Page 149 of The Moon's Fury
With one last look, she reluctantly went inside to check if Lasha needed help with dinner. They’d formed a shaky truce the other night in the kitchen, though Layna wasn’t necessarily itching to spend time with her.
“Do you need help?” she asked, leaning against the kitchen doorway.
Lasha looked up from the sink, startled. There was a streak of flour running through her hair. “I’m mostly done. Just washing up now.” She nudged her head to the steaming pot on the stove. “Ya can start plating dinner.”
Layna grabbed the neat stack of porcelain bowls on the counter and began ladling the thick lentil soup, her mouth watering at the delectable aroma.
“You’re a great cook,” she offered, glancing over at Lasha, who gave her a tight smile in return.
With the dishes washed and dinner plated, she helped Lasha carry two large trays outside where Zarian and Lash were still training. The younger man was panting, sandy dirt smudged on his face, and perspiration dampening his hair. They set down the trays and watched as Zarian gave Lash a few final pointers.
“You’re a very lucky woman, Ahna,” Lasha murmured wistfully. Layna’s eyes cut to her sharply. She followed her gaze, expecting her to be watching Zarian, but it was Lash her eyes found instead.
Lash, whose face was glowing, radiating pure happiness despite the aches and pains he surely felt. So she pursed her lips and bit back her sharp retort.
Because Lasha was right.
She was, indeed, a very lucky woman.
The next morning, before first light, the four of them were together again in the stables. Najoom stood ready, his black coat glossy and healthy. Lash pulled Layna into a tight hug that lasted nearly two full minutes. “Thanks,” he murmured into her ear. Layna squeezed him tighter, tears pricking her eyes. To her surprise, Lash pulled Zarian into a hug next.
They led Najoom through the stable door and left Tarakshan slightly better than they’d found it.
58
“—andthenJamilfainted.”
Behind him, Soraya burst into laughter as Kharteen finished his tale.
“I didn’tfaint,” Jamil gritted out, glancing back. “I blacked out from blood loss. Becauseyoufailed to find all the sentries.”
He ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, guiding Ahmar through with care before holding it up for Soraya to pass under. He let it fall just as Kharteen passed through, hoping it would smack against his grinning face.
It didn’t.
They’d been traveling together for two weeks—twolongweeks—and had reached the dense heart of the Mountains.
Kharteen waved a dismissive hand. “Fainted, blacked out, either way I had to carry your heavy ass back to camp.”
Soraya giggled again. The irritation building in his chest receded slightly. As annoying as Kharteen’s presence had been, Jamil was certain he was the reason Soraya seemed better each day, the shadows in her eyes growing fainter. Kharteen madeher laugh, usually at Jamil’s expense, and for that, Jamil could tolerate him.
And if he were counting down the days until Kharteen went his own way, then that was no one’s business but his own.
“Let’s stop to eat,” Kharteen said. “My stomach has been grumbling for hours.”
“Your stomach isalwaysgrumbling.”
“It has that in common with you.”
Soraya snorted, and he clenched his jaw until his teeth ached.
The trio sat on the ground to eat—dried meat, nuts, and some bright, green berries Soraya had found yesterday.
“Where will you go next?” Soraya asked, folding her legs beneath her on the leaf-covered ground.
“North,” Kharteen said, between gulps of water. “I told you.”
“To Baysaht?”
