She reached a hand out to the back of the fireplace, trying to find the source of the air. Her hand touched brick, and when she pushed at the surface of the wall, it budged. The fireplace was large enough that she could stand inside it at her full height, and so she rose to her feet and walked into the mouth of it, then pressed both hands against the brick wall with all of her strength. The wall moved inward, revealing a dark passage beyond.
A secret passageway, Soraya thought, built by a clever and paranoid shah. She shouldn’t have been surprised.
The breeze was stronger now, clearly coming from the passageway, which meant that there was likely an opening beyond. An escape route would do her no good at this point, but curiosity and desperation led her farther down the passage, keeping her hand to the wall so she wouldn’t lose her way.
It was not as dark as she would have expected, and not just because of the light coming from the window in the room—there was another light source beyond, again confirming her belief that there was an opening at the end of the passage.
There was only the one path, and the light was growing stronger as she continued. Before long, the passage opened up into a cavern, lit from above by a stream of pale orange light coming in through an opening in the rock. Soraya thought the chamber was empty until she heard a sound like the clinking of chains, and saw something moving against the far wall.
Parvaneh, she thought at once, a flutter of hope in her chest. Perhaps she had performed the ritual with the hair incorrectly, and her dream had been nothing more than a guilt-induced fantasy. She stepped forward, toward the beam of light, and the prisoner in the shadows.
And then she saw it—saw her, the shape of her becoming more distinct as Soraya drew nearer. She was so familiar that Soraya knew her at once, even though the truth of it seemed impossible. Green feathers tipped with orange, a long and graceful neck, her head and body shaped like a peacock’s, while her wings had the majesty and breadth of an eagle. All of the theories about her disappearance had been wrong; none of them had prepared Soraya to find the simorgh hidden in this chamber inside Mount Arzur.
Heavy chains around her legs kept her bound to the rock, and the only items within reach were a bowl of water and another bowl that was currently empty. All this time, Azad had been holding her captive, keeping her alive—but why? Why not kill her as some people believed he had done? Parvaneh had wondered the same during her captivity, and her words returned to Soraya now: He had captured me … refused to release me until I told him something useful. What did the simorgh have that Azad would find useful? If he wanted a feather to retain his humanity, he could have taken it and killed the simorgh long ago. But perhaps it wasn’t the feather itself he wanted, but the security it could provide him—if freely given.
He wants the simorgh’s protection, Soraya realized, and she’s refused him all this time.
Soraya tentatively moved closer, wondering if the simorgh knew that Soraya was of her lineage, a lineage that Soraya had rejected and betrayed. The simorgh ruffled her feathers slightly, but showed no reaction to Soraya’s presence. In her eyes was an intelligence that was far beyond any bird Soraya had ever seen—but it wasn’t human, either. It was as if she already knew all that would come to pass, and was simply waiting for events to unfold. If Soraya detected a touch of reproach in the curve of her brow, she wasn’t sure if it was real or if her own guilt was making her see it. I’ve been expecting you, the simorgh’s eyes seemed to say. And you are very, very late.
“Can you understand me?” Soraya whispered, moving slowly toward the simorgh.
The simorgh didn’t speak, of course, but simply bowed her head in a slow nod.
Soraya held up a shaking hand, revealing her seal ring, the simorgh’s image etched into it. “Do you know who I am?”
It was a question with many answers, but the simorgh’s fierce, unblinking stare made Soraya think that she knew all of them. I’m your descendant. I’m your betrayer. I’m your rescuer.
The simorgh nodded again, this time emitting a low-throated cooing sound that Soraya thought she could understand. One of mine. With a rattle of chains, the simorgh came forward as far as she could go, bringing her a step away from Soraya. She was the size of a large dog or small horse, her head level with Soraya’s chest, and yet Soraya felt engulfed by her presence. The simorgh made another gentle cooing sound, and then she stretched out her long, beautiful neck and fluttered her wings, as if in welcome.
Soraya’s chest tightened painfully, and she let out a broken sob as she fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around the simorgh’s neck. The simorgh nestled her head against Soraya’s as Soraya wept into her feathers. She felt undeserving of this affection, unworthy to have been the one to find the simorgh, the root of her family, after so many years. And yet, wasn’t that the story of her family’s beginnings? The simorgh had found an unwanted child and decided that he belonged to her now, and that she would love and raise him as her own, even if others found him unworthy. If only Soraya had seen herself in that child instead of the Shahmar, then maybe she would have found her place in her family line long ago. She would have known that what defined her lineage was not blood or duty or obligation, but a single act of compassion, of protection, granted freely.
Soraya pulled away. Her eyes were still wet with tears, but she felt lighter now than she ever had. The patch of sky overhead began to darken, and she knew she couldn’t stay much longer, even though the idea of leaving the simorgh here was unthinkable. I could take a feather, she thought, with a glance at the simorgh’s brilliant plumage. But even to ask for such a gift felt wrong to her—the feather was something the simorgh should give of her own volition, not something to be taken. Maybe that was why every time Soraya tried to take the feather for herself, the result had been disastrous.
“I’ll come back,” she told the simorgh. “I need something to help me with the chains.”
The simorgh bowed her head in understanding, and with an aching heart, Soraya went back through the passage. She left the false brick wall as she had found it, slightly open, then brushed off the soot from her gown before stepping out of the fireplace. She looked hesitantly from the chest of tools to the swiftly darkening sky out the window. Did she have time to free her now?
She took a step toward the chest, but then a shadow filled the room, and she turned her head to find Azad standing in the window.
“Soraya,” he said with surprise as he stepped off the ledge into the room. “What are you doing here?” He tried to keep his voice light, but she could hear the undercurrent of suspicion.
“I’m here to see you,” she said at once, grasping for something she knew he would be happy to hear. “Now that I can move freely through Arzur, I saw no reason why I should wait for you in my room like a prisoner.”
He laughed softly. “Fair enough. Have you given thought to my offer from last night?”
“To kill my brother or let you do it for me?”
“I could decide for you, if you’d prefer.”
“No,” Soraya said at once. “I’ve already made my decision.”
She had spoken without thinking, simply wanting to stop him from losing patience with her, but now her mind was working like an overactive hummingbird, trying to figure out what came next.