Soraya descended the platform and walked out into the garden, winding her way through the crowd without fear, as she had done the night of the banquet. The divs regarded her warily, but they knew better than to touch her now. “If you continue to fight,” she said, “you will lose again and again, because this land—these people—are now under my protection.” As she went from div to div, the vines from the golestan followed her, circling around each and every div’s feet in silent threat. “But if you lay down your weapons and surrender to me,” she continued, “I will let you return to Arzur without further harm.”
The vines continued to climb up to the divs’ ankles as she spoke, and now she began to reach out and lay a hand on each div she passed—a scrape of nails against an arm or cheek or shoulder, a gesture to remind them of the banquet night, when they had accepted her as one of their own. Accept me now, she wanted to say, and I will protect you, too.
And as she passed them one by one, laying a hand on each, the divs began to drop their weapons. They did not bow as they had done for the Shahmar, because Soraya would not ask that of them, but simply surrendered.
She circled her way back to the steps and ascended them again. “I ask you—I ask all of you, div and human alike—to lay down your weapons tonight and consider this battle ended.” But when she looked out at the crowd, she saw something that disturbed her more than any div. Many of the humans in the garden were staring up at Soraya in disgust or horror, likely wondering what made her any different from the monsters they were fighting, and Soraya’s resolve began to waver. She wanted to cover her hands with gloves, run into the palace and seek refuge in the passageways—
But then a figure emerged from the crowd, grimy with blood and sweat, but still as radiant as he had always been. Sorush bounded up the steps and stood beside her as her equal. He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to speak. His presence at her side was enough to make it clear that she had spoken for him as well, and that to deny one was to deny them both. He raised his sword for all to see and laid it down on the steps.
And then, finally, the people of Atashar dropped their weapons, and Soraya’s battle was over.
30
They had to wait another week before the spring rains came, and longer still before a thunderstorm gave them what they wanted— a bolt of lightning, sent from the Creator.
Shortly before the end of spring, a large crowd gathered outside the fire temple, but within, only the royal family was present, as well as several priests. Soraya stood apart with her mother, the spahbed, and Ramin—with whom Soraya had forged a hesitant truce—while Sorush and Laleh approached the altar. They bowed their heads as the high priest said the words to sanctify both the Royal Fire and the shah it protected.
That protection was mostly symbolic now. Sometime after the battle had ended and the divs had all retreated, the simorgh had vanished once more, not leaving behind a feather this time. Sorush had been concerned about this, but Tahmineh had assured him that the simorgh had only granted her protection before because her son had needed it. Now the Shahmar was no longer a threat, and Atashar had another protector, someone the divs would listen to.
Soraya hoped her mother’s confidence in her ability to subdue the divs wasn’t misplaced. In the days following the battle, Soraya had visited Arzur, and most of the divs had welcomed or ignored her. A few of the drujes—like Aeshma—had been bitter about their defeat, but they were in the minority, especially after Soraya had poisoned one or two of them who had tried to attack her, to show them that she was as dangerous as she claimed to be.
The first time she entered Arzur and beheld the pit of Duzakh again after the battle, she wondered if she had made a grave mistake in letting the divs live, and if she should send the golestan’s vines to cover it entirely, not allowing any new divs to climb out. But she knew they would find a way out of Duzakh somehow. Perhaps it was better to keep control of the divs on the surface rather than attempt to eradicate them entirely. After all, it was only when they were outside of Duzakh, given form in the Creator’s world, that they could be seen and recognized and fought.
After the fire ceremony was finished, Soraya began to leave the fire temple, but at the threshold, a gentle hand touched her sleeve, unmindful of the thorns beneath. Laleh, Soraya knew at once.
“Soraya?”
Soraya turned to her, fighting the urge to hide the exposed thorns on her face and neck.
“Sorush has to speak to the priests, but he wanted me to ask you to meet him later in the gardens,” Laleh said.
Soraya nodded and began to leave again, but she stopped herself and called back, “Laleh?”
Laleh waited for Soraya to continue, but Soraya wasn’t sure what she had wanted to say. Were you ever afraid of me? maybe, or Were you only my friend out of pity? These questions had haunted her since Ramin’s confession in the mountain, but standing here with Laleh in front of her again, she found she didn’t need to ask them. Instead, she kept remembering what she had said to Laleh on Suri, when Laleh had first brought her news of the div and set everything into motion—You were the only person who ever made me feel like I was the one worth protecting.
Laleh was still waiting for Soraya to speak, and so Soraya took Laleh’s hands and spoke the words that suddenly filled her heart: “I’m so happy we’re sisters.”
The awkwardness that had built up between them for the last several years melted away in an instant as Laleh threw her arms around Soraya’s shoulders and held her close, with no fear of Soraya’s thorns. “So am I,” she whispered.
* * *
As she waited for her brother, Soraya walked through the garden with the vines from the golestan trailing behind her. She had coaxed most of the vines back down from the palace walls and clipped a few of them so they could follow her everywhere, often wrapped around her arm or waist.
It was still a luxury for her to be in such a public space without fear. Some of the nobility continued to eye her with suspicion, but Sorush and Laleh’s support of her was enough for most of them to accept that the shahzadeh with poisonous thorns growing out of her skin was on their side.
“Soraya!”
She turned back to see Sorush hurrying toward her, and the sight of it felt so impossible to her that she thought she was dreaming. But she brushed her thumb along the edge of one of the thorns on her finger, and she knew it was real.
They hadn’t spent much time together over the past weeks. Sorush had been busy reclaiming his throne—with the simorgh’s return and the divs no longer a threat, he could finally take steps toward the reforms their father had once hoped for—and Soraya had worked with the pariks to help repair some of the damage the divs had done to the city. But she hadn’t forgotten the gesture he had made the night of the battle, and so she smiled warmly when he approached her.
“I’ve been meaning to speak to you,” he said, “but I haven’t had the time until today—I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” she said, though they both knew what he was actually apologizing for. “But I’m sorry, too.”
They began to walk side by side, sharing an uncertain silence before Sorush said, “It will be summer soon. The court is preparing to leave Golvahar … and I’d like for you to come with us.”