Girl, Serpent, Thorn by Melissa Bashardoust

blame you for what happened on Nog Roz.”
    â€œI haven’t seen much of him,” Azad answered. “I imagine he’s busy preparing for the wedding tomorrow.”
    The wedding—Soraya had nearly forgotten about the wedding, let alone realized it was tomorrow. She had forgotten about everything other than her hopeless quest. But even now, the grounds below were bustling with people preparing for the wedding, setting out long trestle tables and rugs and tying crystal birds to the tree branches.
    â€œBesides,” Azad continued, his eyes locking on hers, “I think I prefer the company of his sister. I’ve thought of you often since Nog Roz.”
    A shiver went down her spine, not only because of the way his voice lowered into a caress, but also from the spiteful pleasure of knowing that someone preferred being with her over Sorush. Nothing can come of this, an insistent inner voice whispered. Even so, the novelty of Azad’s attention was thrilling enough on its own. She still remembered the feeling of his arm around her from when he had helped her on Nog Roz.
    The memory sparked an idea in her mind—if he had helped her navigate one crowd, couldn’t he do so again? But could she ask this of him? He had already put his position at risk by helping her once.
    â€œYou’re thinking about something else,” Azad said. “I can see it in your eyes.”
    â€œI was thinking about Nog Roz,” she said. “About what you did for me then.”
    â€œThe div? Did she tell you what you wanted to hear?”
    She took a breath, wondering how much to tell him, how much he deserved to know. But she remembered Parvaneh’s warning not to tell anyone—including a certain handsome soldier. “No,” she said. “I didn’t like what she had to say. But I think there may be another way.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    Soraya hesitated again, but the pull to the dakhmeh was as strong as the pull to the dungeon. She hadn’t spared Azad then, and she knew she wouldn’t now, either—especially not when it provided such a perfect excuse to keep him close to her. “I have to go to the dakhmeh,” she answered. “I’m hoping to find a yatu there who might have the answers I’m looking for.”
    She expected him to argue or stare at her in disbelief, but in the silence that followed, he only frowned in thought. Finally, he said, “I don’t want you to go alone. Would you let me come with you?”
    She almost laughed in relief. “I do need help getting out of the palace and through the city. I wouldn’t ask you to come inside the dakhmeh—”
    â€œYou don’t have to ask,” he said. He took a step toward her, closing the already short distance between them, and clasped one of her gloved hands. “This is what I always wanted—to save you.”Slowly, never taking his eyes off her, he brought her hand to his lips.
    His courtly action should have moved or thrilled her, but the dulled feeling of his lips on her gloved hand only sharpened the reality of their situation. He still thinks this is a story, and I’m letting him do so for my own sake . He was saying all the right words, making all the right gestures, almost as if he had practiced them in his head a hundred times—which he probably had. And even though Soraya knew better, she hadn’t stopped him, letting him play the hero despite the risk to his safety and position in court.
    â€œThis was a mistake,” she said, as much to herself as to him. She pulled her hand away.
    He shook his head, a flicker of worry in his eye. “What do you mean? Have I offended you?”
    â€œNot at all,” she said. “But you can’t save me, Azad. And I shouldn’t ask it of you, either. I think we both see each other as something a little less than real.” She looked down at her gloved hands, at the loose threads of her