Page 28 of The Moon's Fury
“Baba,” Burhani cried, tears streaming down her face. “Are you all right? Open your eyes!”
Layna watched, frozen, as Hadiyah checked his neck for a pulse.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’tthink.
What had she done?
After a long, drawn-out moment, Hadiyah’s shoulders sagged with relief.
Ebrahim groaned, twisting his head from side to side. The front of his tunic was singed, black soot bursting outwards from the central shot, but luckily, he appeared otherwise unharmed.
He slowly opened his eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” Layna rasped. “I don’t—I didn’t mean—” She took a step forward and—
“Stay back,” Burhani spat, pinning her with a burning glare, so heated that Layna half expected to incinerate.
“I—”
“Don’t come any closer!” Burhani shouted. She positioned herself in front of Ebrahim and Hadiyah.
Layna glanced at every face and saw only fear.
She turned and fled.
13
Theclangofsteelagainst steel resonated through the thick air. Zarian let out his third sigh in as many minutes, shielding his eyes from the unforgiving midday sun. The heat pressed down on him like a punishment, the sandy earth scorching beneath his boots.
Shade was a luxury at the Alzahran-Zephyrian border.
It had been a week since he’d arrived, and he had yet to witness a hint of the “unrest” Hadiyah had mentioned. A ruse, he now realized—an excuse to convince him to leave Layna. His hands flexed into tight fists, the desire to pummel something raging through him.
Hecouldreturn to Alzahra sooner.
But that would mean facing her—and the memory of their fight still scraped at his conscience. The time apart had cooled his anger.
Layna was in an impossible situation. Alzahra was emerging from the chaos of war, and she was still learning to wear her new, heavier crown. She had a kingdom to manage while dissenting factions sowed unrest.
Not to mention the return of her powers.
Maybe he’d been wrong to push her. Wrong to demand a choice from someone already buried in responsibilities and uncertainty.
He crossed his arms, redirecting his attention to the sweaty, armored men sparring in the center of the practice circle. The soldiers were strong, disciplined, and respectful. He’d trained with them and introduced new maneuvers, but he wasn’t needed here.
Not like Hadiyah had claimed.
“That’s enough,” he called, wiping sweat from his brow. The men immediately halted, swords falling to their sides. “We’ll resume in two hours.”
His boots sank into the sunbaked sand as he made his way through the camp. Tents in faded shades of burgundy and tan fluttered in the hot, dry wind, and the scent of roasted meat, sweat, and oiled leather clung to the air, mingling with smoke from cookfires scattered throughout the encampment.
The men saluted as he walked past, some sharpening swords, others tending to the horses and camels. He nodded at each of them, his cloak swirling behind him until he reached his tent, its worn, beige fabric blending with the desert.
Lifting the flap, he entered.
He froze.Shit.
Kharteen was sprawled out on his cot.
