Girl, Serpent, Thorn (29 page)

Soraya knelt beside him and nodded in understanding. His words to her before Tahmineh's blow had been true, but they had also been spoken with purpose. He had wanted to goad her into killing him, rather than leaving him to face all his failures in the dark.
I forget him sometimes, the man I used to be,
she remembered him telling her, and she wondered if he already considered himself dead, if he had died with the Shahmar, and no longer knew how to be just Azad.

She glanced at her mother, who had finally faced her own nightmare and won, and nodded again. “Enough,” she agreed. Perhaps he didn't deserve the mercy of her thorns, a quick end to his pain, but she would grant it to him nevertheless. Soraya moved one of
Azad's hands away from the wound and pressed the back of her knuckle against his palm, piercing his skin with her thorns as she released the poison into him. He shuddered as the poison spread through his veins, his eyes remaining on Soraya until at last they went glassy and still.

Soraya let out a long breath and dropped Azad's hand, peace settling over her like gentle snowfall. She heard the same soft exhalations from her mother and Parvaneh, as if they were free to breathe for the first time.

Soraya rose, and she tensed as she faced her mother directly, not knowing how Tahmineh would respond to her daughter's new appearance. But when Tahmineh came toward her and saw this final manifestation of her gift, her eyes were wide not in fear or revulsion, but in amazement. She raised a hand to touch an unmarked space on her daughter's cheek and said, “It suits you.”

“I agree,” Parvaneh said, and Soraya laughed.

But the battle wasn't over yet. Soraya went to the edge of the roof and looked down at the fighting below. The divs were even more outnumbered than before now that so many of them had fallen, but Soraya knew their deaths were only a temporary relief. She took in every div corpse on the ground and saw a new div rising from Duzakh to fight and die, around and around without end. Until now.

“Come,” Soraya said. “We have to put an end to this.”

Soraya stepped up on the parapet, and the golestan wrapped itself around her arms and waist to carry her down to the platform below. Tahmineh came the same way, as well as Azad's body, wrapped tightly in the vines, while Parvaneh used her wings.

Their descent was striking enough to pause the fighting, and Soraya took advantage of this attention to step forward and address the crowd.

“The Shahmar has fallen,” she announced loudly, gesturing to the prone figure of Azad on the steps. She thought of everything
Nasu had told her, and chose her words carefully. “Your leader is gone, and can offer you nothing more.”

Soraya descended the platform and walked out into the garden, winding her way through the crowd without fear, as she had done the night of the banquet. The divs regarded her warily, but they knew better than to touch her now. “If you continue to fight,” she said, “you will lose again and again, because this land—these
people
—are now under my protection.” As she went from div to div, the vines from the golestan followed her, circling around each and every div's feet in silent threat. “But if you lay down your weapons and surrender to me,” she continued, “I will let you return to Arzur without further harm.”

The vines continued to climb up to the divs' ankles as she spoke, and now she began to reach out and lay a hand on each div she passed—a scrape of nails against an arm or cheek or shoulder, a gesture to remind them of the banquet night, when they had accepted her as one of their own.
Accept me now,
she wanted to say,
and I will protect you, too
.

And as she passed them one by one, laying a hand on each, the divs began to drop their weapons. They did not bow as they had done for the Shahmar, because Soraya would not ask that of them, but simply surrendered.

She circled her way back to the steps and ascended them again. “I ask you—I ask
all
of you, div and human alike—to lay down your weapons tonight and consider this battle ended.” But when she looked out at the crowd, she saw something that disturbed her more than any div. Many of the humans in the garden were staring up at Soraya in disgust or horror, likely wondering what made her any different from the monsters they were fighting, and Soraya's resolve began to waver. She wanted to cover her hands with gloves, run into the palace and seek refuge in the passageways—

But then a figure emerged from the crowd, grimy with blood and sweat, but still as radiant as he had always been. Sorush bounded
up the steps and stood beside her as her equal. He didn't speak—he didn't
need
to speak. His presence at her side was enough to make it clear that she had spoken for him as well, and that to deny one was to deny them both. He raised his sword for all to see and laid it down on the steps.

And then, finally, the people of Atashar dropped their weapons, and Soraya's battle was over.

 

They had to wait another week before the spring rains came, and longer still before a thunderstorm gave them what they wanted— a bolt of lightning, sent from the Creator.

Shortly before the end of spring, a large crowd gathered outside the fire temple, but within, only the royal family was present, as well as several priests. Soraya stood apart with her mother, the spahbed, and Ramin—with whom Soraya had forged a hesitant truce—while Sorush and Laleh approached the altar. They bowed their heads as the high priest said the words to sanctify both the Royal Fire and the shah it protected.

That protection was mostly symbolic now. Sometime after the battle had ended and the divs had all retreated, the simorgh had vanished once more, not leaving behind a feather this time. Sorush had been concerned about this, but Tahmineh had assured him that the simorgh had only granted her protection before because
her son had needed it. Now the Shahmar was no longer a threat, and Atashar had another protector, someone the divs would listen to.

Soraya hoped her mother's confidence in her ability to subdue the divs wasn't misplaced. In the days following the battle, Soraya had visited Arzur, and most of the divs had welcomed or ignored her. A few of the drujes—like Aeshma—had been bitter about their defeat, but they were in the minority, especially after Soraya had poisoned one or two of them who had tried to attack her, to show them that she was as dangerous as she claimed to be.

The first time she entered Arzur and beheld the pit of Duzakh again after the battle, she wondered if she had made a grave mistake in letting the divs live, and if she should send the golestan's vines to cover it entirely, not allowing any new divs to climb out. But she knew they would find a way out of Duzakh somehow. Perhaps it was better to keep control of the divs on the surface rather than attempt to eradicate them entirely. After all, it was only when they were outside of Duzakh, given form in the Creator's world, that they could be seen and recognized and fought.

After the fire ceremony was finished, Soraya began to leave the fire temple, but at the threshold, a gentle hand touched her sleeve, unmindful of the thorns beneath.
Laleh,
Soraya knew at once.

“Soraya?”

Soraya turned to her, fighting the urge to hide the exposed thorns on her face and neck.

“Sorush has to speak to the priests, but he wanted me to ask you to meet him later in the gardens,” Laleh said.

Soraya nodded and began to leave again, but she stopped herself and called back, “Laleh?”

Laleh waited for Soraya to continue, but Soraya wasn't sure what she had wanted to say.
Were you ever afraid of me?
maybe, or
Were you only my friend out of pity?
These questions had haunted her since Ramin's confession in the mountain, but standing here with Laleh in front of her again, she found she didn't need to ask them.
Instead, she kept remembering what she had said to Laleh on Suri, when Laleh had first brought her news of the div and set everything into motion—
You were the only person who ever made me feel like I was the one worth protecting
.

Laleh was still waiting for Soraya to speak, and so Soraya took Laleh's hands and spoke the words that suddenly filled her heart: “I'm so happy we're sisters.”

The awkwardness that had built up between them for the last several years melted away in an instant as Laleh threw her arms around Soraya's shoulders and held her close, with no fear of Soraya's thorns. “So am I,” she whispered.

As she waited for her brother, Soraya walked through the garden with the vines from the golestan trailing behind her. She had coaxed most of the vines back down from the palace walls and clipped a few of them so they could follow her everywhere, often wrapped around her arm or waist.

It was still a luxury for her to be in such a public space without fear. Some of the nobility continued to eye her with suspicion, but Sorush and Laleh's support of her was enough for most of them to accept that the shahzadeh with poisonous thorns growing out of her skin was on their side.

“Soraya!”

She turned back to see Sorush hurrying toward her, and the sight of it felt so impossible to her that she thought she was dreaming. But she brushed her thumb along the edge of one of the thorns on her finger, and she knew it was real.

They hadn't spent much time together over the past weeks. Sorush had been busy reclaiming his throne—with the simorgh's return and the divs no longer a threat, he could finally take steps toward the reforms their father had once hoped for—and Soraya had worked with the pariks to help repair some of the damage the
divs had done to the city. But she hadn't forgotten the gesture he had made the night of the battle, and so she smiled warmly when he approached her.

“I've been meaning to speak to you,” he said, “but I haven't had the time until today—I'm sorry.”

“There's no need to apologize,” she said, though they both knew what he was actually apologizing for. “But I'm sorry, too.”

They began to walk side by side, sharing an uncertain silence before Sorush said, “It will be summer soon. The court is preparing to leave Golvahar … and I'd like for you to come with us.”

Soraya laughed. “I would make an interesting addition to your court, wouldn't I?”

Sorush stopped walking, his expression serious. “I mean it. You would be welcome at my court.”

Soraya considered his offer, wondering how she would have reacted a year ago, if she would have been grateful or anxious. But whatever longing she had once had to be a part of court life had shriveled away. “I appreciate the offer, truly, but I don't think I'll join you. I love my people—and I will keep my promise to protect them—but I've found somewhere else that feels more like home.”

“Where will you go?”

“With us,” came a voice from above.

They both turned their heads up to see Parvaneh settled on a tree branch, her legs dangling below.

Soraya couldn't help smiling at the sight of her. “When did you get back?”

“Just now,” she said, floating gracefully down from the branch with a small flutter of her wings. “But you both looked so serious, I didn't want to interrupt.” Parvaneh walked over to Soraya and kissed her cheek. “We're nearly done, I think,” she said. “A few days more, and you'll never know that a horde of demons rampaged through the city.”

Sorush cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “Thank
you—all of you—for what you've done for us. The pariks have truly shown themselves to be allies.”

“Thank your mother for that,” Parvaneh said. “She and Parisa have become good friends, and we pariks always help our friends.” Soraya hid a smile, noticing the renewed pride in Parvaneh's voice when she spoke of her sisters, who had fully accepted her back into their ranks. Soraya had wondered why Parvaneh would still be willing to join them again after they had meted out such harsh punishment—but then she supposed that for ageless creatures, their punishment had been a relatively brief one.

“Will they let me come with you, do you think?” Soraya asked her.

“Of course,” Parvaneh said. “I told you a long time ago that you would be welcome among us.”

To Sorush, she explained, “The pariks live in a forest north of the mountains, and that's where I want to go. I can keep a closer watch on the divs from there, and in the spring, I'll return to Golvahar when the court does.”

Sorush nodded his agreement, and Parvaneh excused herself, returning to help the other pariks.

As they watched her fly away, Sorush said, “Isn't she the one who tried to kill me?”

Soraya laughed. “I promise you, it wasn't personal.”

The procession leaving Golvahar was much the same as the one that had arrived at the beginning of spring. If anything, it was even grander, in order to show the people that the shah had emerged strong and triumphant from his ordeal. Sorush led the procession beside his general, with Ramin among the azatan, riding stiffly because of his wound, and the people's cheers were surely celebrating their own victory in addition to the shah's. But from the roof where Soraya was watching, it was almost as if nothing had changed.

“So much trouble just to go from one place to another,” Parvaneh muttered beside her.

Well,
Soraya thought with a hidden smile,
maybe some things have changed.

Parvaneh turned and leaned back, her elbows on the parapet, with the easy grace of someone who could definitely fly. “Are you sad to see them go?” she asked Soraya.

Soraya shook her head. “This is the first time I've watched this procession without wondering if they'll still remember me when they return.” She put a hand on the ledge beside Parvaneh's arm. “And it's the first time I've ever watched it with someone else.”

Parvaneh looked down at Soraya's hand, her lips curving into a smile. With the tip of one finger, she began to draw a lazy path between the maze of thorns on the back of Soraya's hand. “I'm glad you're coming back with me to the forest. I don't think I could return there without seeing you in every piece of it.”

A pleasurable warmth flowed through Soraya's limbs as she watched Parvaneh. She had thought nothing would be more incredible than the simple sensation of touch, but she'd been wrong: more incredible still was the idea that she could be dangerous, all her thorns on display, and that someone would dare to touch her anyway.

But then her mood darkened, a cloud covering the sun. “You never told me what you thought when you first saw me like this,” she said to Parvaneh in a halting voice. “Were you disappointed?”

Parvaneh looked up at her in surprise. “Not at all,” she said. “I told you once I thought your veins were beautiful. Your thorns are lovelier still. But more important,” Parvaneh continued, drawing her hand away and moving closer to Soraya, “I like seeing you so much at peace.”

The words surprised Soraya, and she considered the truth of them. These past months of spring, she had felt unburdened, as if she had been carrying the weight of these thorns all her life—even
when her curse had been lifted—and now could finally release them.

“I thought you liked seeing me angry,” Soraya said, leaning toward Parvaneh.

Parvaneh nodded in concession. “True. Maybe I just like seeing you.” Her hand reached around to the back of Soraya's head to draw Soraya down toward her, and their lips met.

With her eyes closed, Soraya thought she heard the beating of Parvaneh's wings, but Parvaneh broke away with her forehead wrinkled in confusion, her wings still, and her eyes wide as she looked over Soraya's shoulder. The vivid memory of leathery wings made Soraya turn in alarm, but she immediately calmed when she saw the simorgh perched on the roof ledge, above the faded bloodstain that marked Azad's death.

Parvaneh brushed her lips against a patch of skin along the curve of Soraya's neck. “I'll find you later,” she murmured before stepping off the edge of the roof, wings outstretched.

Alone with the simorgh, Soraya felt the same shyness as last time. She took a hesitant step toward the simorgh and said, “I thought you had left us again.”

The simorgh's feathers all ruffled in response.

“No, you'll never leave us, not when we need you,” Soraya said. “Thank you for all you did—and I'm so sorry for what I've done.” As she spoke, her stomach twisted with nerves. There was still a hollow space somewhere inside her that filled with guilt whenever she remembered extinguishing the fire. She only hoped that space would shrink in time.

The simorgh stepped off the ledge and came toward her, those all-knowing eyes seeing straight into her thoughts. She blinked once, then dipped her head and started to preen one of her wings. When she lifted her head again, she was holding a single feather in her beak. She stretched her neck forward, offering the feather to Soraya.

Soraya stared at the feather, remembering her fear that the simorgh would find her unworthy of such a gift. And yet … she felt no longing for it, no frustrated desire to be free of her poison or her thorns as she had before. She had spent so many years hiding away, trying to bury her emotions and all the poison that came with them, that now it was a relief to wear her thorns proudly, without shame or apology. She had her family. She had Parvaneh. She had a home. Her thorns deprived her of nothing—and in return, they gave her a place and a purpose in the world, her existence undeniable. Soraya no longer had to choose between one piece of herself and another. She could be whole.

“Thank you,” Soraya said to the simorgh, hoping she would sense the emotion behind such simple words. “I appreciate the offer, truly. But I don't need it anymore.”

The simorgh's eyes glittered with approval. With the feather still in her beak, she spread her wings and flew up into the sky, moving south with the rest of Soraya's family. Soraya remained on the roof and watched the simorgh fly toward the horizon until all she could see was a flash of moving color, a green flame flickering against a clear blue sky.