Girl, Serpent, Thorn(94)

Well, Soraya thought with a hidden smile, maybe some things have changed.

Parvaneh turned and leaned back, her elbows on the parapet, with the easy grace of someone who could definitely fly. “Are you sad to see them go?” she asked Soraya.

Soraya shook her head. “This is the first time I’ve watched this procession without wondering if they’ll still remember me when they return.” She put a hand on the ledge beside Parvaneh’s arm. “And it’s the first time I’ve ever watched it with someone else.”

Parvaneh looked down at Soraya’s hand, her lips curving into a smile. With the tip of one finger, she began to draw a lazy path between the maze of thorns on the back of Soraya’s hand. “I’m glad you’re coming back with me to the forest. I don’t think I could return there without seeing you in every piece of it.”

A pleasurable warmth flowed through Soraya’s limbs as she watched Parvaneh. She had thought nothing would be more incredible than the simple sensation of touch, but she’d been wrong: more incredible still was the idea that she could be dangerous, all her thorns on display, and that someone would dare to touch her anyway.

But then her mood darkened, a cloud covering the sun. “You never told me what you thought when you first saw me like this,” she said to Parvaneh in a halting voice. “Were you disappointed?”

Parvaneh looked up at her in surprise. “Not at all,” she said. “I told you once I thought your veins were beautiful. Your thorns are lovelier still. But more important,” Parvaneh continued, drawing her hand away and moving closer to Soraya, “I like seeing you so much at peace.”

The words surprised Soraya, and she considered the truth of them. These past months of spring, she had felt unburdened, as if she had been carrying the weight of these thorns all her life—even when her curse had been lifted—and now could finally release them.

“I thought you liked seeing me angry,” Soraya said, leaning toward Parvaneh.

Parvaneh nodded in concession. “True. Maybe I just like seeing you.” Her hand reached around to the back of Soraya’s head to draw Soraya down toward her, and their lips met.

With her eyes closed, Soraya thought she heard the beating of Parvaneh’s wings, but Parvaneh broke away with her forehead wrinkled in confusion, her wings still, and her eyes wide as she looked over Soraya’s shoulder. The vivid memory of leathery wings made Soraya turn in alarm, but she immediately calmed when she saw the simorgh perched on the roof ledge, above the faded bloodstain that marked Azad’s death.

Parvaneh brushed her lips against a patch of skin along the curve of Soraya’s neck. “I’ll find you later,” she murmured before stepping off the edge of the roof, wings outstretched.

Alone with the simorgh, Soraya felt the same shyness as last time. She took a hesitant step toward the simorgh and said, “I thought you had left us again.”

The simorgh’s feathers all ruffled in response.

“No, you’ll never leave us, not when we need you,” Soraya said. “Thank you for all you did—and I’m so sorry for what I’ve done.” As she spoke, her stomach twisted with nerves. There was still a hollow space somewhere inside her that filled with guilt whenever she remembered extinguishing the fire. She only hoped that space would shrink in time.

The simorgh stepped off the ledge and came toward her, those all-knowing eyes seeing straight into her thoughts. She blinked once, then dipped her head and started to preen one of her wings. When she lifted her head again, she was holding a single feather in her beak. She stretched her neck forward, offering the feather to Soraya.

Soraya stared at the feather, remembering her fear that the simorgh would find her unworthy of such a gift. And yet … she felt no longing for it, no frustrated desire to be free of her poison or her thorns as she had before. She had spent so many years hiding away, trying to bury her emotions and all the poison that came with them, that now it was a relief to wear her thorns proudly, without shame or apology. She had her family. She had Parvaneh. She had a home. Her thorns deprived her of nothing—and in return, they gave her a place and a purpose in the world, her existence undeniable. Soraya no longer had to choose between one piece of herself and another. She could be whole.

“Thank you,” Soraya said to the simorgh, hoping she would sense the emotion behind such simple words. “I appreciate the offer, truly. But I don’t need it anymore.”

The simorgh’s eyes glittered with approval. With the feather still in her beak, she spread her wings and flew up into the sky, moving south with the rest of Soraya’s family. Soraya remained on the roof and watched the simorgh fly toward the horizon until all she could see was a flash of moving color, a green flame flickering against a clear blue sky.





AUTHOR’S NOTE


Girl, Serpent, Thorn is the result of my lifelong love of fairy tales (particularly “Sleeping Beauty”), a fascination with the concept of a poisonous girl in a garden from “Rappaccini’s Daughter,” and my more recent desire to know more about the myths and legends of my own culture.

One of the novel’s major influences is the legendary Persian epic, the Shahnameh (or the Book of Kings). The Shahnameh was completed in the early eleventh century CE and is a very long account of the history of the Persian Empire, except that the first two-thirds are based more on myth and legend, while the last third is based more closely on actual history. It’s in the first sections that you find demons and heroes, snake kings and magical birds, and even a story reminiscent of Rapunzel. I wanted to use this mythical history to create a world that was inspired by ancient Persia (in particular the Sasanian era) and its folklore. Here are a few of the inspirations behind the world of Girl, Serpent, Thorn.