Page 66 of The Moon's Fury
“But of course! For the grape harvest. There’s a big festival every year. Firebreathers, dancers, delicious food. You can’t miss it.” She handed him the bags with a wide smile, as if she hadn’t just single-handedly ruined his day.
As soon as they stepped outside, Layna was poised to cajole him, but he spoke before she could.
“We can’t go.”
“But—”
“Layna,no.It’s too dangerous. The entire town will be out.”
“Then we’ll blend right in,” she insisted, looping her arm through his.
“IfIwere the Medjai hunting us—”
“—you’d never think we’d take such a risk,” she finished. Layna rested her head on his shoulder as they walked. “A firebreather! I’ve never seen one before. And I may never have the chance again.” She glanced at him through her lashes. “I can wear the new abaya.”
He worked his jaw, his fingers flexing around the bags. “We’ll only stay for a short while,” he finally said. She beamed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder through theniqab.
He found himself wondering if he’d ever be able to refuse her anything, but he already knew the answer.
He was but a man, powerless before his goddess.
They spent the next day indoors, and Layna practiced using her powers. She had grown skilled at healing lacerations without succumbing to fatigue. The bright, pulsing power still drained her, though summoning it indoors provided difficult to practice. The third writhing cable—the one forged from rage—she refused to touch.
Before she knew it, dusk had fallen. She slipped into her new green abaya, smoothing the fabric as she studied her reflection. Delicate blue embroidery curled around the sleeves and collar, intricate as swirling wind-carved dunes. She ran a brush through her hair, dark waves tumbling down her back. Theniqabhad drawn more eyes than expected, so they’d agreed to forgo it for the rest of their stay in Sendouk.
Yet, as she met her own gaze in the mirror, she found herself missing the comforting shield. Instead, she’d lined her eyes with a bold sweep of kohl, flicking the corners into sharp wings as she’d seen on most Sendouki women.
Muscular arms encircled her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. In the mirror, hazel eyes met hers, flickering with something she couldn’t quite name.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, pressing her hand over his.
She felt his deep sigh with her entire body.
“Promise you’ll listen to me. If I say run, you run. If I say hide, you hide.”
“I promise.”
His heart pounded an angry rhythm as they waded through the crowded streets. They had stopped at Sahar’s Taj first, but there was still no word from Jamil. He clutched Layna’s hand tightly until they reached the heart of the festival.
Carts laden with street food, trinkets, silken garments and perfume lined the square in a large, bustling circle. People wove through the stalls, voices mingling with the sizzle of meat and beat of drums. At the heart of the festival lay an empty, round dais, awaiting the evening’s entertainment. Lanterns stretched from rooftop to rooftop, their golden glow casting shifting patterns across the square, glinting off Layna’s unbound hair like scattered embers.
The delicious scent of smoked meat wafted toward them, and they followed it to a vendor selling skewered kabobs. They purchased one of each—shish,reshmi, andkofta—the crowd weaving around them. Someone let out a loud cry, and he reached for his dagger and Layna at the same time, but it was just an early drunkard.
A loud gong rang out, and the crowd hushed. A bedlah-clad dancer emerged and glided onto the dais. The crowd clapped with the drumbeats as she undulated her hips and twirled her arms. Zarian averted his gaze, alternating between scanning the crowd and watching Layna’s bright, happy face.
After the dance, they wandered through the festival, weaving between stalls. Layna selected shawls for Soraya and Hadiyah, fingers skimming over rich fabrics, before also choosing a scarffor Jamil. But she wasn’t finished. She insisted on a gift for him as well, finally settling on an emerald-green tunic—one that matched her new abaya.
Next, they passed a vendor selling wine from the famed vineyards of Sendouk. Layna eyed the small glasses filled with dark liquid, a wistful look on her face. Against his better judgment, he found himself gesturing to the vendor. “One for us.”
Layna shook her head. “I don’t want to drink in front of you.”
“It’s all right. It reallyiswine unlike anywhere on the continent. You should experience it. I don’t mind.”
The man poured a shot glass and handed it to him, and he passed it to Layna. She took a small sip, and her eyes widened, meeting his in delight. He grinned at her, and she took another sip, then downed the entire glass. “That tastes like … poetry.” She smiled brightly, licking her lips.
He chuckled. “Careful. It’s strong.”
They turned to leave when the vendor called out, “Sahiba! You must try the white! It’s even better. Paradise on your tongue.” He poured a generous portion, and Layna accepted it from his proffered hand. Zarian paid the man, and they walked away, Layna savoring her wine.
