Girl, Serpent, Thorn

by Melissa Bashardoust

  Two of the bars were still bent from when Parvaneh had freed herself, and Soraya stepped through them, into the cell. “Parvaneh?” she called out. Even if Parvaneh were unconscious, Soraya thought, she might still be awake in this uncertain dreamscape. There was no response, though—or maybe Parvaneh didn’t want to respond.

  The smoke closed in on Soraya from every direction, making her feel disoriented and slightly drowsy, even within a dream. She kept wandering with small, uncertain steps until she saw a shadowy outline on the ground near the far end of the cavern. She went toward it, and as she neared, the smoke began to clear slightly, as if it knew what she was looking for and wanted to oblige. And then Soraya saw her.

  Parvaneh lay on her back, her wings hidden from view, her hands folded over her stomach, her eyes closed. Surrounded by tendrils of smoke, she looked like an apparition, or a mirage in the desert, the air shimmering around her. Soraya bent down beside her and looked at her face. She had always thought people were supposed to look peaceful when asleep, but Parvaneh’s forehead was lined with distress. Soraya reached with one uncertain hand to smooth the line away, but as with the brazier, she couldn’t make any change to her surroundings, nor even fully feel anything under her touch. She had thought she would be afraid to speak to Parvaneh again, but this silence, this sleep that was almost death, was far worse. Soraya would have endured the angriest of diatribes if it meant seeing those eyes open again.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, the words swallowed up by the smoke. “I promise I’ll come for you. I won’t give up. I won’t let him win. I’ll show you how wrong you were about me.”

  Before she willed herself awake again, she brushed her lips against Parvaneh’s forehead, a kiss neither of them could feel.

  * * *

  Soraya woke with her fists clenched at her sides, her whole body coiled and ready to act. She rose at once and checked the candle. It was only a little shorter than it had been when she’d gone to sleep, which meant she probably still had time before dusk. When Azad returned, she would have to think of a way to guide their conversation toward the simorgh’s feather again, but in the meantime, she finally had a place to search.

  Her cloak was bundled up under the straw of her mattress, and she retrieved it now, even though she hoped that after Azad’s decree, no one would trouble her. Her caution was unnecessary—as soon as she stepped out into the main tunnel, she encountered a div who passed by her with a simple nod of the head. There were fewer divs passing through than she had seen before—probably because it was day—but each div that she passed as she made the climb up to Azad’s room paid her similar treatment. A strange thrill went through her on each of these occasions. Unlike their exaggerated deference to Azad, these gestures of recognition were small and subtle—a quick nod, a flash of a smile, a knowing look. We see you and know you, they said, and you are welcome here. After a short while, Soraya found herself returning the gestures, and the cloak dropped from her hands.

  When she thought she was near Azad’s room, she began to slow and peer down tunnels, looking for an iron door. Most of the rooms and caverns didn’t have doors at all, and the ones that did were either made of wood or were simply curtains, so it was easy enough to find the one she was looking for. Unlike the door to his treasury, this one had no lock—his attachment to his humanity was his only secret—and so Soraya opened it and went inside.

  She had thought that returning to this room, where she had nearly given in to her worst instincts, would be unbearable. But the room around her was nothing like the one from last night. She would have thought she was in the wrong place except for the cool breeze coming in through the window, the only one in all of Arzur, Azad had said. Because the breeze wasn’t the only visitor to the chamber—sunlight also streamed through the window, transforming the room entirely. It was the bright orange light of a slowly dying sun, which meant she didn’t have much time until dusk, and yet she stood enraptured at seeing and feeling the sunlight for the first time since she had been taken from Golvahar. She had never realized how easily hope died when there was no sunlight, how hard it was to believe that another day was worth fighting for when there was only night.

  But that sun was also a measure of how much time she had left until Azad’s return, so she quickly recovered herself and started rummaging through the room as she had once done in her mother’s chambers, not long ago. She began with the chest where he had retrieved the rope last night, but it held only tools that were appropriate for living in a mountain—chisels, pickax heads, more rope.

  She overturned all the rugs next, careful to replace them when she was finished, then went to the table where the map still lay. She could look at the wooden figures on the map more clearly now, white and red figures clashing at various points along the borders of Atashar. She dimly remembered seeing a similar map, with the same areas marked. Those marks are where the divs have attacked in the last few years, Sorush had explained to her. It’s almost as if they’re practicing for something. Soraya was tempted to knock the map off the table, but she restrained herself, instead carefully lifting a corner to look underneath.

  There was a short hall off to the side of the room, which Soraya followed to a doorway at its end. Inside was a smaller chamber, roughly the same size as her own, and nearly as simple—a table, some candles, and a pallet that served as a bed, without even a blanket. This is where he sleeps, she thought. She couldn’t make herself go into the room. There was too much of him there.

  Back in the main chamber, though, she had run out of places to search. She walked through the room carefully, checking for anything she may have missed, and stopped at the massive fireplace. Would he have—?

  With a growing sense of dread, Soraya knelt down in front of the fireplace and began to sift through the ashes. Would he have destroyed his only chance of becoming human again? He had said he had no interest in living a human life, but his treasury of mementos from his reign said otherwise. Soraya’s fingertips were becoming gray, but she kept digging through the soot, until a flash of green caught her eye, reminding her too much of the last time she had dug this same feather out of the embers of a fire.

  Soraya uncovered the remains of the simorgh’s feather, a few green barbs that became ash as soon as she touched them.

  It was over, then. Their only chance at defeating the Shahmar—Soraya’s only chance at saving her family and Parvaneh—had crumbled into nothing.

  Soraya remained kneeling by the fireplace, looking at the ashes that had once been the simorgh’s feather as if they would regenerate through whatever magic gave the feather its power. It seemed ridiculous that the feather had the power to heal anything except itself. But the yatu had warned her, his words more prophetic than she had known: in any fire other than the Royal Fire, he had said, the feather would simply burn.

  She shut her eyes, letting the breeze cool her face, the back of her neck …

  Her face and the back of her neck?

  Soraya’s eyes snapped open, and she acknowledged that yes, she felt the breeze from two directions at once, both from the window behind her—and from the fireplace in front of her.

  She reached a hand out to the back of the fireplace, trying to find the source of the air. Her hand touched brick, and when she pushed at the surface of the wall, it budged. The fireplace was large enough that she could stand inside it at her full height, and so she rose to her feet and walked into the mouth of it, then pressed both hands against the brick wall with all of her strength. The wall moved inward, revealing a dark passage beyond.

  A secret passageway, Soraya thought, built by a clever and paranoid shah. She shouldn’t have been surprised.

  The breeze was stronger now, clearly coming from the passageway, which meant that there was likely an opening beyond. An escape route would do her no good at this point, but curiosity and desperation led her farther down the passage, keeping her hand to the wall so she wouldn’t lose her way.

  It was not as dark as she would hav
e expected, and not just because of the light coming from the window in the room—there was another light source beyond, again confirming her belief that there was an opening at the end of the passage.

  There was only the one path, and the light was growing stronger as she continued. Before long, the passage opened up into a cavern, lit from above by a stream of pale orange light coming in through an opening in the rock. Soraya thought the chamber was empty until she heard a sound like the clinking of chains, and saw something moving against the far wall.

  Parvaneh, she thought at once, a flutter of hope in her chest. Perhaps she had performed the ritual with the hair incorrectly, and her dream had been nothing more than a guilt-induced fantasy. She stepped forward, toward the beam of light, and the prisoner in the shadows.

  And then she saw it—saw her, the shape of her becoming more distinct as Soraya drew nearer. She was so familiar that Soraya knew her at once, even though the truth of it seemed impossible. Green feathers tipped with orange, a long and graceful neck, her head and body shaped like a peacock’s, while her wings had the majesty and breadth of an eagle. All of the theories about her disappearance had been wrong; none of them had prepared Soraya to find the simorgh hidden in this chamber inside Mount Arzur.

  Heavy chains around her legs kept her bound to the rock, and the only items within reach were a bowl of water and another bowl that was currently empty. All this time, Azad had been holding her captive, keeping her alive—but why? Why not kill her as some people believed he had done? Parvaneh had wondered the same during her captivity, and her words returned to Soraya now: He had captured me … refused to release me until I told him something useful. What did the simorgh have that Azad would find useful? If he wanted a feather to retain his humanity, he could have taken it and killed the simorgh long ago. But perhaps it wasn’t the feather itself he wanted, but the security it could provide him—if freely given.

  He wants the simorgh’s protection, Soraya realized, and she’s refused him all this time.

  Soraya tentatively moved closer, wondering if the simorgh knew that Soraya was of her lineage, a lineage that Soraya had rejected and betrayed. The simorgh ruffled her feathers slightly, but showed no reaction to Soraya’s presence. In her eyes was an intelligence that was far beyond any bird Soraya had ever seen—but it wasn’t human, either. It was as if she already knew all that would come to pass, and was simply waiting for events to unfold. If Soraya detected a touch of reproach in the curve of her brow, she wasn’t sure if it was real or if her own guilt was making her see it. I’ve been expecting you, the simorgh’s eyes seemed to say. And you are very, very late.

  “Can you understand me?” Soraya whispered, moving slowly toward the simorgh.

  The simorgh didn’t speak, of course, but simply bowed her head in a slow nod.

  Soraya held up a shaking hand, revealing her seal ring, the simorgh’s image etched into it. “Do you know who I am?”

  It was a question with many answers, but the simorgh’s fierce, unblinking stare made Soraya think that she knew all of them. I’m your descendant. I’m your betrayer. I’m your rescuer.

  The simorgh nodded again, this time emitting a low-throated cooing sound that Soraya thought she could understand. One of mine. With a rattle of chains, the simorgh came forward as far as she could go, bringing her a step away from Soraya. She was the size of a large dog or small horse, her head level with Soraya’s chest, and yet Soraya felt engulfed by her presence. The simorgh made another gentle cooing sound, and then she stretched out her long, beautiful neck and fluttered her wings, as if in welcome.

  Soraya’s chest tightened painfully, and she let out a broken sob as she fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around the simorgh’s neck. The simorgh nestled her head against Soraya’s as Soraya wept into her feathers. She felt undeserving of this affection, unworthy to have been the one to find the simorgh, the root of her family, after so many years. And yet, wasn’t that the story of her family’s beginnings? The simorgh had found an unwanted child and decided that he belonged to her now, and that she would love and raise him as her own, even if others found him unworthy. If only Soraya had seen herself in that child instead of the Shahmar, then maybe she would have found her place in her family line long ago. She would have known that what defined her lineage was not blood or duty or obligation, but a single act of compassion, of protection, granted freely.

  Soraya pulled away. Her eyes were still wet with tears, but she felt lighter now than she ever had. The patch of sky overhead began to darken, and she knew she couldn’t stay much longer, even though the idea of leaving the simorgh here was unthinkable. I could take a feather, she thought, with a glance at the simorgh’s brilliant plumage. But even to ask for such a gift felt wrong to her—the feather was something the simorgh should give of her own volition, not something to be taken. Maybe that was why every time Soraya tried to take the feather for herself, the result had been disastrous.

  “I’ll come back,” she told the simorgh. “I need something to help me with the chains.”

  The simorgh bowed her head in understanding, and with an aching heart, Soraya went back through the passage. She left the false brick wall as she had found it, slightly open, then brushed off the soot from her gown before stepping out of the fireplace. She looked hesitantly from the chest of tools to the swiftly darkening sky out the window. Did she have time to free her now?

  She took a step toward the chest, but then a shadow filled the room, and she turned her head to find Azad standing in the window.

  “Soraya,” he said with surprise as he stepped off the ledge into the room. “What are you doing here?” He tried to keep his voice light, but she could hear the undercurrent of suspicion.

  “I’m here to see you,” she said at once, grasping for something she knew he would be happy to hear. “Now that I can move freely through Arzur, I saw no reason why I should wait for you in my room like a prisoner.”

  He laughed softly. “Fair enough. Have you given thought to my offer from last night?”

  “To kill my brother or let you do it for me?”

  “I could decide for you, if you’d prefer.”

  “No,” Soraya said at once. “I’ve already made my decision.”

  She had spoken without thinking, simply wanting to stop him from losing patience with her, but now her mind was working like an overactive hummingbird, trying to figure out what came next.

  Azad studied her with narrowed eyes, and Soraya returned his stare with all the resolve she could muster. She weighed the options in her mind, and she knew there was only one choice she could make now.

  “And what have you decided?” he asked her with some skepticism.

  “I’ve been thinking of what you told me before,” she said, “when I asked you why you never chose to live as a human. You said it was because of power, but I think that’s only part of the truth.”

  He walked toward her, stopping when he was close enough that she had to turn her head up to look him in the eye. “Is that so?” he said, his mouth twisting in amusement. “Then what’s the real reason?”

  “Because if you chose to stop fighting for the throne and live a quiet life as a human, then everything you did to your family would have been for nothing.”

  His smile faded. His eyes darkened. “Soraya—”

  “And if I keep holding myself back, then the same will be true for me.”

  His mouth hung open with whatever unspoken reprimand he had been about to speak. “What are you saying?”

  “I’ll kill Sorush myself.” She turned her eyes up, looking at him through her eyelashes. “And then I’ll be yours.”

  Is this cruel? she wondered. Was she being as cruel to him as he had been when he’d pledged himself to her outside the golestan, knowing that he was about to betray her? If I am being cruel, she decided, then it’s because he taught me how.

  Azad was studying her again, searching for the trap that he was clever enough to suspect but didn’t want
to find. “Are you toying with me?” he said, his voice a low growl.

  “I’m done playing games,” she said. “I’ve felt more myself here among the divs than I ever have at Golvahar. I want what you promised me last night. I want to be free.”

  And even though she had no intention of killing Sorush, the words were true enough that she knew Azad would believe them.

  His hand came to rest on her shoulder, and he brushed his thumb along the curve of her throat. “Is that the only reason?” he said, his voice softening into something almost wistful.

  She knew what he wanted to hear, and she took a breath, preparing the lie on her tongue. “I miss you,” she said. “I miss working with you instead of against you. I miss what we once had. I want to know if I can find it again.”

  His hand tightened on her shoulder. “You will,” he said. “I promise you.”

  The conviction in his voice made her wonder if it were true—if, given time, she would one day look at him and see only that young man again, the one who had noticed her on the roof and come to her rescue on Nog Roz. But no—that young man had never existed, and even if he had, she didn’t want him anymore. She didn’t want someone who always told her what she wanted to hear. There was something better than that, something truer and more alive, and it was currently waiting for her, asleep in the dungeon of Golvahar.

  But first, she needed to free the simorgh. “That was all I came here to tell you,” Soraya said, turning away from him and moving toward the door. “I wanted you to know my decision before you returned to Golvahar.”

  “Before we return to Golvahar,” Azad corrected.

  Soraya turned, the hummingbird in her mind taking flight once more. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s no reason to delay. We can leave for Golvahar at dawn—or sooner, if you’d prefer.”

  She had thought he would wait at least another day before insisting on her return—on Sorush’s execution—and then she could return for the simorgh. I can still delay him, she thought. She just needed to make him leave Arzur again.