Page 176 of The Moon's Fury
“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. “AndI’lldive and face a shark to catchsamaklafor 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. Nosamakla, 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.”
73
Thismighthavebeenher best birthday yet. They spent a languid morning in bed, and when they finally had their fill of each other, Zarian prepared a delicious breakfast of eggs, salted plantains, and taro pancakes served with honey.
A walk along the beach came next, and Zarian insisted on adding to her seashell collection. He had asked if she wanted to invite Marwon and Kylah for dinner, but she declined—she’d much rather bask in his presence alone.
Now, it was early afternoon, and they were in their front yard. The clouds had graced her today, blotting the sun, and a cool, fresh breeze blew through her hair. She sat with her back against a palm tree, reading a new book Zarian had purchased for her in town, a fantastical story about creatures that were part human and part fish.
Zarian lay on the ground beside her, his head in her lap. She had been reading to him, but he dozed off at some point. It was rare for him to nap during the day—he must have risen very early, even for him, to catch that moonsdamned fish.
Her fingers curled in his soft, inky black hair. She loved watching him sleep, though she didn’t get to do it nearly enough. How this man functioned on such little rest, she’d never understand.
She set the book aside and admired his face—his brow was smooth, free from all worries. She gently traced his sharp cheekbone, his stubbled jawline, the strong column of his throat.
How was it possible to love another being this much?
It was as if her heart had decided it no longer catered to her whims—instead, it sought only Zarian’s happiness, his smiles and contentment.
He loved life on the island, and for him, she’d grown accustomed to it. It amazed her how much he loved the water, despite the traumatic way he’d learned to swim.
The first time Zarian had dove beneath the open, roiling waves, Layna had no peace. She paced and wrung her hands, biting her nails until they’d bled. Eight minutes had felt like eight years, and when he’d finally surfaced, she’d inhaled so deeply, it felt likeshehad been the one holding her breath.
Then, a few weeks ago, Zarian had walked into the washroom and found her close to tears. Her wavy hair was a matted nest of tangled knots, rife with wayward sand and brittle from seawater.
Wordlessly, he had washed her hair, scrubbing out every grain of sand with gentle fingers, and painstakingly untangled the knots. The next day, he’d gone into town and returned with an earthy oil the island women used to protect their hair from saltwater. He oiled and braided her hair every week, with more care than even Tinga had shown.
Zarian loved this little island—hisrealhome—but was ready to leave it and follow her wherever she wished. Not even her father had loved her mother so deeply. If Layna tried to list all the ways he cared for her, protected her,lovedher, she would run out of life before reasons.
She gazed at his peaceful, sleeping face in her lap, his long eyelashes casting shadows against his cheeks. Layna combed her fingers through his hair, raking them gently against his scalp.
“Zarian,” she murmured.
No response.
