Girl, Serpent, Thorn(48)

“Yes,” Soraya said. “I think I repaired all of them.”

Parvaneh slowly opened her wings out to their full length, then closed and opened them again, and Soraya heard the barely restrained joy in her voice as she said, “Yes, you did.” Her wings collapsed, lying flat along her spine, and she put her shift back on. “Thank you,” she said, turning to Soraya. A hint of a smile played on her lips. “You have a gentle touch.” She headed for the stairway, leaving Soraya speechless behind her.

Once they ascended from the cavern, Parvaneh let Soraya lead the way through the dungeon. Soraya brought her to the secret entrance to the passageways, then paused to consider. She didn’t know if the Shahmar had noticed yet that she was missing, but if he had, he would likely be waiting for her to emerge from the passages—and he already knew about one of the doors. She wondered if it would be safer to use the regular entrance to the dungeon, but that, too, seemed too exposed, too risky. Better to take Parvaneh in through the passages and surface somewhere behind the palace—near the stables, if possible.

Soraya pulled open the door to the passageways, and told Parvaneh to follow.

She took them back to the circular cavern, though she ventured cautiously in case any divs were lying in wait. From there, they continued on down the central tunnel, Soraya heading toward the far western corner of the palace. There was a door there that would open onto a terrace that overlooked the training grounds. From there, they could run for the stables. Parvaneh’s presence behind her was an unexpected comfort—Soraya wasn’t alone now. She had someone powerful on her side, and soon the other pariks would join them. Her promise to her mother wasn’t bluster or desperation. It was possible. She could still undo what she had done.

As they neared the terrace, the passage became narrower, and Soraya had to duck her head. She was relieved when her hands met the low, square door at last. She pushed it open, letting in the crisp night air and the light from the stars, and began to crawl out through the opening in the palace wall onto the white stone of the terrace.

And then something sharp clamped around her arm and dragged her out the rest of the way.

The beaked div stood alone on the empty terrace, as if he had been expecting her. “The Shahmar said I would find you here,” he said. “He’s waiting for you.”

Soraya didn’t have time to wonder how the Shahmar had known where to find her. She needed to be ready to make her escape—because she noticed at once that the beaked div was alone, and she had Parvaneh with her.

Except that when she turned to look down the tunnel, Parvaneh was gone, and Soraya cursed herself for trusting yet another div.

The div led her into the palace, down halls that were now lined with other divs. She had expected him to take her back to the new wing, but instead, he went all the way down the hall to the entrance of the throne room.

The throne room was exactly as she had last seen it on Nog Roz—except that a different occupant lounged on the throne, his posture relaxed and arrogant. The beaked div brought her to the center of the room, where Sorush was standing rigidly on the image of the simorgh.

A ring of divs circled the room, and Soraya cursed silently as her eyes went to the door hidden in the right wall. One of the divs was positioned directly against it, blocking any escape. The Shahmar knows about the door, Soraya thought at once, but that was impossible, wasn’t it? She had never shown it to him, or even told him about it.

Following her gaze, the Shahmar said, “You’re looking for the door, aren’t you?” His voice rumbled with amusement. “I should have known better than to try to keep you prisoner here. You know these walls even better than I do. And I know them quite well myself—I built those passages that have hidden you away from me for so long, and so I knew which one you would likely take to escape. Don’t you find that poetic?”

A paranoid shah, Soraya remembered. Paranoid but clever, Azad had insisted. She was beginning to think there was no way to detangle her life from his, or his fate from hers.

The Shahmar continued: “I would have retrieved you soon anyway. I want you to be here when I kill your brother.”

Her stomach lurched, and she tried to find Sorush’s eye, but he kept his gaze straight ahead. Instead, she faced the Shahmar and said, “Why kill him? Isn’t it enough that he’s your prisoner?”

It was a weak argument, and they both knew it. The Shahmar shook his head. “I won’t make the same mistake I did last time, Soraya. As long as he lives, people will have hope that he can rise against me, and I won’t be overthrown by your family again.” He rose from the throne and descended from the dais. At once, Soraya stepped in front of her oddly passive brother.

“I won’t stand and watch,” she said to the Shahmar as he stepped closer and closer. “I won’t let you—”

“Soraya, stop.” Sorush’s voice rang clear, his hand firm on her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter.”

She spun to face him in astonishment. His face was blank and unfeeling, but somehow his calm demeanor only made her feel more frantic, more desperate. “How can you say that?” she said to him. “That is your throne. Those are your people!”

He gave a slight shake of the head. “Not anymore. You saw to that.”

The chill in his voice made Soraya shiver. “Sorush, I’m sorry,” she said to him, her throat dry. “I never thought this would happen. When I put out the fire, I didn’t know—”