Page 123 of The Moon's Fury
His breath caught.
“But I need to tell Almeer first. It wouldn’t be right otherwise.”
“Oh.”
“Yes,oh, you donkey.” She glowered again, but there was no heat behind it this time. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”
Jamil’s mind struggled to process her words. She wanted to go to Zephyria to end things with Almeer. So she could bewith himwithout guilt.
He really was a moonsdamned donkey.
“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing a hand behind his neck. “I’ve never, um—I don’t…”
“It’s all right,” she said softly, giving him the first smile in days. It warmed the chill in his bones. “We can figure out how tobetogether. I’ll tell you how I feel, and you tell me how you feel. We’re a bit old for miscommunication, no?”
“I feel like kissing you.”
She laughed, cheeks coloring. “Okay, maybe don’t tell meeverythingyou feel. At least not until we get to Zephyria.”
His heart felt lighter than it had in months. Years, even.
There was a future waiting for them—a real one. He and Soraya could be together. They’d find Zarian and Layna, and somewhere, they’d carve out a safe place to call home.
Still, a question burned in his mind. He didn’t want to ask it.
But Jamil had never shied away from pain.
“You don’t love him anymore?”
She didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes were apologetic when she said, “Not in the same way. I want him to be happy and safe, but it’s not the passion I felt before.”
“You’d risk your life, cross the continent, just to tell him that?”
She shrugged. “It’s the right thing to do. He was my first love. I don’t want him to spend his days waiting to hear from me, wondering if I’m dead. He deserves the chance to move on.” She gave him a wry smile. “I feel guilty that I have to risk your life, too.”
My life is yours to risk, he wanted to say, but she wanted him to hold onto those thoughts for now.
He’d tell her in two weeks.
50
Laynatriedandfailedto keep her jaw shut as they rode into Tarakshan.
She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that, centuries ago, the entire kingdom wascarvedinto the Mountains. Men of the city watch—broad-shouldered, hardy warriors—flanked the path, some nearly matching Zarian’s formidable size.
“Where is the palace from here?” she asked, walking beside Zarian along the worn, dirt path. On one side, there was a thick, wooden fence that blocked the cliff edge. Shops and homes lined the other side, etched seamlessly into the mountain. Doors were fitted perfectly into place, even windows. The air smelled of pine, and the Tarakshani people were calm, peaceful compared to some of the other kingdoms where an undercurrent of urgency flowed like a rushing river.
“Two mountains over, if I’m remembering correctly.”
Zarian rarely misremembered.
They ambled along, side by side, Zarian leading Najoom. She noticed, not for the first time, that the mighty stallion had lost afair amount of weight. The outlines of his ribs were visible along his flank, his once-glossy coat dimmed to a faded black.
Zarian must have noticed her concern. “He’s been through worse. A week of rest and a few large meals, and he’ll be eager to be on our way.” He rubbed a hand over Najoom’s mane, and the horse snorted in approval.
“I can’t wait to see the view up close at night,” she said, glancing at the adjacent mountain, the two peaks connected by a sturdy, wooden bridge.
Zarian’s lips curled into an apologetic smile. “Women remain indoors at night in Tarakshan.”
