Girl, Serpent, Thorn(55)

She only stopped when she felt Parvaneh’s cold hands on either side of her face, shocking her into silence. Would she ever become used to something as simple as the feel of someone’s hands on her skin? It seemed impossible.

Soraya focused on those eyes like glowing embers, even more vivid now in the light of the fire, until the rise and fall of her chest slowed to normal.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she managed to say.

“We had a deal.”

“Yes, but divs aren’t known for being true to their word.”

Parvaneh lifted an eyebrow. “I must be fond of you, then.”

Soraya smiled to herself as Parvaneh returned to the div’s corpse and searched it. She pulled off the tattered, voluminous cloak he’d been wearing, her lip curling with distaste. “Here,” she said, tossing the cloak to Soraya. “You can hide in this the next time you want to wander through the tunnels.”

“I wasn’t wandering,” Soraya said. “I was looking for a way out of the mountain. I still need to find the parik with owl’s wings. You said you would take me to her.”

Parvaneh nodded, but she was still staring down at the dead div, avoiding Soraya’s eye.

“Az—the Shahmar said he would return tomorrow night,” Soraya continued. “Can you take me to her before then? Can we go now?”

Parvaneh lifted her head. “That depends,” she said. “Did you bring the simorgh’s feather with you?”

Soraya’s hands went to her sash, but then she remembered that Azad had taken the feather from her before bringing her here. Parvaneh must not have seen it happen when she was following in her moth form. Still, she hesitated before telling this to Parvaneh. Why did Parvaneh need the feather in order to take her to the other pariks? If she knew Soraya didn’t have it, would she refuse? Soraya wanted to trust her—Parvaneh had become, in a strange way, her confidante as well as her ally—but she was still living the consequences of the last time she had been too eager to trust someone.

“Yes,” she said, her hand pressed down over her sash. “I have it. But I’ll give it to you after we find the parik.”

Parvaneh started to argue, but then she nodded, a wry smile on her lips. “Fair enough,” she said. “I won’t need it till then anyway.”

“Why do you still need it at all?”

Parvaneh hesitated, and Soraya supposed she was also deciding how much they could trust each other. “We can’t defeat the Shahmar without the feather,” she said.

Soraya couldn’t help scoffing. “How is a single feather going to stop him?” But Parvaneh’s expression remained grave, and Soraya felt a twinge of worry as she again remembered the feather in Azad’s fist.

“That feather,” Parvaneh said, “is the only thing that can make him human.”

Soraya shook her head. “He can change form at will—I’ve seen him do it.”

Parvaneh again hesitated, as if trying to determine how much to say. “I mean permanently,” she said. “The feather will make him human, as he once was, before he became a div—just as it removed your curse. And only then can we kill him.”

In the silence that followed, Soraya wondered for the first time how Azad had become a div. The stories made his transformation sound like some kind of divine punishment—he acted monstrously and became a monster. Stories lie, he had told her. She wondered, too, if he knew that the feather could restore his humanity. If he did, why hadn’t he used it? He must have already known what Soraya hadn’t understood—that the price of humanity was vulnerability.

Soraya’s fingers curled over her waist. “Is there no way to defeat him while he’s still a div?”

“It would be difficult to strike any blow—his scales are like armor,” Parvaneh answered. “But even then … there’s something you don’t know about divs. It would be easier to show you.”

Parvaneh took the tattered cloak from her, looking from its length to Soraya with an appraising eye. “We can both hide under this,” she said. She stood beside Soraya and threw the cloak over Soraya’s shoulders, drawing it forward over both their heads to create a makeshift hood. “Hold it tight,” she said.

Soraya drew the edge of the cloak in toward herself, and she and Parvaneh huddled close under the fabric. It was long enough to hide their feet, and thin enough that they could see where they were going.

“Something’s wrong,” Parvaneh said. “Can you not breathe?”

Soraya’s breathing was quickening, but not because of lack of air. “I’m not used to this,” she managed to say. Parvaneh’s shoulder was flush against hers, and every time their hands brushed against each other in the close proximity under the cloak, Soraya felt an instinctive jolt of panic.

“Give me your hand,” Parvaneh said. Soraya shyly threaded her fingers through Parvaneh’s, and then they waited—waited until Soraya adjusted to the presence of touch, until her heart slowed and her breathing became normal. It was like sinking into a hot bath, the water gradually becoming bearable against sensitive skin.

“I’m ready,” Soraya said.

Parvaneh led the way through the tunnels, using their joined hands to indicate which direction she wanted them to go. Soraya kept her eyes down so she wouldn’t trip over the cloak’s hem. They passed other divs on their way, but none of them glanced at the unwieldy shape beneath the cloak.