Girl, Serpent, Thorn - Melissa Bashardoust Page 0,19
div’s tongue startled Soraya. The div hadn’t been lying when she said she knew her. It bothered Soraya, though, that they should be on such unequal terms from the start, and so instead of asking the question the div expected, Soraya said, “Tell me your name.”
Surprise flitted over the div’s face, but then she answered, “Parvaneh.”
Soraya flinched, as if that one word were an accusation rather than a simple answer to her request. Parvaneh—the word for moth or butterfly. Soraya held Parvaneh’s gaze, almost certain that the div truly knew everything about her—every short, fluttering life that Soraya had stolen with a touch of her finger. The feel of air on the bare skin of her hands reminded her of death.
“How do you know who I am?” Soraya said, her voice wavering only slightly.
The div tilted her head, and the shadows shifted over her face, like something was moving under her skin. “All pariks know you, Soraya,” she almost purred. “The human as dangerous as a div.”
“What’s a parik?” Soraya asked, ignoring that last remark.
“There are different kinds of divs,” Parvaneh answered, “based on different aspects of the Destroyer. The drujes, the kastars, and the pariks, all with different skills and talents. Pariks look the most human, so it’s easier for us to hide among you and work as spies.”
At any other time, Soraya would have been interested to know more about the inner workings of the divs, but she didn’t know how much longer Parvaneh would humor her questions. “If you know about my curse, then you must know how to end it.”
Parvaneh shook her head slowly, disappointment on her face. “Why would you want that? You could wield such power.”
Soraya laughed harshly. “You think I have power?” She stepped closer to the bars, and she felt the poison bubbling inside of her. Maybe it was because this dungeon, so far underground, felt a world apart from her well-ordered life above, or maybe it was because she was speaking to someone as deadly as she was, but for once, Soraya let her true feelings spill out.
“You think I’m here,” she said, “in a dungeon, asking you to rid me of this curse because I’m afraid of power?” Another step. “My family hides me away out of shame. I spend most of my days in total isolation. If that’s power, then I don’t want it.” She was standing only inches away from the bars now, close enough for the div to touch—and then a flicker of doubt made her almost back away again. Because part of her knew that the only reason she was standing so close, without fear, was her curse. The div was right—she did wield a kind of power. The power to make people afraid. Hadn’t she relished seeing that fear in Ramin’s eyes today? Hadn’t she briefly enjoyed it before shame coated her skin like cold sweat?
It was the shame she had to cling to, not the power. It was the shame that made her still feel human. She was a human as dangerous as a div, but unlike a div, she refused to enjoy being deadly or to revel in her monstrosity. That was the only thing that kept her on one side of the bars, while Parvaneh languished on the other.
She looked Parvaneh in the eye and said, “Now tell me: How do I remove this curse?”
Parvaneh studied her, not backing away from the bars. Her eyes began to move down Soraya’s face to her throat, and Soraya knew that Parvaneh was watching the pattern of her veins as they changed color. And then, much to Soraya’s surprise, Parvaneh reached a hand through the bars, her fingertips hovering a breath above the veins on Soraya’s cheek and tracing them down Soraya’s throat, all without ever touching her. “Such a shame. Such a waste,” she said, biting off that last word as her hand dropped away.
Soraya’s breath had grown shallow when Parvaneh reached her hand out, so close to touching her, and only now did it come rushing out of her. “Were you the one who cursed me?”
Parvaneh shook her head. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“But you know who did? Did the pariks do this?”
Parvaneh’s eyes gleamed with mischief and something else, something sharp. “They did and they did not. Isn’t that the way all your stories start? I wonder what stories you’ve been told, Soraya. How did your curse happen? Tell me the truth, and I’ll do the same—that sounds fair, doesn’t