Girl, Serpent, Thorn(8)
Soraya sat up, trying to erase the images from her dream and that feeling of pressure building under her skin. She had never told anyone about her fear of transformation, not even her mother. And maybe that was why Tahmineh couldn’t understand Soraya’s urgent need to find a way to lift this curse, or why it seemed so pointless to be afraid of a div. Soraya was far more afraid of herself and of what she might become.
In one hasty motion, Soraya rose from the bed and opened the doors to the golestan. The moon was a sliver tonight, but the embers of the fire on the roof still burned, giving the normally vivid and varied colors of her garden the same orange hue. The grass was cold, wet, and prickly against her bare feet as she padded across the garden to the door in the wall. She felt like a sleepwalker, taking one step and then the next as if compelled by something outside herself. She didn’t care that it was the middle of the night. She didn’t care that she was in her nightdress, her feet bare. All she cared about was the monster waiting for her in the dungeon beneath the palace.
There was no passageway that would take her down into the dungeon—that path had been blocked off before Soraya was born. Instead, she had to walk along the edge of the palace wall, moving down toward the far corner, where she knew she would find a small, unassuming doorway that opened onto a set of stairs leading down.
She was being completely careless, and not just because her hands and feet were bare, or her clothing inappropriate. She had no idea what she would do once she reached the dungeon. There would be guards, wouldn’t there? How would she sneak past them? And yet, she couldn’t keep herself away from that shadowed doorway yawning before her. And as she reached it, as she stood at the head of the steps and stared down into the void below, she knew she would find a way—she had to find a way. Nothing else mattered to her, nothing else existed, nothing could stop her—
A harsh ringing sound to her right interrupted her thoughts, and she felt the bite of metal along the base of her throat.
“I wouldn’t take another step,” a familiar voice growled in the darkness.
She was lucky he hadn’t killed her on the spot, but upon hearing Ramin’s voice, Soraya felt truly cursed. Of all the people to catch her, why did it have to be him?
“It’s me, Ramin,” she said. The darkness swallowed up her voice, so she said again, louder, “It’s Soraya.”
Anyone else would have backed down at once—whether because she was the shahzadeh or because of her curse—but Ramin’s sword lingered at her throat a breath too long, as if he were battling some inner temptation. Finally, he sheathed the sword, his hands going to rest on his hips. “Soraya. I wasn’t expecting you.” He took a step closer to her, forcing Soraya to take a step back.
“I was just—I wanted to see—”
Her voice was still too quiet, and so he started to approach her again, leaning in to hear her. She backed away, but he only followed, never letting her stay more than one step away from him. “You’re too close,” she whispered hoarsely.
He let out a derisive snort. “I’m not afraid of you, Soraya.”
Her hands balled into fists at her side. You should be afraid, she thought. But Ramin knew from experience that she would rather fold herself into nothing than risk hurting him. As the son of the spahbed, it must have galled him to know that a timid, shrinking girl his younger sister’s age was more dangerous and fearsome than he could ever be. And so he had always looked for ways to provoke her, as if in challenge. He would step in too close and gesture too widely near her, or speak to her in the most insulting and condescending tones. And every time, Soraya would tuck her hands away, lower her head, and try to ignore him, like a flower trying to force itself back into a bud.
“Tell me—what are you doing wandering around near the dungeon at this hour?” Ramin continued. “Have you spent so much time among the rats in the walls that you’ve forgotten how to sleep at night?”
Irritation made her blurt out, “We both know what’s in that dungeon and why I’m here.”
He frowned. “So you do know. Did Sorush tell you?” He paused in thought, and even in the darkness, she saw him bristle. “It was Laleh, wasn’t it?” he said, his voice hardening. “You were always following after her. That will be over soon, though. Once Laleh marries Sorush and becomes the shahbanu, she won’t have time for you anymore.” He crossed his arms and aimed a pointed look at her. “Maybe then you’ll learn to leave her alone, for the sake of your family’s reputation if not for hers. I always knew you would try to hold her back—that’s why I kept her away from you.”
Those words nearly knocked the breath out of her as years of loneliness and disappointment came together to form a knot in her stomach. “You kept her away?”
“It wasn’t difficult. Someone like Laleh doesn’t belong hidden away. All I had to do was distract her with new friends at court until she finally forgot about you.”
Soraya went still—except for the blood rushing through her veins like liquid fire. She had always found Ramin irritating, but she could ignore and push down irritation until it dissolved. The fire going through her now would not dissolve or fade away. It would eat them both alive.
You should be afraid, she thought again. But this time it was not a hopeless wish, the complaint of a girl who always gave in, but a realization, a truth she finally believed. It was also a threat. If he thought he could hurt her and boast about it to her face, if he wanted to test her limits, then he would have to face the consequences. In a way, she was relieved that all her formless frustration now had a name. A face. Something she could touch.