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 thin
k 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.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Girl, Serpent, Thorn is the result of my lifelong love of fairy tales (particularly “Sleeping Beauty”), a fascination with the concept of a poisonous girl in a garden from “Rappaccini’s Daughter,” and my more recent desire to know more about the myths and legends of my own culture.
One of the novel’s major influences is the legendary Persian epic, the Shahnameh (or the Book of Kings). The Shahnameh was completed in the early eleventh century CE and is a very long account of the history of the Persian Empire, except that the first two-thirds are based more on myth and legend, while the last third is based more closely on actual history. It’s in the first sections that you find demons and heroes, snake kings and magical birds, and even a story reminiscent of Rapunzel. I wanted to use this mythical history to create a world that was inspired by ancient Persia (in particular the Sasanian era) and its folklore. Here are a few of the inspirations behind the world of Girl, Serpent, Thorn.
LANGUAGE
Most of the non-English terms in this book are a combination of words taken from Old Persian, Middle Persian, and modern Persian. For example, yatu is the Old Persian word for “sorcerer” or “magician”; Nog Roz is Middle Persian for “New Year”; and div is the modern Persian word for “demon.” I chose to use these older versions of the words in order to create a historical mood or to differentiate the terms as they’re used in the novel from their modern Persian meanings; however, I also used modern terms based on ease of readability and the mood I wanted to create. Some of the terms’ real-world definitions have been altered or simplified for the purposes of the novel.
A quick note on pronunciation: The i is pronounced like a long E, so div is pronounced DEEV, parik is par-EEK, etc. The “kh” sound, as in dakhmeh, is a kind of throat-scraping sound similar to the “ch” in loch (as in Loch Ness) or in Chanukah.
THE CREATOR AND THE DESTROYER
The novel’s cosmology is a fantastical, fictionalized, and truncated version of Zoroastrian beliefs from ancient times. Zoroastrianism is an ancient and complex belief system that has evolved over many years and is still practiced today.
I drew particular inspiration from Zurvanism, an obsolete, heretical version of Zoroastrianism that was popular during the Sasanian period. In the more dualistic Zurvanism, the two key figures, Ahura Mazda (the embodiment of good) and Angra Mainyu (the embodiment of evil) are twin brothers, two halves of an absolute whole, born from Zurvan (the embodiment of time). Orthodox Zoroastrianism is more clearly monotheistic, with Ahura Mazda as the only creator, and Angra Mainyu as a lesser being bent on spoiling Ahura Mazda’s naturally good creation with things like sickness and death. Zurvanism also heavily features fate and astrology (as does the Shahnameh), whereas orthodox Zoroastrianism emphasizes free will and the choice between good and evil in each person.
The fire temple is the traditional Zoroastrian place of worship. A common misconception about Zoroastrianism is that its practitioners worship fire, but in actuality, the fire is not itself worshipped but is a symbol of Ahura Mazda’s creative force. The Royal Fire in the novel is loosely inspired by the ancient coronation practice of lighting a royal fire for each shah, as well as by the Fire of Victory, the highest level of sacred fire, which burns perpetually and has many different ritual sources, including lightning.
The dakhmeh (also commonly spelled dakhma), or “tower of silence,” was the traditional Zoroastrian resting place in ancient Persia. Because fire and earth were sacred creations of Ahura Mazda, dead bodies were not cremated or buried. Instead, they were left above the ground in open-air structures to be exposed to the weather and carrion birds. Tombs were also built aboveground for important figures such as Cyrus the Great, whose tomb is still standing in Iran.
DIVS
In their earliest incarnations, divs represent the physical and spiritual evils of the world, such as wrath, drought, or corruption. In later times, and in the Shahnameh, divs are monster or ogre figures, often with animal-like features. They are the traditional fairy-tale monster, kidnapping maiden
s and kings, fighting heroes, and generally causing destruction. In the Shahnameh, they can change form or even turn invisible.
Druj (meaning “lie”) is one subset of demon and also sometimes refers to female demons. Kastar comes from a Middle Persian word for “destroyer” or “wrongdoer,” but I borrowed the term to represent another kind of demon.
Divs are traditionally associated with the north and with mountains, with the ridge of Mount Arezur being the gateway to hell (called Duzakh).
PARIKS
The pariks of this novel are the middle ground between the pairika and the pari. The pairika (Old Persian) were malevolent female demons who could take many forms and were associated with nighttime. Over time, the pairika evolved into the more romantic pari or peri—beautiful, winged women similar to fairies who are benevolent toward humanity. I thought it would be interesting to track the progression of the pairika from foe to friend in the novel, and so the pariks are a little bit of both.
THE SHAHMAR
Azad, the Shahmar (from the words “shah” meaning king and “mar” meaning snake), is based on the Shahnameh’s King Zahhak, who is in turn based on the earlier Azhi Dahaka. It’s a wild story, so get ready.
Azhi Dahaka is a demon from the start, a three-headed dragon bent on destroying humanity but who is defeated and chained up in a mountain. The Shahnameh took this figure and made him a human prince who is persuaded by Ahriman (the Middle Persian name for Angra Mainyu) into killing his father and taking the throne. Ahriman then disguises himself as a chef and requests to kiss Zahhak’s shoulders when he is offered a reward for his meals. Zahhak grants the request, and as a result, a snake grows out of each shoulder, and they keep growing back even after Zahhak tries cutting them off. Ahriman (disguised as a doctor this time) tells Zahhak that the snakes will eventually die if he feeds them human brains, so Zahhak orders the deaths of two men every night to feed his shoulder snakes and is generally a tyrant until he is eventually overthrown and chained up inside a mountain.
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