Page 58 of The Moon's Fury
“Do you think they’re already here?” she asked.
Zarian had been tense, stiff against her back since they entered the city. He shook his head. “I’d guess they’re about a day behind us. Faster travel may have been hard for your mother.”
She glanced back at him. “Are you all right? You seem on edge—more than usual.”
His lips pressed into a grim line. “Senta might appear wealthy on the surface, but there’s danger here.”
Zarian booked a room at a small inn in a quieter part of the capital.
As soon as the door closed, Layna pushed him into the wall and claimed his lips in a passionate kiss, their teeth knockingtogether. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth, biting until the coppery tang of blood bloomed her tongue. Her fingers fisted his tunic, and he yanked it off in one smooth motion. She ran her hands over his skin, desperate for the feel of him against her. Her body thrummed with desire after three days of riding an edge he wouldn’t let her crest.
He reached underneath her, grabbing the backs of her thighs and hoisting her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist, mouths still locked in a frantic kiss. Zarian walked them into the washroom, kicking the door shut with a loud thud.
They emerged two hours later, clean of days’ worth of grime, hair dripping and skin rosy from the hot water—unlike the small town in Janta, prosperous Senta had hot, running water in every building.
The innkeeper provided a meal for their first night, and they devoured it now that other needs were sated.
When they finished, Zarian pressed a kiss to her brow. “I’ll go see if there’s any news on Jamil. I doubt they’ve made it, but no harm in checking.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Zarian shot her an apologetic look, lacing his baldric over his tunic. He had scrubbed it clean of blood in a small stream, but had frowned at the holes the arrows had left.
“Someone might recognize you.”
“Not in myniqab, they won’t.”
“Layna—” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “The Medjai might be waiting for us. And Senta isn’t safe.” His face darkened, but he didn’t elaborate.
She frowned, brows drawing together. “I don’t want to spend the entire journey locked away in different rooms.”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “My entire life, I did what was expected of me. But I’ve left that behind. I want tolive.It’s not what I imagined, but I finally have a chance to see the continent. I don’t want to squander it.”
Zarian weighed her words, tension lining his shoulders.
“I’ll go alone tonight,” he finally said. “Tomorrow, we’ll go together.”
Layna sighed. She could agree to that. “All right.”
Zarian exited the inn, his posture stiff. He hadn’t forgotten his last visit here—his outrage at working with the Gundaari, the blood he had spilt, and the child.
The child.
He could still see the little boy’s face, eyes wide and frightened. Swallowing deeply, he shook himself out of his thoughts. The boy was safe and far from here, a teenager by now.
He headed down familiar streets, passing men throwing dice, vendors selling street food, and laughing children playing alone far too late into the night. His gaze lingered on them, but he forced his feet to keep moving until he reached the jewelry district. Rows of shops stretched on either side of the road. A cart rolled past, its driver swatting the horse mercilessly with a branch. Zarian gritted his teeth, his fingers flexing at his sides.
He walked past shops selling gold with women flocked to the front and stores selling rare gems, until finally, he reached a small, unassuming storefront.Sahar’s Tajwas written on the door in a curving script.
Hand on his sword, Zarian entered.
27
Thecrampedshopwasdimly lit with only a handful of lanterns, the flickering light casting shadows into the corners. There was a small display of tiaras and headpieces on one side. Another case held rings, some plain, simple bands and others inlaid with large, sparkling stones. He eyed the rings before his gaze caught on a smaller display along the back wall.
Five gleaming daggers were set against a black velvet backdrop, some embedded with precious gems, others carved with delicate filigree. All of them were exquisite, but his eyes kept returning to the one on the far right. The hilt was a simple, muted gold—ornate and regal. The pommel bloomed like a crown, swirled with intricate patterns.
Its blade glinted like moonlight.
