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laurore-stormwitch · 3 years

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Post rule of wolves, about Zoya and Nikolai being soft with each other in one of the many moment of hardship they face. Zoya gets a letter that unsettles her and leans on Nikolai to face more of her demons and move on. I love how Zoya is slowly learning to open up and face her wounds, and how Nikolai is there to catch her. Feedback are always appreciated, so much love to you all

the blood in our veins - ao3

When the sound of leaves crunching under someone’s steps reached her, Zoya did not startle. She knew Nikolai would appear at some point, as he always did, as if he could sense her despair. Or as if someone played the snitch on my escape, more likely. He was the only one to have the key, beside her, and the only one to know she would take refuge here. For a moment, she lingered on what a strange sight she was making; a steel spined harpy perched amongst the wildflowers, her kefta smeared by dirt and pollen, her eyes trained on the ground and a sprout in her hands. She felt his intense gaze on her, his worry. The scent of his skin; Nikolai always tasted like salt and sunburnt skin, like the sea.

“Who ratted me out?”, she asked. He lowered himself toward her, brushing a kiss on her head before kneeling beside her on the ground.

“Tamar”, he answered, “told me you got a letter and dismissed the meeting.” More like run away from it. She would have to thank Tamar for her regard.

Zoya clicked her tongue. A letter. Her hand went in her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to Nikolai. She sensed his concern turn into outrage. Zoya knew it was a matter of time before Sabina reached out to her. After all, her daughter had just become the queen of Ravka. There was no hope left in her heart that her estranged mother would not try to exploit this particular advantage. As long as she was not dead, she supposed. Which, as far as she knew of, could very well be. As it turned out Sabina was not the one Zoya should have been wondering about.

“It’s a long list of arrogant pleading. Get to the end”, she instructed Nikolai. Zoya glanced at him and saw him shook his head with a sigh when he came to the last lines.

“Zoya – “, he tried, his tone insecure, weary of what was the right thing to say. Was there a right thing to say when you lost a father you had already wiped from your mind? The word lost probably was not even fit for the situation.

“He’s been dead a couple of years, apparently. She did not even bother to say how.”

There was no grief left inside her to tug at. No sentiment to pull and mourn over. Nothing left for them, for him. There was just a void lurking next to the well inside her, in which so many stones had tumbled. It was not endless anymore; it stopped right beside her, where Nikolai’s light flooded in through the cracks in her walls. Zoya tried to look for something to hold on to, something to guide her over this empty sea of nothingness. No love, no regret, no pain. The sorrow in the well had always been for Lilyiana, for Lada. For David, for the Grisha, maybe even for herself. A monument to her solitude. None of it was dedicated to the two young people who had given her breath. Yet she felt the void, like it had form and claws that pierced at her heart. Its fingers tied around her throat, squeezed the air out of her lungs.

“I thought maybe I should plant something for him, too. I – I don’t know.”

She murmured. Her voice came out more frail than she had desired to, more vulnerable. Nikolai moved closer, his shoulder brushing on hers. She grasped at that touch that anchored her on this moment, that prevented her from losing herself.

“I don’t know what the Suli ritual is.” The defeat in her tone sparked a flicker of injustice. It was supposed to have been over; the child that did not look back on a wretched church was supposed to have grown. Such restless waters she had had to navigate. How does one separate hatred from fear, love from abandonment, rage from regret?

“We could find out.”

“There’s no time. There’s no time anymore.” To know him. To understand. To take the child in her hand and protect her in an embrace. Faintly, in the distance, Zoya felt Nikolai’s hand on her back, his lips landing again on her cheek.

“Why did you choose this?”, he asked, bobbing his chin at the sprout she was holding, at his light blue blossoms.

“I’m not sure”, she sighed. “When I was very little, there was always a glass of forget-me-nots on the kitchen table. My father used to bring them from the fields at sundown. He stopped before my sixth birthday.”

Zoya never knew what they meant. Her mother told her they were the colour of their eyes, weaving them in her hair. She had felt like a princess in a fairytale, with a crown of blossoms.

“Inej told me the Suli have a saying about love. Her father says that you would know a boy truly loves you when he brings you your favourite flowers. I figured that is why our house was full of them, at first. Maybe these are for both of them. Maybe I should bury my mother too.”

What a sombre, depressing thought, she half expected Nikolai to say. Instead, he just reached for her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, watching her in silence. So she forced another sentence out, one that stung to admit. “I thought I did that already the moment I set foot in the Little Palace. I thought they could float away like a river in the sea, instead I just built a dam that feels dangerously close to shatter.”

The quiet stretched on. “I don’t know what they are”, Nikolai admitted. “Your favourite flowers. I don’t know them.”

She moved her gaze to him and wondered what he was seeing. If he had already grown tired of her, of her dark moods and brooding tendencies. Those fears clutched her heart on her worst nights. Was he catching the sheer sentiment in her eyes, the fire that burned for him inside her? How she grasped at his voice like it was the thread that tied her to safety, to belonging? Whatever her failings were, Nikolai’s look never wavered. His certainty, affection. He was the one keeping the dam from falling, keeping her from breaking.

“You told me once I could be branches without blossoms and wait for the summer to come. The way you love…it’s not the fleeting beauty of petals. It’s the strength of roots.”

She spoke before having the chance to think about her words, not sure what she had wanted to convey, pressed by an unfamiliar urge to let him know. Saints, Nikolai was rubbing off on her. His eyes sparkled and he looked taken aback, a fond and surprised smile tugging at his lips. Zoya let his warmth creep into her, before moving back to look at the flowers still resting in her hands.

“I don’t have a favourite one. I like them all.”

Nikolai nodded, his fingers lingering in her hair, brushing through them. “Good to know. See? You are not such a difficult person after all.” Zoya heard him move beside her, sensed his fingers draw away. He gently pulled the plant in front of her. “Let me do it for you”, his voice soft, caring. Let me carry this weight for you. Her hands dug into her kefta, clinging into it as if it could make her remember who she was.

Nikolai pulled his gloves away. She snatched them from him, huffing impatiently. It really was an unnerving habit of his. “Would you stop with these? You do not need them around me. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“Don’t take it out on my gloves”, he grinned at her. Yet, she caught the shadow sweeping through his eyes; the darkness Zoya had never wanted him to hide. He worked in silence, moving the terrain away, placing the sprouts and watering them. Zoya stood still, one hand clung to her kefta, the other tightened around his gloves, watching him as he took care of her garden for her.

“My mother was loud”, she said abruptly. Water leaking from the cracks. Nikolai’s gaze swept toward her as he kept going. There was no other person she could tell this to. Stories needed to be told, She had learned. “Sabina kicked and screamed her way into our misery. She shouted her wrath; she broke the ceramics on the floors, spewing spite. She weaved sweet lies that stuck like sap into my ears, before wiping my tears as I stood in a ridiculous ruffled dress.” Zoya sighed, seeing her memories flash in her mind. She did not want to feel this. She did not want to know. But Juris’ wisdom was unforgiving. “Her frustration, her selfishness. Everything was like thunder. Maybe that’s where I take it from.” A dry laugh escaped her lips, as she forced herself to say what she knew had been the truth this whole time. “My mother was loud. Yet, it was my father’s silence that broke me. That was what carved the hole inside of me. The way he let everything happen, his head slumped on his shoulders, his mouth shut. The emptiness of his affection. It gave me the guilt of not being enough, of not being worthy.”

Zoya kept going, averting Nikolai’s eyes. “Yelling is easy to counter. It enrages you, fires you up, picks at your pride. Silence is different; it cuts you slowly, drains your blood drop by drop, renders you powerless. How do you fight a wall made of nothing?”

His gentle touch moved to her jaw, tracing the lines of her face, grounding her to earth.

“I feel it. I can see it.” Every word she got out seemed to force a split into the void. Warmth flood in, rage went out, passing through her like a blade. The dragon's eyes had opened, whether she had wanted it or not. She felt like drowning. “How unprepared they were. How powerless. The hatred that grew around their souls like thorn wood. It’s the same they have set upon me. I do not want that. I do not want this to be their legacy for me.”

Legacy. What was hers, in this life, and what was theirs? Zoya had Sabina’s eyes, Suhm’s wavy black hair. It gave her comfort to think her pride and her strength came from Lilyiana. Her wind and lightning was born from the making at the heart of the world. What, then? What had they been like, when they were just a boy and a girl in love, dancing under the moonlight? She had shrugged her name as if she could be born anew. Tossed the memories of them as if she could build a new life. That she supposed she had done, at least. Even with this new name, this new life, something of them still remained. The poisoned blood in her veins if nothing else. She could not cut them open and change it, and she had spent her life feeling it flow like a curse through her.

“I cannot go on hating them.” The words were spoken as a shameful confession, as a defeat. As a realization too, however. Nikolai laced their fingers together, making her relent the hold on the kefta.

“Perhaps we should not hate them”, he said, careful and gentle. “Maybe the secret is that we need not pass judgment over them. Maybe the secret is to forgive them.”

Zoya shook her head at Nikolai’s relentless goodwill and optimism. He had forgiven his mother that day in Os Kervo. He had forgiven the one who was not his father, he had delivered his punishment and moved on. And Zoya? She did not have any forgiveness left in her. The hatred, though. Whatever remained of it, she guessed she could try and leave it here, with the blue blossoms thriving from the earth like forgotten hope.

Their legacy might have been just thorns, storms, and thunders. It might have been just the spite that had threatened to rot her insides. Still, it was an inheritance she could find the strength to relent. She could keep their eyes, their blood, Sabina combing her hair and Suhm telling her a goodnight story in his arms, even if she did not miss it, even if she did not remember what that felt like. Zoya was not Nikolai, she was not golden nor kind. She could not justify their weakness; she could not pardon both the screams and the silence. Maybe you could let go, though. She wasn’t sure if it was Juris’ voice or her own to cut through the mist of thoughts. Zoya bleeding in the snow. Zoya crying on her own. Let go.

The dam had broken, but the dragon queen did not drown. Hours could have passed, or minutes. Nikolai had put his jacket on her shoulders, the fabric thick and warm. He had not spoken anymore, just sat with her in the quiet as the sun disappeared. At some point, when the chill had started creeping in her bones, he had tugged her up and walked her to her chambers, dismissing the Heartrender twins who stood guard on her door with a wave of his hand. Zoya had let him handle her, leaning in his touch. Only when the lock clicked, she had let herself release her breath, slumping in her favourite velvet sofa. The crackle of the fire was comforting. Nikolai had called for tea, murmured something in her ear she did not remember. He had sat on her desk next to her, working through some documents while she got back to herself. The familiar rhythm of their quiet caught on, enveloping the room, soothing as a cold cloth on an open wound.

Time did not matter anymore. Zoya had the cup in her hands, the fire in front of her, and Nikolai’s jacket still curled around her. His scent was tight on the fabric. It lulled her into a silent calm, along with the rhythmic pounding of her heart, the sound of Nikolai’s pen scraping the paper, of his hands scribbling, the muffled huff of his breath. Peace washed over her in a tide.

“What is it like?”

Zoya suddenly spoke, after what felt like an eternity. The tea had turned cold. She kept her look trained on the fire. Nikolai stilled, relenting whatever piece of work he was doing, arching a brow at her. The question was vague, at the very best. “Not being an only child”, she added. Now his attention peaked on her.

He shuffled back the papers on her desk, got up and came to her. Moving her feet away, he eased himself on her sofa, letting Zoya stretch her legs over him, resting his hands on her calves and leaning his head on a cushion. His careful look never left her face, turned thoughtful as her question travelled his mind.

“I adored my brother”, Nikolai started, slowly, “Worshipped him. Loved him with every fibre of my being. Until I did not anymore. We were not bound, or tight, and well – we all know how that turned out. It was an embarrassment and a weight, more than an anchor like I desired him to be. And I did desire that a lot.”

Zoya looked at him. She left the cup on the nightstand; as soon as her hands were free, Nikolai snatched one of them in his. “And Linnea?”, she asked. An affectionate smile curled his lips.

“Linnea is…different. I feel the kinship – and not just because we both have a soft heart for ships. I know she is me, for some part, and I am her. She’s more grounded than me, more quiet, more practical.” He brushed a thumb over her palm, tightening the hold. “I guess that’s why she likes you. I am quite scared at how much you two get along, frankly. And she has this creative, restless energy, she is charming in her own silent way, brilliant. Sometimes it’s like I’m looking inside some sort of distorted mirror. In some life I may have had if I took a different path.”

Yet, the choices they had been forced to make forged a solitary childhood for them. A lonely boy looking for sounds to fill his deafening silence, a vengeful girl screaming her rage over lost love. Had they been choices at all? When had they stopped being their parents’ sins, and had they become their own? How long can you blame a mother’s failings, how long can a daughter or a son be defined by rage and guilt? Zoya could see the same query behind Nikolai’s eyes. He spoke again, tentative, a vulnerable edge to his voice. The lonely boy, looking for hope in the vengeful girl.

“I want her to know me. I want her to care for me, to be honest. I feel protective of her. I feel like I cannot wait to show her every wonder I know of. The wonder of life, of adventure. The wonder of romance”, he managed to wink at her, “I wish to be for her the brother Vasily never was for me. To make up for lost time. This is idiotic, right?”

He huffed at the end, as if he could dismiss the intense desire for a family that still haunted him; there was a slight plea in his look, darkened under the dim light of the fire. Zoya felt an ache in her throat, and she knew there were tears in her eyes. She could feel them clouding her sight. They belonged to the little raven-haired child that silently cried alone in a corner, in all her nightmares. It was not a cry for grief, but one of deluded wanting. She leaned in, brushing some golden strands from Nikolai’s face. He was looking at her like she was his light in the storm, even though he had just been the one to pull her back from a devouring pain.

“We should have her here more often”, she said. Nikolai wiped one of her tears away. “We should have them here more often. Linnea and your father. You deserve to have this family, Nikolai.”

Nikolai stopped his hand on her neck, grinning wider at her.

“Zoya, I already have one.” She frowned at him.

“I hardly count as a family. I am just me.”

“Then I’ll have two. So long as you stop referring to yourself as just you.” Zoya rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance. He started fidgeting with a loose silver bead on her kefta’s cuff. Another unnerving habit of his, the way he always snatched those away. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I wasn’t an only child. I would have had someone to shield and someone to shelter in. To give me purpose, I suppose.”

A little brother, a little sister whom she could watch grow up and think how much better than her they were, how much softer, how much worth preserving. Though it had not been like that, for Sabina and Lilyiana. It was best not to linger on what ifs. She huffed and shifted, suddenly nervous; time to face this problem head on. “You think I should help her, right?”, she asked, knowing damn well what the answer was. Needless to say, Sabina’s letter pleaded for Zoya’s support, lamenting her misfortunes, and praising her daughter’s victories. Especially the gifts she could share. Even if she had not stated it, Zoya was sure that a jewel or two would be just fine. Greedy and hollow like she remembered.

“I think you should do what makes you comfortable.” Zoya shot him a threatening glare, and he chuckled. “Fine”, Nikolai added, “but don’t kill me. I think you’ll keep the weight on your chest as long as you do not help her. I think maybe it would bring you some peace to do it. Still, I support whatever decision you make.” He marked the last words, and she knew he meant it.

“I don’t want to be the bearer of my mother’s misery.” Zoya despised herself a little while admitting it. An exasperated grunt erupted from her as she threw her hands in the air. “How can I feel responsible for her?”

“I guess that’s the curse of being a daughter. You can’t relent the blood in your veins, not anymore that you can ignore the good heart that thrived inside you behind all of your spite.”

Maybe the secret is that we need not pass judgment over them. Maybe the secret is to forgive them.

How she loathed when Nikolai was right. It made him insufferable. And unfortunately, he was right most of the time. Unbearably reasonable. He smirked, as if he could read her thoughts and sense his victory.

Zoya might have been an angry and unloved little thing, but that was not what she was anymore. She had been a soldier, a general, a loyal friend. She was a queen now. And most certainly not alone, she thought, gazing at the confident ball of sunshine seated next to her. Had this happened before the war, before knowing Nikolai, her crueler and colder heart would have prevailed and she wouldn’t have thought twice on this, burning the letter along with her sentiment. The beaming boy had definitely rubbed off on her.

“I can not forgive her, or them. I do not have it in me. And I cannot forget, not for now”, she said, cautious. That was what Lilyiana had always desired for her: to release the hold on her anger. For her, she could try. “But I can start by letting go. We can find her work in a factory, with a salary and some retirement money. I can provide her with a dignified life. That is all I can do. I will not get a letter from her anymore; I will not grant her audience or listen to her words. Someone will have to deal with this.”

Juris roared inside her, clearly displeased. Hush, you lizard. How irritating of him. Be a dragon, bide your time and stop harassing me. Enough progress for today. Nikolai, on the contrary, smiled at her with relief, nudging her closer.

“We will arrange it.” He let her rest her head in the crook of his neck, curling his arms around her. “Do you think you can close your eyes and rest for a while now?”. His voice was already coming from afar, as she inhaled deeply in his skin and her lashes fluttered closed with exhaustion. Zoya wished her days as queen would become less tiring, and she also wished they could always end in Nikolai’s safe hold. Her mind fell silent; the last thing she heard was his whisper hovering around her. “I got you, Zoya.”

Zoya could still be a daughter, could take the raven-haired child in her arms. Daughter of the wind. She could still be whole, worthy, and loved. We see you. She could be at peace. The world went black; yet, it was not dark.

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vanilla-vivillon · 3 years

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Hey why does it say Sabina Garin is dead???????

Was that mentioned in the books???

#sabina garin #zoya nabri #zoya Nazyalensky #Suhm Nabri #wait when

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el-michoacano · 3 years

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A historical vampire AU revolving around Nikolai, Aleksander, and Zoya. Ranges from 1799 to the present. Be aware of the tags, and all the horrors that come with such an AU.

Chapter two

"If I had been there, maybe I could have saved her."

"She was torn to pieces." There was a tremble in Liliyana's voice that Nikolai had never heard before. He wasn't surprised. Zoya had been more than Liliyana's niece, she had practically been her daughter. Nikolai knew for a fact that Liliyana was taking her death as hard as he was, if not harder. "There was nothing anyone could have done for her."

[[MORE]]

"I heard it was some sort of animal." Sabina Garin was only half as brazen as Zoya had been, but this, gossiping at her own daughter's funeral...

Nikolai couldn't bring himself to look at her, his hands fisting at his sides, his gloves squeaking in protest. He had been hearing the gossip ever since the night of the attack, of course, but it hadn't gotten any easier, and to hear it from Zoya's own family was a slap in the face he hadn't been prepared for. The alcohol burning in his veins didn't make it any easier, either. He wasn't sure he could handle being here, but he did his best to bear it. Zoya deserved that much.

"But what sort of animal could have climbed all the way up onto the portico?" The much younger lady Sabina was gossiping with had, at least, the tact to hide her mouth behind her fan. "It had to have been a person. Do you suppose the Countess...?"

"She's a lady, Dunyasha! She's not capable of such a thing!" When Liliyana shot her a warning look, Sabina cleared her throat. More softly, she said, hiding her mouth behind her gloved hand, "And I hear she's pregnant with the Duke's child!"

"So soon? They haven't even married yet!"

"It's a shame he decided to accept her offer," Sabina said, pointedly not looking at Nikolai, "or dear Zoya would still be here."

"And he didn't even have the decency to be here!" Dunyasha shook her head.

"That's enough." It Liliyana, Zoya's aunt, who shooed them away and came to stand at Nikolai's side before the fireplace, though she said nothing to him. Instead of speaking, she clapped a hand on Nikolai's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

Nikolai gave her a tight smile. "I'm sorry." It wasn't enough, he knew.

"It wasn't your fault." It sounded like Liliyana didn't quite believe it.

Nikolai shook his head. "I have medical training, Liliyana." He had learned in the Army, and though he hadn't practiced for quite some time, he had saved lives. "If I had been there, maybe I could have saved her."

She, Nikolai thought. Her. Liliyana hadn't used her niece's name since the attack. Nikolai couldn't blame her. It was hard just to think about her. It was agony to think of the state in which Nikolai had last seen her. It was excutiating to think he would never see her again. He swallowed the pain down to accept a handshake and a forced smile from Liliyana before he stepped away.

It seemed the entirety of the Nazyalensky and Garin families had come to see their lost girl off, and Nikolai wove through them as best he could, finding his way into the parlor, where her corpse had been laid out in its pretty coffin, all hammered shut so no one could steal a peek at her mangled body.

No one would dare even without the nails, though, as her huge, terrifying uncle Juris sat on the nearby chaise, elbows on his knees, hands joined in silent prayer. He looked up when Nikolai approached. His eyes, cold and silvery, were puffy and rimmed in red and sunken into sleep shadows. He said, "Baron."

Nikolai said, "Juris." He knelt before the coffin, pressing his hand to the lid. To its occupant, he whispered, "I'm so sorry."

"You should be."

Nikolai tensed. It wasn't Zoya's voice, as he had expected, but Juris's. "You were her fiancé. You were supposed to protect her." Juris's eyes were sharper than Nikolai had ever seen them, yet he didn't flinch away. It was true. He deserved this. "You were supposed to protect her, and now she's dead."

"I'm sorry," was all Nikolai could bring himself to say. He meant it. He had never been sorrier for anything in all his life. "I'm sorry, Juris, I never wanted--"

"Leave."

Nikolai bit his lip. His eyes were wet. His head was swimming, and from more than just grief.

"Leave, Baron." It was a command, and Nikolai had no intention of going against it. "You're no longer welcome here. I don't want to see you at the funeral, and I don't want to see you here again."

Nikolai didn't argue. He nodded, stood, and saw himself out.

He had never been so grateful for the flask in his coat pocket. When he stopped for a drink around the side of the manor, though, he found it was already empty.

He'd have to stop at the pub instead.

#grishaverse #nikolai lantsov #zoya Nazyalensky #zoyalai #the grisha Trilogy #dunyasha lazarevna #sabina garin #liliyana garin #the grisha series #leigh bardugo #my writing #ny grishaverse

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nczyalensky-arc · 3 years

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anon said: meta - zoya’s auntie

zoya’s aunt liliyana garin: ( this is gonna be long )

liliyana garin to zoya, was not just her aunt, but she was a saviour, her guardian, someone who had come to her rescue when no one else would lift a finger to help her, to save her. she wasn’t someone who was talked about when zoya was young, only mentioned in passing as her mother sabina was ashamed of her sister making her own way in life. but when liliyana turned up at their home the night before zoya was to be married off at the age of nine, zoya knew she was someone to be respected, someone who she could reach out to.

when liliyana left the house after an argument with her sister, zoya spent the night crying in her bed because she knew what her life was going to be. yet, she held onto hope that liliyana would come back for her, that she’d sweep her away to safety. the relief she felt when she saw her auntie at the altar the next day, she suddenly felt as though the saints had finally listened to her, that they had given her liliyana.

the fact that her powers emerged when liliyana was in trouble is no coincidence. she wanted to save her auntie, she wanted to be as strong as that woman who was willing to risk her life for her, to save her. and when she was able to, she had run to her and for the first time in years, she felt love, she felt safe and she felt like everything was going to be okay. zoya didn’t even care that they didn’t have money to stay in inns, she didn’t care because liliyana had her, liliyana was her guardian, her protector that the saints had sent her. liliyana’s words when they were on the road to os alta always resonated with zoya as she grew older;

“Imagine we are on a ship,” Liliyana would say, “and the waves are rocking us to sleep. Can you hear the masts creaking? We can use the stars to navigate.” “Where are we sailing to?” Zoya had asked, sure she could hear something rustling in the woods. “To an island covered in flowers, where the water in the streams tastes sweet as honey. Follow those two stars and steer us into port.” Every night, they traveled somewhere new: a coastline where silver seals barked on the shores, a jeweled grotto where they were greeted by the green-gilled lord of the deep—"

the image of a ship, of the two stars in the sky leading the way, showing zoya to safety was something she would carry for the rest of her life. but something else stuck with her, and that was the island covered in flowers; but i’ll continue with that later. entering the little palace without liliyana was one of the hardest things, especially when her auntie told her to never look back, to only focus on the future, her future, which zoya had never considered having before. she strived to be better, to be the best, not just because of her own personality, but for liliyana, to prove to her that she did the right thing that day by saving her, that she would make her aunt proud one day. being able to send her money, being able to send her letters and receive letters in return, it made zoya feel connected to something, to someone who believed in her, something she never had before, not in her mother, not in her father.

being able to bring liliyana presents after her first journey through the fold, seeing the pride on her aunt’s face when she told her all about her training, how far she had come, it was something that zoya would hold onto. especially when the fold expanded on novokribirsk. the image of her aunt was something that pushed her through, that kept her going as she ran through the much quieter streets, straight to her aunt’s small shop.

grief is something that zoya had heard people talking about before, but she had never experienced it. had never felt that dark gaping hole that took root in her chest. knowing her aunt was gone, that her aunt had saved someone else, sacrificed her own life.... she felt anger, searing, blinding hot anger that she’d never felt before, and for a moment she wanted to destroy everything around her, without any consequence. she wanted the darkling to be destroyed, she wanted to see the whites of his eyes as he took his last breath due to her own hand.

liliyana was something that zoya locked away, steeled herself into a colder harsher version of herself due to the sudden loss of the one good thing, the one person who had saved her, had given her the life she now lived. the thought of her aunt never seeing her become general, never seeing the things she would come to do.... it was something that haunts her to this day.

the day she found the hidden garden on the grounds of the palace, zoya knew it was from her aunt in some strange way. it was the “island covered in flowers” that they had travelled to many nights on the road to os alta when she was nine years old. in this garden, at least for a few moments, liliyana was still with her, standing beside her as she tended to a new plant, a new flower. the garden was a place she could still sit and talk to her aunt and tell her everything. it was their place, their garden, their island covered in flowers. liliyana had given her this. the garden is a place where zoya is able to grieve in peace, to give everyone she’d lost a place where they could be remembered.

liliyana shaped the person zoya is and the person zoya has become. she is the strong part of zoya, the caring part of zoya, the stubborn part of zoya who will never give up. the grief zoya felt losing liliyana is something that will never leave her, she knows that, but as juris has said; she is strong enough to survive the fall and she knows that is partly because of liliyana.

the night of her coronation, after everything had calmed down, zoya visited her garden once more. she sat by a patch of flowers she had planted for liliyana, and told her all about the day. about how she was the queen of ravka, how people depended on her and how she hoped that liliyana would be proud of her. but she also told her about how she was right, she was right about all of it, about everything. how some people, especially one special one, had seen the jewel she was inside, not just her pretty eyes. it was that night that she told liliyana that she had found her ship that would follow those two stars, that his name was nikolai lantsov and she knew liliyana would love him.

#⌜ headcanon ⌟ 🗲 · ˚ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡɪʟʟ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ﹖#this got long #and just #yeah #i could go on #and write more #like way more #losing my auntie last year #kinda resonates with me #a lot #like i'm in tears writing this rn #but yeah

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viciousgracearc · 4 years

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Thinking about Zoya and the parallels between her relationship with the Darkling and her relationship with her mother, Sabina Garin. Both were completely self-serving and both used Zoya (whether for her abilities or her beauty) to advance their own agenda. Both were venerated by Zoya to a prodigious degree, and both returned her affections disproportionately in comparison to what she was willing and capable to give them. Both abandoned Zoya the moment she ceased being useful — her mother gave her away as a child bride to a much older man, effectively washing her hands off of Zoya after profiting off of her, and the Darkling showed himself to have had no regard for Zoya at all, only utilizing her as a piece in his games to move around whenever and wherever he wished, and then having a hand at murdering her only remaining family without any care or second thoughts.

It’s possible Zoya realized these parallels in retrospect, and I think it played a huge part in how closely she’d been guarding her heart ever since she became disenchanted by the Darkling. It’s an unhealthy chain she needs to break, because two links on a chain like that is two links too many. Other than duty, it’s also part of the reason why she’s built a pretty solid barrier between her and Nikolai. Not that Zoya thinks he’s anywhere near her mother or the Darkling, but Zoya doubts her own perception of love, and what kind of love she wants vs. what kind of love she’s worthy of.

I don’t know where else I’m going with this (and I will possibly build off of this sometime in the future) but… much to think about.

#* ic. / headcanons #headcanon: zoya nazyalensky #personals do not interact

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looking-for-wisdom · 4 years

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Bleeding Hearts (chapter one)

a/n: this was a fic I did for the @grishaversebigbang! It ended up being roughly 33,000 words, the longest fic I’ve ever written. I loved participating in this event and working with my gang as well as the tides :)

Corporalki: @villainofthepiece, @dregstrash

Materialki: @bucumber X, @koelsong X [art may contain spoilers]

Summary: Zoya has spent her life learning to survive a world of fairy tales. She knows better to rely on wishes and fate; those things only protected the nice girls, the ones all the stories were about. She was used to doing whatever gruesome task was needed to get by, but now, with her aunt’s life on the line, she has finally met a monster she’s struggling to beat. A monster that comes in the shape of a kind prince she can’t help to grow attached to.

But that’s always been the case. The monsters are what you find when happiness is just within reach. But she’s strong and she won’t falter— she’ll do what’s needed, as she always has before, to save the only good woman she’s ever known. Even if it means plunging a knife into the heart of the first man she’s ever loved. Even if it means becoming a monster herself.

Ao3 Link: Bleeding Hearts

(chapter one under the cut)

What becomes of the girls whose parents do not teach them unwavering kindness and whose fairy godmothers are not magic enough to keep them from harm? What becomes of the girls the slipper doesn’t fit and the prince does not steal away from drowning in cruelty? There is no happy ending promised at the close of their story. So they learn, learn to swim through the abuse and lift a sword themselves, lest they become another maggot filled body in the graveyard.

Zoya had read the kind of stories where young women overcame their evil stepmothers with their obedience and compassion. Unfortunately, Zoya had no stepmother, just one horrible regular mother who had birthed her and spent every moment after shaping her daughter into an equally horrible side character in someone else’s story. It wasn’t that she was immune to draw of fairy tales and their promises of futures with a prince who called her lovely, but not every girl had that in her cards. Zoya glanced over the hand she’d been dealt. She was not sweet or innocent enough to be the damsel in distress. The game of fate was rigged— with every girl who was saved from misery a hundred others suffered in her stead.

Shivering but far too afraid to risk asking her mother for a place by the fire, the childish part of her hoped. Winter’s might be less harsh if she was not so alone and unloved. But compassion was a rationed resource, like medicine and wheat. It might have been nice to have, but girls with no one to fight for them had to choose their battles, and unlike bread, kindness didn’t keep her alive.

Sabina Garin had been wealthy once, many years ago, and like most who had never seen sacrifice, she underestimated its sting. It was easy to be fearless when one had never felt real fear in the first place.

When her father had passed his inheritance had been split equally between his two daughters. Lilyana, the eldest sister had invested in a plot of land at the edge of town where she kept a small garden and a chicken coop. She built a home there, selling vegetables and eggs in town when she was in need of money, and she was happy.

With her own cut, Sabina enjoyed the same luxuries she had in her youth. Seeing no appeal in farm work the way her sister did she resided in the house that had belonged to her father. At nineteen she married a handsome man with nothing to his name but a winning smile, and for a while, she was happy as well. At least, until the debt hit.

Marriage for love is an appealing prospect, but the stories never talk about the bloody endings. No one mentions the way he yells when the money runs out. No one mentions the way she hoards the few jewels she has left because they’re the only thing that makes her feel like herself. No one mentions when the house is taken and she’s bloated and raging from the parasite inside her but he is nowhere to be found.

Sabina’s episodes began not long into her pregnancy. With no trace of her husband and no place to stay but an abandoned stone cottage at the edge of town it wasn’t long before she became unpredictable. It was a miracle that the child made it to its due date in the first place, though one could say it would be the first of many times Lilyana Garin would come to her niece’s aid.

She had offered her sister help on many occasions, but Sabina had repeatedly refused Lilyana’s generosity. Pride, after all, was the only thing she had left. When Sabina became a danger to herself, however, the older daughter could stay away no longer. Though Sabina had no way of paying the housemaid who had worked for her father, Lilyana ensured she stayed the nine months until the child’s birth, hiding knives from the expecting mother and restraining her hands when she desperately clawed at her body until the skin was nearly gone. For months Lilyana held her breath, praying that her sister might be stabilized and the child would survive.

And against all odds, her prayers were answered.

The midwife said the birth went by with relative ease. The mother and child both handled the process exceptionally well. The only oddity was when she asked the mother for a name. Sabina had only sneered. “Call it what you will. It makes no difference to me.”

For the sake of simplicity, the midwife had given the child a placeholder name of sorts, at least until her mother came to her senses. She’d call her Zoya, just until Sabina saw fit to name the girl herself.

She never did.

So perhaps if it had been Zoya’s mother who fell ill, she wouldn’t have agreed to the witch’s terms. She couldn’t have cared less for her absentee mother, but when a letter reached Os Alta it brought news of the closest thing to family she’d ever had.

Her young cousin, Lada, had written of her mother’s condition-- Lilyana had grown feverish and weak. The town’s medics estimated she had two weeks to live.

Desperation had a strange way of sending people deep into the woods where good, honest people lost their morals somewhere in the darkness. It had a way of turning skeptics into the arms of witches. But when it came to saving Lilyana’s life, nothing was too high a cost. Kill the prince. Carve out his heart and leave his body bleeding on the floor. Zoya wasn’t a killer, but a few towns away one of the few good people left in the world was dying. Zoya would have given her soul away a thousand times if Lilyana lived.

The main square of town jittered with anticipation. The feeling filled Zoya’s chest, clamping down on her lungs and stealing away her breath. Gossip was sweet on the lips of housewives and young maidens, like the juice of an apple after taking a bite. Zoya was no fool; she knew what was on their minds. A few months earlier, the young prince Nikolai had proposed-- but not to a distant princess or nobleman's daughter. He’d given the ring to an orphan girl with no prospects or riches. Faces lit with hope and perhaps a bit of envy whenever they spoke of the prince’s fiance. She’d been from a town just carriage rides away from Os Alta. It could have been any of them. But yesterday, news had come that the girl had left Os Alta for good, leaving the promises of riches and romance behind her. Not a single person could figure out why.

She’d been given a shot at a storybook ending. Zoya wasn’t gullible enough to believe her life would have been perfect, but when she thought of what her own future held, even she couldn’t help a pang of irritation. She would have taken wealth in a heartbeat over her fate. She shifted the basket she carried up onto her shoulder, the weight of it exhausting her arm at a rapid pace. With her other hand she lifted her skirts in a futile attempt to keep the mud from seeping into the fabric as it dragged along the ground. As she walked she overheard elated conversations.

“They say she was beautiful-- hair like starlight and a smile like the sun. It’s surreal, honestly, that some everyday girl won over a prince. She must be quite something,” said a girl she’d met only in passing, to a young blonde woman at the baker’s stand. Then, with a cheeky smile, added, “Maybe I'll find myself a princess soon with my winning looks.”

Across the way a middle aged woman shared her own thoughts on the matter with her daughter. “Perhaps if you spent less time fooling around that could have been us! We’d have been rich, you idiotic girl!—”

Despite herself, Zoya felt a familiar chill go down her back.

Tiny people, wrapped up in their tiny lives, bound to accomplish tiny things. For perhaps the first time ever Zoya envied them. At the end of the city’s main road, after dozens of wooden merchant stands and civilians homes, were the woods. Travel in Ravka was unavoidable, but most families stuck within the cities borders as much as possible. The forests on the outskirts of town were places of darkness and witchcraft beyond the understanding of the standard civilian. However, there were ways to make navigating the woods less dangerous. Old wives tales said to carry black tea leaves in one’s left shoe or bury a lock of hair in the dirt before beginning your journey. Most nonbelievers opted for a professional guide.

Zoya had no guide as she found her way between the brush and trees, though, nor was her shoe supplied with tea leaves. Her travels through the woods were not a situation of point A to point B.

Zoya intended to find a witch.

An hour in, Zoya had acquired a multitude of new cuts up her arms from low hanging branches and nearly destroyed what was left of her skirt by snagging it on thorn coated weeds. She’d also come across at least fifteen new types of bug she’d never seen before and honestly could have gone her whole life without. Zoya had learned to hold her own against all sorts of dangers growing up in Pachina, but that didn’t make her any less disgusted by the grimes and grudge of the Ravkan forest.

She dragged onwards, a cool sweat gathering on her forehead and regrets filling her mind. Of course— hundreds of people go missing every year without any explanation and yet the one time she goes looking for trouble the death forest decides to be a normal lot of trees. Typical.

“Don’t know how to handle someone who doesn’t fear you? Is that it?” She called out to no one in particular. “I didn’t realize witches were such cowards.”

Or perhaps she was just a stupid child, looking for magic where it didn’t exist. Perhaps those people had simply been mauled and eaten by bears and she was the idiot trying to be the next.

The sun passed over the sky as she became more and more hopelessly lost in a forest where she seemed to be the only inhabitant. Honestly, witches had no respect for willing customers these days. She only realized just how much time had passed when dusk began to fall. Night was coming, and she had no idea how to get back to the city. It was one thing to be in the forest during the light of day, but trapped in the darkness with no food or water was something else entirely.

The moon shone a sickening white glare onto the black dirt floor, seeming to take all the pigment from her skin. Zoya hadn’t been afraid of the dark for many years, but there was something… off about the way the darkness felt here, as if it was alive and feeding on any sort of life. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and she tensed, waiting for something horrible but not knowing what.

She stood, frozen, listening for any sound other than her own shallow breathing. But nothing moved, not even tree branches in the wind. She was alone.

Which made it all the more terrifying when someone spoke.

“What could possibly bring a lone girl to the woods at night?” said a molasses smooth voice from behind her.

Zoya spun around and was greeted by a pale faced man with dark hair who was far too close for her to not have noticed his approach. Every instinct in her mind screamed to back up, but she forced her legs to stay in place. She would not be intimidated. She met the man’s void black eyes with a fearsome stare. “I’m searching for a witch with the kind of magic to help me,” she stated, voice like steel. “Tell me, would you fit that description?”

A sly smile curled across his face and sent a chill down her spine.

“That depends,” he crooned, “what can you offer me in return, Zoya Nazyalensky of Pachina?”

Zoya felt a certain sort of dread sink into her chest. There was something wrong with this man-- he knew things he shouldn’t. She should have been afraid, but a morbid part of her was drawn to it.

She wondered, despite herself, what would it be like to be him? She’d never feel small with a power like that at her disposal. She’d never be made a fool of. For a moment, the swell of her envy almost overpowered her reason, but then she thought of Lilyana. She was not here to find a way to be rid of her own weaknesses. Zoya shook the initial fog of his presence from her mind and reminded herself that for once, she would not be selfish.

“What is it you want?” she retorted.

His smile did not falter as he considered. He slipped past her, like an ink spill with legs, so that she had to turn to keep sight of his face. Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as he walked away from her, but just as she was about to call out for him to stop he paused and glanced back at her. “Well?” he asked. “Are you coming?”

Her mind was empty of a response, perhaps still caught up on the absurdity of what she was doing. Her legs, thankfully, had instincts of their own and carried her forward when he began walking again so she didn’t lose sight of him in the darkness. He led her through the trees, as if he was navigating a maze for which only he had the map. As lost as she’d already felt, it was nothing compared to the lack of an internal compass she had now. The forest had consumed her completely.

This was insane. Her mind ran rampant with possibilities as the silence between them grew longer. She’d be murdered by this demon of the woods and no one would even hear her scream as he dismembered her. She should run while she still had the chance.

Except, if she ran Liliyana died.

So, she kept walking. They entered a clearing of land. At the center of the plot was a looming mansion of black stone and though Zoya was no expert on the woods, she had spent the day wandering its depths and knew for certain the building had not been there before. This man’s magic was dark, but it was also powerful-- she needed powerful. The dark haired man led her to the tall doorway of the structure and held open the wooden door. “We can discuss terms inside.”

She hesitated for just a beat. This could very well be the room in which he planned to butcher her and bake her liver into a pie. She considered this man she knew nothing about and what he was offering. If there was even the smallest chance he could help her, she had to take it.

There was no going back. She stepped through the door frame and into the home of a witch.

Whatever she had expected, this was not it. She remembered the tale of witches with homes of candy to lure in naive children. She had thought she’d see cages filled with starving creatures and cobweb covered jars holding various gruesome substances. She had thought there would be a cauldron to brew potions that would cure dying aunts. To her surprise, though, there was nothing of the sort. The floors were a sleek black tile and the walls were covered in bookcases filled to the brim with titles in languages she didn’t understand. Golden lamps hung down from the ceiling, casting a warm light onto the sleek table in the center of the room filled with well kept paper and an ink well. Tapestries of the night sky made with painstaking care hung as the rooms most prominent decor.

If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she’d wandered into the home of one of Ravka’s most wealthy nobles.

She swung around to face the man, who had been observing her carefully since her first step into the room. “First things first, who exactly are you?” She asked, eyes narrowed.

“Names are a powerful thing, Zoya,” he answered as he walked towards the desk at the center of the room. Something about the way he moved reminded her of black silk. “For now, you can call me The Darkling.”

Her lips pulled together in a tight line and placed a hand on her hips. For a moment she considered calling him out on his pretentiousness-- what kind of title was “The Darkling”-- but she restrained herself. In the grand scheme of things his name hardly mattered, and angering him didn’t strike her as the best way to get what she wanted.

He took a seat at the desk and gestured to the chair directly across from him. Smoothing her skirt as she sat down, she felt almost like she was at a business meeting in the town square and not trying to make a blood deal. “I’ve heard that magic can do things science can’t. Buildings are created without any regard for physics and wounds that normally kill are healed in a split second,” she began, an authority in her voice that she hoped hid the fact there was no real power behind it. “My aunt is ill. The doctors say there’s nothing to be done, but that is the opinion of a medic, not a magician. Can you save her?”

A certain rage sparked within her when he didn’t look her in the eye. She didn’t have the time to waste on a man who could do nothing for her. She had already lost a day to the woods, and here he sat, unimpressed and hardly listening. Part of her wanted to get up and leave right then and there if he wasn’t going to give her request the dignity it deserved, but she stayed seated, waiting.

He spoke then. “I can,” Zoya’s breath caught half way in her throat. Hope crawled into her lungs and left no room for breath, “but it will cost you.”

“I don’t care,” she responded, not missing a beat. “I’ll trade my life for hers, just name the price.”

He wasn’t smiling, but Zoya could almost see the grin in his eyes and felt like she’d just walked into a hunter’s snare. “I know you’re afraid of me, Zoya,” he said, and though she wanted to insist that some stranger in the woods didn’t scare her, her words fell flat, “but I have known you for much longer than you believe. Your familiar with a blade, aren’t you?”

Zoya swallowed the lump rising in her throat and nodded. When she was young she’d studied swordplay when her mother was away. Soldiers left home to begin their training at fourteen in Ravka, and for a girl whose home had been anything but stable, it had been an appealing opportunity. The issue was, the army was for men only. She’d hoped they’d see her skill and immediately make an exception, but when she was finally old enough to enlist she’d been turned away at the gate.

How this witch knew that was beyond her. “I believe we can help one another. For you, I will not only return your aunt to health, but also give you the chance to pursue your dream,” he continued. “All I ask in return is that you rid Ravka of what is standing in our way. The Lantsov line has held this country back far too long-- I plan to lead us into the future, and I’ll need a general by my side. The only thing you need to do is get rid of the old crook’s heir.”

Zoya could barely breathe. It was all too good to be true-- first he’d claimed he could help Liliyana and then he’d promised her what she’d dreamed of since childhood. She would have taken the deal in a heartbeat if he wasn’t asking her to commit treason in return.

“Vasily,” she breathed, but he only shook his head.

“He’s not nearly competent enough to be a concern. Talents like yours should be spent on a real threat. The king’s second born, Nikolai, is much more clever than his brother,” said the Darkling. “I know you don’t trust me yet, but my intentions are good. You, of all people, have seen the state of this nation-- the hardship it’s people face. You and I are very similar: ambitious, strong, and intelligent. We can change things.”

She chewed her lip and shifted in her seat, weighing the pros and cons. Zoya was many things, but she wasn’t a murderer.

At least, not yet.

Her rejection from the army had allowed her to keep her hands blood free until now. It wasn’t that she had any compassion for the prince, but there was nothing noble about slaughtering an unknowing victim. The honor of serving her country and protecting her people against an enemy who would kill her if she didn’t end them first was vastly different than what he was asking her to do.

In the end, the morality of the proposal didn’t matter. If it was one life to save another, Liliyana was more important. The only question was whether or not The Darkling had any credibility to his offer. It was true she barely knew him, but for the first time since she had first encountered him he seemed fully sincere. A tug in her gut told her he was right. She didn’t know if they were as similar as he claimed, but something deep inside her made her believe his love for Ravka was as real as her own.

And if he was telling the truth about that, then he was probably true in his claim that he could heal her aunt, too. Or, at the very least, she had to believe it was true. She feared she would not be presented with another opportunity like this.

It was the best chance she had, even if it would make a killer out of her. She stared him down, taking in the room that had appeared from nothing. “I’ll do it.”

She could repent her sin later by aiding this man in his journey to lead Ravka into an age of prosperity. That was for later, though. For now, Zoya just needed a plan.

The Darkling smiled knowingly, but as far as she could tell it was not mocking. Looking away for only a moment, he pulled a quill from somewhere she couldn’t see and handed it to her.

“Find your way into the castle and get close to the prince. Trust will make him foolish. If you need to contact me, use that quill. The ink will find its way back to me. When it is time to put the plan into motion I will contact you. Until then, keep your wits about you.”

“Wait--” she interrupted, afraid he’d simply dissipate after giving his orders. “How am I supposed to infiltrate the palace? They don’t just allow anyone inside.”

“Nikolai has been in need of a new Etherialki for a few weeks now,” he answered, unphased. She tried not to wonder what kind of spies he must already have under the Lantsovs’ noses to have that kind of information. “You will be filling the position.”

The servants of the Lantsov family were divided into three orders: Coporalki, Etherealki, and Materialki. Coporalki had a tendency to remain in the palace. They were responsible for keeping the palace functioning properly and were trained in the art of medicine. Materialki was the class of any sort of specialist working within the Lantsov’s walls. From chefs, to tailors, to blacksmiths, each played their part in making up the artisans category.

Etherealki were traveling companions to the royal family and whatever rich guest happened to be staying with them. They accompanied their charge from dawn till dusk, braving and complication of man or nature along the way.They were known to think on their feet to quickly amend any problem their employer might encounter. It was, without a doubt, the most fitting role for Zoya’s skill set.

“What about my aunt? She might not last long enough for whatever you’re planning to be ready.”

“There’s no need to worry-- deliver your end of our agreement and I swear to you that your aunt will live.”

He extended a hand towards her and she examined him one last time. Growing up, she’d been told to never trust witches, and here she stood, going into business with one. If life had taught her anything, it was that the worst monsters aren’t always supernatural in nature. For all intents and purposes, the Darkling seemed to have good intentions. More than that, he had the power to save her aunt.

From every angle, Zoya came out of this deal with what she wanted.

She held his gaze and took his palm in a firm handshake before gathering her things and heading back into town.

#grishabigbang #my writing #bleeding hearts #kos #king of scars #zoyalai #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #jksdaflasdfh hi my gang was the best pls follow all of them #ill update with max's link soon

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