Page 62 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

T he wind cracked through the trees, and branches splintered beneath the horses’ hooves. Jamil’s hand was warm in hers as they tore through the woods.

A torn strip of her tunic served as a makeshift bandage, hastily wrapped around his side. The wound must have burned, but he barely flinched, moving with an almost unnerving steadiness.

Kharteen kept glancing at her, sharp and fleeting, and her skin prickled with awareness. The large man cleared his throat.

“Jamil, we should—”

“Later.” Jamil’s footsteps didn’t falter. “Keep moving.”

They made it to their campsite and packed in record time. Kharteen’s large white horse was tied to a thick tree trunk, right next to Ahmar. They mounted their steeds and disappeared into the clear, dark night.

Soraya tightened her grip around Jamil’s waist, resting her head on his shoulder, bracing against the brisk wind. It was freeing, to let herself be so close to him without even a sliver of guilt.

Her heart twisted at Almeer’s family’s betrayal. They would have never accepted her, accepted them .

She waited for the ache, for grief to coil around her heart—but it never did.

There was only relief.

Only hope.

She melted against Jamil’s warmth, smiling as he brought her hand to his lips, as if sealing a promise.

After hours on horseback, Jamil finally deemed it safe to stop for the night. As soon as they dismounted, Kharteen swiftly built a fire, its glow flickering against the dark. They settled around it, the warmth a welcome relief from the long, cold ride.

“Now,” Jamil said. “Tell us everything.”

Kharteen’s hazel eyes darted to her again, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“The elders have been sowing unrest in Shahbaad,” he said, measuring every word. She furrowed her brow, but Jamil gestured impatiently for him to continue. “They suspected Zarian and Layna would seek refuge there, with her grandfather.”

A shiver of pure dread snaked through her body.

“Is Layna okay?” Her whispered words brimmed with fear.

Kharteen’s pitying gaze only fanned the flames of her apprehension. Jamil’s hand tightened around hers.

“I was assigned to the group sent to track them down, but I already knew—I would never betray Zarian. When we arrived, the others moved in. Your mother and grandfather were with them.”

He dropped his gaze, a muscle working in his jaw.

Barbed tendrils of dread slithered through her veins.

Soraya knew, just knew , he was about to destroy her.

“I’m so sorry, Princess. Your mother was killed,” he said quietly.

Her heart stopped.

Her breath left her in a sudden rush.

No. It couldn’t be.

Kharteen continued. “And your sister—the Daughter overtook her. She killed the Medjai and nearly brought down the palace on our heads.” He lifted his sleeve and showed her the half-healed burns on his arm. “Afterward, she fell into a deep sleep.”

A shrill ringing thundered in her ears.

Kharteen continued speaking, but she didn’t hear him.

“How?” Her voice was hoarse. Kharteen glanced away. “ How ?” she snapped.

“Her throat was slit. It was painless.”

Her throat was slit .

The words reverberated in her mind, banging against her skull until her temples throbbed.

While her heart tripled its beating, her lungs suddenly refused to work, and air became a luxury.

She gasped, desperate for breath, but her body wouldn’t accept it.

Each inhale was shallow, useless, as if she were trying to breathe through quicksand.

A sharp, rising panic coiled around her ribs, tightening a vise around her heart.

Her chest constricted, and the world around her blurred, sound fading into a distant—

Jamil pulled her tightly against him, and the gentle, deep rise and fall of his chest coaxed her body to do the same—to breathe . She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs, and exhaled a sob.

Then, another.

And another.

She shook against him as grief wracked her body.

The price for her selfishness had been steep.

Jamil murmured soothing words in her ear, rubbing her back. Kharteen cleared his throat and excused himself.

She cried, maybe for minutes, maybe for hours. Time lost meaning as she clutched Jamil, his presence a steady anchor in her despair.

“I never should have left her,” she sobbed. “She’s dead. She’s dead, she’s dead, deaddeaddeaddeaddead .”

She must have either dozed off or fainted, because in the next moment, the scent of cooking meat filled her nose. With aching eyes, she spotted the rotating skewer over the fire.

She darted to her feet, ignoring Jamil’s protests, and ran into the forest. Twigs and stones scraped her knees as she fell to the cold ground and retched and retched until her stomach was empty.

Her body didn’t seem to understand there was nothing left inside her, because the violent shudders didn’t stop.

Not until Jamil found her and helped her stand, tenderly wiping bile from her face. Wordlessly, he led her back to the campsite where Kharteen was again absent.

He lifted a skein of water to her lips, but she shoved it aside, her unblinking gaze fixed on the fire. Undeterred, he tried again, pressing it toward her. She pushed it away once more, fingers trembling.

She had left her mother in Shahbaad. And now she was dead.

Jamil remained patient, his quiet persistence unwavering until she finally took a deep swig. Satisfied, he tore off pieces of meat, holding them to her lips until she relented and took a bite.

It tasted like nothing.

“Soraya,” he murmured.

The fire held her attention.

“Soraya,” he repeated, tilting her face toward him. “I’m not good with words. I wish I knew how to ease your pain. But believe me when I say this is not your fault. If you had stayed with your mother, you’d be dead, too. And your sister would have lost you both.”

His green eyes brimmed with concern, with love so raw it split through the cracks in her soul.

Her vision blurred as fresh tears welled, spilling over before she could stop them.

Without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, and she broke apart against his chest, sobbing anew.

“Are you worried for Layna?” he asked when her tears finally subsided. Her head rested in his lap, and he smoothed his large hand over her hair. Kharteen still hadn’t returned to the campsite, and Soraya was grateful for his kindness.

“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes heavy with sleep. “I know she’ll wake. She did before. And Zarian will help her heal. But Layna and her soft heart … I feel like my soul has been torn to shreds. Layna actually saw Mama die. She’s going to need him. She needs me .”

“We’ll find them,” Jamil vowed, tracing his thumb over her cheek.

She closed her eyes and dreamt of her mother.

Jamil sat motionless, eyes fixed on the flickering flames long after Soraya had drifted into sleep. Deliberate footsteps thudded behind him, and he knew the sound was for his benefit.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low, as Kharteen sat across from him, flames casting shadows across his face. His friend only grunted, biting into the meat Jamil had portioned for him.

“What happened after?” Jamil asked quietly, eyes flicking to Soraya’s slumbering form.

“Zarian buried her mother. I brought King Dharaid to a trusted adviser—they’ll flee Shahbaad together. Then, I came to find you. Zarian had suspected you’d be in Zephyria. He’s pissed. You were supposed to meet him in Sendouk?”

His lips quirked. He’d never admit it, but he missed his temperamental brother. “My hands were tied.”

Kharteen shrugged. “Just a warning he’s likely going to kill you when he sees you.”

“He can try,” Jamil chuckled. “How did you find us?”

“You’re shit at covering your tracks.”

He scowled. He’d meticulously erased all evidence of every campsite, even as Soraya rolled her eyes from atop Ahmar, waiting.

Kharteen just happened to be the best tracker he knew.

“Where was Zarian headed?”

“Thessan,” Kharteen responded, mouth full of charred rabbit. “He’ll be long gone by the time you get there, though.”

A deep sigh escaped him. Kharteen was right. Zarian wouldn’t stay anywhere too long, not while the Medjai hunted Layna.

“Thessan it is,” he said. He wasn’t as skilled as Kharteen, but he’d be able to track him and catch up.

If Zarian stayed in any place long enough.

The paranoid asshole.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. Had he said he missed him?

“He protects his love,” Kharteen reasoned, easily reading his face.

Jamil grunted. “What’s next for you?”

“I’m heading north. I can travel with you through the Mountains before I go my own way,” he offered.

He considered his words. Did he want another presence between him and Soraya, now when they were free to explore whatever had taken root between them?

Of course not.

But he’d be a fool to turn down another sword and the formidable warrior who wielded it.

Zarian might actually kill him.

“All right,” he agreed.

They fell into companionable, familiar silence, until his insufferable friend felt the need to break it.

“So…” Kharteen glanced pointedly at Soraya’s slumbering form, then back at him, brows raised in question.

What could he say? That something unspoken tethered them, fragile and precious, but noble Soraya had wanted to bury the ashes of her first love before something new bloomed between them?

And now, any beginning would likely be held captive by the sorrow of her mother’s death.

So he said nothing, staring into the fire, his lips pressed into a straight, hard line.

Kharteen understood his silence well enough, because he said, “I envy you and Zarian.” Amused eyes scanned the tense set of his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw. “And, somehow, I also don’t.”