“Zoya,” his deep voice murmured. Squeezing me tighter, he said, “I thought you’d died. I thought I’d lost you, too.”
We stayed like that for what could have been hours, but eventually I pulled back and with blurred swollen eyes I looked up to his face. Lifting my shaking hand, I brought my finger to his left cheek and ran the pad over his moles. Smiling, I whispered, “One, two, three…”
The pain showed in Zaal’s face and his eyes closed as he tried to breathe. Understanding he was finding this as difficult as I was to cope with, I got to my tiptoes and pulled the band from the top of his hair. I smiled widely as his long black hair came tumbling down.
I stepped back as his hair fell over his shoulders to land against his chest. I took the strands in my fingers and met his amused face. “You still have the long hair?” I said in awe, too overcome that my sykhaara was standing before me after all this time.
“Like the Georgian warriors of old,” he replied.
Pain sliced through my heart as he repeated Grandmama’s words. With a shaking voice, I offered a compliment: “Grandmama would be happy to see you like this.”
The tears fell silently down Zaal’s cheeks and he made no move to wipe them away. His eyes were staring at every part of me; then I saw his nostrils flare and a choked sound came from his throat when he stared at my shoulders.
I turned away, staring into the large flames of the fire when I felt his finger run over my bullet scar. “I watched you die,” he said quietly, devastation in his tone. “Those bastards held me back as you called my name, begging me to save you. Your eyes were on mine as they shot you, and I couldn’t save you.”
I laid my hand over his on my shoulder and faced him again. “You and Anri were boys. What could you have done against all those men?”
My eyes widened at the sudden mention of Anri. I quickly scanned the room. I saw the woman and man from the couch watching me, smiling, and I saw the blond woman sitting behind Zaal on the couch. Her face was wet with streams of tears, too.
My attention stayed on her for a lot longer than the others, but she didn’t say anything to me, barely reacted to my attention. I couldn’t remember if I knew her. I couldn’t place her face in my mind.
When I looked back to Zaal, I asked, “Where’s Anri? Where’s my brother?” My stomach roiled, as I was eager to see him again soon. Zaal’s expression fell, as did my cracking heart.
Stumbling back, I shook my head and whispered, “No.…” My head shook again and again, and my hand flew to my mouth. “Don’t tell me,” I said through my thick throat. “Please, tell me he’s alive.”
Zaal turned away and I saw his shoulders shaking. When he faced me again, I knew. The desperately sad expression on his face told me everything I needed to know. My legs too weak to take the news, I collapsed to the floor.
Cries racked my body as it felt like someone was twisting my heart and lungs in their tight grip. Strong arms suddenly wrapped around me, a large body pulling me to his chest. I fell into his hold, and his familiar scent took me back to when we were children. Minutes and minutes passed by. I cried until I was sure I couldn’t cry anymore.
Obviously hearing I had calmed down, Zaal pressed a kiss on my head and said, “I have missed you, Zoya. I still have you. We still have each other.”
I gripped him tightly and whispered, “I missed you, too, sykhaara.”
I took courage from his hold. Eventually I pulled back, my cheeks flushed, feeling the eyes of strangers watching me.
When I looked at Zaal’s face, I said, “You look just like Papa, sykhaara. You’ve grown to be handsome, just like him.”
Zaal’s lip hooked into a proud smirk. When I touched his long hair, I then touched mine. “We have the same hair now,” I remarked.
A gruff laugh burst from Zaal’s lips. I laughed, too. He nodded his head, “Your hair is longer than mine. At last.”
I shook my head, remembering my annoyance as a child that my brothers had longer hair than I. I quickly sobered as I saw Zaal’s scarred and tattooed arms. “You look so different, sykhaara, yet exactly the same, if such a thing is possible.”
Zaal’s head dropped, and he admitted, “I’m not the brother you remember, Zoya.” I lifted his chin, my stomach turning when I examined his beaten face.
His eyes met mine and I replied, “And I am not the same sister you knew, either.” I sighed and said, “After everything that we have been through, how could we be?”
Silence hung heavily between us. The climbing flames of the fire caught my attention; then I asked, “How did Anri die and you survive?”
The tension crackled between us. Zaal said, “Jakhua tested his drugs on us, drugs he created for obedience—”
“I know about the drugs,” I said, then frowned when I tried to remember why I knew about the drugs.
“The drugs,” Zaal continued, making me refocus on him, “the drugs worked on me immediately. They took away my memories”—Zaal sighed—“and even my recognition of Anri.”
“No!” I exclaimed, trying to imagine my twin brothers as strangers. It was impossible. They were always together.
“Almost as soon as Jakhua killed our family and took us into captivity, I no longer knew Anri. I was rescued from Jakhua last year and discovered Anri had been taken from me as the drugs failed to work on him. He was used in underground death-match rings.”
I felt nauseous listening to the story of their lives. It was surreal. “Death matches?” I asked, “Did he die in a death match?”
Zaal nodded his head, and his gaze flicked to the other man in the room. Suddenly, as if my brother reminded me we had an audience, I looked at the other people.
Zaal’s hand tightened on mine, and in a low voice I asked, “Where are we? My mind … nothing is too clear. I’m finding it hard to gather my memories and thoughts.”
“It’s the drugs, Zoya. They take a while to wear off.” I was about to question Zaal on what he was talking of, but Zaal shifted to his feet and he offered me his hand before I could.
With another nervous glance at the strangers, I placed my hand in his and let him pull me to my feet. Zaal put his arms around my shoulders, protectively pulling me to his side. I kept my eyes to the floor; too many years locked away in isolation had made me feel uncomfortable in the headlights of their intense stares.