Page 54 of The Moon's Fury
“And when you healed me?” he prompted.
“It’s hard to explain. I thought of how much I love you. I tried to stay calm. I’m not exactly sure how it happened.”
Zarian was quiet, mulling over her words. Then, he turned and ran a hand over Najoom’s mane. He gave his loyal stallion some carrots from his pack, before pulling out breakfast for them both.
After they ate, Zarian helped her up. “Ready?”
“No,” she said. “Teach me how to build a fire.”
25
Atwigsnappedbeneathherfeet, and the rabbit she’d been stalking fled, its small legs faster than she could ever hope to be. “Khara!” she swore. Her stomach growled loudly, displeased by her failure.
With a heavy sigh, she walked back to her new home—a small cave in the mountains. The day she woke surrounded by the burnt bodies of her village, she’d packed a bag and ran as far as she could. Merchants often visited their small town, looking for new buyers for their wares.
She didn’t want to be there when they came.
After a pitiful meal of berries—she’d quickly learned that the red, fuzzy ones were safe to eat, and the purple, smooth ones made her stomach cramp for days—she headed to the nearby stream to bathe and replenish her water supply.
She spent her day, like every day, in silence.
At night, her dreams were filled with burning flesh and horrid screams.
Ahmar trotted along the dirt trail—they were deeper in the Mountains now. The air was cooler, and somehow, Hadiyah also managed to blame that on him.
“If you hadn’t choked me into submission, I might have had time to pack a shawl,” she said icily, seated behind Soraya on the brown stallion.
If he hadn’t choked her into submission, she’d be dead.
The sharp retort rose up in his throat, ready to fly past his lips, but he clenched his jaw and forced it down. They had maybe another half hour of riding before it would be time to make camp. He could stomach her insults until then.
Soraya shot him an apologetic smile and rolled her eyes dramatically. He would have smiled back, but Hadiyah was still glaring at him. Instead, he turned his focus to the sloping dirt path cutting through the mountain.
Soraya gasped. His head snapped toward the sound, worried she’d spotted danger.
“Whoa, Zar! Whoa!” She pulled on the reins and guided the brown horse to a stop. His mouth tipped up.
She’d named the ill-mannered, grouchy horse after Zarian?
He had been hesitant to put a name to the all-encompassing, heart-squeezing feeling that warmed his limbs every time he looked at her, but this was the closest he’d ever come to calling it love.
“What is it, Soraya?” her mother asked, her perpetual frown even deeper. He scanned the mountainside for threats, but came up empty. Soraya ignored her mother and quickly dismounted, her arced leg passing scant inches from Hadiyah’s nose.
Damn. Maybe next time.
“Soraya?” he questioned, his brow furrowed.
She didn’t respond, too busy rummaging in the leather pack strapped to Zar’s hindquarters. She fished out her journal and gestured excitedly toward the mountainside.
“Look!” she said, pointing at some bushes, her bright, brown eyes flicking between him and her mother. “It’ssumzeher.”
He arched a brow in question, and she sighed. “Those look likesumzeherbushes. The Thessani botanists mentioned them during their last visit about a year ago. Apparently, if you grind up the leaves and mix them with water, it creates a deadly poison.”
“So if we steer clear of the bushes, we should be all right?” he asked slowly, still confused as to why she was so excited.
Hadiyah sighed, deep and long-suffering, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Soraya, get back on the horse.”
Soraya shook her head excitedly, still focused on Jamil. “No, no, no. It’s not aboutingestingit. In the past year, there have been reports of the poison being used to coat arrowheads and daggers and swords—”
