Page 60 of The Moon's Fury
Her mind raced with possibilities until her mounting anxiety sent her powers swirling into a sandstorm. The buzzing in her ears intensified as it always did when her emotions ran rampant.
But the mental exercises Zarian had forced on her during their journey had helped immensely. Closing her eyes, she sought out the agitated light, soothing it with deep breaths and contented thoughts. The pulsing eased, and a rush of satisfaction washed over her.
She could do this.
An idea sparked in her mind. Searching the room, she found parchment paper in a drawer. Tearing into pieces, she dropped the shreds into a small pot.
She closed her eyes.
She took a deep breath.
She called to her light.
The three bright, coiling rivers twisted and pulled, vying for her attention. She focused on the bright, thrumming cord, urging it to separate from its sisters and flow into her fingertips.
And it did.
She could feel the crackling power flowing through her veinsat her command. Her fingers tingled, then glowed brighter. She aimed her hands at the pot and willed the light to shoot out. Ten thin beams burst forth, but only nine of them met their mark. One finger was misaimed, and her light nicked the side of the pot, leaving a bright scratch on the worn metal.
But the shreds of paper didn’t catch fire like she’d hoped—they merely singed. She tried again, this time pointing only two fingers from each hand. The light shot forth, the cables thicker this time, and she kept it flowing until the paper slowly began to curl up.
It caught fire.
A shocked gasp escaped her, and she extinguished the light from her fingers. Dousing the flames with a glass of water, she took a step back.
Her eyes welled with tears, and a strange sensation stirred in her chest. Belatedly, Layna realized it waspride. It was a rare feeling—typically, her mind focused on the next thing to be achieved or areas where she had fallen short. But in this moment, she reveled in it, the bright, warm joy in her heart.
In the next heartbeat, though, her joyous tears were diluted with grief—how she wished she could tell Soraya.
The door clicked open, and Zarian entered. A large bag was slung over his shoulder, clinking lightly with every step. In his other hand was a small brown bag, saturated with oil. His posture was stiff, though he masked his tension with a smile.
Noticing her tears, he dropped the bag and reached her in three powerful strides, grasping her chin and tilting her face up. He said nothing, but Layna read the question in his eyes.
“I miss Soraya,” she sniffled.
The hard line of his shoulders softened. He tugged her against him, cocooning her in his solid presence.
“Any word at the jewelry shop?”
“No,” he sighed, rubbing soothing circles on her lower back. “But I left a note. If they reach Sendouk in the next three days, Jamil will find us. Otherwise, we’ll meet in Shahbaad. And—”
He inhaled deeply, then glanced at the stove. “Were you … cooking?”
“I started a fire,” she explained, smiling brightly through her tears. “With my light. And I didn’t burn down the inn.”
His answering smile rivaled her own.
“You’re incredible,” he murmured. “No scrolls, no guidance, and look at you.” She warmed at his praise. “Come, let’s sit.” She followed him to the small sofa, but when she tried to sit beside him, he pulled her into his lap, bringing her legs up to rest on the sofa.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked, twining her arms around his neck. “You’ve been off since we got here.” She massaged the tense muscles at the base of his neck. He groaned, eyes falling shut. When he opened them again, they were filled with sorrow.
“I have memories that haunt me,” he admitted quietly. “I began drinking heavily after a mission here. But let’s not talk about it.” She opened her mouth, question poised, but something in his gaze stopped her.
Perhaps, some doors were better left closed.
She pressed a kiss to his cheek, hoping to offer him some semblance of comfort.
“I have something for you,” he said.
