Page 37 of The Moon's Fury
Perhaps it was this loneliness that had her don her finest clothing—a flowy, white dress that reached her knees, the breeze caressing her skin through lace panels skimming her sides. Her mother had made it for her the summer prior.
Her fearful footsteps were slow, hesitant as she walked to the town square.
Still, she kept her back upright.
A giant bonfire raged in the center, surrounded by her neighbors.
Eyes and whispers followed her as she searched for her parents between the stalls. The village folk, her community that had all but exiled her, gave her a wide berth. Brows furrowed, she searched forhimnext.
She found neither.
Her footsteps pulled her toward the large fire, the flames undulating in a mesmerizing dance. She stared into the welcoming flames, as if they might fill the cold hollow inside her so that she might never be alone again.
The whispers around her grew louder, sentient things that tore at her heart.
“Saahira,” they called her, voices twisted with hate.
A crowd had gathered behind her. How long had the raging bonfire held her in its thrall? He was at the forefront, deceiving, everchanging eyes filled with disdain.
“Saahira! Saahira! Saahira!”
Her wild eyes searched for her parents, scanning the crowd, shouting their names.
But they didn’t answer.
She tried to push past the crowd, but they caged her in, tightening around her like a noose, shepherding her closer to the fire.
She didn’t know who threw the first stone. Only that it struck true.
It bounced off her shoulder—and didn’t even hurt—except for the searing pain in her heart.
A second stone followed, one thatdidhurt. They rained down on her in a shower of hate and fear and ignorance, until she fell to the ground, bleeding from more places than she could count.
Despair clawed at her heart, her lungs, until she couldn’t breathe. Until she couldn’t think. Their cries grew louder, andshe knew the volley of stones only halted while they searched for more.
They would see her dead, this night.
Her despair slowly morphed into a fearsome rage, burning through her veins, filling her heart with fury.
The wild bonfire suddenly went out, not even a glowing ember left burning. The townsfolk went silent, wide eyes panicked in the dark.
“Saahira,”they breathed, this time with fear.
Flames exploded from her, lighting up the sky.
They rode for hours.
As soon as the city walls disappeared from view, Zarian changed directions, swiftly guiding Najoom east toward the coast. Thirty minutes later, he changed directions again.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her lips close to his ear.
“Janta.” His eyes were constantly scanning every horizon, but the desert remained seamless, undisturbed by any movement save Najoom’s thudding hooves. “I have a safehouse there. Then, Sendouk.”
“How long will it take?” Shivering in the cool, desert night, she pressed closer against him, greedy for the heat he radiated like a furnace.
“A little over three days to Janta.” He glanced back. “Are you thirsty?”
She hummed, not having noticed the dryness in her throat until he’d asked. Zarian transferred the reins into one largehand, then dug out a canteen from his pack. Layna grabbed it, tipping her head back and taking a deep swig. She handed it back, watching as he replaced it in his pack.
