Page 38 of The Moon's Fury
“You don’t want any?”
“I’m all right. We’ll need it tomorrow in the heat.”
“Are you—” Zarian pressed a lingering kiss to her palm.
“I’m sure.”
The night wore on, and Zarian slowed Najoom to a canter to allow the horse some respite.
Her eyelids grew heavy as sleep found her.
She was bound beneath a bloodred sky, the moon concealing the sun, watching in horror as a dagger plunged into Zarian’s neck. Sorrow and grief tore at her heart, piercing it with sharp claws of despair.
Angry, bright light barreled down, blinding her. Her eyes fell on Zarian’s lifeless body, and something inside her cracked.
The wind carried sounds of war to her ears, of violence approaching her city. She took a running start, closed her eyes, and jumped—
Her stomach lurched as she fell, body plummeting toward the ground. Time seemed to slow, the sands rising to meet her, powerful, black legs thundering, threatening to trample her.
She held her breath, clenching her eyes shut, braced for pain.
But a bruising grip on her arm stopped her fall. Najoom whinnied angrily, stumbling as Layna slammed into his side,Zarian’s tight hold the only thing keeping her from meeting the ground.
“Whoa! Easy, Naj! Easy!” Zarian called, struggling to slow Najoom to a stop with one hand. Layna clawed at his cloak, hands finally finding purchase as she dangled from the horse’s side.
The large, black stallion stopped, furiously pawing the ground, kicking up clouds of sand. Zarian gently lowered her to the ground, then quickly dismounted.
“Are you all right?” he asked, worry etched on his face. He ran his hands over her hair, down across her neck, before spinning her around and checking her back for injuries.
“I’m fine,” Layna rasped, her breath escaping in pants. “I must have dozed off.” Her mind raced, trying to hold onto the fragments of her dream. It had felt so vivid, so real, but now it drifted out of reach.
Zarian traced his thumb across her cheek, worried hazel eyes scanning her face. “Ride in front.” He stepped back, and Layna stroked a hand over Najoom’s mane in apology, but the temperamental stallion snorted and moved away.
“He hates me,” Layna sighed as Zarian hoisted her onto the saddle, then swiftly climbed up behind her.
Zarian only chuckled, a deep rumbling in his chest that vibrated against her back. He kissed the top of her head and urged Najoom onward. Layna leaned back into his chest, letting the rhythmic motions lull her to sleep once more.
“Layna,” he whispered.
No response. Najoom ambled along, his pace slow and relaxed.
“Layna,” he tried again, but she only groaned and tried to burrow further into his neck.
Sweat dripped down his back. The leather of his baldric was meant for covert activities under the light of the moon. Now, in the blistering sun, it was suffocating, but he didn’t dare remove it.
“Layna,” he called, louder this time.
Her body tensed against him, and he knew she was awake. He had draped his cloak over her face so she’d sleep longer even with daylight beating down on them.
She slowly tugged off the cloak and immediately squinted against the glaring sun. With a groan, she buried her face into his neck again. He chuckled, gently stroking her back. Like him, she was sweating, her damp tunic sticking to her skin.
“We’re near an outpost. You’ll have to put theniqabback on,” he said, voice laced with apology. She pulled back, and he watched, mesmerized, as her chocolate brown eyes slowly adjusted to the bright light.
She tied the gauzy, black fabric behind her head, concealing her face once more. “Where are we?” she asked, her voice rough with sleep.
“Near the village of Samdan.” It was a small Alzahran village, well-known for its textiles. As Najoom trotted forward, a small grassy oasis came into view, home to a ramshackle wooden structure.
Bolts of fabric hung from beams nailed to the front of the structure, bright splotches of red and cerulean and gold against the sandy sea. He brought Najoom to a stop at the edge of the oasis.
