Page 72 of The Moon's Fury
“After a while, I realized the Medjai were not some benevolent organization. The elders had their own machinations, I just didn’t know what they were. I think my father, in his own way, tried to shield me from the darker aspects. But I heard whispers of what other Medjai would do. There was one man—Ruslayn—he was the worst. Cruel and malicious and unnecessarily violent. Especially toward women. Moons, the things he’d done. I addressed it several times with my father and the elders. They’d always make a show of listening and taking notes. Of calling ahearing and putting him on trial. But nothing was ever done. I couldn’t understand it. ‘He’s too valuable,’ my father would say. Or, ‘His methods are effective.’ They’d turn a blind eye, and it absolutely enraged me.”
Zarian’s words flowed easily now, like an overflowing pitcher of water finally tilted to release some of its burden. “He despised me, too. Ruslayn, I mean. I kept dragging him through these false hearings, and I swear, it made him think he was untouchable. He became worse—more violent, more cruel—because he knew the elders would allow it. After a while, I gave up.”
He took a deep breath. “After the business with Ruslayn, my relationship with my father grew much worse. My brother had harbored the same depravity as Ruslayn, but not nearly as bad. I had told my father, hoping we could find a way to help him. He banished him instead. When Ruslayn was left unchecked, I realized my father exiled my brother because he hated him, not because of his vile actions. My drinking was out of control by that point.”
“How did you stop?” she asked quietly. Something sharp and jagged clawed at her heart.
“It took time. Jamil was my biggest support. He’d drag me out of taverns every other night. Sometimes he’d have to subdue me if I was belligerent.”
“Jamil can best you?” she asked with a twitch of her lips.
“Only when I’m raging drunk,” he replied, the corner of his mouth tipping up. He loosed a deep sigh, and his shoulders seemed lighter, as if the weight on his soul had lightened.
“Where were you all night?” she asked, eyeing his battered face, though she already knew the answer.
“I went back to the alley and traced their trail to their hideout. It was a different building than before. I found the girl there.Five other children. The men are all dead. Baran will get the kids to safety.”
Layna pulled him into an embrace, her strong, good, guilt-ridden man. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured against his hair. He inhaled deeply and held the breath, as if gathering strength from her scent. When he pulled back, his eyes were clear.
He trailed a reverent hand down her cheek.
“Hungry?”
They sat at the table and ate cold lamb shawarma in silence.
“When do we leave?” she asked.
“Tonight.” His face was remorseful. “We can’t risk staying now. We’ll check once more with Baran, but I have a feeling Jamil and your family haven’t arrived yet.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Do you think they’re all right?”
“Yes. Jamil will protect them.” He placed a hand over hers. “We’ll travel slowly to Shahbaad. Give them time to catch up,” he reassured, lacing his fingers with hers. She smiled softly at their joined hands.
“You should sleep now, before we leave tonight,” she said, tracing a gentle line against the shadows marring his eyes.
He hummed in agreement. “I was hoping you might heal me first.”
“Oh! Yes, of course. Sorry, I forgot about that,” she muttered. They settled deeper into the sofa, and she called to her serene, gentle light until herhenna-adorned hands began to glow. She placed her palms over his eye and the gash on his cheek. When she dropped her hands, his face was flawless. Nudging her off his lap, Zarian removed his baldric and tunic, and when he turned around, she gasped. A large, purpling bruise darkened most of his lower back.
She pressed her palms over it and focused. Her white light covered his back until his skin returned to its normal, healthy shade.
“Turn around,” she instructed, intent on healing the scratches on his arm and the smaller bruise on his chest.
“Leave those. You’ll wear yourself out.”
“I can do it,” she insisted, pushing past his hands and setting her glowing ones to his chest. She could feel his eyes on her face, watching for any sign of exhaustion. In minutes, he was completely healed, save for his split lip.
An idea sparked in her mind. The light flowed easily, instinctively to her palms, but was it possible to channel it another way? Closing her eyes, she focused on the thrum in her veins, the vibrating, flowing rush.
She redirected it, coaxing and cajoling.
Commanding.
I am your master. You are not mine.
Her light didn’t immediately respond. It felt unnatural, but slowly, she could feel it flow upward to her face. She opened her eyes.
Zarian’s awestruck gaze was fixed on her mouth. Slowly, she pressed her glowing lips to his and held them there, a pleasant tingling passing between them. When she pulled back, his lip was seamless.
