.”

“He has no sense of self-preservation.”

The door swung open, and Lash emerged, parchment clutched in hand. He presented his arm to Layna with a flourish—she took it with a smile.

Zarian followed close behind Layna and Lash as they walked along the worn trail. The boy was talking animatedly, gesturing toward various shops. Every so often, Layna’s bright laughter would reach his ears. Moons, he hadn’t heard her laugh this hard and this often in months.

Maybe ever.

The warm, melodic sound embraced him like a long-forsaken friend, and it somewhat soothed the burn of jealousy that coursed through him whenever his gaze landed on their joined arms. Lash glanced back and grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

His fingers flexed into fists.

The boy was a menace.

But Layna seemed happier, lighter than she’d been in weeks, so Zarian could tolerate him for a few more days.

He hoped.

They walked further into town, passing ambling townspeople and wayward goats.

Layna stopped to pet one, and it began following them until Lash shooed it away.

There was another mountain city adjacent to this one, a deep ravine between them.

Lash waved to a friend on the other mountain, and the boy whooped back.

At the end of the trail, narrow steps were carved into the mountainside, leading to the market. It was a cramped street, with larger shops cut into the mountain on one side and a line of smaller carts on the other, blockading the cliffside.

The crowd was denser here, locals milling about, busy with their daily tasks. Armed men of the city watch, clad in leather and steel, stood at oddly spaced intervals. Zarian’s eyes scanned every face closely, but no one stood out as a threat. It didn’t ease the tension that crept into his neck.

He wanted Layna close.

“Make yourself scarce, Lash,” Zarian said, coming up behind them.

The boy turned, arm still annoyingly entwined with Layna’s, and arched a brow. “What kind of host would I be if I let ya two wander around like lost hens?”

“One that can still walk,” Zarian said gruffly. His patience was nearing its end. The boy needled him at every turn. Lash opened his mouth again, undoubtedly seeking to hasten his death, but Layna saved him with a meaningful hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll catch up with you. Finish your shopping, then find us.”

With one last annoying smirk, Lash headed off.

“You’re jealous,” Layna murmured.

“I am not ,” he denied, but the possessive hand he snaked around her waist said otherwise.

He guided them in the opposite direction from where Lash had strolled off, passing stalls selling abayas and tunics, others selling pottery and dishes.

There were a disproportionate number of shops selling all manner of weapons—Tarakshan was known for its tough, hardy warriors, like the men who joined the city watch.

Layna stopped at a cart selling paintings—bright strokes of colors and textures, radiant in the sunlight. Mountain landscapes dominated most of the canvases, interspersed with a few paintings of horses. He hovered as she browsed, enraptured as her teeth worried her plump, lower lip.

She’d been doing so much better these past few weeks. Guilt gnawed at his heart when he remembered how he’d shouted at her on the mountain, the quivering of her chin and the tears that followed.

But he’d asked her to leave it in the past—he needed to do the same. Grief was finally releasing her from its barbed hold, and as much as he hated to admit it, Lash’s antics were helping.

She held up a small canvas depicting a large, leafy tree silhouetted by the setting sun. “Would Soraya like this?” He considered it a moment before flipping through the other canvases.

“What about this one?” he suggested, pointing to a colorful painting of three potted plants atop a wooden table.

She smiled, humming in agreement. They paid the vendor, a middle-aged woman with thickly braided blond hair.

She pressed the coins over her heart in thanks as they ambled off.

His arm slipped around Layna’s waist again, hungry for the press of her body against his.

“They’ve been struggling,” she said suddenly.

“Hmm?” He glanced down at her, brows furrowed.

“Lash and his sister. Their parents passed years ago. She’s been running the inn and caring for him.” The last part left her lips so begrudgingly, it was as if it pained her to utter the words.

Something twisted in his gut. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Maybe we can help them somehow,” she continued. “If we have some extra gold…” She trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

“You want to help Lasha?”

“I want to help Lash ,” she said hotly, glancing away. “Though I hate her a smidgen less after what he told me.”

Moons, his Layna and her golden heart.

Between what Hamzh had given him in Janta and the two pouches he’d recovered from Sahar’s Taj in Sendouk, he did have plenty of gold to spare.

“We’ll help,” he assured.