Free Girl, Serpent, Thorn by Melissa Bashardoust

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.
    â€œPlease 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.”
    â€œDo 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:
    â€œGo 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 howher 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.
    He wasn’t laughing now.
    She’d tried to imagine what had been happening while she’d been waiting in an adjoining chamber. The dungeon guard had told one of the palace guards that a young woman claiming to be the shahzadeh wanted to speak to her brother. From there, the news must have gone up the chain of command, until one of the shah’s personal attendants had found him in the garden and told him his sister had been caught talking to the div in the dungeon.
    And Soraya might have felt sorry for causing him all this trouble on his one day of merriment away from royal duty, except that she was too irritated with him for bringing their mother, who was standing beside the throne with a severe expression on her face.
    Soraya came forward, went down on her knees, and pressed her forehead against the cool tile, as was appropriate when addressing the shah.
    â€œYou may leave us,” Soraya heard him say, and she thought he was talking to her until she felt the reverberation of the guards’ boots against the floor as they all left the chamber.
    Even when they were gone, she kept her head down until she heard her brother say in a weary tone, “Soraya, please stand.”
    She rose, and unsure how much formality he expected from her, she said, “I’m sorry if I’ve done something against your wishes, shahryar. I meant you no disrespect.” She wasn’t sure if it was thethrone itself or the crown overhead that made the shah seem like he was an eternal fixture of the palace itself instead of her flesh-and-blood brother. Even in her mind, it seemed more appropriate to think of him as the