Girl, Serpent, Thorn(69)

“Enough!”

At the sound of the Shahmar’s voice, the divs fell away, leaving Soraya both relieved and bereft. Azad’s arm came around her, and he guided her through the rest of the crowd, as he had done on Nog Roz.

At first, Soraya was afraid—more afraid than she wanted to admit—that Azad’s stern command would make the divs reject her, but if anything, the contrast between Azad’s almost paternalistic distance and Soraya’s full surrender brought the divs closer to her. Many of them nodded to her as she passed with sly smiles or knowing looks, as if they were conspirators, as if they shared something that not even the Shahmar could understand.

Once they had crossed the cavern, Azad raised his arms to keep the divs’ attention and announced, “It’s time now to give Soraya the gift we have prepared for her.” He beckoned to two of the divs, who separated from the crowd and went toward the cavern entrance for their unknown task.

Even through her intoxicated haze, Soraya felt a chill run down her spine. Parvaneh, she thought, suddenly afraid that he had captured her again. “What gift?” she asked him.

“You’ll see,” Azad said with a grin. “I promise you that you’ll enjoy it.”

Soraya tried to take a breath, but the air seemed trapped in her chest, unable to find its way out. “Please, just tell me.”

But instead of answering, he held out his arms once more to silence the noise of the cavern. “Some entertainment,” he called, loud enough to echo. “Bring him out.”

Him? Soraya looked to where he was gesturing, and saw the same two divs pushing their way forward, dragging something through the crowd. It was a man, his hands bound in front of him and a sack over his head. He was bare from the waist up, revealing a vicious wound cutting through his side, the skin caked with dried blood. He dragged his feet every step of the way, forcing the divs to practically carry him down the aisle until they stopped in front of Azad and Soraya. Azad nodded his head, and one of the divs pushed the man to his knees, while the other lifted the sack from his head to reveal Ramin, furious and very much alive.

“Well?” Azad whispered to her. “Aren’t you pleased?”





23


I saw him die, Soraya thought as she stared down at him. She hadn’t, though, she reminded herself. She had only seen him wounded, and assumed that death would shortly follow. But other than the wound at his side and a few scrapes and scratches on his face and torso, he appeared unharmed.

Soraya wasn’t sure how to feel at the sight of him—relief that he was alive, or pity for his current position … or satisfaction at knowing he was her prisoner, and that he was utterly alone when he was the reason she had felt so alone. Soraya couldn’t help seeing the justice in that.

“Do whatever you want with him,” Azad said from beside her, low enough so only she could hear. “He’s yours to control. No one else may intervene unless you wish it.”

Of course this was Azad’s gift to her. He had met Ramin on Nog Roz. Azad had struck him, and Soraya had thanked him for it. That was the first time she and Azad had felt a pull toward each other, their first shared act of violence. And now, in this room of demons, she knew no one would stop her, or even care, if she did something to hurt him. More likely, they would cheer her on.

She couldn’t help the flicker of excitement this ignited in her blood. She no longer had poison in her veins, but she still had—what was it Azad had said?—her will, her fury. It isn’t the poison that makes you deadly.

But no, she wasn’t thinking clearly. She had to think like Parvaneh, to see what use she could make of this situation. Ramin was the only other human here, the only other possible ally outside of the pariks. If she could somehow convince him that he could trust her, then maybe they could work together to find the feather.

Soraya went toward him. Her pulse was slow, like her heart had been sealed in ice. Ramin glared up at her as she approached, his jaw locked in defiance. “I always knew not to trust you,” he spat at her. “I warned my father a hundred times, but he never believed me.”

Aware of Azad’s watchful stare behind her, and of all the other divs in the cavern waiting for violence, Soraya circled around him, placed one hand on his shoulder, and kept her voice as low as possible. “I came here the same way that you did—by force.”

He scoffed at her. “The Shahmar told us who he is—who we all thought he was. But you knew all along. You were with him on Nog Roz.”

She buried her hand in his hair and pulled his head back with a violent jerk, causing a snicker of delight to go through the room. “I didn’t know,” she murmured to him. “He fooled me, too. I’m a prisoner here like you. We can help each oth—”

“A prisoner like me? Is that so?” Ramin’s eyes were so cold, his voice so biting, that Soraya knew he would never trust her, no matter what she said to him. His lip curled with disdain. “Will he give me clothes as nice as yours? Or do I have to pay for them with my family’s blood like you did?”

She was too hurt to react at first. But that had always been her instinct—to freeze, to retreat, to cradle her anger in her hands until the flame went out safely. That was what she would have done before. That was what she had done before, a thousand times over the years, during every encounter with Ramin. Even surrounded by divs, powerless, he still thought he could say whatever he wanted to her. He thought she wouldn’t strike back.