Page 69 of The Moon's Fury
He stalked toward her and grabbed her elbow, practically dragging her through the alley. They emerged onto the empty street, and she was grateful for the moonsdamned festival because at least there was no one here to witnessthat.
He headed toward the inn, pulling her along with him. His grip was painfully tight, but pride held her tongue. He must have realized it, though, because he loosened his hold and rubbed her arm where his fingers had dug in. She was seething, indignant rage simmering in her belly, desperate for an outlet. With every third step, her eyes cut to him in a searing glare, but she didn’t say anything.
At least not yet.
Zarian glanced behind him the entire way. When the inn came into view, he breathed a sigh of relief. The short walk totheir second-story room felt hours long as the weight of their collective anger bore down on her.
He closed their room door, and she strode away from him, resisting the urge to massage her arm.
“Thatwas listening to me?” he bit out through clenched teeth.
“She needed help! I thought we—”
“If you had just waited,like I asked, we could have come up with a plan instead of running in blindly!” His eyes were blazing with rage, and it stoked the flames of her own anger. The buzzing that had deafened her in the alley steadily grew louder. She had called upon her fierce, violent light then, and it rose up inside her now, hungry for another taste of freedom.
“I just—”
“We’re being hunted, Layna. We need to be cautious, not impulsive. This is the first real city you’ve ever seen,” he pressed. A vein pulsed in his forehead.
“Ihaveseen real cities,” she snapped, her anger burning hotter.
“You’veheardabout them in a safe council chamber. You’ve been sheltered. I only agreed to take you to the festival because you promised to listen.”
She bristled, and the buzzing grew louder still.
“Sheltered?” she snarled, crossing her arms tightly. “I went out alone in Alzahra City all the—”
“Your father’s walled city, where he stationed guards everywhere for your protection! It. Is. Not. The. Same.” His voice was low, but he may as well have been shouting.
“I saw achild, bruised and afraid, who needed help! I did what any normal person would have done.”
His anger deflated at the mention of the little girl, and his tightly knit brows unwound a fraction.
“The Gundaari use children to lure people into alleys—women to sell, men to rob, other children to—” He cut off abruptly, hisface pained. “They run rampant in Sendouk. One of their largest operations is in Senta. I’m surprised it took us three days to encounter them.”
Layna processed his words—his admission.
“You knew about this?”
He deflated further.
“Yes,” he sighed. “I came across them years ago on a mission for the Medjai.” He rubbed his eyes aggressively.
“You knew they were here this entire time and didn’t tell me? What happened to no more secrets?” she demanded. He opened his mouth, but she barreled on, adding, “And all these years, you knew they were hurting children, and you did nothing to stop them? The Medjaidid nothing?”
His gaze was fixed to the floor. “It’s complicated. I—”
But her fury would hear no explanations. The angry tendril of rage writhed within her, and the pulsing in her ears became impossible to ignore.
“How have you lived with yourself?”
He looked at her, then.
The blood drained from his face.
“Layna—your eyes. They’re white.”
She ignored him, taking a step forward. The little girl’s bruised face flashed through her mind, her haunted eyes, the healing scab on her lip.
