She buried her hand in his hair and pulled his head back with a violent jerk, causing a snicker of delight to go through the room. “I didn’t know,” she murmured to him. “He fooled me, too. I’m a prisoner here like you. We can help each oth—”
“A prisoner like me? Is that so?” Ramin’s eyes were so cold, his voice so biting, that Soraya knew he would never trust her, no matter what she said to him. His lip curled with disdain. “Will he give me clothes as nice as yours? Or do I have to pay for them with my family’s blood like you did?”
She was too hurt to react at first. But that had always been her instinct—to freeze, to retreat, to cradle her anger in her hands until the flame went out safely. That was what she would have done before. That was what she had done before, a thousand times over the years, during every encounter with Ramin. Even surrounded by divs, powerless, he still thought he could say whatever he wanted to her. He thought she wouldn’t strike back.
And now, her blood still singing after her surrender to the divs, all Soraya wanted was the pleasure of proving him wrong.
With one hand still grasping his hair, she bent down and dug her nails into his chest, causing him to hiss in pain and the divs to let out a cheer.
“You think you can speak to me that way,” Soraya whispered to him, her head bent beside his, “because you never believed I would fight back.” She was herself and not herself—she didn’t know what she was, except that she was free. “I could have shocked you into silence with a single touch so many times over the years, but I always let you win. That’s why you were never afraid of me. That’s why you mocked and insulted me. But you should have been afraid, Ramin. You should have been afraid of me from the start.” She dragged her nails up his chest as she straightened, tearing through skin, and leaving an angry scratch on his chest.
The divs cheered for her again, as if she had scored a blow in a sparring match, and she couldn’t fight the flush of satisfaction that went through her—nor did she want to. When she looked up, her eyes met Azad’s, and it was the same as it had been on Nog Roz, a crackle of energy passing from one to the other like lightning.
Ramin had bent his head, and his shoulders convulsed in what Soraya thought was pain—until she realized he was laughing. He looked up at her and said loudly, “You think I wasn’t afraid of you? You’re deluded, Soraya—I’ve always feared you. But I promised myself I would never show fear in front of you, because how could I protect my sister from something I was scared of myself?”
She didn’t want to hear Laleh’s name or anything that would stop her from enjoying Azad’s gift to her. But still, she asked, “What do you mean?”
“Why do you think I trailed along after you and Laleh? I couldn’t stand to leave you alone with her. I saw the way your eyes followed her when she and Sorush would leave you behind in your dismal passageways—that jealous, hateful look.”
“That’s not true,” Soraya snapped, but whether it was true or not, she knew Ramin didn’t think he was lying. He couldn’t fall back on his usual arrogant posturing anymore, and there was raw emotion in his face and voice. This was a confession: he had feared her—and he feared for Laleh.
“I’ve seen that look grow sharper over the years, seen the poison in you grow stronger,” Ramin continued. “I told Laleh to stay away from you, but she was too kind, or maybe she pitied you too much, so I found other ways to separate you. I knew you would hurt her one day.”
“Enough,” Soraya ordered. Each word that he spoke threatened to dim the glow of satisfaction that came from her control over him. She couldn’t lose that glow—without it, she would be left in darkness.
But Ramin’s voice only became louder. “I thought that would be enough to keep my family safe from you, but clearly, I was wrong. My sister spent her wedding day in tears because of you and your—”
“I said, enough!” Soraya shouted as she stepped forward, pulled her foot back, and aimed a hard kick at his side—at the wound.
The shout of triumph from the divs was so loud that she almost didn’t hear Ramin crying out as he slumped forward. But she did hear it, and the sound of that cry, so agonized, so primal, brought her back to herself.
Oh no.
She had been so desperate to keep his words from reaching her, from letting him win again, even when he was her prisoner, that she had barely thought before reacting. Now as the words were sinking in, Soraya looked at Ramin, his eyes shut from the pain, and saw him anew. All this time, she had thought of him as her persecutor and herself as the maligned victim of his pride, intimidated into submission because she refused to hurt him. But Ramin had been living in a different story, with himself as the hero, protecting his family from a demon in their midst that only he could recognize.
Standing here in a cavern of divs with blood under her nails and on the hem of her gown, Soraya was no longer sure which story was true.
Once more, she moved toward Ramin—but this time, she bent to undo the cords around his wrists.
“What are you doing?” he asked her with surprise.
“I’m sorry,” Soraya responded, unable to look him in the eye.
Before she could even begin to loosen the cords, a hand came down on her shoulder and she froze. “Stop at once,” Azad hissed at her under his breath. “You mustn’t show any weakness in front of the divs.”
She looked up at his stern face. “You said I could do whatever I wanted with him. I choose to free him.”
He shook his head. “I won’t allow that. They won’t allow that.”
Soraya looked up at the crowd of murmuring divs, craning their necks to see what violence Soraya would inflict next. “Then I want him returned to Golvahar unharmed.” She faced Ramin now, who was staring at her with a bewildered frown. “Look after them all,” she said to him in a hushed voice. “Protect them as much as you can.”
Azad took her arm and lifted her to her feet. “Go wait for me in that hall,” he whispered to her, gesturing to one of the tunnels leading out of the cavern. With a last guilty glance at Ramin, Soraya did as he said, hurrying through the crowd. As she pushed her way through to the tunnel, she heard Azad call out, “Your champion has wisely decided to let her prisoner recover before she causes him further injury.…”
As soon as she was alone in the tunnel, Soraya leaned her head against the stone wall, taking deep, shuddering breaths. Ramin’s cry of pain was still in her ears. How could she have let herself lose control like that? After so many years of holding herself back, she had lost that skill. It seemed to her sometimes that she could only ever be one thing or the other, a mouse or a viper, with nothing in between. And if that were true, then she didn’t know which she would choose. Either way brought her misery and shame.
“Soraya.” Azad’s hands wrapped around her arms and turned her to face him, his grip surprisingly gentle. “I gave orders for him to be returned unharmed to Golvahar.”
“Are you lying to me?”
“I swear on my throne that I’m not lying to you.”
Soraya supposed she’d have to be content with that—Azad was already leading her farther down the tunnel, away from the cavern. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“Somewhere you can rest safely,” he said. “I was hoping you would be pleased with my gift, but it seems to have upset you. Perhaps I gave it to you too soon.”
Not too soon, but too late, she thought. She never would have hurt Ramin like that before the fire temple, before the dakhmeh—before she’d first learned the pleasure of lashing out.
She had assumed he would return her to her room, but they passed the now-familiar tunnel that would take them there. They kept going, higher up the mountain than she had been before. Only when he finally stopped and opened a thick iron door wedged into the door frame did Soraya understand where he had taken her.
She was in a room much larger and more lushly furnished than her own, with a daybed and several chairs. The hard stone floor was covered in overlapping rugs, their thr
eads worn and colors faded. A crystal chandelier lit with candles hung above a large, oval table of polished wood. A map of Atashar was laid out on the table, with carved wooden figures painted in red or white set out in different arrangements. There was even an ornate fireplace carved into one wall. A cool breeze chilled her face, and she looked up in surprise to see a window in the wall opposite. It was no more than an uneven rectangle carved into the rock, no glass to keep out the wind.
Compared to the rest of Arzur, this was a room fit for a shah.
Azad put his hands on her shoulders, and she stiffened. “Why did you bring me here?”
“I thought the fresh air would do you good,” he said. “There are no other windows in the mountain.”
She went to the window, wanting to put distance between them, and in truth, she did find the fresh air a relief. She thought she saw the dark outline of Golvahar’s dome in the distance, past the brush on the south side of the mountain. The sight of it made her ache.
“That night at the dakhmeh,” Soraya said, turning to face him, “when I killed the yatu, you comforted me. You told me I had done right, that I shouldn’t be ashamed. Are you going to try to do the same for me now?” She hadn’t meant the question to sound like a plea, but the wavering final note in her voice was unmistakable.
He studied her, and then he said, “Is that what you want? For me to absolve you? It’s easy enough. That boy deserved what you did to him tonight. They all deserve it. That’s why…” He stopped, but his eyes were alight with some unknown excitement. “That’s why I want you to be the one to execute your brother.”
Despite all the horrors around her, Soraya barked out a shocked laugh. “I would never kill my brother,” she said, aghast.
“That’s what I once believed. But during all the time we’ve spent together, Soraya, one thing has become increasingly clear to me.” He began to walk toward her, taking slow, measured steps across the room as if he would frighten her away if he moved too quickly. “I can never show myself as human in front of the divs. I don’t want them to remember my origins, my weaknesses. I want them to see me at my full strength. And so I forget him sometimes, the man I used to be. I forget what he looked like, how it felt to be human. But when I’m with you, I remember.” As he continued walking toward her, the scales on his skin began to recede, his body slimming into the familiar form of his human self. “You and I don’t belong fully to either world. We know what it is to be something between human and div. We know what it means to turn against families who have hurt us. That night in the throne room, I truly meant to execute your brother. But when I saw you fight back against him, I couldn’t bring myself do it, because I knew that it should be you. I want it to be you. I’ve been waiting all this time for you to want it as well. Once you do this, you’ll know that there’s nothing you can’t do. You’ll be free.” He was in front of her now, fully human, vulnerable in a way Soraya hadn’t understood until she had seen the veins under her skin fade away, her own armor dissolved. “And you’ll rule with me, at my side, as my queen.”
She shook her head. She had heard him wrong, she thought, too distracted by seeing him human again—by the curl of his eyelashes, the bridge of his nose, the shape of his upper lip. “What are you asking me?”
His eyes were so bright, so young, as if he truly were a young prince again. “To be mine. To love me, as I love you.”
“You don’t love me,” Soraya said at once.
A melancholy smile passed over his face. “It’s easier for you to believe that, but you know it isn’t true, and I can’t deny it anymore, either. I’ve loved you since the dakhmeh, when you showed me who you are. You’re the part of me that I had forgotten, Soraya. And I’m the part of you that you could be—unrestrained, unburdened.”
Soraya turned from him, gulping in the night air like it was water as her arms wrapped around her waist. It was too difficult to remember all that he had done to her and to the people she loved when she saw him like this.
From behind her, Azad’s hands—his soft, smooth hands—rested on her shoulders. “I understand if you can’t strike down your brother,” he said, his voice low and sympathetic. “I was the same once. After I killed my father and brothers, I thought I had done wrong. I agonized over it, over every death that brought me to my throne. But before long, all that pain and doubt burned away, and there was only the knowledge of what needed to be done. You’ll see in time, but until then…” His hands glided from her shoulders down her arms and found her own hands, his fingers entwining with hers. “Until then, let me be your hands. Let me be your rage. Tell me you’ll be mine, and I will do what needs to be done.”
Soraya leaned back against him, letting him bear her weight, as he promised to do. Was there any point in fighting him anymore? Wasn’t he right that they were alike, that his past was her future, that a different kind of poison still ran through her veins? Hadn’t she proven that herself when she had struck out at Ramin?
I couldn’t stand to leave you alone with her. I saw the way your eyes followed her when she and Sorush would leave you behind in your dismal passageways—that jealous, hateful look.
How simple it would be to close her eyes and only open them when all of this was over. It would be like falling asleep, she thought as she felt the rise and fall of Azad’s chest against her back, his pulse in time with her own. And when she awoke, the world would be new and different. Sorush would be gone, along with the memory of his final harsh words, and Soraya would take his place in a world turned inside out. She would grieve for him, but as Azad had said, all that guilt and grief would soon burn away.
A sigh escaped her, and Azad slid his hands out of hers and swept her hair off the back of her neck, fingers grazing the sensitive skin at her nape. And yet, Soraya felt nothing at his touch, neither revulsion nor pleasure, only a kind of numb relief. When she didn’t stop him or pull away, his hand moved lower, dipping below the collar of her gown to the ridges of her spine. A memory ran through Soraya’s whole body—the smell of esfand; the feeling of soft skin under her fingertips; the sound of breathing in the darkness; a whorled pattern on a patch of skin between shoulder blades. Between her wings.
The sight of those wings, torn to shreds, hanging down Parvaneh’s back.
Soraya flinched away from him with a vehemence that surprised them both. The vividness of her memory paired with the visceral touch of Azad’s hands on her spine had made her react, as if hers were the wings he had torn.
She had spun to face him, and they stared at each other now in mutual confusion. Soraya could still feel the pressure of his touch along her spine, but it only made her think of being in the dungeon, of wanting to brush her fingertips against Parvaneh’s spine as she carefully stitched her wings back together, repairing what Azad had destroyed.
And he had destroyed so much. She thought of Parvaneh, of the other pariks sleeping in cages, of her mother as a terrified child confronting a monster in the forest, of Laleh’s ruined wedding and her brother on his knees … and she wondered how she could have ever trusted Azad to absolve her of anything.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Azad said, his voice hoarse.
She felt like she was waking from a dream, the world taking solid shape around her. “I’m sorry,” she said, edging away from the window, so she wouldn’t be cornered. “I need time to think.”
Her plea sounded like the stall for time that it was, and so he tensed with frustration as he nodded. “I understand,” he said, coming forward to close the gap between them. “But I can’t leave your brother alive for much longer, Soraya.” He was backing her toward the fireplace now, and she looked behind her anxiously as she tried to think of how to further placate him. “I need you to make your choice.”
There was a cold glint in his eye, and Soraya almost thought he was going to transform again. But he remained human, and just as she had once been startled to see the eyes of the boy in the Shahmar, she now saw the eyes of the monster in Azad.
> The gulf is not as wide as you think. It had been a plea when he’d said it before, but she heard it now as a threat.
“It’s not my choice,” she said, her voice strained, “when I’m still your prisoner.”
With a dismissive shake of his head, he said, “You’re not a prisoner, Soraya.”
His tone made her bristle. “I’m not a prisoner? Because I’m not locked up in a cage hanging from a tree? Because you said I can now move freely through Arzur? As long as you have my family, I’m under your control and you know it.”
She swept past him and headed toward his door, ready for this night to end. But as she started to pull open the door, a powerful, scaled hand pushed it shut, trapping her inside. Soraya turned to find the Shahmar standing over her, transformed.
“How did you know where I imprisoned the pariks?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.
24
Soraya went cold as she realized her mistake. She had let herself become angry, and so she’d spoken without thinking over her words first, without considering how much she was supposed to know. “I don’t—I didn’t—”
“You lied to me when you said you hadn’t seen Parvaneh.” He took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up to look at him. “I thought it strange that Parvaneh could have resisted the effects of the esfand after all this time. But of course, if she had a human accomplice, that would explain everything. You’ve been working against me this entire time.”
She shook her head. “No … no, I…”
He sighed impatiently. “Choose a lie more quickly, Soraya.”
Her mind was working frantically, trying to find a lie that he would believe, but it seemed pointless. He wouldn’t believe her, not enough to trust her again—certainly not enough to tell her where he kept the simorgh’s feather.
The truth, then. As much of it as she dared.
“I did free her,” Soraya said, her voice wavering from fear. “I needed a way to escape the palace, and when she showed me what you had done to her wings, I thought she would help me. But you caught me first.”
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