Girl, Serpent, Thorn(44)

She paused, her lips clamped shut, as if it physically pained her to speak.

“And then the Shahmar found me,” she said.

Soraya’s heart gave a lurch. “The Shahmar was the same div who found you in the forest?” But even as she asked it, she knew it was true—she remembered the look of recognition that passed between them in the garden.

“The Shahmar found me,” Tahmineh repeated, her voice louder, like she was trying to scare away her own fear. “I didn’t know who he was at the time. I just thought he was a monster. He told me I had taken something of his, and so now he would take something of mine.”

Soraya frowned. She knew this part already. “But—”

“He told me he would wait until I had a daughter, and when that daughter came of age, he would steal her away and make her his bride.”

Tahmineh’s words hovered over them like a blast of cold air, and Soraya let out a low moan of regret, because now she understood why her mother had wanted her to be untouchable. She had spent these years believing Tahmineh had hidden her to protect their family or the safety of others—but Soraya had been the one Tahmineh was trying to protect all along.

“For years, I tried to forget what he said,” Tahmineh continued. “I didn’t know if he had meant it or if it was an empty threat. But I prayed—I prayed every night from that day on—that I would never have a girl. When Sorush was born, I thought my prayers had been answered—but then you were born, minutes later, and I loved you and feared for you at the same time.”

“The parik’s favor.”

Tahmineh nodded. “I had kept the lock of her hair all those years, knowing this day might come. I burned it the night after you were born, and I dreamt I was in a forest—but not the same one where the Shahmar had found me. It was a forest I had never seen before, lush and green. The parik was there, and I told her I needed protection for my daughter, so that no div could ever touch her. She told me to meet her at the dakhmeh near the palace the next night, and to bring you with me.”

“You went to the dakhmeh?”

Tahmineh bowed her head in shame, but Soraya felt an unexpected tenderness for her mother, knowing they had both made the same choice to brave the dakhmeh. But her mother was even braver, because she had gone alone, undefended. For me, Soraya thought. She did that for me, and I betrayed her.

“I was desperate,” Tahmineh continued, “and so I did as the parik asked. She was there with a few others of her kind, and she had brought a basin large enough for an infant, filled with water. She had a vial of some red liquid and told me that a few drops of it mixed in the water would make you untouchable. Any human, beast, or div who touched you would die almost instantly.”

Tahmineh looked directly at her, a fierce glint in her dark eyes. “And I agreed,” she said, her voice firm—defiant, even. “I agreed because I didn’t know how else to protect you in such a dangerous world. There were times when I even envied your curse, because I thought you would never know the fear that I knew when the Shahmar found me in the forest. I kept you hidden away in Golvahar and forced myself to leave you here, because I didn’t want to draw the Shahmar’s attention to you in case he ever sought me out. But I wish I could have kept you with me. I wish I had told you the truth sooner.”

“Why didn’t you?” Soraya asked at once. A curious mixture of remorse and resentment swam inside her.

“At first I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be afraid,” Tahmineh answered. “How could I tell my child that a monster might steal her away? And how could I explain what I had done without letting you know why? I didn’t want you to grow up with that shadow over you. And when you were older…” She looked down at her lap, avoiding Soraya’s eye. “I didn’t want you to hate me. I saw how unhappy you were, and I couldn’t stand knowing that it was because of my actions—because I couldn’t protect you myself. I felt so guilty every time I left you here on your own.” She lifted her head, her eyes swimming with tears. “Soraya, can you forgive me?”

Soraya’s eyes were stinging, her throat closing up. A part of her wanted to say that she was the one who should be asking for forgiveness—she was the one who had brought ruin on them all with her choices. And another part wanted to say no, she couldn’t forgive Tahmineh, because by trying to protect her daughter from one kind of danger, she had left her completely vulnerable to another.

But instead of saying either of those things, Soraya did what she had wanted to do since she was a child. She inched closer to her mother and laid her bare hand on Tahmineh’s. In the space of a breath—a sob, really—Tahmineh had enclosed Soraya in her arms, laying her daughter’s head on her chest and stroking her hair as she rocked them both slowly back and forth.

They wept, forgiveness neither granted nor denied for now. Perhaps they both were to blame, but they both also knew the kinds of terrible choices a person made when at the mercy of the Shahmar. It was a curse they shared, a curse that Soraya had inherited—and in a strange way, it was the first time she truly felt she was her mother’s daughter.

The heavy, formless guilt that had been threatening to suffo cate her was now taking shape, becoming something she could do rather than feel. “I started this,” Soraya said, her voice thick with tears. She lifted her head. “And I have to end it—for all of us.”