Archive of Our Own

The battle was won, but all Zoya could feel was a nagging loss. She slept. In the brief moments she was lucid, a sense of inherent wrongness plagued her. But after accounting for all of her limbs and appendages, she couldn’t figure it out before a deep sleep dragged her under again. So she slept, her dreams haunted by disembodied voices and threads of light bright as stars.

In the dark, she dreamed. She remembered.

When Grisha overreach their power, there is a price . Her own words mocked her. How could she have known? After their ordeal on the Fold, she’d felt invincible, like there was no end to her power or what she could do with it. She’d summoned storms as easily as breathing, each sigh a hurricane, each twitch of her fingers a spark of lightning. Juris had been a constant presence in her head, urging her along as she tore down the boundaries between the orders one by one. But when she’d finally reached the limits of Grisha power, when she’d approached the making at the heart of the world after what should have been a fatal dose of parem, he’d fallen silent. And she’d been offered a choice. A price. 

It was quiet at the making at the heart of the world. It wasn’t the quiet of a hushed hall, or an empty field, but the silence that only existed when there was...nothing. An absence of something. Tendrils of light had stretched as far as she could see, each a beacon in the dark. Curious, she’d reached out and touched a bright red thread. 

Genya. It was Genya. Her fingertips had tingled as she’d felt Genya’s tailoring powers flit through her, clever and brilliant. 

She tried to close her hand around the thread, but it danced out of reach and took its place among the others.

She touched another thread. Alina, her powers bright and soft as a summer’s day.

She’d felt them all coursing through her, the powers of thousands of Grisha, past, present, and future. It was almost too much. No one human should have ever experienced so much.

Then a voice had spoken. She couldn’t remember whether it was male or female, young or old, but their words were practically burned into her mind.

Choose, Zoya of the lost city. 

Choose what? She’d wondered, marveling as a russet thread twined playfully around her fingers. Harshaw, his flames tickling her palms.

Choose. Who will save the Grisha? Who will save them all?

She’d frowned. Juris had said she’d be the one to lead the Grisha, didn’t he? I will. I will save the Grisha.

The voice had laughed. And that is what you wish? 

Yes .

Then so it will be done . 

“Zoya.”

The voice was painfully familiar. She stirred, the fog of sleep evaporating. She remembered what it was like to have a physical body as she blinked, hazy light filtering through her lashes. Control over her limbs came next as she turned towards the voice. She lay in a wonderfully soft bed, the coverlets drawn up to her chin. Where was she?

“Can you hear me?” Zoya blinked slowly, waiting for her eyes to focus on the figure sitting by her bed. 

“Nikolai?” Her throat was bone dry, the single word hurting more than it should have. He beamed, relief apparent on his handsome face. Dark shadows ringed his eyes and it was clear he hadn’t shaved in a few days. He ran a hand through his already messy hair.

“Thank the saints,” he breathed as he drew closer and gently cupped her cheek with his hand. His skin was freezing cold against hers. Zoya shivered. “How are you feeling?”

“Water,” she croaked. 

He lifted a cup to her lips and she drank greedily, the liquid soothing her parched throat. A moment later, a fit of coughing overcame her and he hastily drew the cup away as her body shook with spasms.

“Take it easy,” he murmured, his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t overdo it.”

Zoya tuned out his words as she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. He was always prone to worry. “How long…”

“A week.” Something dark lurked behind his eyes, something he wasn’t telling her, but she blinked and it was gone. “It’s been a week. The Healers weren’t sure if you were going to wake up.”

She’d lost a whole week. Saints, it had probably all gone to hell without her, hadn’t it? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Visions of starlight rose unbidden to her mind, as well as a mirthful voice.

Who will save the Grisha? Who will save them all?

Zoya’s eyes snapped open, her breath quickening. Her memories came flooding back, each worse than the last. The sickly sweet taste of parem. The feeling of nearly unlimited power at her fingertips, then...nothing. The quiet place. The voice telling her to choose...it couldn’t be. They’d won the battle, and that was the end of it. But what had she lost?

“Zoya?” Nikolai’s voice was edged with concern. “What is it?”

She couldn’t feel anything, not Nikolai’s heartbeat, not the water in the glass, not the molecules in the air that had always seemed an extension of herself. 

“No,” she breathed. But in her heart, she could already feel its irrevocable loss, a hole torn through her very being. How could the absence of something weigh more than when it was whole? Her fingers flew to the fetters at her wrist, as cold and heavy as shackles. No spark of life rose from them.

Juris, please , she begged. He had promised her- Promised her what? He had told her nothing but the truth. 

You are strong enough to survive the fall .

A painful sob caught in her throat. Nikolai’s hands were on her shoulders, but she couldn’t hear his pleas. The world swam before her eyes as she lifted a hand at a flickering candle at her bedside. The fetter at her wrist seemed heavy as lead.

The flame burned on, unbothered.

Without Zoya successfully extinguishing it even once, the candle Nikolai had left at her bedside had long burned to a stub. Her fingertips were singed from the matchsticks she’d tried after the candle was gone. Each time, the match had burned merrily until she’d been forced to blow it out. 

Nikolai didn’t knock this morning as he entered with a steaming tray of breakfast. She tried to hide the match stubs under a pillow, but his eyes were too quick. His lips pursed into a flat line. He set down the tray on her desk before he spoke.

“The others have been missing you,” he began carefully.

Who? The students she could no longer teach? The soldiers she could no longer lead? The Triumvirate she could no longer see without a pang in her heart? Her fingers gripped the rough homespun of her trousers. As usual, he had no idea what he was talking about. She missed them more than anything in the world.

“I don’t want to have a heart to heart. Say your bit and leave.”

His jaw clenched. “Zoya, we can fix this.”

“We?” Zoya got to her feet. “This isn’t a “ we” problem, Nikolai. You have no idea-”

She’d lost herself. It was all she was- a powerful Grisha, admired, feared, worshipped . But the more she had, the more she lost. What was she now? The words he’d spoken to Alina on the Fold what felt like centuries ago rose unbidden to her mind. You’re nothing now .

“Get out,” she breathed. The walls were beginning to close in on her, the air fleeing the room. His warm brown of his eyes faded until they were a washed out gray. He reached for her, his voice distorting.

“Zoya-”

“ Get out !” she screamed. She thrust her hands out before her. 

An eternity seemed to slip by before her mind caught up with her body. A horrible, prickling sensation spread across her body like she’d been doused in freezing water. She dropped her arms and they dangled uselessly at her sides. Nikolai- It was Nikolai , not someone else- froze, seemingly at a loss for what to do.

“I’ll...be back later,” he promised, his voice not unkind. Zoya nodded mutely as he brushed by her. The door shut softly behind him. 

She was alone again.

True to his word, Nikolai wouldn’t give up. There wasn’t a day that went by without his voice at the door, pleading for her to open it for a new Healer, a new theory, him , but each time she sent him away. Perhaps it was cruel of her, but she had received so much cruelty in excess she couldn’t help spreading it like poison.

It was night again. Zoya lay in bed, but sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. The quiet wasn’t what she needed. She wanted to rage, to burn, to destroy – but those options had been stripped from her. The skin under her fetters itched, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch the scales. She knew they would be cold to the touch.

She stared up at the canopy of her bed. Without a single window, the room was almost unnaturally dark. She could feel his presence even now, lurking in the shadowy corners of the room that had once been his. Like a plague, he was never truly gone. She found herself wondering whether a demise like his would be preferable to the new reality she’d been thrust into. Better dead than...broken.

“Are you pleased?” she demanded. The shadows seemed to swallow her voice eagerly. “In the end, no one gets to be more powerful than you.”

The words faded into nothing. 

Parem. It was her ruination, but it would be her salvation, too. The others were against it, of course- too reckless, too dangerous, but Zoya knew it was her last option. She was willing to risk it for the slimmest chance that everything could go back to the way it was before. 

Genya greeted her this morning, a frown tugging at her lips as she drew back the curtains.

“You look better today, Zosha. Almost ready to break hearts again.”

“Only almost?” Zoya tried to smile at her compliments, but it came out as more of a grimace. A strange, dangerous energy seemed to thrum through her body as she regarded her friend. Under her sleeves, her nails dug into her palm almost hard enough to break skin.

“I was thinking...we could go for a walk today?” She tried to keep her tone steady, hoping it wouldn’t betray her.

Genya blinked, surprise apparent in her eye, and for a moment, Zoya was afraid she’d been found out. But then her friend beamed and clasped her hands eagerly. Zoya startled, the instinct to pull back almost overwhelming. The sensation of someone else’s skin against hers was strange after so much time alone.

“I’d love to,” Genya breathed. “Oh, you have to let me do your hair, it’s an absolute mess. And your clothes! I’ll find you something prettier, just give me a minute-”

Zoya watched her bustle around the room in excitement. She’d missed this, she realized. But then she remembered the pity in her friends’ eyes, their barely hidden relief. At least it wasn’t me , she knew that was what they all thought. At least it was just Zoya .

The fresh air was a welcome relief after nearly a month cooped up inside her rooms. The winter sun, through weak, warmed her face as the two of them walked arm in arm through the gardens. The heady scent of winter roses clung to her hair.

“Just let me know when you’ve had enough, okay?” Genya fussed. The grip she had on Zoya’s arm was like iron, and though Zoya knew it wasn’t her friend’s intention, it felt like she was restraining her.

Zoya nodded and tried to smile again. “I haven’t seen David in a while. Should we go visit him in the labs?”

A nearly euphoric expression crossed Genya’s face, but Zoya’s heart only sank at that. She wasn’t made for deception. Lying to Genya wasn’t something she did very often, nor take lightly. But she knew her friend wouldn’t understand if she tried to explain what she planned. None of them would. 

The workshops were deserted, which boded well for Zoya. She tried to not let her gaze slide to the locked cabinet where her goal lay. Oblivious, Genya called for David, but there was no response. Her lips tugged downwards into a frown.

“He must have left for lunch already. Should we check the main hall?”

Zoya fell heavily into a nearby chair, feigning exhaustion. She waved off Genya’s concern.

“I’m a little tired,” she admitted, making sure to breathe heavily. “Why don’t you head there first and I’ll catch up? Let David know I’m coming.”

If Genya thought the request strange, she didn’t show it. She clasped Zoya’s hand one last time before leaving the room, then finally, it was just Zoya. 

She made her way to the cabinet in a trance-like state, the drug an irresistible siren’s song. The void in her left by the making at the heart of the world seemed to call back. As soon as her fingertips brushed the cool metal of the cabinet, she was sure of what lay inside. Predictable as ever, David still kept the spare key taped under his desk. She fitted it into the lock, then grabbed the first packet she could see.

The sickly sweet scent of parem hit her nose. Hadn’t she been here once before? Her memories of her time on parem were still hazy at best, but she could still recall the warmth of Nikolai’s arms around her as he promised he’d do everything in his power to make sure she came back. Genya’s tearful smile as she embraced her. The twin’s blessing her in Shu, even David muttering about how he had nearly perfected the cure and that she had nothing to worry about. But now, she was completely alone, as she always ended up.

You don’t belong with them , a voice hissed. She looked up sharply, but the room was still as empty as it had been a second before. You never did .

“I did,” she insisted with a stubborn tilt of her chin. She unwrapped the packet of parem, the orange powder seeming to mock her. “And I will again.”

One cannot fall twice, Zoya of the lost city. The voice sounded amused now. Some choices are irreversible.

Nothing is irreversible.

Without another moment of hesitation, Zoya tilted her head back and emptied the packet into her mouth. The instant it touched her tongue, she knew something was wrong. If she were Grisha, her power should have responded, a high no ordinary drug could achieve. But all she could feel was burning, the world spinning as she tried desperately to spit out the parem. Her arm hit a row of beakers on the counter, sending them crashing onto the floor. Glass cut into her skin as she fell to her knees, heaving.

This was wrong, this was wrong, this was-

I warned you. Your choice cannot be unmade.

The last thing Zoya remembered was Genya’s beautiful face covered in tears hovering over hers, her fingers blissfully cold against her skin.

Please don’t go, hold on Zoya, someone’s coming-

“Zoya.” Nikolai had decided to visit her again. She turned to her side, ignoring the wave of nausea that washed over her.

“I told you I don’t want to talk.”

She didn’t have to see him to imagine the tightness in the jaw, his clenched fists. Was he mad she’d gone and rendered Ravka’s general incapable of her duties? Or just that she refused to talk to him? Either way, it didn’t seem a sound choice to anger a king, but Zoya couldn’t find it in herself to care. If he had her hanged for insubordination, it would be a mercy. She was otkazat’sya . Nothing.

“We found another Healer-”

“It doesn’t matter. Leave.” And she knew it was childish, but she pulled the heavy coverlets over her head until the outside world was silent. She didn’t hear him leave as she closed her eyes and drifted into a restless sleep.

She was confined to her bed for weeks, the mere scent of food making her nauseous. She saw things no one else could, shadow creatures that taunted her out of the corners of her eyes until she wept from exhaustion. Her dreams were no respite. The worst ones were when she’d wake up, her powers miraculously returned, only for her to truly awake still broken, still bruised. Genya was there most days to make sure she forced down a glass of water and some porridge, but a vast majority of the time, it was just her and the darkness. At least the darkness didn’t look at her with enough pity to make her sick again.

The parem had confirmed her worst fear, the possibility she’d refused to dwell on during those first few weeks. Her powers were truly gone. 

Perhaps having the terrible truth confirmed was the best outcome. Now she knew better than to scrounge for the barest slivers of hope.

Nikolai visited her sometimes as well, but for once in his life, he had nothing to say. What was left between them? Zoya refused to let him apologize because in the end, it had been her choice, but a gnawing guilt lurked in his eyes. She hated it. She hated him. 

As soon as she was well enough, she found herself slipping out at odd hours of the night to wander with no clear direction or goal. The grounds were always quiet and abandoned, the guards more lax than ever due to the sense of security that had been bought at the expense of Zoya. 

He summoned her a month later, and Zoya would have ignored it except she couldn’t help wanting to see him even if she knew it wouldn’t end well. Had he heard about her nightly trips to the gardens? She glanced quickly at his face, but it betrayed nothing. He continued his pacing, following the well worn grooves in the carpet. Zoya remained standing, but she was beginning to regret it as her legs ached. Regardless, she kept her spine straight and her eyes trained on the opposite wall.

“The Grisha are asking for you, Zoya,” he finally said. “They need a leader.”

“Genya is free. She would gladly take the position if you asked.”

Nikolai shook his head. “ It’s your position, Zoya. We need- I need you back.”

Zoya pursed her lips. She didn’t want Nikolai’s kind lies or pitying looks. She wished people would be honest with her, just for a moment. She wasn’t a fragile, cracked vase that would shatter at the lightest touch. She was already broken, and ready to cut with her sharp edges.

“I’m no longer qualified for the role. Find someone else and spare me the pity.”

Nikolai gripped the back of his chair hard, the black veins at his knuckles in stark relief against his white skin. Was he angry? She could no longer read him like she used to be able to.

“Zoya. General Na-”

“Don’t call me that,” she spat. Her hands curled into fists at her side, desperate for something to hurt, something to damage. “You have no idea how it feels to lose something that’s- You don’t even have anything worth losing.”

Nikolai looked taken aback, and Zoya knew she’d pushed too far, but in the moment, she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. A heavy silence descended between them, cold and foreign. What had happened to them?

He spoke first, his voice tired. “You.”

Zoya blinked. “What?”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

The world seemed to be at a standstill as Zoya met his gaze. But even if she only found sincerity there, she couldn’t believe him. He was still a hopeless romantic who foolishly believed love- or what passed for it- could solve all their problems. She tipped her head back and let out an empty laugh.

“You already have, moi tsar .”

Zoya did not like losing, but as her body slammed into the mat for what had to be the ninth time, she found a certain catharsis in it. Breathing heavily, she pushed herself up and forced her bruised limbs back into a ready stance. 

"Again." 

The burly guard she'd been sparring with cast a look towards his captain at the edge of the room. The captain's lips were pursed in a thin line of disapproval, but he nodded. Zoya was suddenly glad for the guards’ discretion- they wouldn't coddle her like the others. She swiped at her bloodied lip and raised her fists. 

Three breaths later, the guard was swinging at her again. Zoya did her best to dodge his flurry of fists, but one caught her squarely in the shoulder and she stumbled back a few steps. He wasn't pulling his punches. She did her best to recall Botkin's training, the complicated maneuvers and positions, but years of relying on her summoning have pushed the memories too far back. A quick two kick combo from her opponent had her down on her hands and knees. 

"What is the meaning of this?" a voice asked tightly from the door. Zoya looked up to find Nikolai, his arms crossed and his jaw clenched. "Why is my general bleeding on the floor?"

He always seemed to find her during the worst times. And despite how many times she corrected him, he wouldn’t stop addressing her by her former rank. It was more a painful reminder than a sign of respect.

The guards scrambled into position, sketching low bows. “ Moi tsar .” 

Zoya pushed herself up slowly, every muscle screaming in protest. She was well aware of how she looked- sweaty, bleeding, human . But Nikolai didn’t seem to care about that as he came to a stop in front of her. She met his eyes, surprised by the anger she found in them. Perhaps he was upset she’d kept the guards from their duty for something so selfish. 

“Zoya.”

“Nikolai,” she said, matching his sharp tone. If she had been any less tired, she would have hesitated to call him by his name in front of others, hesitated to air out their grievances publicly. But these days, she often found herself beyond caring. 

“You were missed at the Triumvirate meeting.” Her eyes caught the tic at his jaw, his usual tell that he was angrier than he let on.

“I thought I made it clear I would no longer be attending such meetings.” She made sure to keep her voice cold. Perhaps this time, he’d get the message. She wasn’t one of them anymore, and would never be again. She had no right to be privy to their plans. Not when she could no longer be of use. 

He shook his head wordlessly, jaw clenched tightly enough that the veins at his neck stood out. She thought he might yell, or dismiss her, but as usual, he surprised her. He turned to the guards still hovering at the edge of the room. “ Out . Do not speak a word of this to anyone or I will personally see you hanged.”

They bowed and scraped their way out of the room, then it was just her and Nikolai. Just like old times. Except their positions had been so irrevocably changed that nothing could go back to the way things were. 

“What are you doing?” His words were clipped and angry. “I sent you a note this morning about the meeting. I made sure it was delivered directly to you.”

She’d ripped it in quarters and tossed it in the fireplace. Just as she had with his reminders for the last two weeks. If he still couldn’t comprehend the message, then perhaps he would need a clearer sign. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and took a step towards him. This close, she had to tilt her head up to look him in the eye. 

“I told you. I am no longer part of the Gri-” Her traitor tongue stumbled over the words. “The Grisha Triumvirate. I’ve recommended Nadia take my place as the Etherealnik representative.”

He swept her from head to toe with a critical eye. Zoya kept her spine straight and her gaze forward. If Nikolai thought he’d be able to manipulate her like she was just another one of his courtiers, he was wrong. 

“I can see why you might think you need replacing immediately,” he said, the words like a slap in the face, “but Ravka requires your services at least until a suitable candidate can be trained to take your place.”

Rage stirred from somewhere deep inside her, and she could almost hear Juris’ seething in her head. What is a king to a dragon saint? We do not answer to him . 

“Ravka this, Ravka that,” she spat, the words coming from a foreign place she didn’t often visit. “I dedicated my life to Ravka and what did I get for it? Less than nothing. I’m done, Nikolai. Done with this country. Done with this life. Done with you .”

“Be angry at me all you want,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “But your friends are worried for you. Your behavior has been...concerning to say the least.”

She’d heard enough of the palace gossip. They were saying she’d gone mad and Nikolai was one push away from having her sent to the Colonies. Or they’d had a falling-out so spectacular that Nikolai was about to disband the Second Army. Neither were true, of course. But she had the distinct feeling that if she pushed Nikolai anymore, he would snap. A small part of her wanted to, just to see how much she could get away with before then.

A bead of sweat ran down her spine. What was she without her powers, her status? Nothing. Less than nothing. A living reminder of a war they’d all rather forget. 

A half-baked idea formed in her mind. “I’m leaving.”

Nikolai blinked, his anger seemingly disappearing. “For where?”

“Keramzin.” As she uttered the name, the more she became convinced of her choice. There was only one other person in the world who could understand her right now, and no matter how much he wished for it, it wasn’t Nikolai. 

“When will you be back?” he demanded, following her as she strode out of the training room. They soon exited the palace and started cutting across the green to the stable. The winter air cut to her bone, her sweat cooling against her skin. “Zoya, this is madness.”

“Madness is being stuck in a place where you no longer belong,” she retorted. Nikolai made an exasperated noise and threw his coat over her shoulders as they approached the stables. She considered throwing it back at him, but it was a long way to Keramzin. She’d need it. She pushed her arms through the sleeves and rolled them up to her elbows.

“I’ll go with you.”

“Don’t.”

“Zoya, please , take a second to think this through. You belong here. We need you-”

She spun on her heels. “Don’t lie to me, Lantsov. I have neither David’s wit nor Genya’s charm. I am nothing more than a distraction here, an injured pet in need of comfort. I would sooner shoot myself than be the object of your pity for even a moment more.”

And that was the truth of it, wasn’t it? She had been useful because of her abilities. And now those abilities were gone, and useless people had no place in Ravkan government. She remembered what the Darkling had done to people who had outlived their usefulness. Even that was preferable to whatever treatment they were giving her now. 

Nikolai drew back, a sigh escaping his lips. She hadn’t truly looked at him for what felt like months, and Ravka’s king looked more exhausted than ever. Dark bags hung under his eyes and he was in desperate need of a haircut. His uniform was rumpled as if he’d slept in it. Zoya felt a strange, vindictive joy at that. At least she wasn’t the only one falling apart.

“You won’t be safe travelling by yourself.”

Zoya crossed her arms. “Without the kefta, I’m no one. I’ll be fine.”

“At least take a guard with you. If you get hurt-”

“I’m already hurt. It’s too late to worry now.” But Zoya felt just the tiniest bit sorry for him. She nodded at the guard in front of the stable. “You. Come here.”

The guard snapped to attention and hurried over. “Yes General?”

“I’m not-” It was a waste of breath at this point. She gestured at him impatiently. “Your rifle. Lend it to me.”

He handed it over without hesitation. She slung it over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Nikolai. “There.”

“Do you even know how to use that?” he asked, doubt creeping into his voice.

“Of course,” Zoya lied. 

He didn’t look convinced as he waved the guard back to his post. Zoya turned to go, but her feet seemed fixed in place. What was she waiting for? A dismissal? An embrace? Nikolai’s arm reached for her and she could only stare, transfixed as his glove brushed the fabric of her sleeve before dropping back to his side.

“Take my horse. I’ll have some of your things sent for you later.” He looked like he wanted to say something more, but his face shuttered and he turned back towards the palace. Zoya watched him go, her arm still tingling from his phantom touch.

Alina didn’t look surprised when she opened the door for Zoya. If anything, she seemed to have expected her from the fire already blazing in the hearth and an extra plate set out at the dinner table. 

“Will they be staying for dinner as well?” Alina asked, eyeing the two soldiers at Zoya’s shoulder. Nikolai had sent them after her, for what reason Zoya was still trying to puzzle out. They made sure she arrived safely, yes, but were they also there to make sure she didn’t do anything foolish like run away? She turned to face them and they snapped to attention, their heels clicking together and their gazes forward.

“Did Nikolai ask you to stay?” If he did, she supposed this trip of hers would be something akin to imprisonment or exile.

“No, General,” the one on the left responded. He looked too young to have known much of war. “We’ll be returning to Os Alta now, if you no longer require our services.”

“I didn’t require them in the first place,” she said with a sniff. Their faces were impassive as they saluted and returned to their horses. A moment later, they were galloping out of the courtyard, no doubt eager to report back to the king.

Zoya turned and found Alina watching them go with an inscrutable expression. She looked the same as ever. Wisps of her pale hair were escaping her loose braid and Zoya resisted the urge to tuck a strand back behind her ear. It was an urge from another time, another person. 

“Well?” Zoya demanded. “Are you going to let me in or are you going to continue staring at men that aren’t your husband?”

Alina scowled. “Next time you decide to run away from the palace please spare me the pain of your company.

“I’ll go straight to your husband instead, then,” Zoya said with a sniff. Alina stepped aside to let her in.

As soon as she took a step inside, something collided with her and sent her stumbling back a few steps. She looked down to find a small Shu boy clinging to her leg, his eyes wide. 

“Are you a saint?” he asked in accented Ravkan. Behind her, Alina snorted.

“If she were a saint, this country would be very backwards indeed. Go wash your hands and eat dinner, Xiao.”

Zoya looked down at the boy, not quite sure what to do. Could she shake him off? If she were still Grisha, she would have launched him into the air and spun him a few times just to convince him of her saintliness. But for now, she just reached down and ruffled his hair awkwardly.

“The saints like good children who eat their dinner,” she said in Shu. The boy beamed and ran off. Zoya made a face at the dirt his grubby hands had smeared across her trousers and tried her best to brush it off. She wondered how long she’d be able to put up with an entire orphanage of children before going insane.

“How long will you be staying?” Alina asked as the two of them shared a bottle of Mal’s poorly hidden kvas in the kitchen. The bottle’s former owner was busy putting the children to sleep after insisting the two of them should have the night off to catch up, and that suited Zoya just fine. She didn’t feel very strongly about children one way or the other, but fifteen of them sounded like a nightmare. A nightmare that she’d soon have to face. She shuddered as she poured herself another glass.

“I don’t know yet,” she answered truthfully. “I just couldn’t be there anymore. The looks they were giving me, the constant reminders- it was too much.”

Alina was quiet for once, a thoughtful expression on her face. Zoya often wondered how it had been for her- she’d left the first chance she had, and while her life here in Keramzin wasn’t glamorous by any count, it was real. Meaningful. She wondered if she’d ever find that kind of peace for herself. Under the table, her hand curled into a fist.

“You can stay for as long as you like, you know,” Alina said, her voice soft. “You will always be welcome here.”

Zoya tried to smile at that, but she couldn’t help reading it as pity. Keramzin, where once power Grisha were put out to pasture. Far away enough from Os Alta that the rest of their friends could forget about them. Forget about the cost of their own safety. Her grip on her glass tightened, her knuckles white. A dark cloud of anger swirled within her.

“How did you do it?” she asked, her voice tight with barely controlled anger. Alina looked taken aback by her sudden mood.

“Do what?”

“How did you get used to being weak ?” Zoya snarled. Later, she’d blame the kvas for letting her anger get the better of her, but for now, all she could feel was a fiery anger that threatened to burn her down. “You could have had everything . Then you lost it in the blink of an eye.”

Alina regarded her cooly. “You must be tired. The guest room is ready for you.”

“I’m not tired. Just give me an answer, Alina. Then you don’t have to talk to me again for the rest of my stay.” Zoya held her gaze. She wanted Alina to tell her everything would be fine, that there was a magic fix for everything- time, fresh air, a husband- but Alina only poured the rest of her kvas into the sink and turned to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Zoya.”

The room she was given was sparsely furnished, but it was clean and warm and that was all that mattered to Zoya right now. A trunk of hers was waiting for her in the middle of the room- how it’d been sent so quickly, she didn’t know. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to sleep undisturbed for a week. She kicked the trunk open and reached in, trying to find something clean to sleep in. At the very bottom, her fingers brushed silk and she froze.

She pulled out the garment carefully, her heart sinking when the candlelight caught the familiar blue silk of her kefta. A card with Genya’s handwriting was tucked into the collar. 

You will always be one of us .

She considered throwing it into the fireplace, or dropping it into the lake, but she couldn’t seem to let go of it as her fingers traced the familiar whorls of embroidery. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. She’d never get to wear it again, never stand shoulder to shoulder with the Triumvirate again. When the first tear fell, she didn’t bother trying to stop it. 

She fell asleep clutching the kefta to her chest, her quiet sobs unnoticed by the rest of the manor.

Days soon stretched into weeks. The one good thing at Keramzin, Zoya soon realized, was that there was never a shortage of work to be done. Mal had no patience for her sulking and scowling and had handed her a book of children’s stories and told her to make herself useful. He’d only smirked at the distaste on her face.

“Can’t send me flying now, can you Nazyalensky? A real shame.”

Zoya would have attacked him too, powers or not, if it hadn’t been for the sudden gaggle of children surrounding her, demanding for her time. They all wanted to know about life in the palace, if they really served a whole stag every night for dinner, and if the king was secretly a demon straight from the underworld. She was all too happy to slander their king.

She supposed it was nice to be genuinely needed for once, even if it was just by snotty children. They hung onto her every word, and a group of the braver ones led by Xiao followed her everywhere she went begging for more stories. It was rather endearing, even if it meant she never got a moment of peace. 

She never apologized to Alina for what she had said that first night, and Alina seemed determined to pretend it had never happened. It was better that way, she supposed. The three of them, more often than not, ended up talking into the late hours of the night, reminiscing about their shared times. 

Zoya saw the way they looked at each other, a thousand unspoken words in each glance, and something inside her ached fiercely. Maybe that was how they healed- they had found an understanding in each other. Or maybe Nikolai’s insufferable romanticism had rubbed off on her. There would be no one like that for her.

She found herself at the lake often, first on picnics with some of the children, then by herself as the sun set and turned the waters into molten gold. The wind seemed to draw her in, whispering their secrets to her in a language only she could understand, or had once been able to. As foolish as it was, she couldn’t help occasionally raising her arms in that familiar position and trying her best to turn the winds away from herself. And failing every time.

The lake was where Nikolai found her the first time he visited. His boots crunched loudly on the gravel behind her and she whirled around. She thought her body had already unlearned it’s old patterns, but her arms were still raised instinctively to defend herself. She lowered them hastily when she saw it was just him, but as usual, his shrewd eyes had already seen everything. She tried to hide behind her scowl.

“Why are you here? Doesn’t this country require running?”

He looked better than he did when she’d seen him last, but the same air of exhaustion still clung to him like cheap perfume. She resisted the urge to snap at him for looking so morose. She was already in a poor enough mood for the both of them. 

Nikolai smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can’t a king miss his general?”

“I’m not your general. Not anymore.” A howl of wind rushed past the both of them, grabbing at loose hems and hairs. Nikolai’s face brightened.

“Was that-”

“No.” 

“Ah.” He was silent again, a question clearly on the tip of his tongue. Zoya crossed her arms and resolved herself to wait. There was so much space between them, an unbridgeable distance. They’d fallen out of their old rhythms, and perhaps there would be no going back for them. For some strange reason, Zoya’s heart ached at that. Was she mourning the loss of what they had, or was she mourning the loss of Nikolai?

“Nazyalensky. No, Zoya. When-” he hesitated, his fingers playing with his cuffs. Zoya raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Spit it out, Lantsov.”

“Are you...coming back?” Zoya imagined there was an unspoken to me at the end of his question. 

She took a good look at him. The light from the setting sun softened his features, erasing the scars left by the wars a boy should never have seen. His eyes pleaded for an answer that Zoya couldn’t give. She shifted her gaze towards the lake.

“I don’t know.”

Nikolai took that as an invitation to try to convince her. 

“The monarchy. We’re almost ready to finalize the transitional plan to let the council of dukes assume power, and the Second Army still has questions that need to be answered. They need you back.” After a brief pause, he added softly, “ I need you back.”

“If you still haven’t managed to replace me, then perhaps you’re even more incompetent of a leader than I thought,” Zoya said. But she turned his words over in her mind. If she went back, would there still be a place for her?

Nikolai took a step closer and tried to smile at her. “What can I say, Nazyalensky? You’re one of a kind.”

He reached for her arm and she took a step back. It dropped back to his side. No, no matter how much Nikolai wished for it, things couldn’t go back to the way they were before. 

“That may have been true once upon a time,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “but that is no longer the case. Please leave. I’ll return on my own terms, if at all.”

His face fell. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. “Zoya, I- I don’t know what you’ve convinced yourself of, but I don’t think of you any differently. I still want you there-”

“That’s the thing with wanting,” she said slowly, repeating the words of a man long lost, “it makes us weak. Leave, Nikolai. I won’t ask again.”

He heaved a sigh, but he knew better than to argue again. He was already gone when Zoya made it back to the manor.

He made the trip back to Keramzin at least once a month, but each time, the answer was the same.

It was spring now, the air filled with promises of new life and the scent of flowers. Xiao turned out to be Grisha, after a temper tantrum about bedtime caused a pipe to burst, much to Mal’s consternation. Of course, he could have been sent to the Little Palace to train instead, but he’d insisted upon staying in Keramzin. Zoya found herself a most unwilling teacher, and Xiao an eager student. 

“Higher,” she demanded as she rapped the bottom of his elbow with a stick. He adjusted his posture, the small ball of water he was controlling rising in the air. Though Zoya had never been much of a Tidemaker, she had overheard enough of their lessons to know the basics. Xiao turned out to be something of a prodigy, once he learned to control his temper.

It hurt less than she thought it would. Teaching Xiao reminded her of her own early years, the wonder and determination she had. When Xiao smiled after getting a lesson right, she found herself smiling as well. But even then, some nights, she found herself staring at the kefta she couldn’t bear to get rid of. She wondered if Alina often did the same with her own kefta, whether her gift three years ago was thoughtless and cruel. But Zoya Nazyalensky did not apologize.

“Now try splitting it into two balls,” she instructed. A look of intense concentration crossed the boy’s face. The sphere of water tremored, then began slowly splitting into two pieces. Then, without warning, the water exploded outwards, drenching both of them from head to toe. Zoya brushed a few limp strands of hair away from her eyes and fixed a very sheepish Xiao with a stern look.  But she couldn’t take him seriously for very long, not when he looked like a drowned puppy. A smile crept onto her lips.

“A bit harder than you thought, wasn’t it?”

Xiao nodded quickly, then rushed forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. Zoya let out a very undignified shriek as her drenched clothes pressed against her skin. Before she could reprimand him, he ran off presumably to terrorize Mal and Alina.

Zoya turned back towards the manor to find a dry set of clothes, but froze when she saw who was standing there about ten paces away. The smile slipped off her face.

“Nikolai.”

He was dressed inconspicuously in a first army uniform, his rank insignias and medals gone. There was something...different about him, something lighter. He came closer until they were an arms length apart, and flashed a familiar crooked grin at her.

“Zoya. How are you?”

She crossed her arms and tried to ignore the urge to reach out towards him. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d been near each other without hurting each other. 

“The answer is still no.”

He let out a sigh. “Walk with me?”

She pretended to think it through for a moment. Truth be told, she wanted a piece of their old selves back, the quiet moments where they were just two people working towards the same goals. She dipped her chin slightly.

Nikolai filled the space between them with meaningless chatter and palace gossip she’d missed. A few sun summoners had made their way to the Little Palace and they had nearly set a wing of it on fire during their lessons. Genya and David had adopted a few stray cats, each named after a Saint. Os Alta was facing a herring shortage which Nikolai was most upset about. Zoya found herself nodding along as they strolled in the general direction of the manor.

“Teaching suits you, did you know that?” he asked suddenly.

Zoya glanced at him warily. “Everything suits me.”

“I mean it. You looked...happy teaching that boy. I would wish you to look like that more.” 

She didn’t have a reply for that. He clasped his hands behind his back and did an abrupt about-face. Zoya nearly crashed into him and had to put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. She yanked it back as soon as she regained her balance. 

“Zoya.”

“Nikolai,” she said, matching his tone. She looked up into his eyes and forced herself to not avert her gaze. This was the closest they’d been in months.

“Come back to Os Alta. Not,” he added hastily, as he saw her scowl, “as my general. Or a leader. Come back as a teacher. The Little Palace is short staffed and the Triumvirate is busy helping the transition along. The Grisha need you.”

“I…”

Nikolai offered a gloved hand towards her.

A memory resurfaced. Who will save the Grisha? Who will save them all?

Hadn’t she already saved them? Piece by piece, she had given herself away until there was nothing left. 

It’s Ravka. There’s always more.

She could see what Nikolai was offering her. A chance to begin returning who she had been, who they had been. She had never wanted anything more, but– 

She was afraid, she realized. Even if she took the first step towards regaining some sense of normalcy, there was no guarantee she would come out better for it. The last time she’d tried, she’d nearly killed herself with parem again. She was afraid of changing, of leaving something that had offered her some mediocrum of comfort. 

But all the best things had to be fought for, didn’t they?

Nikolai had fought for her. He still hadn’t stopped. She took a deep breath and placed her hand in his. They still fit perfectly together. Her fingers closed around his and a spark seemed to jump between them.

“I’ll give it a try.” A weight seemed to lift off her shoulders. She blew out a breath, hoping she’d made the right choice. “Every other week. Make sure I have a nice carriage to take me to and from Os Alta.”

Nikolai’s smile was wider than the saintsdamned Sokol. “Of course. Are emeralds or sapphires more to your liking? I’ll design you the grandest carriage in all of Ravka, it’ll be big enough to fit…”

Zoya tuned him out again as she continued making her way back to the manor, but she didn’t miss the way he gripped her hand tightly as if he’d never let go again.