Page 80 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

D awn was hours away, and she had woken to a cold, empty bed. Layna descended the steps, sleep still holding her captive in its tempting clutches.

Her gaze scanned the first level of the villa and found no trace of him.

The house had transformed from an empty structure to a warm, lived-in home.

Decorative wooden panels stood guard behind the sofa—the swirled carvings made beautiful shadow patterns on the woven palm mat during the day.

Colorful seashells neatly lined the windowsills, some from the market and others plucked from the beach.

Her gaze fell to the kitchen, where her ocean-blue mug rested beside Zarian’s white one.

It was the smallest of details that made a home.

A month had passed quickly, then another, and Layna found herself thinking of the Isle of Ashra as home.

But it wasn’t the Isle, really.

Zarian could have chosen any corner of the realm, any distant, forsaken land, and she’d feel the same—because he was her home.

She checked the back courtyard next. Opposite the garden, Zarian had strung up a large burlap bag filled with sand—he was on his third one. He spent at least thirty minutes pummeling it every day as if it were solely responsible for every pain he’d ever endured.

A small smile tugged at her lips. He was happy on the island, at peace and content. He hadn’t had a single nightmare since their rickety boat had landed on Ashra’s shores.

But the Medjai’s claws were still deeply embedded within him.

Zarian still trained every day, until he’d released all his pent-up aggression.

She’d spar with him sometimes, but their matches would always end with her on her back.

Though sometimes, when Zarian was feeling particularly benevolent, she’d come out on top.

One day, he had coaxed her into accompanying him on a run—but didn’t tell her he usually ran the circumference of the entire island. She could still remember the smirk on his face as he offered to carry her the rest of the way. She had taken him up on it.

He even still meditated every morning.

Which is why Layna was surprised when she didn’t find him sitting cross-legged near his punching bag.

Her gaze slid over the rest of the courtyard. There were chairs and a small table in the center; they often ate dinner outside when the hot sun disappeared beneath the horizon.

And the garden was doing well—Kylah had shown her how to care for the flowers and root vegetables and herbs. Layna was proud that she’d only managed to kill one plant—a poor hibiscus bush.

As it always did, her heart ached painfully when she gazed at the tall, leafy stems. They’d been on the island for nearly two months, yet Jamil and Soraya still had not found their way here.

She and Zarian had discussed it at length, and in the end, they’d agreed to wait another month before heading back to the continent, lest they miss each other.

She shut the door behind her, meandering over to the kitchen.

Zarian usually made her silpharoon tea, or at least set everything out if he was planning to be gone in the morning—sometimes he helped Marwon mine sihrrock or other islanders with various tasks.

Everyone was always grateful to have him along, whether it was for hunting or chopping down trees, and he often returned with trinkets or other small gifts.

But the stove was empty.

Where was he?

Frowning, she reached above the counter and brushed her fingers across a raised ledge that ran the length behind it.

Slowly, it began to glow. The light became brighter with each passing second, until the entire kitchen was illuminated.

Marwon had painted the top of the ledge with a mixture of ground sihrrock , salt, and coconut vinegar.

She didn’t comprehend the workings, but it produced a bright, white light when touched.

It would slowly dim, then fade in about thirty minutes if she didn’t touch it again.

Which was more than enough time to make her tea.

Layna sat on the sofa and finished the last sip of the bitter liquid. Every few minutes, her gaze would return to the front door. Her heart fluttered anxiously, and she racked her brain, trying to remember if Zarian had mentioned something about heading out so early.

Dawn’s gentle rays still had not breached the horizon.

She didn’t have to wait much longer, though, because the door opened, and Zarian walked in.

He was bare-chested, wearing only swimming trunks, his damp hair dripping onto the ground.

He clutched something large, wrapped in banana leaves.

It was bigger than the length of her arm, from fingertips to elbow.

In his other hand, there was a sihrrock stick—Marwon’s recent invention—a thick glass cylinder filled with water and moons knew what else that glowed brightly when shaken.

He froze when his gaze landed on her in the dark, eyes widening in surprise.

“You’re awake,” he noted, looking very much like a thief in the night.

Her narrowed gaze darted from the leaf-wrapped object to his face. “You didn’t. Zarian, we talked about this!” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off, “We did not escape the Medjai and cross the entire continent for you to be eaten by a fucking shark!”

A sheepish smile curled his lips.

It stoked her anger.

The samakla was a delicacy Zarian had eaten only once before, and he was eager for her to try it, swearing she’d never taste anything better in her life.

The only issue was the elusive fish only left its home, wherever it lived in the ocean, in the middle of the night.

Zarian had dived into the pitch-black sea, willingly sank into its vast, unknown depths at night on four different occasions in search of samakla for her.

Each time, he had come up empty-handed.

The fourth time was two weeks ago, but instead of samakla , Zarian had encountered something bigger.

At the beginning of his eight-minute dive, the shark had snuck up behind him and bit into his thigh.

By some miracle, it had been a juvenile, and Zarian had whirled and stabbed his knife into its eye at the first prick of teeth.

He had patched himself up and limped back to the villa, but still, he’d lost a fair amount of blood.

Layna felt the absence of her powers keenly that day.

She had made him swear to never dive at night again, delicacy be damned.

So now, simmering anger coursed through her as her eyes fixed on his dripping hair and apologetic face. She took a deep breath, slowing her heart and cooling her rage.

“Zarian, you swore to me.”

“I know,” he said placatingly, heading to the cold box and placing the fish inside. “Let me rinse off first, and we’ll talk.”

He was back within ten minutes, and she scooted to make room for him on the sofa. Her anger had cooled further in his absence, and when he pulled her into his lap, she let him.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, running his hands along her sides. “I wanted today to be special.”

“Why?” she asked, brows furrowed.

Zarian cocked his head. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it? The fifteenth of Shita-al-Wahid? Unless Soraya was tricking me,” he mused. “Which is entirely possible.”

Realization dawned on her.

It was her birthday, and she had completely forgotten. In all the urgency of fleeing the continent and acclimating to life on the island, she barely knew what day it was.

“You’re right,” she breathed, his thoughtfulness melting her heart.

“I wanted your first birthday on the island to be perfect. I didn’t expect you’d wake so early, let alone make your own tea.

” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I had other, far more pleasurable plans on waking you.” His fingers crept up her ribs, tickling lightly, and she squirmed in his grasp.

“When is your birthday?” With the eclipse, her resulting memory loss, coronation, Nizam’s visit, and the race across the continent, she’d never thought to ask him.

His hands stilled, then dropped to her thighs.

“I don’t know,” he said softly, a darkness shadowing his eyes.

“Medjai weren’t allowed to celebrate something so frivolous.

” His eyes broke away, a memory pulling him back.

He swallowed. “My father … he used to bring me small cakes on what I assume was my birthday, always out of sight from others. I remember sharing them with … Z-Zaarif. We’d break them in half and take small bites so they’d last longer. ”

She raked her fingers through his still-damp hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Is it a happy memory?”

“I loved it as a child,” he admitted. “But now, I realize he only brought the cakes for me. I can’t recall a time he brought anything for my brother.” His jaw clenched then, and he swallowed.

Moons, his poor brother.

The Daughter had ended his life, but Zarian’s father killed him long before then.

Layna pulled him into an embrace, and he rested his face against her chest, breathing her in deeply. “Let’s pick a birthday for you. Next month,” she whispered into his hair. “And I’ll dive and face a shark to catch samakla for you.”

He burst out laughing, a deep, rumbling sound, and it brought a smile to her face. “Maybe in another six months,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the dip between her collarbones.

In the past two months, Zarian had taught her to swim in a secluded lagoon on the other side of the small island.

The water was only waist-high, and she learned fairly quickly without fear of drowning.

She was nowhere near as skilled as Zarian, let alone the islanders, but she enjoyed the water more and feared it less.

“Fine. No samakla , then. I’ll think of something else. But we’ll celebrate next month, in Shita-al-Ithnan.”

“As you wish, my love,” he agreed. His voice grew deeper. “Now get back into bed. I’ll be up in a few minutes, and we’ll start your birthday properly.”