Page 175 of The Moon's Fury
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 hersilpharoontea, or at least set everything out if he was planning to be gone in the morning—sometimes he helped Marwon minesihrrockor 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 groundsihrrock, 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 asihrrockstick—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.
Thesamaklawas 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 depthsat nighton four different occasions in search ofsamaklafor her.
Each time, he had come up empty-handed.
The fourth time was two weeks ago, but instead ofsamakla, 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.
Itwasher 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.
