In her adult debut, award-winning author Tanaz Bhathena expertly weaves a tale of love and loss in ancient Persia with her take on the timeless tragedy of Tahmineh, a temptress, a witch, a victim, or, perhaps, a woman trying her hardest to protect her loved ones.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Witch Daughter by Tanaz Bhathena, which releases on September 22nd 2026.
Rumors of witchcraft follow Princess Tahmineh like a storm cloud, making it impossible for her to secure herself a marriage or any kind of future. With her father, the king’s, health in question, it becomes shockingly clear how desperate her situation will soon become in his absence. If she doesn’t act now, she will quickly find herself destitute and desperate.
Tahmineh seeks out a prophecy, from which she learns she will fall in love with a warrior of great renown named Rostam and bear him a son. However, she is warned this match is a dangerous one for her. Heedless of the warnings, Tahmineh boldly orchestrates a meeting with Rostam and the two develop a close friendship and ultimately fall in love and marry. At the peak of her joy, Tahmineh gives birth to Sohrab, Rostam’s son.
All too soon, Tahmineh learns the tragic second part of the prophecy. Father and son will meet as enemies in battle and one will die at the hand of the other. What follows is a mother’s desperate attempt to undo the threads of fate and try to protect her son at all costs.
EXCERPT
CHAPTER ONE
“Do you like your hair, Your Highness?”
The maid who’d asked the question was a slip of a girl, her body still in that awkward adolescent stage of transitioning from angles to curves, her limbs trembling with uncertainty.
I examined my reflection in the bronze mirror she held up, taking in the loose black curls artfully framing my face, the thick braid woven all the way to my hips. Delicate brass butterflies had been pinned across the length of my hair at regular intervals, metal wings fiery in the lamplight.
“Why, Binaifer.” I raised a hand to my chest in mock astonishment. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight. You’ve made me look beautiful.”
This was not a real surprise. For all her nervous energy, Binaifer was the cleverest among the palace maids when it came to arranging hair, knowing exactly what styles suited my angular face. Garbed in my favorite green silk dress, the corset embroidered with red roses and the sleeves embellished with pearls, tonight I looked more like a forest spirit than the witch I was reputed to be.
“You are beautiful, Your Highness!” Binaifer’s round face beamed.
“Everyone says so!”
“Really? I thought they were calling me an old hag by now.”
Binaifer instantly began protesting this statement, brown eyes widening with alarm.
“Oh, don’t fret,” I said, gently squeezing her shoulder. “I am not fishing for more compliments.”
Certainly, by now, on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, I no longer held illusions about who I was nor how I appeared to my father’s court. King Arshak’s only daughter: the princess no man wanted to marry. The princess many called demon- born behind her back.
Under my touch, Binaifer slowly began to relax. She would be easier to soothe if asleep. Then I could slip past the barrier between wakefulness and slumber and walk into her dreams, unseen, assuring her that she was safe with me.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” Binaifer’s smile held the slightest hint of a tremor. “I know you are not like the other ladies of the palace. If not for you, I would not be here today.”
“You must not say such things,” I chided gently. “You are loyal and good. Any lady would be lucky to have you attending her.”
Yet there was truth to Binaifer’s words. I had seen the way ladies at court treated their maids— their withering rebukes, their backhanded slaps for the smallest mistakes. Once, years ago, when I’d tried to defend a maid from being unfairly reprimanded by a courtier’s wife, the maid herself had turned me away. “No need for you to step in, Shahdoxt,” she’d said, her voice polite but firm. “My mistress is right. I should have known better.”
The maid did not say it aloud, but I understood what she meant:
She did not wish to be saved by a witch.
With Binaifer, however, things were different. I’d first encountered her over a year ago outside the queen’s quarters: a small, scrawny thing being beaten within an inch of her life by my stepmother’s favorite lady- in- waiting, Banu Azad. Bruises bloomed across the young girl’s face and blood had begun to seep from her nostrils. I did not have to think twice. I stepped into the dimly lit corridor and shoved Banu Azad aside.
“Leave this girl alone,” I told the woman, my voice cold. “If you don’t, I will find out. And there will be consequences.”
What those consequences would be, I did not say. I did not need to. Banu Azad had erupted in outraged squeaks of protest, fear mingling with the hatred in her beady eyes. That day, I did not mind the rumors that constantly swirled around me— including the mistaken belief among the palace women that I could transform them into lizards or burn them to ash with the force of my gaze.
Leaving the queen’s lady to sputter unintelligibly, I had turned to a stunned Binaifer. “From now on, you work only for me, understand?” I had said. “I will speak to the king about it.” Neither Banu Azad nor my stepmother would dare kick up a fuss once I had Father’s approval— especially not over an ordinary maid.
“Y- yes. Yes, Your Highness!” the girl had sputtered in response.
No one dared touch Binaifer now. Not while she was under my protection.
Of course, my protection worked only because no one at court really knew what my powers were, their imaginations always conjuring worse things than what my own magic would ever be capable of.
Our world was divided into three realms: the celestial realm ruled by the yazata or angel, the human realm where we lived, and the underworld where the daeva or demons reigned. There were times, of course, when the inhabitants of these realms crossed paths. Most times in war, but a few times in love as well, the way my father and mother had. A human king and a pairika— an immortal witch from the underworld— their love resulting in the birth of a child who could cross over into the realm of human dreams.
My parents’ marriage did not last, my mother leaving the palace shortly after I was born for reasons no one really knew, my father remarrying a few years later. My stepmother hated me on sight, repeatedly trying to send me away. Father, however, protected me, brushing aside her protests about bad omens and my “vile daeva blood.” “I do not abandon my children,” he’d said sternly.
King Arshak was a man of his word and he’d remained steadfast as the years passed, even as the whispers about me grew at court. Even as princes, knights, and noblemen refused my hand in marriage, unwilling to have a witch’s daughter for a wife.
But my father was growing old now. There was no saying how long his protection would last.
“You look perfect for the feast.” Binaifer’s voice distracted me from my thoughts. A wide smile revealed the gap between her front teeth. The sight jarred me for a moment, reminding me of another young face. Another smile.
Noshir.
My ribs tightened. No. I could not grieve my little brother’s death tonight. Tonight, I would need all my wits about me— as was usually the case with family celebrations. I rose to my feet and clipped a small dagger onto my leather belt, its gold sheath pebbled like the feathers of a bird. Father had gifted the dagger to me when I’d come of age at fifteen, and it never failed to comfort me during these gatherings— a reminder that I always had the king’s protection. That I could use it to protect myself, if needed.
Pinching color into my cheeks, I determinedly stepped outside. The corridors were bustling with servants, most of whom ignored my presence. But Binaifer’s ministrations seemed to have an impact, for a few of the queen’s maids stopped to stare as I approached and bowed. I smiled, hoping my nerves did not show.
At least tonight’s feast would not be in the palace’s stuffy banquet hall. It was the eve of Nowruz, the spring festival that marked the end of winter. Several bonfires had been set up in the lawn outside, along with a long wooden pavilion, its pillars festooned with red ribbons and garlands of roses and the gold and ochre saman wildflowers that bloomed fragrant across our pastures, giving our kingdom its name.
Tonight, people would sing songs, make wishes, and pray to Ahura Mazda, hoping to leave behind their illnesses and misfortunes in the previous year. Already, minstrels had begun playing a lively tune on flutes, while a group of children took turns leaping over one of the smaller bonfires.
“Let your redness be mine!” the children chanted. “And my paleness be yours!”
I paused to watch. I, too, had been like these children once. Had joyfully chanted these phrases while leaping over the fire, imagining that my arms were wings. This was in the years before Father had married my stepmother. The years when the court saw me as only the king’s daughter— or so I thought at the time.
As I stood there, a small boy raced past and nearly tripped over his own feet.
“Careful!” I cried out, righting him with a hand. My smile faded when I saw the downward curve of his rosy lips, the stark terror in those big brown eyes as they locked on mine.
“P- please!” he cried out. “Please don’t hurt me!”
The words of reassurance caught in my throat. I stepped back, watching him run back to his friends, who were shooting me horrified glances. Demon, they mouthed to each other. Witch.
Had the boy simply run away instead of saying anything, I might have been able to retreat to the palace and lock myself in my room.
But now I had drawn the attention of the adults as well.
