Page 87 of The Moon's Fury
“Medjai?” Zarian asked from by the door, sword angled and ready.
“Yes,” her grandfather said, his voice withered with age. “They arrived weeks ago searching for you. Ordered most of my guards to flee, killed the ones that didn’t.”
“Where are they now?” Zarian asked, his voice low.
Her grandfather shook his head. “They drop in from time to time, make their veiled threats. They must be nearby.”
“Why do you stay here? You should have left,” Layna insisted, glancing between her mother and grandfather. Dharaid looked at her, really looked at his granddaughter. His eyes softened.
“We tried, child,” he said softly. “They stopped us before we even reached the trees past the palace.” He gingerly unclasped his hands, holding the right one to the light.
Layna gasped.
Where his thumb should have been was a short stump, wrapped in white gauze dotted with dark blood. “They said next time, they would takeherhand,” he said, nodding to Hadiyah. “We didn’t try again after that.”
Her mother pursed her lips, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I suspect they are only letting us live to prevent further unrest. Another kingdom with a missing monarch?” A humorless, dry laugh escaped her, face pinched with anger. “Layna, you must go. Now.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
Determination mingled with anger in her gut. Her light pulsed inside, agitated and outraged, and the buzzing in her ears grew louder. She smothered it, turning to Zarian. There was no question in her gaze, only sheer resolve. He nodded. She turned back to her mother “We leave together, or not at all.”
Her mother looked like she wanted to argue but thought better of it. She grabbed Dharaid’s unmaimed hand, and they exited into the hallway, Zarian in front, her mother and grandfather in the middle, and Layna rounding them out from behind. Their footsteps echoed in the empty corridors, Dharaid and her mother struggling to match Zarian’s long, brisk strides.
“There is a door that leads out from the dining hall,” Dharaid panted. “It’s the fastest way out.”
“No,” Zarian said over his shoulder. “We’ll go out the way we—”
He cut off abruptly, stopping in his tracks, and Hadiyah ran into his back with anoomph.
He pulled a dagger from his baldric and flung it into the empty air.
A man emerged up ahead from the side hallway—right into the dagger’s path. It embedded into his chest with a muted squelch. The man stared in shock until Zarian’s throwing star sliced into his eye. He fell to the ground with a thud.
Slow clapping rang out from behind them.
Layna whirled.
Her heart dropped.
The buzzing in her ears grew ever louder.
A wall of men approached. At least twelve, maybe more. She took a step back, angling herself in front of her mother.
The man leading them, the one who had mockingly clapped, had his gaze fixed over her head on Zarian. He was smirking, but his eyes shone with loathing.
“Dhil,” Zarian growled. The name was familiar to her—he was one of the Medjai with Jamil who had found her and Zarian on the terrace on the day of the eclipse.
“Your Majesty,” he sneered, dropping into a bow with exaggerated flourish. “We’ve been waiting weeks for you. But don’t worry, King Dharaid has beenmosthospitable.”
His cold eyes darted to her grandfather, and Layna wanted to gouge them from his face. Her light flared inside her, and she held up her hands, the buzzing in her ears growing louder, drowning out her mother’s protests, and—
“There’s no need for bloodshed,” Zarian said from behind her. “What are your terms, Dhil?”
Dhil regarded him for a moment, before his glittering eyes flicked to Layna, calculating and assessing. He nodded toward her and said, “She comes with us. We let the old man and woman live. You die.”
Zarian laughed. “You’re a fool. Try again, and some of you might live long enough to return home.”
The man beside Dhil scoffed. “Awfully confident,Prince. Evenyoucan’t fight us all. You’ve lost your common sense between the Moon Whore’s legs.”
