Page 51 of The Moon's Fury
And there was still no fucking fire.
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Wherethestonesandtwigs had been, there now was ash and singed grass.
“No,” she whispered in disbelief. “No, no, no.”
She looked back at Zarian.
He was deathly still. His head had fallen forward against his chest.
She ran, kneeling beside him, shaking his prone body.
“Zarian! Zarian, wake up.”
He started with a wet, gurgled gasp, dim hazel eyes meeting hers.
“I couldn’t start a fire, Zarian,” she sobbed. “Please, tell me what to do.” He took another shuddering, gasping breath, and Najoom neighed softly in distress.
“Heal … me,” he forced out. “With your … light.”
“What? No, no, I can’t,” she stammered. “My light doesn’t heal. It only destroys. Look,” she said, gesturing to the black soot nearby. “Look what it did. I’ll burn you alive.”
“Youcan. Try. I know … you can.” He spoke so softly that she struggled to hear him. “Pull out … arrows first. You won’t … havemuch time … after that.” He pulled in another shaky breath. He grabbed her hand. “But … if it doesn’t … work … take Najoom—”
“No, Zarian, no,” she sobbed, her tears falling anew.
“Ride west until … Sendouk.” A shuddering, labored breath. “Find Jamil. Jewelry district. A shop … Sahar’s Taj.”
Another ragged inhale.
“Go to Baysaht—”
“No!” Layna was wailing now. “No, no, no! Don’t say it!”
She couldn’t bear to hear anymore, the sound of his weakened, dying voice thinking of her, even now. Grabbing hold of the broken shaft in his side, she gently tugged, praying to the sun, the moon,anythingthat would hear her cries, that it would come out cleanly.
She pulled harder, and it slid out half an inch. Another tug. It didn’t budge. She tried again, and still, it didn’t move. The tip must be barbed. Zarian watched her with dim, hooded eyes.
“Do it.”
She yanked, and the arrow tore free from his flesh, a torrent of blood gushing forth. Layna had braced herself for his cry of pain, but only a quiet gasp escaped him.
Somehow, that gutted her more.
She made quick work of the arrow in his shoulder.
The blood flowed freely from his gaping wounds, and she struggled to swallow the bile climbing up her throat. She closed her eyes and focused on the humming beneath her skin.
It was pulsing.
Writhing.
It wasangry.
She called to it, willed it to obey. It fought against her, buzzing louder in her ears, but she pushed down. The humming dimmed, and she could feel the power riding through her bloodstream, matching the rhythm of her heart.
She pictured her veins and arteries, a tangled web of power inside her, and willed the light to flow into her hands. She opened her eyes.
