Girl, Serpent, Thorn(41)

“Here, shahryar,” one of the divs called out. He was standing by the line of cypresses, and she saw that the humans the div was guarding were the injured remains of the king’s guard. They all rallied themselves now, but before a fight could ensue, a figure both familiar and strange stepped out from their midst and came forward. Soraya knew that handsome, boyish face, but it was now haggard and ashen. She knew his easy yet dignified gait as he walked out to the center of the garden, but now he seemed so small, so dull, especially as he drew closer to the imposing form of the Shahmar.

“Sorush, the young shah,” the Shahmar said, circling him. “You wear my crown. You live in my palace. You use my title.”

Sorush shook his head. “You lost your right to the throne. None of this belongs to you any longer.”

The Shahmar halted, looming over Sorush, but Sorush kept his gaze ahead of him, not even looking up to meet the Shahmar’s eye. “Is that so?” the Shahmar hissed. “And yet you were the one to welcome me to your home. You called me a friend and thanked me for saving your life.”

Only now did Sorush’s regal mask start to crack. He glanced up at the Shahmar, brow furrowed in confusion—and then his eyes widened in understanding. “Azad?”

The Shahmar put his hand to his chest and dipped his head in a mocking bow. “I owe this victory in part to you.” He pitched his voice louder, so all could hear. “Even now, an army of divs is storming your city. And they won’t stop, not until they’ve laid waste to your entire kingdom—or until I tell them to stop.”

He paused, and there was a low buzzing of murmurs all around the garden, people looking up and noticing the plumes of smoke overhead, wafting from the direction of the city. Sorush’s jaw tensed as he tried to remain impassive.

“You’ve noticed,” the Shahmar said, still addressing the crowd more than the shah, “that the divs listen to me. They obey my commands. Over the years of my exile, I have taught them what it means to band together under a king, to follow a vision—my vision. The simorgh will not come to your rescue this time, I promise you that. Only I can end this violence. I can return you to your lives of wealth and influence. But first—first you must accept me as your new shah.”

He knew when to speak and when to fall silent—to allow the full meaning of his words to sink deeply into the minds of every person present. And they weren’t just any people gathered here for the wedding of the shah. They were the bozorgan and satraps from all across the country, the people who chose the shah and those who governed the provinces in his name.

This was why the divs had been instructed not to seriously harm or kill anyone apart from soldiers—the Shahmar didn’t want to destroy Atashar. He wanted to rule it.

“Well, then?” the Shahmar said to Sorush. “Will you give up your crown to protect your people? Will you bend your knee to me in supplication?”

Sorush lifted his head to look his enemy in the eye. “The Creator will protect us,” he said, his voice quieter than the Shahmar’s, but no less powerful. “And you will fail.”

The Shahmar didn’t respond, staring down at Sorush with deadly stillness. And then, with one fluid movement of his graceful neck, he turned his head and looked directly at Soraya.

“No,” Soraya breathed. She didn’t think she’d spoken aloud, but then she felt her mother’s hands clasp around her arms.

The Shahmar began to walk slowly in her direction. “I understand now,” he said. “You refuse to surrender to me because you still believe that the simorgh’s protection will shield you.” The closer he came to Soraya, the more her mother’s grip tightened. He came to stand directly in front of her, shaking his head in disapproval. “So many lies in this family. Perhaps it’s time to bring everything to the surface.” He wrapped his scaled hand around Soraya’s wrist, and with one sharp tug, he tore her from her mother’s grip.

Soraya and her mother both cried out together, but the tusked div prevented Tahmineh from following, and the Shahmar effortlessly dragged Soraya to the center of the garden, directly across from her brother. Sorush didn’t look at her or show any reaction to his mother’s and sister’s cries, knowing the Shahmar would use any emotion against him.

But then Sorush’s eyes widened as he realized the Shahmar was touching Soraya’s bare skin—a subtle movement, but one the Shahmar noticed as well.

“Do you want to tell him, or shall I?” he said to Soraya, his hand still encircling her wrist.

Soraya looked up at the Shahmar, her eyes pleading—and for the first time, she noticed that there were patches of skin visible between the scales that covered his face. She saw the shape of Azad underneath the Shahmar, the boy he had once been before his corruption, the boy she had come to trust and had wanted to run away with. And at the sight of him, a lightning flash of rage pierced through the thick gray fog of her guilt.

“Don’t touch me,” she said through gritted teeth, wrenching her wrist out of his grip. It was the worst insult she could think of to say to him—that no touch at all was still better than his.

The Shahmar let out a low growl as he stared down at Soraya. He grabbed her wrist again and swung her around to face the encircling crowd.

“People of Atashar,” he called to his audience, “I’m sure you’ve heard tales of the shah’s mysterious sister. Perhaps you’ve wondered why she remains hidden, why she never appears with her family.”