Page 33 of The Moon's Fury
“Tomorrow, I want you down at breakfast, all right? I cannot continue eating my pastries by myself. I will not stand for this moping any longer!” Her brows were drawn together in mock anger.
Layna laughed and playfully swatted her arm. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Thank you, Soraya. I don’t know what I did to be blessed with such a sister.”
“Everything,” Soraya said softly. “You did everything. Try to get some sleep. Don’t spend all night poring over those scrolls.”
The carriage rolled to a stop as it approached Alzahra’s main checkpoint. Zarian peered out of the window, assessing the line. Torches lit the towering walls, casting shadows across the sand. The carriage slowly ambled closer to the portcullis.
Once they drew closer, Zarian stepped down from the carriage. “I’ll walk back to the palace,” he said to the driver. “I could use the fresh air.” He adjusted his baldric, strapped with daggers and throwing stars—he had worn it for the journey back in case they encountered bandits, but it had been strangely quiet.
“Good evening, Prince Zarian!” greeted the checkpoint guard with a wide, friendly smile. “How was your time at the border?”
“Evening, Khurwen. It was … eventful. How were things while I was away? Any issues?”
“It’s been ordinary,” Khurwen responded. He lowered his voice and added, “You seem to have scared the Children of the Pure. I’ve heard nothing of them since that day with the mob.”
“Good.” A beat. “And … how is Queen Layna?”
Khurwen frowned. “Fine, I think? I’ve been stationed at the checkpoint most of the week, though.”
“Good work. Stay sharp.” He rapped his knuckles against Khurwen’s shoulder.
The guard dipped his chin and bowed as Zarian walked into the city. As he made his way through the quiet city outskirts, alone in the night, he could admit to himself that he didn’t actually want to enjoy the fresh air.
He was a coward.
How could he face Layna after his abrupt, angry departure? He’d left her alone while her powers were spiraling, her citizens revolting.
Shame raked sharp talons down his back, and he tensed with trepidation. Would she even want to see him?
Had he driven her to accept Nizam’s proposal?
The serene, dusty outskirts gave way to cobblestone streets and markets that bustled with shopkeepers wrapping up for the night, closing out straggling customers.
He had passed a fruit vendor still enthusiastically shouting out his wares to a mostly empty street when rough hands yanked him into an alley. Within seconds, Zarian unsheathed a dagger from his baldric, poised to attack, when he felt two taps and a pinch on his neck. The fight left his body at the familiar code, and he let the cloaked figure press him into the wall.
“What in the moons, Jamil?” he grumbled, pushing lightly at his friend. But as he focused on Jamil’s pale face, the urgency in his tight grip, the sarcastic quip died on his lips. “What happened?”
“The elders. Theyknow.”
Zarian’s blood turned to ice in his veins.
“Layna’s powers. They’re back, yes?” Jamil said, his voice laced with urgency.
He could scarcely nod, panic gripping his heart in a vise.
“I had just returned from a mission when I overheard the order. Zarian, you need to get her outnow.”
“My father gave the order?” Zarian’s mind spun at the implications.
“No. I didn’t see him. It was the head elder. Zanjeel.” Jamil tugged at Zarian’s cloak. “He’s sending twenty men, maybe more. I left as soon as I heard, but they must be close behind me. You need togo, Zarian.Now.”
“Fuck.”
His breath escaped him in pants as his mind raced against time, trying to come up with some plan, something with better odds than what they faced.
But there was none.
As if reading his thoughts, Jamil said, “There are too many men, even for us together. And they’d only send more. She’s not safe here.”
