Summary: They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. For Zoya it's miscommunication, misunderstanding and mistakes.
The last few weeks had not been kind to the Squaller. It started with the aborted trip across the Unsea - and if she ever found out who had gone against her express instructions and lit that bloody lamp, she would flay them alive and use their skin as a hearth rug.
The worst thing was it had started so well. He had been on the skiff – her skiff. It was well known throughout Kribirsk that the Darkling seldom, if ever, ventured into the murky blackness of the Fold. Rumours abound in any army camp, but on this most people believed it was out of fear of the effect his ancestor's creation might have on him lest the evil behind it infect him as it had the Black Heretic. So to find the General on her skiff was both a wonderful, if daunting, surprise and a point of pride for Zoya.
Clearly, she thought, he was here for her. Of all the skiffs he could have chosen he had selected hers. It had to mean something, possibly it meant everything.
Crushes on General Kirigan were normal in the Little Palace. Indeed, it is almost a right of passage and one most of the inhabitant's experience at one time or another. The General is tall, dark and very handsome, with the sort of voice that sent shivers racing down the spine. On top of this he's fiercely intelligent, an excellent horseman, protective and powerful. It's a heady combination to grow up around. For Zoya's age group though the potency had been further increased by the unusual amount of time the General had spent at the Little Palace. He was a busy man and typically spent maybe one in every year in Os Alta. For over a decade, however, this time had grown substantially until he was maybe absent from the Court for less than a quarter of the year and never for longer than a few weeks at a time.
To Zoya he represented the pinnacle of male perfection, the man to whom no other could compare. Although she had enjoyed other lovers, her mind and heart invariably returned to her General. So she did what she could to attract his notice: she excelled in combat, was at the top of all her classes, and was acclaimed as one of the strongest Squallers ever seen. When the time finally came for her to join the Second Army she did so gladly, volunteering for dangerous missions, quickly gaining a reputation as both an excellent officer and a fearsome adversary. But it was all to no avail. Though the General spoke of his pride in her, his eyes did not linger and his tone was always distant.
Then, shortly after her 20th birthday, everything changed. She had been on leave, recuperating at the Little Palace following a dangerous mission across the Fjerdan border to rescue a small group of Grisha who had been attempting to flee the persecution of the Drüskelle. This she and her team had successfully accomplished and upon escorting them to the safety of the Little Palace had been rewarded by being given several weeks leave in the luxuries of Os Alta to recover.
It had been some time since Zoya had last been in company with the Darkling. In the spring of that year when she had last been in the Capital he had been away dealing with an incursion near the border with Shu Han, so it was with delight that Zoya had discovered her idol was also in residences at the Little Palace. She quickly realised, however, that all was not well. The General was distracted, brooding and bad tempered to the point where even his guards were concerned. Rumours were starting to be whispered about his mental state and the strains the war was having on him.
It was concern that drove her to his door that night. Concern for him, concern over his puzzling behaviour, concern over the rumours flying around. He had smiled at her that night. Smiled and kissed her and taken her to his bed.
It had been wonderful, far surpassing every other experience she had ever had. If she had been concerned at first that it was a once off, she needn't have worried. By day life went on much the same but every night found her sneaking down to his quarters only to return before dawn to her own rooms. Few words were said during these nights, but for Zoya words were unnecessary – she knew what was within both their hearts.
As the days passed, the General improved and seemed like his usual self again; much to the relief of everyone at the Little Palace. Deep inside Zoya felt a delicious curl of satisfaction warm her as she listened to the relieved comments of her fellow Grisha. She had done this, righted this, helped restore the beloved General to his usual collected composure.
If he still tossed and turned at night with uncomfortable dreams, Zoya assumed it was normal for one in his position and rank.
Far too soon her leave was over and she was far too professional to ask her lover to extend it as a favour or ask for reassignment so that remain with him. Almost before she knew it, it was time to return to her duties and the real world outside the cloistered walls of the Little Palace. Her last night with him was a bittersweet pain and one she knew he felt too. There was a force and desperation to him that night that she had never seen before and which was at odds with the man she knew who was always in control. By first light of that cold autumnal day she was gone, once more on the road to Kribirsk, only this time with a heart heavy with the pain of separation. She knew it would be many months before she saw the General again, not with how much time he spent at the Little Palace.
In this she was soon proved wrong as only a few weeks later, to her delighted astonishment, the General appeared in Kribirsk and her heart leapt within her – surely this was a sign. If there were no more touches, no more nights wrapped around each other, enjoying the flames of passion that seared between them, Zoya understood: such things were for the safety of the Little Palace, not here on the front lines. Here they had to be professional, distant. Gossip was endemic in any arm camp but here it could be ruinous for her – and the darling man clearly recognised the importance of protecting her position and talents from scurrilous rumours.
It wasn't easy, but she managed, and within months she was rewarded with a prestigious promotion, becoming the youngest Senior Squaller to command a Skiff. It was a position of great responsibility and honour. She would be in control of setting the speed and guiding the skiff through the perilous waste that was the Unsea and she had earnt it on her own merit – no one could say it nepotism was behind her fast rise through the ranks. Best of all it meant she could continue to see her family in Novokribirsk on a regular basis. The day of the promotion was one of the happiest in her life so far although receiving the additional stripe on her kefta was in truth only a part of this – the larger part was the evident pride in her General's smile and voice as he announced it before the assembled crowd, the warm smile on his face as he watched her be congratulated and welcomed by her fellow Senior officers.
Months passed in this way, stable and familiar, and Zoya was happy; proud of her success and proud of the Second Army she was fiercely loyal too. If her meteoric rise had garnered her few friends she didn't let it bother her, it had been the same at the Little Palace. Those with more power would always be resented by those who wished they had been so blessed – and there was no doubt, Zoya was powerful. Only the week before she had been awarded a commendation for her assistance in a skirmish with the Shu. She was by nature a competitive person with a strong desire to win. On the battlefield this made her asset but in the social life of a place like Kribirsk it did little to help her peers warm to her. She had people's respect, and that was enough.
If in the privacy of her tent she longed for a return of those nights in the Little Palace, and the comfort and companionship she had found there, no one knew. The war was growing more desperate by the day and she knew that with both their duties here in Kribirsk there would be precious little opportunity for leave or recuperation until they had beaten their enemies and secured peace for Ravka.
Things changed when she was 23. She had been away in Novokribirsk on a supply run when things got odd in Kribirsk and she returned to whispers of the General's argument with some otkazat'sya girl in the First Army. Sitting around the campfire with other senior Grisha, Zoya had listened with astonished disbelief as Fedyor laughingly told his audience of his partner's plight as unwilling postal worker. The tale brought a frown to her face before she dismissed it. Clearly Fedyor was mistaken. Her General writing to some unknown otkazat'sya girl? Preposterous.
From there the mystery only deepened. Ivan himself was frustratingly tight lipped about the whole thing and would complain about the mountain of paperwork he had to get through. Of the mysterious girl he said nothing, scowling whenever the topic was brought up. Meanwhile the wild rumours were flying around: some thought he had a secret lover, others a secret child recently discovered. Some thought he was negotiating for Captain Berzof's prise stallion that the Darkling had been seen admiring some weeks before.
Annoyed and irritable, Zoya tried to see her lover, certain this was all some misunderstanding, only to be refused and sent away by his oprichniki. Seven times she tried and each time with the same result. After a month of this she was nearly ready to scream in frustration and anger.
It was several more weeks before fate finally smiled on Zoya and she found herself alone with the Darkling. In desperation she asked – demanded from him – an answer about this girl.
With a bemused frown her General had replied, "what girl?"
Such a simple answer and yet she felt relief wash through her erasing a tension and tightness in her chest she had not realised she was carrying until it was gone. Clearly this girl was a nothing, a non-entity. As usual the gossips had blown things out of proportion. She really ought to have a word with Fedyor, the General would not like such mendacious gossip being spread about him by his own officers. How First Army officers conducted themselves was their concern, but those in the Second Army should hold itself to higher standards – and that started with slanderous gossip.
With a happy smile, Zoya waved off the General's question as to who she was referring and dismissed the matter, telling him it was of no importance. Relieved and happy to have sorted the mystery out, she turned to her actual – official - reason for meeting with the General, unrolling the map on the table before him and pointing out the way markers that would soon need to be replaced along the safe routes the skiffs used.
Despite her best efforts the gossip continued unabated, but Zoya took no notice of it. If she had, she might have been more prepared for what was to come.
The day of the next supply run dawned cloudy and overcast, the clouds heavy with the possibility of rain. There was nothing about this day that hinted at what would shortly occur. By midmorning the threatening rain had started in earnest, temporarily halting the loading of munition into the hold and sending everyone ducking for cover under the nearest shelter.
Ravkan rainstorms are legendary for both their force and their length and had been known to settle in for days at a time, causing devastating floods. Luck was with them today, however, as the rain was over quickly and with only minimal delay and soon the normal function of the port resumed.
Zoya was delighted that despite the weather and the unexpected arrival of the General aboard they left exactly on time.
It was an auspicious start.
The first three markers were passed without incident but then some idiot lit one of the kerosine lamps and everything promptly went to hell in a handbasket.
Zoya was a veteran of the Fold and had survived several volcra attacks. None had been caused by a lamp, however. The light drew the beasts like moths to a flame and they swarmed the skiff on mass their shrieks and the screams of their victims making her ears ring. She had never seen so many before – had never thought there could be this many and it took all her nerve to keep the skiff moving, desperately hoping against hope that they could somehow make it to the safety of daylight.
Before her frightened eyes she watched as people were grabbed off the deck, the horror illuminated by the flashes of fire from the Inferni. By the prow she could just make out the General, shadows swirling as he ripped apart volcra after volcra in what was clearly a losing battle.
What happened next, Zoya could never say with any certainty, only that a flicked of gold caught her attention. That flicker became a blazing pillar shooting upwards towards the hidden sky before collapsing back on itself to form a dome of pure golden light, so bright it hurt to look at it.
Through the painful haze, Zoya could just make out the faint humanoid figure at the centre standing with their arms partially raised, light rippling from them like the waves of the true sea.
A name reverberated around her mind. Sun Summoner. It had to be. They were real, and they were here.
Around them the volcra screamed everywhere the light touched them as they desperately tried to escape the golden waves.
Through the hubbub, Zoya saw the General push his way towards the epicentre of the lights, just hearing over the din his shouted command for her to turn the skiff around and make for Kribirsk. Rushing to obey the instruction, she missed what happened next, her attention briefly caught by what she could have sworn was blue sky above them as she called for the two other Squallers to help her rotate the damaged skiff.
The explosion of power was enough that enough high above on the top sail it brought all three Squallers to their knees. All Zoya knew was that one moment there was light and safety and the next she was winded on the floor of the crows nest, the suffocating darkness of the Fold once again enfolding them.
With supreme effort she and the others clambered to their feet and put their all into getting back to Kribirsk as quickly as possible. Usually, Squallers navigating the Fold took things slowly and carefully, prizing subtlety, discretion and accuracy above speed to try and avoid any unwanted attention. Now however in the midst an attack speed was of the essence as she unleashed far greater power than she had before on a skiff.
The skiff burst forth from the Fold into bright, glorious sunlight to a cry of relief from the surviving soldiers on the deck.
Initially, Zoya had been like everyone else at the encampment – amazed to be alive, giddy with relief and delighted at the discovery of the long-awaited Sun Summoner. For the first time in years, things were looking up. The only downside was finding out that her General had been injured. She had rushed to the Command tent when she heard, only to be informed by a grumpy looking healer that they were dealing with it and they had no need for gawkers or an audience. Even telling them of her special connection to the General had no more effect than a raised eyebrow.
With a sigh Zoya had left, no wiser than before as to her General's condition, and returned to her own tent for some much needed rest. It was the next morning that things truly started to unravel. Upon hearing an irate healer complain about the General's rude dismissal, Zoya had gleefully set off to find her General. She found him mostly dressed and frowning. With hurried words she asked after him, anxious for good news to set her mind at rest. Far from welcoming her though he had turned his back to her and moved away. This was not the reunion she had been imagining. They were alone but there was no smile, no kiss, no profession of regard and relief that they had both survived the terrible ordeal of the previous day.
Thinking at first that maybe it was embarrassed male pride at her seeing him in a weakened state that made him turn from her, she tried again. Only this time he interrupted her with a list of instructions issued in a cold, distant voice, so unlike the man she had come to know. Without even a farewell Zoya was left alone, eyes glassy with tears as she wondered what had gone so wrong.
Assembling sufficient supplies and suitable officers from the Second Army takes up most of the morning and provides Zoya with a welcome distraction. The events of the day have left her confused, worried and emotionally bruised. Her General was always unfailingly polite but this morning he had been cold, distant and rude. There had been no sign of the passionate, considerate lover she knew and she struggled to make sense of what had happened.
Her confusion only gets worse once she and the relief battalion met up with Ivan's team and learn of the ambush in the forest.
Ivan is his usual stoic, uncommunicative self, but the others are in shock and eager to talk of both the attack and the Sun Summoner. A Sun Summoner who appeared to be about as useful and as powerful as a mouse. That the General had left immediately to take her to the Little Palace was a logical decision, although it is one that sits uneasily in her stomach.
Their journey to the Little Palace is nowhere as quick as the General's. Moving a large force always takes longer but in this case they are also slowed down by the presence of the injuries sustained in the attack and having to transport the five officers they lost in the ambush. It is a small consolation, but one they all agree is required; their fellow Grisha and Second Army officers will not be left to rot abandoned, but will be laid to rest in the mausoleum built by one of the previous Darklings for their people with all the respect they are due.
When they finally arrive two days later it is to harried demands from Genya as she corrals them out of the welcoming environs of the Little Palace. They have arrived just in time, the red head tells them, as she does what she can to neaten their appearances. The Sun Summoner is about to be presented to the Tsar and Tsarina and the General has ordered all Grisha to the Imperial Palace in order to present a united front before the Imperial court.
With a scowl of annoyance, Zoya turns her aching feet towards the Grand Palace. All she wanted at this moment in time is a warm bath to soothe her aches and to wash the smell of horse off her. At the very least she had hoped to be able to change into a clean, unwrinkled, Kefta. Instead, their weary company are expected to trundle over and paste false smiles on their faces while the Sun Summoner dazzles them with her prowess.
From her position at the very back of the throne room, Zoya can see frustratingly little apart from the finely tailored back of her fellow Grisha. She can hear just fine though and she listens with growing amusement as the Tsarina's nasally voice drifts over. She can't help but smile at the Tsarina's lack of tact and diplomacy as she comments on their new Sun Summoner's appearance. That she is half Shu is new knowledge to Zoya and one she turns over in her mind. She had never given much thought to what the legendary Sun Summoner would look like, if they designed to make an appearance during her lifetime, but she had always sort of assumed that she would be Ravkan as that was how they were portrayed in paintings. That she would hold dual nationality was interesting and unexpected.
The Tsar continues to demonstrate the idiocy endemic at the top of their society with a banal comment on how he had expected her to be taller. Their son, the unfortunately featured Vasily, at least manages not to say anything insulting, but then his tone does quite well enough on its own in that regard, and it is quite apparent that he is both terminally bored and disinterested in meeting a living legend, whatever his muttered greeting suggests.
Then the light show starts and Zoya is distracted from her thoughts, mesmerised by the sparkling ball of starlight that shimmers in the shadowed room. Seeing it with her own eyes, being witness to the definite proof of the Sun Summoner's existence brings a joy to her heart that buoys her and finds herself forgetting her previous annoyance and instead enthusiastically joining in the jubilant celebration of their newest and longest awaited member.
It's a gloriously happy occasion and the celebration continues throughout the day and well into the night, culminating in a rare feast and dancing at the Little Palace. If she and the others barely see the Sun Summoner during the party, Zoya thinks nothing of it and when she finally gets to her bed that night she falls asleep happy and content with the world, sure in the knowledge that soon the Sun Summoner will be trained and she will no longer be separated from her beloved family by the evil that is the Fold.
The happiness doesn't last for long.
It starts with an early morning ride a few days later. That the Sun Summoner is an early riser is not unexpected. As an officer in the First Army she would be used to being awake early and surviving on little sleep. What does surprise her, however, is what she sees as she passes through the vestibule on the way to the senior dining room: there is her General, standing tall and handsome next to a horse as he gallantly assists Alina into the saddle. Within moments they have set off at speed – racing across the grounds and out of sight.
With a frown, Zoya continues to the dining room, confusion eating away at her appetite. When she spots Ivan sitting with Fedyor in one corner it's an easy decision to forgo her normal place and instead place her plate down beside the Heartrenders. Ivan greets her with a scowl as he returns to his tea, determined not to speak. Used to such behaviour, Zoya instead turns a smile on the ever polite and chatty Fedyor as she asks in what she hopes is a nonchalant tone about Ivan's evident displeasure.
Fedyor laughs as he spots Ivan's scowl getting deeper and more ominous. "Never mind Ivan, Zoya. He's in a hump this morning as the General's disrupted his precious routine by daring to go for a ride with the Sun Summoner rather than keeping his normal 8 o'clock with Ivan."
Determined not to be jollied out of his perfectly justified grievance, Ivan mutters something rude under his breath which unfortunately just makes his partner laugh even more.
With a friendly nudge of his elbow, Fedyor smiles at Zoya, "I imagine they have much to catch up on."
"That girl!" Ivan grunts crossly, "she upends everything. Before it was letters, now mothers. It's a joke to you now, Fedyor, but just you wait. Life here will not be the same now that she is here. It was bad enough in Kribirsk."
Zoya nearly spits out the sip of coffee she has just taken as the words echo in her ears. "What do you mean?" she demands.
Fedyor smiles again, "she is The Girl," he answers in a quiet voice as Ivan grunts again and pushes himself to his feet, fed up with the conversation, "you remember, the girl he was writing to in Kribirsk."
It gets worse from there. Now she is alert to it, suddenly it's all she can see. The more she watches the more she sees and the more the situation worries her, gnawing away at her confident contentment.
The morning rides continue, not everyday but enough that she is not the only one who has noticed them. The General starts joining them for dinner each night, an unexpected honour that initially pleases her until she spots the way he watches her, eyes following her, a dark inscrutable expression flitting across his face so fast she could almost reassure herself she imagined it if not for the fact that she sees it more and more as time goes by.
If this was all, she might have been able to put it from her mind, but then she overhears that conversation and it's like she has swallowed a lead weight. She had dismissed Fedyor's theories as nothing more than the romantic musings of one who has read too many novels and has too much time on his hands. The genial Heartrender is well known for his love of romantic tales, and it had seemed too incredulous to believe, as he did, that the General had fallen in love with some otkazat'sya girl in the First Army only to discover she was really the Sun Summoner. But then she heard them that day and it no longer seemed quite so impossible.
Looking back it isn't just what was said that hurt so much – it's the way he touched her face as he murmured "Alinochka," in a voice that could only be described as pleading. It's the quiet intimacy between them as they stood together in the library, a book forgotten on the table. It's the unguarded look on his face as he spoke to her in hushed tones even though she was turned from him, deliberately facing away.
Backing away from the door, Zoya had fled the scene feeling like her heart was about to break into a thousand pieces.
Why her, her mind screams as she hides on the roof of the Little Palace. He couldn't love her. He couldn't. He was Zoya's. He had been hers and she his since that night almost three years ago when he took her to bed for the first time.
But was he? Her mind questions as tears roll down her face. They had made no promises to each other. Those words she had once thought so unnecessary felt essential right now. She needed that tangible proof that the world was as she thought it was.
The Sun Summoner she had been so excited over now appeared to be more of a curse than a blessing. She was everywhere. Everywhere Zoya went she saw her, everyone she spoke to wanted to talk about her, she was inescapable. Zoya's former teachers were enthral to her, the students worshipped her, even Baghra supposedly liked her – and that old bat liked no one – and now she had taken the General as well. Zoya's General.
The following days she moves about the familiar halls of the home she loves as if in a daze. Fedyor and even Genya both ask after her, patting her hands as if they know what's wrong but out of deference to her feelings will not put it into words. She's grateful for that unexpected kindness. She fears if she hears it spoken that it will make it more real and then her heart will really break.
It's Genya who unwittingly makes her feel better in another overheard conversation she should not have listened too. Genya who speaks to Nadia of her worries about the attention the General is paying Alina, her concerns that he is using her, making her fall in love with him as part of some greater plan. It's like a fog has been lifted. Of course, that must be it. He isn't in love with her, but he does need her. Genya's worries make perfect sense. It's a ploy. An unpalatable one, surely, but a ploy nonetheless.
It helps as well that the Sun Summoner is not exactly shaping up to be the paragon that everyone had expected. Alina is struggling, as Zoya finds out from the General himself. She is finding it hard to acclimatise to her new surroundings. More troubling, the General tells her with a slight frown marring his beautiful features, is that she has yet to find the key to unlocking her power without the aid of an amplifier. It's enough to make Zoya feel warm with pride and pleasure when her General calls her into his War Room to tell her this and ask her to befriend the younger girl in the hope that she, Zoya, might be able to improve the less than useful sancta they have been lumbered with.
It's only after that she realises he made no mention of them or of her visiting his rooms as she did before. It's enough to dim the glow that has warmed her for the hours since their meeting and her previous fears and distrust comes back with a heart pounding rush.
Suspicion is a horrid thing to live with, but for Zoya it becomes a constant friend.
Training with Botkin is just another annoyance in Zoya's life at present. It doesn't matter how old she is or how often she proves her skills, every time she returns to the Little Palace, the Grisha combat instructor insists on testing her. She had hoped, upon learning at breakfast that their sainted saviour was due to have a combat lesson today that today would be a rare day when she wouldn't have to live in the glare of the Sun Summoner's supposed brilliance and could instead happily ignore her existence for a few short hours before she starts the onerous task of trying to knock her into shape.
It is not to be.
At 10 o'clock, just as she had settled herself on her bed with a novel, there's a knock on the door with a message informing her it's assessment day and she is to attend the training yard within half an hour. Frustrated at her interrupted plans, she storms from the dormitory down towards the arena. Her day gets worse from there.
It turns out that Botkin, in all his affable madness, has decided that after a month of one-on-one tuition the Sun Summoner is ready to start practicing with her peers. Having impressed upon those watching the danger facing the Sun Summoner and the great need for them all to be at the top of fighting ability, he then began the class with a tedious introduction of the routine he wished them to practice that day.
It's mind numbingly dull. So dull, in fact, that she almost misses the start of the first spar she has zoned out so much. Her inattention costs her as she loses the chance to pair up with a decent partner and gives Botkin the opportunity to decide that she will make the perfect opponent for the precious little mouse beside him.
With a smile and a nod, Alina is brought forward and introduced to the annoyed Squaller. It doesn't help that Botkin has taken to calling Alina 'Daughter' either. It may have been in reference to their shared heritage, but for Zoya it is yet another show of undeserved favouritism towards the interloper.
The bout goes pretty much as Zoya thought it would. The girl's footwork is shoddy, her punches weak and her ability to spot an opening non-existent. Much to her satisfaction she has the girl on her back within 5 seconds. The second bout lasts about the same, but this time she takes delighted satisfaction in tossing her over her shoulder, smiling at the hard thud that sounds as her opponent's back meets the ground with bruising force.
The third and fourth times follow much the same pattern. On the fifth, however, the girl shows some spirit at last - blocking her punch, pre-empting the swipe she goes to make with her left foot and actually succeeds in kicking Zoya hard in the knee, making pain race up her leg as it crumples to the floor.
In the normal way of things, Zoya would have nodded at her opponent for a successful and well executed manoeuvre and that would have been the end of it. This is far from normal though. It's the excited clapping of the watching audience that really does it and before she has even thought it through she is up on her feet, grabbing the other girl's arm, pulling her backwards and off balance as she flips her over her back, this time following the move through completely so that she ends crouching above the Sun Summoner, pinning her to the floor with her arms above her head.
In hindsight it's a foolish thing to do, and she should have known at the outset that it would win her few friends, least of all the General, but jealous people are seldom wise and Zoya was hurting. She's tried to dismiss the way they look at each other, the way he watches her covetously, the way he hovers around her protectively, the familiarity Alina is allowed that she has never been granted, but it hurts. She has never been given instant access to the General, she has never been invited to eat with him in his private rooms, she has never been taken for morning rides around the palace grounds. But what makes it worse is the applause from their peers, the popularity and status that she has automatically received that Zoya has had to work for, for years. The jealousy burns within her, bright and hot, making her want to lash out – and in that moment she wants nothing more than for the other girl to feel a fraction of the pain and anguish that she feels, to know how much better Zoya is than her, to know that she may be the Sun Summoner but she is nothing compared to the Squaller.
"I've seen the way you look at him when you think no one's watching," Zoya snarls under her breath, tightening her grip on Alina's wrists and making her wince.
"Do you really think he would be attracted to you, that he would give you the time of day if you weren't the only Sun Summoner?" she taunts, smirking at the confused hurt that flashes across her opponent's face. "You mean nothing to him – to anyone – other than for your power. And what good are you anyway? Useless, I've heard – barely even able to make sparks, a five year old Inferni could do better."
The girl blushes, her embarrassment clear as her eyes flit away, unable to meet Zoya's. The sight causes a dark thrill of satisfaction fizzes down Zoya's spine.
It's cruel and definitely beneath her to say these things and yet Zoya can't seem to stop herself from twisting the knife deeper and deeper. In the back of her mind is the thought that her relatives in Novokribirsk would be horrified if they could see her in this moment, but even that is not enough to give her more than a moment's pause as she continues: "you might hold his attention, for now, with your bright shiny powers. You might even make it to his bed before he tires of you, but know this – I was there first. I had him first, and unlike you, I didn't need to be the Sun Summoner to make him want me."
The girl beneath her is stiff and unnaturally still, and for a moment Zoya fears that she has even stopped breathing. Alina's eyes are as hard as diamonds as she stares up at her captor, embarrassment gone as anger takes its place. In a voice so cold shivers run down her spine, Alina replies, "Then why aren't you still there?"
With a hiss of anger, Zoya tightens her grip, enjoying the pain in the girl's eyes. "You're nothing but a mouse, a nothing, a no one." Zoya chuckles darkly, "just you wait, you'll see, once he has what he wants from you he'll toss you aside and come back to me. We have history he and I."
Behind her she can hear shouting and knows that her time is nearly up before someone intervenes. With a final toss of her hair and squeeze of her hands against Alina's bruised wrists, Zoya stands, smoothing her tunic down as she turns to walk away, her victory buoying her mood. Her satisfaction doesn't last long, however, as with a pained cry she finds herself spinning round, a forceful punch sending her sprawling on the ground, the sound of her peers' claps and whistles ringing in her ears. Blood rushes to her face as the humiliation sets in.
The rules of Botkin's combat area are sacrosanct and one of the first things all Grisha learn upon starting instruction: under no circumstances is anyone to use their gift within the confines of the combat arena. It's first and most important rule. The second, which in this case is equally important, is to never to attack in anger.
In that moment, Zoya forgets both rules as her fury erupts, and her temper snaps. Jumping to her feet she pulls on the air swirling in her mind, sending a frigid blast so powerful it sends the other girl flying into the wall 15ft away. The crack as she hits the wall is as satisfying as the silence that falls after as their audience stop clapping in shock.
Zoya barely notices as Botkin grabs her elbow, his face thunderous as he instructs her to go the General's office immediately, she is too busy watching two of the younger etheralki check on the crumpled figure of the Sun Summoner. With a smile, Zoya thinks this is worth any punishment. She bested the Sun Summoner. Ha!
It is with some surprise, and a grudging respect, she observes Alina push herself up onto her knees before standing shakily as she brushes past the hands trying to help her. Zoya's satisfaction dies a quick death as with horror she sees her nemesis's eyes suddenly glow a bright vivid gold. For the first time it hits home to her just who – what – this girl is: Sun Summoner, a living saint.
Trapped in the other's gaze, Zoya stands motionless as the Sun Summoner stalks towards her surrounded by a miasma of golden light. A bright scalding beam of shimmering gold shoots from Alina's hand hitting Zoya in the chest, sending her flying back clear across the courtyard in a mocking parody of Zoya's own action. Unlike hers though this burns. It's like she's been coated in a flammable oil and a match struck near her. It's a conflagration, searing her skin and torching her nerve endings. Screaming in pain and terror, she tries to call on the soothing presence of the air knowing that fire can only burn if there is air to feed it. If she can control the air she can stop the fire.
She calls but nothing answers.
Vaguely she is aware of people around her, of rugs beating futilely against her and panicked shouts, and still it won't come. In the space where it has always been there is a gaping nothingness, an emptiness that hurts more than the fire.
High in the sky the sun blazes, triumphant and victorious. It is the last thing she sees as darkness takes her.
A/N So... what do you think? When I first plotted out this story chapters 7, 8 and 9 were meant to be just the one chapter. Once I started writing it though the chapter didn't flow with three points of view - each of which is important in its own way, so I decided to split them up. Each one brings something a bit different to the narrative. Alina's is about her coming to terms with the immense changes she's suddenly had foisted on her and her starting to rebuild her relationship with Aleksander. Zoya's is a much needed (I think) view from an outsider for most of it and the spiralling issues that arise from miscommunication (or in this case no communication)... its also really important as she is the impetus for Alina discovering more about her powers (well, Alek's did ask her to help, although not quite in this way). And then in the next chapter we have darling Aleksander's - expect a lot of introspection, a bit of angst and a glorious argument between Botkin and Baghra.
As ever, I love comments and hearing what people are thinking. Anyone fancy speculating on what Alina has done to Zoya...? ;)