Girl, Serpent, Thorn - Melissa Bashardoust Page 0,54

throat that they were barely audible.

The Shahmar released her then, and she fell immediately to the ground, crushed under the weight of her guilt, her brother’s shame, and her mother’s secrets. She managed to lift her head and see the Shahmar approach her brother slowly, with the same elegance that she had so admired in him when she thought he was hers.

“Well?” he said. “Do you still believe your Creator will keep you safe? Do you think you can protect Atashar better than I can? Or will you kneel?” He turned to the crowd. “Will you kneel,” he called out, his arms outstretched, “to save your land from ruin?”

Soraya didn’t know who was the first to kneel. She didn’t know if it was done out of anger at her family or out of hopeless despair. But all around her, one by one, the most influential people in Atashar went to their knees and chose a new shah. She didn’t blame them; pride or loyalty would only lead to more destruction.

Soon, all the bozorgan were kneeling except for relations of the shah—aunts and uncles and cousins Soraya had never really known. Laleh and her wounded father, huddled together. Tahmineh. And Sorush.

From where she lay on the ground, Soraya watched her brother, waiting to see if he would look at her. But Sorush kept his eyes on his usurper as he slowly went down on one knee, then the other, before pressing his forehead to the ground in supplication.

The Shahmar had won.

14

For years, Soraya had thought of herself as a prisoner in the walls of Golvahar, but now, she actually was one.

Her prison was luxurious, certainly—one of the rooms in the new wing, usually reserved for the shah’s most important visitors. Its beauty was slightly tarnished, though, since the divs had stripped the room nearly bare, removing anything that could be used as either weapon or escape route—bedding, letter openers, and vases, as well as practically any piece of furniture that could be lifted. When the div had first locked her inside, Soraya had almost longed for the shadows of the dungeon—they were more comfortable to her than a room where there was nowhere to hide.

But more important, there was no way to escape. Soraya didn’t need to wonder why the Shahmar had chosen such a gilded prison for her and her family. She already knew the answer:

These tunnels run all through the palace?

Everywhere except for the newer wing on the other side.

Still, the first thing Soraya did was check the walls for hollow spaces. It was something to do other than wonder how long the Shahmar planned to keep them all alive. She had expected him to execute her brother on the spot once Sorush had bowed his head, but the Shahmar had simply ordered his div soldiers to herd together the shah’s family and anyone who hadn’t kneeled, and keep them confined to the new wing. Soraya didn’t think it was mercy—she assumed the Shahmar wanted to kill them later in secret, so as not to upset his new subjects.

Around the room she went, putting her ear to the wall as she knocked, listening for the echo that would tell her she was wrong about there being no passages linked to these rooms. But all she heard were the words echoing in her head to the rhythm of her knocking: Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

Just as she reached the doorway, the door opened and she froze, one fist still in the air. The beaked head of a div poked into the room, took one look at Soraya, and then flung Tahmineh into the room before shutting the door on them both.

Was it a coincidence that they were locked up together? Or did the Shahmar hope that they would tear each other apart and save him the trouble?

They stared at each other, neither of them speaking or moving. They were both bedraggled, their faces tearstained, their hearts heavy. Soraya didn’t know whether to beg forgiveness or demand an explanation. Even now, she didn’t know how to speak to her mother candidly, without layers of courtesy and formality.

Finally, Tahmineh stepped forward, eyes glistening, and reached one hand to touch Soraya’s face. Soraya backed away, more from habit than anything else, but she could tell from her mother’s wince of pain that Tahmineh believed the movement had been a rejection.

With a weary sigh, Tahmineh turned away and moved to the window. Soraya had already checked the window and found that it was