Girl, Serpent, Thorn(50)

But she let out a breath of relief when she saw a door set into the wall. The door, too, seemed misplaced—a rectangular wooden panel jammed into an arched opening—but more important, there was no keyhole beneath the handle. She wasn’t trapped, then … unless it was a different kind of trap. What would happen to her if she opened that door? What would be waiting for her on the other side?

Soraya went toward the door, and as she neared it, she noticed deep grooves made in the wood around the handle—the kind of grooves claws might make.

She was still staring at the door when the handle started to move and the door started to open. She braced herself for the sight of the Shahmar, that face from her nightmares.

But it wasn’t the Shahmar who stepped through the door. It was Azad. Soraya glanced at his hands, at his eyes, at his hair, but there was no sign of the monster she knew him to be. He was as beautiful as the day she’d first seen him.

He smiled when he saw her. “Good, you’re awake. Now we can—”

“No.” Her voice echoed slightly.

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t pretend. Not anymore.” Her throat clenched painfully as she tried to hold back angry tears.

“I’m not pretending, Soraya.” He stepped forward and reached for her hands, thumbs tracing the line of her knuckles. Soraya wanted to pull away, but it was still so new, so strange to feel bare skin on hers, and she couldn’t make herself deny something she’d wanted for so long. It was harder to remember to hate him when he looked like the boy who had comforted her at the dakhmeh. That boy never existed, she reminded herself, but when he slid his hands up her arms, when he cupped her face and began to lean in, she wanted so much to let herself forget.

“No,” she said, forcing the word out of her with all her strength. She tore away from Azad before he could kiss her, and she wrapped her arms around herself, curling inward as she always used to do. “No,” she said again, unable to look up at his face, though she could imagine the look of hurt and surprise—the vulnerability that he had cultivated to draw her in. “Your voice, your face, your hands—they’re not real. They’re not who you are.” She lifted her head, forcing herself to look at him and still deny him. “Show me who you are.”

His eyes narrowed, and when he spoke, it was with that other voice, his real voice. “Fine,” he said. “If that’s what you prefer.” Azad began to fade away like smoke, and the Shahmar emerged.

But now that she had seen his transformation, she could find the points of commonality more easily—he had the same bone structure, the same athletic grace. The shift from Azad to the Shahmar wasn’t a complete change; it was the burial of one underneath the other. She still didn’t understand how he was able to appear as human—she had never heard of any other div doing such a thing—but she knew with certainty that when he did so, he was taking the form of the prince he had once been, before his corruption.

“Are you satisfied now?” he said in a low growl. He seemed insulted by her demand—embarrassed, even. Perhaps he had been as eager to forget as she was, and these past weeks had been a fantasy for them both.

But he had been the one to end it, not her.

“Satisfied?” she said in disbelief. “You’ve usurped my brother’s throne and imprisoned my family, and now you’re holding me captive. You’ve lied to me at every turn and gained my trust while guiding me toward my family’s destruction.” Her voice was growing louder as she spoke. There was no poison in her veins anymore, no one to hurt as a result of her anger, and so she let herself revel in it, knowing the Shahmar was a worthy and deserving target. “You threatened my mother all those years ago,” she continued. “You’re the reason I was cursed. You’re the reason for all of this!”

The words came so easily to her that she knew, as soon as she’d said them, that she wanted them to be true a little too much. How easy it would be to lay all of her guilt on the Shahmar’s scaled shoulders.

She was afraid he would challenge that last statement, or remind her of her role in this disaster. But instead, he only asked, “So your mother told you the truth at last? Did she tell you everything?”

Soraya heard her mother’s voice saying, 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. He had certainly stolen her away—but did he mean to keep the last part of his promise as well? She watched the flickering candlelight, unable to look directly at him, as she said, “Is that why I’m here? Because of some petty grudge you have against her?”

“No,” he said, taking a step toward her. “I didn’t bring you here because of the threat I made to your mother. That was only ever meant to scare her. If she hadn’t made you poisonous, I would never have given you another thought. I wouldn’t have known about you at all, except that a parik told me about you after I captured her. In exchange for her freedom, she told me that the shah’s sister was a girl with poison growing inside her, waiting to be unleashed. As I heard her story, I realized who you were—who your mother was—and I knew you were the key, the ally I needed to take Golvahar. And…” His voice softened into a low hum. “I couldn’t resist seeing you for myself.” He reached for her, brushing his gnarled fingers against her hair. “I felt as if I already knew you, as if you were already mine. Didn’t you feel the same?”