Page 70 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

T he air in the narrow corridor was thick and musty, clinging to her skin like damp cloth.

It wasn’t the same passage that had led them into the hidden depths of the Grand Libraries, but it reeked of the same secrets.

Her torn tunic fluttered, wrist still pulsing with pain—a dull, persistent throb that marked the toll of the past three hours.

They slipped into the night like wraiths, silent and swift, putting as much ground between themselves and the Grand Libraries as they could. She’d watched in awe as Zarian wrapped his injured arm, stemming the bleeding while darting through alleys.

They reached the inn and crept into the stables. Zarian had the foresight to saddle Najoom with their belongings before leaving earlier that night. Zarian gently grasped her arm, inspecting her wrist. Sharp pain jolted through her, and she struggled to muffle her pained cry.

Zarian sucked in a breath through his teeth, a muscle feathering in his jaw.

Retrieving liniments from his pack, he quickly wrapped her wrist. “This should give it some support. I’ll splint it properly when we’re out of Thessan.

Keep it close to your body.” He pulled the cloth tightly, and she winced. “We’re a few weeks from Baysaht—”

“Baysaht?”

“There’s another library there. We can find more—”

“No,” she said immediately, shaking her head. “ No . I don’t want to go to another library.”

“We need to. To get your powers back.” He studied her face. “So you can reclaim Alzahra,” he said slowly.

Layna looked at his bright, hazel eyes and remembered the fear and rage that had filled them less than an hour ago.

She remembered his anguish and desperation.

She remembered what he’d been prepared to do to protect her.

She remembered him begging .

Layna shook her head again. “Fuck Alzahra. I don’t care if the moon and sun never shine their light on it again. Let the sands swallow the palace whole. They don’t want me. There’s nothing left for me there.”

He grasped her chin, tilting her face up. “We don’t have to decide now. We can—”

“I’ve already decided. The Medjai will be waiting for us at every library on this fucking continent. And I can’t risk losing you. Not like this. Not again.” His mouth set into a grim line, but he remained silent.

In a way, they were lucky it had been Ruslayn. A smarter Medjai, a less vengeful one, would have slit Layna’s throat and been done with it.

“I’m tired of running, Zarian. I’m tired of fighting.”

“Where do you want to go, love?” His thumb brushed her cheek in a tender, concerned caress.

“Somewhere safe. Where we don’t have to hide anymore.”

His gaze searched her face.

And when he found whatever answer he needed, he nodded.

“I know where we can go.”

Najoom’s every stride jostled her aching wrist. Layna clutched it close to her chest as he trotted through Thessan’s cobblestone streets. Zarian kept a steady pace, the weight of his arms comforting against her hips. His eyes flicked from shadow to shadow, never lingering, always searching.

He froze, bringing Najoom to a halt.

There was a group of orphans—or at least, she assumed they were orphans since they were out on the streets alone in the middle of the night. Zarian dismounted and crossed the road.

They eyed him warily, some of them taking a few steps back. Most had no shoes.

The leader of the group, a boy of about ten, crossed his arms and spoke to Zarian, though she couldn’t make out what he said. Zarian handed him a small pouch, gesturing to the rest of the group, at their bare feet. The boy accepted the coins, looking decidedly less wary. He gave Zarian a salute.

Zarian returned, remounting Najoom.

They left Thessan behind.

After about an hour of furious riding and Layna feeling like her wrist had fallen off, Zarian stopped Najoom by a large outcropping of boulders.

Steady hands helped her dismount, guiding her to sit against a rock. He unwrapped her wrist, examining it in the moonlight. It was swollen, her skin mottled with shades of red and purple. He pressed on it gently, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

“Sorry,” he murmured, even as his eyes blazed with anger.

Pain throbbed through her, a sharp whisper of hurt.

Zarian, shadow and light, sat across her, splinting her wrist. His rage blanketed them, his expression thunderous, a muscle in his cheek still pulsing with untamed fury—yet his hands on her were as gentle as a soft desert breeze.

He uncorked a dark vial and drizzled minty liquid onto his palm, rubbing his hands together before massaging it into her wrist. The pressure hurt, but the pungent liquid seeped into her skin with a cooling numbness.

He aligned a thin piece of wood with her arm before wrapping it tightly with thick gauze.

A deep cut marred his cheek, purpling bruises dotted his jaw, but it was the storm in his eyes, fierce and protective, that captured her breath.

She reached out, her movements slow, tentative, attempting to soothe the maelstrom within him.

Zarian paused, his stormy gaze locking with hers.

His jaw unclenched ever so slightly, the angry muscle in his cheek stilling under her touch.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. Now that they were out of immediate danger, a whisper of shame breathed hot against her ears.

His brows furrowed. “For what?”

“Back at the library. The things I said. What I did—”

“What you did,” he interrupted, “was save our lives.”

Layna struggled to put her convoluted feelings into words.

The heady rush of battle had left her, shame and sorrow and regret and relief fighting to take its place.

“It must have been devastating for you. I wish there had been another way. I feel so—ashamed? That you had to see it.” Would he remember that moment, her kissing Ruslayn, every time he kissed her?

“I can still hear the pain in your voice. When I—” Her voice cracked, eyes filling with tears.

Zarian was quiet for several heartbeats, his fingers skimming a gentle path from the inside of her elbow to the center of her palm and back.

“What would you say to Soraya if she were in your place? If she did what you did to save her life while Almeer watched. If she felt as you do now. What would you tell her?”

She closed her eyes, picturing her sister in her mind, her bright, brown eyes and short, curly hair.

Soraya, who could conquer any challenge with a smile.

“I’d tell her she’s incredible. She thought quickly and saved both their lives.

That, sometimes, women need to fight in different ways than men, but that doesn’t make them any less.

Almeer should count himself lucky that such a strong, formidable woman chose him.

And if he felt differently, I’d throw him off the tallest wall I could find. ”

When she opened her eyes, Zarian was smiling at her.

“Talk to yourself that way, my love. You are incredible.” He cupped her face, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I knew what you were doing. I overplayed my reactions because I knew it’d distract him.

I don’t think any less of you. And I love you even more than I did this morning, if such a thing is possible.

You saved us, Layna. Not the Daughter. You are a fucking force of nature, and somehow, I have tricked you into loving me back. Sorry about that.”

He bumped his nose against hers until a watery laugh escaped her. She wasn’t sure when she had started crying, but he kissed her tears away as if they had never been.