Her hands were open, her eyes entreating, and Soraya wondered if she would have gone to Tahmineh first if this had been her image of her mother—open and honest. But how could Tahmineh ask her that question when every time Soraya had ventured too close to forbidden topics, that one worried line would appear on her forehead, and her body would tense as if ready to receive a blow?
“Tell me honestly,” Soraya said, her voice shaking slightly. “If I had come to you and told you what the div had said, would you have told me the truth? Or would you have denied it and said the div was lying?”
Tahmineh was silent, which was all the answer Soraya needed.
“And I still don’t understand why,” she said, the last constraints of formality falling away. “The Shahmar said you did this for my protection, that the divs owed you a debt. He knows more about my life than I do. It’s no wonder he—” She stopped, not even sure how to finish. What had Azad done? Before she had taken the feather, what had he done that she did not want him to do? Soraya wrapped her arms around her waist and turned away from her mother, ashamed of her outburst. She wasn’t sure she had any right to anger anymore.
From behind her, Tahmineh placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Did he make you do this?” she asked in a low voice.
Soraya shook her head, wishing she could answer otherwise. “He didn’t make me take the feather. But he always knew what to do, what to say, to make me trust him.”
“So you didn’t know what he was? What he was planning to do?”
Soraya turned to her mother in surprise. “Of course not!” she said. “I didn’t want any of this. I only wanted to be free from my curse.”
Tahmineh let out a brittle laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “And now by breaking one, you’ve fallen into the other.”
“What do you mean?” Soraya asked. “What other? Will you ever tell me the truth?” The last question came out harsher than she’d intended, but there was no point in hiding her feelings now.
Tahmineh went to the wall beside the door and leaned back against it, her eyes pointed up to the ceiling. “You’re right. It’s time for you to know the full story,” she said. “It’s past time. Maybe if I had told you before, I could have prevented this from happening.” She smiled sadly. “Or maybe you would have just learned to hate me sooner.” She slid down to sit on the floor, her knees bent in front of her. Soraya had never seen her sit so casually, without her perfect posture. It felt like being in the room with a stranger. She sat on the bare floor across from her mother and, as she had done so often as a child, waited for her story to begin.
“The first part was true,” Tahmineh said. “I did wander into the forestland near Mount Arzur when I was little more than a child, and I did find a woman wrapped in a net. But the woman wasn’t human. I didn’t know that at first—I couldn’t see her clearly enough in the net, and she looked so close to human—but when I freed her, she unfurled her wings, and I understood. She was a div—a parik. She gave me a lock of her hair, and told me that if I ever needed a favor in return, I should burn the hair and breathe in the smoke, and then that night I could speak to her in my dreams. She flew away, and I was alone.”
She paused, her lips clamped shut, as if it physically pained her to speak.
“And then the Shahmar found me,” she said.
Soraya’s heart gave a lurch. “The Shahmar was the same div who found you in the forest?” But even as she asked it, she knew it was true—she remembered the look of recognition that passed between them in the garden.
“The Shahmar found me,” Tahmineh repeated, her voice louder, like she was trying to scare away her own fear. “I didn’t know who he was at the time. I just thought he was a monster. He told me I had taken something of his, and so now he would take something of mine.”
Soraya frowned. She knew this part already. “But—”
“He told me he would wait until I had a daughter, and when that daughter came of age, he would steal her away and make her his bride.”
Tahmineh’s words hovered over them like a blast of cold air, and Soraya let out a low moan of regret, because now she understood why her mother had wanted her to be untouchable. She had spent these years believing Tahmineh had hidden her to protect their family or the safety of others—but Soraya had been the one Tahmineh was trying to protect all along.
“For years, I tried to forget what he said,” Tahmineh continued. “I didn’t know if he had meant it or if it was an empty threat. But I prayed—I prayed every night from that day on—that I would never have a girl. When Sorush was born, I thought my prayers had been answered—but then you were born, minutes later, and I loved you and feared for you at the same time.”
“The parik’s favor.”
Tahmineh nodded. “I had kept the lock of her hair all those years, knowing this day might come. I burned it the night after you were born, and I dreamt I was in a forest—but not the same one where the Shahmar had found me. It was a forest I had never seen before, lush and green. The parik was there, and I told her I needed protection for my daughter, so that no div could ever touch her. She told me to meet her at the dakhmeh near the palace the next night, and to bring you with me.”
“You went to the dakhmeh?”
Tahmineh bowed her head in shame, but Soraya felt an unexpected tenderness for her mother, knowing they had both made the same choice to brave the dakhmeh. But her mother was even braver, because she had gone alone, undefended. For me, Soraya thought. She did that for me, and I betrayed her.
“I was desperate,” Tahmineh continued, “and so I did as the parik asked. She was there with a few others of her kind, and she had brought a basin large enough for an infant, filled with water. She had a vial of some red liquid and told me that a few drops of it mixed in the water would make you untouchable. Any human, beast, or div who touched you would die almost instantly.”
Tahmineh looked directly at her, a fierce glint in her dark eyes. “And I agreed,” she said, her voice firm—defiant, even. “I agreed because I didn’t know how else to protect you in such a dangerous world. There were times when I even envied your curse, because I thought you would never know the fear that I knew when the Shahmar found me in the forest. I kept you hidden away in Golvahar and forced myself to leave you here, because I didn’t want to draw the Shahmar’s attention to you in case he ever sought me out. But I wish I could have kept you with me. I wish I had told you the truth sooner.”
“Why didn’t you?” Soraya asked at once. A curious mixture of remorse and resentment swam inside her.
“At first I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be afraid,” Tahmineh answered. “How could I tell my child that a monster might steal her away? And how could I explain what I had done without letting you know why? I didn’t want you to grow up with that shadow over you. And when you were older…” She looked down at her lap, avoiding Soraya’s eye. “I didn’t want you to hate me. I saw how unhappy you were, and I couldn’t stand knowing that it was because of my actions—because I couldn’t protect you myself. I felt so guilty every time I left you here on your own.” She lifted her head, her eyes swimming with tears. “Soraya, can you forgive me?”