Soraya slunk away, like a shadow disappearing when the sun was at its highest. But the crowd had thickened behind her, creating what seemed to her like an impenetrable wall of people. She tried to breathe and slow her quickening heartbeat as she sought a path through the crowd. But after only a few steps, something collided with her legs, and she jerked away in response, looking down at a little girl who had crossed her path. With visions of butterflies fluttering behind her eyelids, Soraya went cold with fear, almost waiting to see the girl fall dead on the spot. But the girl had only touched the fabric of Soraya’s dress, and she skipped away without even paying Soraya notice.
Still, Soraya couldn’t slow her pulse, and as she tried to keep making her way through the crowd, she was light-headed from the mixture of panic and relief. She kept her head down, knowing from the familiar heat in her cheeks that her veins were visible on her face, but as a result, she kept accidentally brushing against more people. Each time it happened, her heart would give another involuntary lurch, until her body felt exhausted and overwhelmed from the constant bursts of fear.
She was curling in on herself now, her shoulders hunching protectively, her head hanging forward, her arms going around her waist. She didn’t even think she was moving anymore, but it was hard to tell when she was so disoriented. Her veins felt like they were straining against her skin. Don’t faint, she told her swimming head, her pounding heart. If she fainted, then someone might touch her face or remove her gloves to find her pulse. Don’t faint, don’t faint.
A firm arm came around her shoulders. A hand clamped around her upper arm. Someone was trying to help her. “No,” Soraya said weakly. “No, don’t—” She lifted her head enough to see who had innocently come to her rescue without knowing that she was more dangerous than in danger. And through the curtain of hair spilling over her face, she saw a familiar young man dressed in red.
“Azad,” she breathed.
He blinked at her. “You know me,” he said, a note of surprised pleasure in his voice.
“You shouldn’t come near me.” She tried to draw away from him. “You don’t understand—”
But Azad didn’t let go. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I know you, too, shahzadeh banu.”
* * *
Soraya froze under the weight of the young man’s arm, repeating his words to herself. He knew her, he said. But what did he know? He had addressed her by her title, and so he clearly knew she was the princess. But did he know why she was wearing gloves on this warm spring day? Did he know why she was trying to hide her face? Did he know that only a layer of fabric separated him from death?
“You don’t look well,” Azad said. “How can I help you?”
Soraya pushed her questions aside. She was still in the middle of the garden, in the middle of a crowd, her head lightly spinning. “I need to get back to the palace,” she said, her voice hoarse. Once she was inside, she could escape back into the passageways, their cool darkness never so appealing as now.
“I’ll take you,” Azad said. True to his word, he proceeded to lead her through the crowd, his arm around her shoulder both holding her up and shielding her from stray touches. Soraya’s heart slowed, and her head settled. She felt weightless, all responsibility removed from her, like she was simply a passenger in her body.
But as they neared the palace steps, Soraya found something else to worry about—Ramin was standing in the shade of the wide ayvan that marked the palace entrance. If they went in now, he would be sure to notice her, and she wasn’t ready to face him again so soon after last night’s encounter.
Soraya halted suddenly, and Azad’s brow furrowed with concern. “Not this way,” she said to him. She veered to the right, and he followed her lead toward the trees of the orchard around the side of the palace. As soon as they were beyond the main garden’s borders, the crowd began to diminish considerably, until they were finally alone. Even so, Soraya didn’t move away from under Azad’s arm. His nearness was no longer just a shield now, but a kind of luxury, a sip of heady wine that she would probably never taste again. Was it so wrong to linger?
It’s wrong when he doesn’t know what you are, or the danger he’s in, a voice in her mind answered. He said he knew her, but he couldn’t possibly know the whole truth, not when he had put his arm around her so comfortably.
Soraya halted somewhat abruptly under the shade of a pomegranate tree, causing Azad’s arm to slip away. “Thank you,” she said, “but I can go the rest of the way on my own.”
“Of course, shahzadeh banu,” he said with a small bow of his head. “You honored me by letting me assist you. Please tell me if I may help in any other way.” He lifted his head from its bow, his dark eyes looking to her in expectation and … was it hope?
She opened her mouth to tell him that she didn’t need any further help, but what slipped out instead was, “How do you know who I am?”
He looked down with an embarrassed laugh, and she tried not to notice the graceful slope of his neck, the pronounced dimples in his cheeks. This is foolish, she told herself. She should have dismissed him immediately.
“I knew who you were when I saw you on the roof a few days ago,” Azad said. “You were exactly as I had pictured you.” He was staring at her now as boldly as he had done when he had spotted her on the roof, and the longer he looked, the more real she felt, like she was taking shape under his gaze.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He spoke softly, his tone almost reverent. “My father was once a merchant. He traveled all throughout Atashar and beyond, and when he returned, he would bring me stories from wherever he’d been. When I was no more than ten years old, he told me the mystery of the shahzadeh. No one outside the walls of Golvahar had ever seen her or heard her voice, he said. She was a secret, hidden away in the palace like a carefully guarded treasure.”
Soraya couldn’t help lifting an eyebrow at that. She wanted to remark that she was no treasure, but the way Azad was looking at her—that gentle, dreamy look, like he wasn’t quite sure she was real—held her back.
“I was captivated,” he continued. “I would stay up long into the night, wondering what you looked like and why you were kept hidden, imagining that I would ride up to the palace in a majestic horse to free you. I used to think that we’d…” He looked away, his cheeks coloring slightly. When he faced her again, his eyes gleamed with something that Soraya couldn’t recognize. “Do you see now why I recognized you? You’re my favorite story. I feel like I’ve known you for a long time.”
Soraya drew in a breath, unable to speak. For the first time, she saw herself as Azad had imagined her—the heroine of a story, not the monster. It was only an illusion, of course, born from a young boy’s uninformed romantic dreams, but for the space of a breath, she let herself enjoy it.
She didn’t want to tell him the truth. She wanted his version of her to keep existing, if only in his mind. And so she knew what she had to do.
“Well, you did come to my rescue today, so now that you’ve lived out your dreams, I’ll be on my way.”
His face fell at once, a wrinkle of dismay forming at the center of his forehead. “Is there anything I can say to persuade you to stay and talk with me for a little longer?”
Soraya smiled sadly and shook her head. “Trust me. It’s better that we—”
But before she finished speaking, a loud voice startled them both: “I thought I saw you in the crowd.”
She and Azad both turned at once to see the approaching figure of Ramin. She took a hasty step away from Azad, but that only made her look guiltier.
“It’s reckless of you to be out on such a crowded day.” He looked at her with a significant arch of his eyebrow. “You’ve even made a new friend. Are you sure that’s wise?”
All of Soraya’s muscles tightened at once. He wouldn’t dare tell Azad about her curse—to do so was to risk angering the royal family. Soraya was torn between the competing urges to shrink away, or step forward and show him she
was unafraid. But her guilt from almost losing control the night before still lingered, and so Soraya simply said, “That’s none of your concern, Ramin.”
But Ramin wasn’t even looking at her anymore—he was focused on Azad, who was standing stiffly, not moving or speaking. Ramin moved closer, coming to stand directly in front of him. Only then did Azad take a breath, his shoulders drawing back so that he was standing at his full height. There was a strange energy surrounding Azad, like clouds gathering before a storm, or the stillness of a snake about to strike. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“You’re that villager we brought back,” Ramin said. He lifted his chin, his arms crossed, and nodded at Azad in approval. “You proved yourself to us all that day, so let me give you some advice, from one soldier to another: stay away from this one.”
Azad tilted his head slightly, his long neck moving with slow, deliberate grace. “I don’t think I need your advice,” he said.
“Ramin, this isn’t necessary,” Soraya interrupted, trying to keep her voice calm.
Ramin looked directly at Soraya, disdain curling his lip, and said, “I don’t need to hear from you, Soraya. You’re not part of this conversation.”
There was a sudden cracking sound—the snake had struck at last. Soraya barely even saw Azad’s fist move, but it must have, because now Ramin was sprawled on the grass, rubbing his jaw.
And for the first time since Ramin had approached them, Azad looked away from him and turned to Soraya. “I’m sorry,” he said at once, but his eyes were still burning with anger, his hand still closed into a fist.
Soraya felt that strange energy wrap around her now, the two of them practically trembling with it. And she realized that her hand was also a fist, like she had struck Ramin herself, like Azad had become an extension of her. He was the arm of her anger, lashing out when she could not. He was the force of her rage, unbound.
She looked Azad in the eye and shook her head. “Don’t be,” she said, with a firmness that surprised her.
Ramin pushed himself up from the ground, a dark bruise already starting to appear on his jaw. “That was a mistake,” he said to Azad. Ramin started to charge toward him, but Soraya threw herself in between them, forcing Ramin to come to a sudden stop directly in front of her.
And now Soraya was the snake, her venom far deadlier than Azad’s, and she wanted nothing more than to strike. She took a step toward Ramin, gratified when he took a hurried step back, a flash of fear in his eyes.
But the flash quickly transformed into a triumphant glint, and Soraya knew what was about to happen even as she knew she couldn’t stop it.
“Don’t think me a coward,” he said to Azad over Soraya’s shoulder. “I would fight you right here, but you have an unfair advantage. This girl is poisonous—cursed by a div. If you ever touch her, you’ll die.”
All the blood drained out of her as Ramin spoke, and she felt like she was made of ice, cold enough to burn. Soraya was glad her back was to Azad, in case her veins were visible. Something familiar was bubbling inside her—the same cruel urge that had made her want to hurt Ramin the night before. And as she had done last night, she swallowed the urge down and tried not to choke.
Ramin smirked at her in satisfaction and walked away. Laleh wasn’t enough for him, Soraya thought. He won’t be content until I’m completely alone.
Even when Ramin was gone, Soraya couldn’t face Azad. “It’s true,” she called back to him, the words scraping her throat. “That’s the secret you’ve always wanted to know. The mysterious shahzadeh was cursed by a div when she was just an infant, and that’s why she must be hidden away. If you touch me, you’ll die.”
She turned to him, knowing from the feel of blood rushing through her that her veins were etched dark green in her face. Azad was watching her, his face solemn, his eyes sad.
“Well,” she said, holding her gloved hands out to him, “am I still your favorite story?”
5
In a way, Soraya was relieved that Ramin had told Azad her secret. She had liked Azad’s version of her too much—it would have been hard to walk away from it. Let Azad be the one to walk away, then, and let him do it now, before she grew too attached.
But even as her half-taunting question still hung in the air, Azad didn’t back away. He came closer to her, so close that she saw the stubble along his jaw. He tilted his head, brown curls falling over his forehead. “You’re better than any story, shahzadeh banu … Soraya,” he murmured. She barely heard him, but she watched his lips form her name. He gave a slight, disbelieving shake of his head, as if surprised by the depth of his emotion. “In my mind, you were only a shadow. But now, I can see you and know you for what you are, beautiful yet deadly. I can speak to you. I can touch you.” Slowly, tentatively, he reached up to draw her hair away from her face, revealing more of the veins spreading out along her neck like vines. Beautiful yet deadly, he had called her. Somehow, he made one sound as sweet as the other.
But as intoxicated as she was by his words and his nearness, Soraya remembered herself and drew back from him, her hair spilling out of his hand. “Now you understand why you should keep away from me,” she said, but she wasn’t remotely convincing to herself, let alone to him.
She needed to put distance between them, so she turned and cut a path through the rest of the orchard, not looking behind to see if he would follow.
She hoped so much that he would follow.
“I’m not afraid to be near you,” he called. “I’m only afraid that you don’t want me to be.” From behind, she heard his hurried footsteps catching up to her.
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” she said without stopping. “This is the last time you’ll ever see me. I’m kept hidden away, remember? I shouldn’t even have left my room today.” She didn’t voice her other thought, the one that was accompanied by what she had seen in the pavilion: You’ll leave me behind in the end, for one reason or another.
The orchard curved around to the side of the palace, and so when she emerged from its trees, she saw the walls of the golestan up ahead. She would keep walking until she was safely inside those walls, and she wouldn’t stop for anything or anyone.
“Then why did you?” he said. His voice was directly behind her now. He could have easily overtaken her, but he still remained a step behind, and Soraya couldn’t help believing that it was out of respect, not fear.
“That’s none of your con—” Her own thoughts interrupted her, and she halted abruptly. From behind, she heard Azad inhale sharply. When she spun to face him, he was too close to her, and so both of them took a hasty step backward. She looked him up and down, taking in the red soldier’s uniform, remembering what Laleh had told her about how he had earned it. That’s none of your concern, she had begun to say, except that it was, in a way—he was the reason there was a div in the dungeon at all, and so he was the reason she had left her room today.
“Do you have access to the palace dungeon?” she asked him.
Her unexpected question made him frown. “I don’t know. The rules of the azatan are still new to me.”
Soraya tugged at her gloves as she thought. Even if he could access the dungeon, he might not be able to see the div. And even if he did—even if she sent him on her behalf—she would still feel cheated that she could not speak to the div herself. She shook her head. “No, it won’t work,” she murmured to herself.
She began to turn away from him again. “Are you thinking about the div?” he said. And now it was her turn to be surprised. When she looked at him again, she noticed a sly gleam in his eyes, as if he had known all along what she had wanted. “Do you think the div knows how to lift your curse?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t be at peace until I ask. I’ve already tried to enter the dungeon, but Ramin wouldn’t let me pass. And I can’t use the passageways.”
“Passageways?”
It had been so long since she had spoken to anyone new that she had said it without thinking. “Th
ere are secret passages all throughout Golvahar. I use them to move through the palace without encountering anyone.” She felt strangely embarrassed to explain herself—she didn’t want him to think of her scurrying inside the walls like she was some kind of rodent. Have you spent so much time among the rats in the walls that you’ve forgotten how to sleep at night? “But the passage to the dungeon is blocked off,” she continued.
He looked up at the palace, eyes narrowing in contemplation. “How is it blocked off?”
“A locked door,” she said.
“Maybe we can break it down.”
When he looked at her again, she felt a conspiratorial thrill pass between them. Her eyes swept down his arms, remembering the force of the blow he had landed on Ramin.
Soraya still hesitated, though. She had never brought anyone with her into the passageways. Even with torchlight, they were dark and narrow—close contact would be difficult to avoid. If her mother knew what they were planning, she would certainly disapprove. But then, she didn’t want Soraya to speak to the div at all, and Soraya already knew that would be an impossible command to obey.
Music and cheerful voices carried from the garden in the front of the palace, filling the heavy silence between them. Soraya thought again of seeing her mother with Sorush and Laleh, of their uncomplicated happiness. Don’t I deserve to be happy too? Didn’t she deserve to take whatever chance of happiness was offered to her?
“Follow me,” she said to Azad, and she didn’t need to look behind her to know that he would obey.
She led him down a hedged walkway toward the front end of the palace—away from the dungeon. A large set of stairs jutted out from the palace wall, their sides carved and painted in bright colors depicting a line of feathers pointing upward, a testament to the simorgh’s gift. Soraya bypassed the stairs themselves and walked to the green feather that was closest to the wall. The paint was dark enough that you wouldn’t see the thin groove that went all the way down the feather, but Soraya knew it was there, and so she dug her fingers into that nearly invisible space and pulled to the right. The panel in the rock slid open, and she slipped inside, gesturing for Azad to follow.
Girl, Serpent, Thorn Page 4
