“I promised you one truth for another,” Parvaneh said. “What you just gave me was a story, not the truth.”
“It’s what my mother told me.”
“Your mother lied.”
Soraya shook her head at once, not even able to entertain the idea. Her mother wasn’t a liar. Soraya’s life wasn’t a lie. And yet she couldn’t help remembering how adamant Tahmineh had been when she’d refused Soraya’s request to see the div. Was it possible that she feared what the div would reveal? Or was Parvaneh trying to throw Soraya’s life into chaos with a simple suggestion? Divs can be manipulative. They can destroy you with a single word.
Soraya backed away from the bars. “You’re toying with me. You would have said that no matter what I told you.”
Parvaneh put a hand to her chest in mock offense. “You don’t believe me? Let me ask you this, then: Why did the curse not manifest until a few days after your birth?”
Soraya sighed in frustration. “I don’t know. So my mother wouldn’t die from labor, so she would live knowing that she could never hold her daughter.”
“And why the firstborn daughter? Why not simply the firstborn child?”
“Because divs are mysterious and unjust,” Soraya snapped, but the question struck deep. It was under the surface of her thoughts every time she saw Sorush.
“And why would a div curse a child to be poisonous even to divs?” Parvaneh continued. “Why create a weapon that can be used against you?”
This time, Soraya had no answer, and Parvaneh wore a condescending smile that made Soraya’s face burn. “And besides,” Parvaneh said, “a curse like yours requires a more complicated process than simply saying a few words to scare a child.”
Soraya resisted the urge to pick at the loose thread of her sleeve. “You’re trying to confuse me.”
“I’m trying to help you. You’ve been lied to, but not by me.”
“I don’t care!” Soraya shouted, her voice growing louder. She had spent so many years controlling her emotions, forcing them to submit to her will, and yet now she felt them all on the surface of her skin because of one smirking demon. She took a breath and reminded herself of the Shahmar, of those scales growing over his skin, and tried to calm herself. “I don’t care how I was cursed. Just tell me how to get rid of it,” she said more quietly.
Parvaneh’s eyebrow arched. “If you don’t believe me about something as simple as this, why would you believe me when I tell you how to lift your curse?”
Silence hung heavy between them, until Soraya trusted herself to say in a steady voice, “Then you do know.”
Parvaneh opened her mouth to answer, but then she paused and tilted her head, listening to something. “Don’t you hear footsteps, Soraya?”
She did, now that Parvaneh had mentioned it, along with the sound of arguing voices. Soraya whirled around to the stairs behind her in time to see the first guard emerging into the cavern. Two others followed, each holding one of Azad’s arms as they dragged him down the stairs with them.
“Don’t move,” the first guard barked at Soraya, his sword already raised.
For one careless moment, Soraya thought to herself, I could take them all. From behind her, she heard Parvaneh snickering, as though she had heard Soraya’s murderous thought. Calm, she reminded herself. It was dark enough that the guards might not be able to see her veins, but she couldn’t take that chance.
“How did you get here without anyone stopping you?” the guard asked her.
Soraya’s eyes flitted to Azad, and he gave a small shake of his head. He hadn’t told them about the hidden passage, and neither would she. “I have a right to go anywhere I wish,” Soraya said, trying to sound imperious.
The guard raised an eyebrow, his sword still pointed at her. “Is that so? And what gives you that right?”
With a quick glance at her hands to make sure her veins had faded, she lifted her hand, palm facing inward, so that the seal ring on her finger would show clearly. “My brother, the shah.”
The guard inhaled sharply, and he came closer to peer at the ring, which bore the seal of the simorgh on it.
“Now please unhand my … my escort,” she said, “and let us continue our business.”
The guard frowned, probably unsure whether to believe that this strange girl in the dungeon was who she claimed to be. Still, his sword lowered slightly, and his tone was carefully respectful as he said, “Only a few people are permitted to see the div, and the shahzadeh is not one of them. I cannot let you stay.”
Her whole body tensed in frustration, but she willed herself to be calm once more. If she argued with him, she would become agitated, and her secrets would show on her face. “Then see us outside, and we’ll be on our way.”
The guard shook his head. “I can’t allow that, either. I’ll need to take you somewhere until your identity can be confirmed. If you are indeed the shahzadeh, I’m sure you will understand.”
Soraya’s first instinct was to argue again, but then she stopped herself. Seeing Sorush had been her original purpose today, hadn’t it? “I understand,” she said. “Tell the shah I want to see him.”
The head guard gestured to the other guards, and they ushered Azad back up the stairs. He threw a glance at Soraya behind his shoulder, and she nodded at him in reassurance.
“Please come with me, banu,” the first guard said to her.
Soraya hastily put on her gloves, and from behind her, Parvaneh said, “Another time, then, Soraya.”
“Do you really know?” she muttered to Parvaneh as the guard came toward her. She let him lead her away without resistance, too afraid that he might come in contact with her skin if she didn’t comply.
But at the foot of the stairs, she turned back one more time. “Were you telling me the truth?” she called to Parvaneh.
And before she retreated back into the darkness of her cell, Parvaneh responded:
“Go ask your mother if I lied to you, and then come back and tell me her answer. I’ll be waiting.”
7
Soraya had only been in the throne room once or twice before, and so she had forgotten how grand it was. The massive domed ceiling was enough to impress, and then there were the carved stone reliefs on the wall, images of victorious kings in battle, and the painted tiles on the floor that formed the shape of the simorgh.
At the end of the room was a magnificent golden throne atop the dais, with the image of a great flame—the Royal Fire, which burned always in Golvahar’s fire temple—painted in vivid reds and oranges on the wall behind the throne. One of the handful of times Soraya had seen her father before his death, he had been sitting on that throne, as distant and regal as ever, an intricate, heavy crown perched on his head. Soraya had been spying from behind the walls, opening the secret panel a crack to see the ceremony when her brother was officially named heir, and she wondered how her brother would ever be strong enough to wear that crown on his head.
But then she noticed something that was visible only from her close vantage point at the side of the dais. Hanging from the ceiling above the throne was a thin silver chain attached to the crown, holding it above the shah’s head so that he only appeared to be bearing its weight. Soraya had told Sorush about it later, and he had laughed in relief.