Page 71 of The Moon's Fury
She held her breath.
The door opened with a gentle click. Zarian entered, the air around him alive with a delicious, spiced aroma. He was carrying bags of food, his face wary in the light. Relief washed over her in an overwhelming rush, her heart finally settling back into a normal rhythm.
She didn’t register crossing the room, coming to stand before him. His lower lip was split, and there was a large gash on his cheekbone. One of his eyes was purple and swollen.
Her heart stuttered in her chest.
“You must be hungry,” he said quietly, setting the food on the table.
She flung herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Burying her face in his chest, all the tears she’d managed to hold at bay burst forth in a loud, shuddering sob. She clung to him as if he might disappear again, her body shaking with the force of her tears.
“I’m so sorry, Zarian,” she cried, her apology muffled against his chest.
He relaxed against her, tension melting away, though what had worriedhim, she didn’t know.
Shewas the one who had sinned.
He wrapped his strong arms around her, and she had never felt such relief, one that breathed air back into her desperate lungs. He walked her backward until her legs hit the sofa. He sat down first, and she sank into him, still crying against his neck.
Moons, she was so wretched, letting him comfort her when she’d been the one to wound him so deeply.
When her tears finally dried up, her voice was hoarse as she apologized again. She cupped his face and pressed her forehead against his, willing him to see the love in her eyes now that the embers of her anger had burnt out.
“You’re a good man, Zarian.”
He scoffed and turned his head away, but she grasped his chin and forced him to meet her gaze. “Youare. You’ve showered me with more love than I deserve. You’ve seen the ugly parts of me, the cruel parts, and still look at me as if I am the sun. You put my happiness, my needs, my wants, aboveeverything.
“Nothing compares. Nothing willevercompare. I’ve watched you show kindness to the sorriest of animals while others ignored them. You are a brother to Soraya—you helped her and Almeer when everything inside you warred against it. And that was when I refused to even speak to you!”
Fresh tears welled, her heart wrenching in her chest.
“Because you’re a good man. Hamzh in Janta, and Baran here, they treat you like a brother. Like a king. Even my father’s most beloved citizens didn’t hold as much respect for him as I saw in those men’s eyes. Foryou, Zarian. I don’t know what you did, but youmusthave helped them in some incredible, unrepayable, life-altering way that they find themselveshappyto be so indebted to you. Because you are a good man.”
A lone tear rolled down Zarian’s cheek, and she kissed it away. “And you couldn’t kill your brother, after everything he did, becauseyou’re a good man,” she whispered, and those final words cracked his wall of composure.
She held him to her chest as he was racked with sobs, so violent that they shook her body along with his. She rubbed soothing circles into his back with one hand and tangled herfingers in his hair with the other as he cried, releasing years, perhaps decades, of grief against her.
When he finally stilled, he exhaled one last shuddering sigh, breathing in her scent as if she were his salvation. When he pulled back, his eyes were bloodshot, but the chaos had left them.
Zarian swallowed hard. “It was after my brother was banished. I had already started drinking when my father sent me to Sendouk, but it spiraled out of control afterward. I don’t even remember the mission, but I remember the boy. It was late, and I was returning to the Oasis. There was a lone woman walking down the street. The boy emerged from the alley. He was crying and asked for help. She followed him in.”
He glanced at her. “This must sound familiar.” She nodded, silent. “I followed them. There were four men waiting. The Gundaari train children to target women walking alone. The girl from last night, she hesitated because she saw me.” He swallowed again, lips twisting in anguish. “I killed three of the men, but the fourth one grabbed the boy and held a knife to his neck.
“I let the man escape. The idiot led me to their hideout.” Zarian scrubbed a hand over his face, shadows darkening his eyes. “There were four more children there.” His voice cracked. “I realized then that they were the Gundaari. I knew the Medjai worked with them, but I had no idea they used children. I killed all the men. Probably traumatized the little ones. It took my father months to smooth it over with their leader.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “The boy from the alley, he was the oldest. Harteem. He told me his father had a shop in the markets. I took all the children there. That’s how I met Baran. He’s Harteem’s father.
“The Gundaari usually kidnap orphans, but Baran had borrowed money from them. When he couldn’t repay, they took his son.”
“But what about the king? Doesn’t he do anything?”
Zarian shook his head. “Jehan either turns a blind eye out of fear, or he’s being bribed. And people who file reports with the local delegates somehow always disappear.” He rubbed his eyes, frowning. “I took Baran’s wife, Harteem, and the other children to Shahbaad, gave them all the gold I had.”
“Baran didn’t go with them?”
“His wife wouldn’t let him—she blamed him for their son being taken in the first place. He remained here. The Gundaari searched his shop and home, and when they didn’t find Harteem, they left him alone.”
He looked at her then, his eyes haunted by the horrors he’d witnessed. “I tried, Layna—I talked to my father about it. Told him we should eliminate the Gundaari, that it was disgusting that we worked with them. But he made an excuse. He always had an excuse.” A humorless, disbelieving laugh tore from his throat.
“I knew the Gundaari was still operating, still hurting children, and I didn’t do anything. And I kept going on missions, kept drinking, kept existing. What kind of man does that make me?” he scoffed. She cupped his cheek, but he shook off her hand.
