Page 75 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

T he sun blazed overhead as they walked through the sandy beach and the small, adjacent town.

The scent of spiced meat wafted through the air, along with an unfamiliar but not unpleasant aroma—a rich, buttery smell that hinted of ocean and smoky sweetness.

When she asked Zarian about it, he told her it was fish.

Palm trees lined the market, their fronds swaying over colorful woven canopies and wooden stalls brimming with fruits she’d never seen before. The sun beat down on her head, the air heavy and humid, and soon, her skin glistened with a thin layer of perspiration.

Zarian was relaxed, though. For once, it seemed like he was scanning the shops and faces with leisure, not searching for hidden threats.

Islanders with deep, tanned skin watched them with curious eyes.

Many of the men were shirtless, their sun-kissed skin glowing beneath the bright, midday sun, arms stacked with dark, intricate tattoos.

Some of the islanders recognized Zarian, ambling up to greet them in the same strange, lilting language.

The market’s shops were carved from driftwood and woven with palm fronds. They passed a small apothecary, several fishmongers’ stalls, and shops selling woven clothing.

As they walked, her shoes quickly became filled with sand, and she realized why most of the locals wore sandals.

“What language do they speak here?” she asked, her hand resting on his bicep as they passed the last shop. “And how do you know it?”

“It’s called jazirluga ,” he said, adjusting the bags on his shoulder. “And I know it because I learned it.” He gave her a teasing grin.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re being awfully secretive.”

His grin widened. “I’ve been here several times. My longest stay was about six months—enough time to learn the language.”

“And where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

He didn’t offer up any more information, and she was content to absorb their surroundings.

The winding path cut through the center of the island, the sunbaked ground hot beneath her sandy shoes.

Houses with thatched roofs dotted the way, some with open-air verandas and cloth canopies that swayed gently in the breeze.

There was a loud squeal, and a tiny creature scampered past them, hooves kicking up clouds of sandy earth. It shocked a gasp out of her.

“A piglet,” Zarian chuckled. “Ashra’s resident menaces.”

As they walked, she drank in the new sights with eagerness, the drying fishing nets and clay ovens built into the sides of homes.

But the sight that captured her breath was Zarian.

She had never seen him so at ease. The corners of his mouth were perpetually upturned.

A few times, people recognized him and bounded off their verandas to exchange pleasantries.

Zarian always introduced her, but she wasn’t sure what he was saying.

Whatever it was, the islanders smiled brightly at her, nodding in greeting.

Some of the older women pulled her into an embrace, patting her face with maternal tenderness.

Something tight and sharp pulled at her heart.

Eventually, the sandy road branched off into a wide fork, paths leading both to the left and right.

The beach was directly ahead of them, gentle, rolling waves lapping at the sandy shore.

Zarian led them down the right trail, their walk framed by tall palm trees on one side, the sandy horizon on the other.

They soon reached a house—more of a villa—with a flat roof and large windows.

Its walls were smooth, and the roof extended slightly past the structure, shading the front door from the afternoon sun.

They walked up, passing a small firepit nestled in a basin of black rock, cradled by two driftwood chairs.

Zarian rapped on the door.

Layna held her breath.

A few minutes later, the door swung open, revealing a lean man with richly tanned skin and dark hair that curled around his ears. He was talking to someone in the house, not focused on them. He turned, and when his gaze landed on Zarian, his eyes widened.

Zarian grinned. “ Saldeh , Marwon. I’m back.”

The man stared at him for a moment longer, his gaze flicking to her. Then he bounded forward and pulled Zarian in a tight embrace. When he pulled back, his eyes were glistening.

She wasn’t sure what he said, but it sounded hopeful. Zarian nodded. Marwon hugged him again, longer this time.

When he let go, Zarian introduced her.

“ O Layna keiya. O iyan kou mea dil o ke ola .”

The man smiled in greeting, hand pressed over his heart. He clapped Zarian on the shoulder and said, in broken common tongue, “Your man. Very good.”

Zarian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“He is,” she said simply, eyes fixed on her man’s handsome face. The swell of warmth in her chest rivaled the midday sun on her back.

Marwon and Zarian spoke a bit more before Marwon disappeared inside the house, returning a short while later. He pressed a set of keys into Zarian’s hands, along with two wicker baskets filled with clothing, food items and bottles of water.

She strained to discern words as they talked, but Marwon spoke quickly, and the sounds flowed like ocean waves, one into the next. It seemed like he was asking a question, and Zarian nodded in response.

Marwon waved as they set back down the path.

“I think Marwon loves you more than I do,” she teased, looping her arm through his as they walked.

“He’s a good man,” Zarian chuckled. He nodded to her arm. “How is your wrist?”

It still ached from time to time, but she didn’t tell him that.

“It’s fine. I wasn’t the one that rowed us here.”

He narrowed his eyes, knowing, always knowing.

“What are those keys for?” she asked. She didn’t want to think about her wrist and why it ached.

“Home. Marwon’s been maintaining it for me while I was away.”

“Does he owe you a favor, too?” she asked, incredulous. Zarian only smiled. “Have you just gallivanted around the continent collecting favors all these years?”

That coaxed a laugh from him, bright and full and happy . “Technically, we’re not on the continent. But yes, something like that.”

When they reached the fork in the path, Zarian continued straight onward down the left trail.

Soon, another villa rose up before them, identical to Marwon’s.

There was a large yard in the front, with a small grove of palm trees on one side, a firepit on the other, a single driftwood chair beside it.

The path in the middle was lined with round stones, beckoning them home.

Home.

Zarian stopped in front of the villa, and for a moment, just stared, as if he couldn’t believe it was still standing.

Then, he opened the door.

Sunlight poured through large windows draped in sheer white curtains.

The open floor plan felt light and breezy.

To the left stood a modest kitchen; to the right, simple dining and sitting areas.

A glass door, set into the back wall, offered a view of a small courtyard.

The floor was cool beneath her feet, and a woven palm mat stretched neatly across the center of the room.

“Do—do you like it?” Zarian asked.

For the first time, in all the time she had known him, he looked nervous. He rubbed the back of his neck, quickly adding, “If you don’t, that’s fine. We can find another place to live. Farther north, if you like. Or somewhere back on the continent when things settle down.”

She brushed a kiss against his stubbled jaw before resting her head on his chest. “It’s perfect,” she murmured, and his body relaxed against her.

“Come, I’ll show you the rest.” He led her out back.

The right side of the courtyard was bare.

On the left side, however, it appeared Marwon had maintained an entire garden.

Bright greenery was nestled within the courtyard, blocked off from the island with slatted wooden boards.

Her gaze landed on three silpharoon plants close to the villa.

She glared at him, but Zarian raised his hands and said, “I didn’t ask him to plant those. ”

With a huff, she turned back to the garden. There were bushes with flowers she didn’t recognize, various types of herbs and the leafy stalks of what looked like root vegetables.

It was an impressive garden, but she knew someone else who would appreciate it more, someone who would have darted off the veranda and knelt between the plants, dirt-smudged journal in hand.

Her heart ached.

As if sensing her distress, Zarian rubbed her back and kissed the crown of her head, pulling her into his arms until the pain in her chest receded, soothed by his comforting scent.

They headed inside, and he showed her the kitchen next.

There was a large island separating it from the living area.

The gray countertop was some sort of glossy, smooth rock.

There was a sink against the left wall, and Layna was surprised there was plumbing, though on closer inspection, she saw there were no handles.

Zarian gave her a knowing smile before gently tapping the left side of the faucet. Her jaw dropped as water immediately gushed forth. He tapped it again, and it stopped.

“What—”

But he tugged her hand—apparently, he had other surprises.

There was a tall cabinet along the wall where the kitchen began.

He pulled it open with more force than she thought necessary, and when he did, a sudden gust of refreshing, cold air blew across her face, stealing her breath.

Inside the cabinet were empty shelves, and he opened a drawer to reveal … cubes of frosted crystal?

“Ice,” Zarian explained.

She looked at him in confusion, brows furrowed, her mind not comprehending the cold air on her face, cooler than even the brisk mountain breeze at night.

Zarian grinned, clearly pleased with her reaction.

“Marwon was a builder in Valtisaan.”