Summary: There is an old Ravkan saying: envy sees the sea, but not the rocks. Zoya has been foolish, very foolish - she didn't see the rocks and now she has to live with the consequences.

The unrequited in their love have a special talent for ignoring the things they don't want to see. Lingering touches, longing gazes and secret smiles, signs of affection that are obvious to everyone but the one who doesn't want to believe. They can make mountains out of mole hills, turning the smallest act into something more meaningful. Nights which were never meant to be anything more than a shared comfort take on new significance and feelings which should never have been allowed to grow are instead nourished and nurtured.

Three doors down from the scene playing out between Sun Summoner and Darkling, Zoya sits, head hidden behind her knees, eyes red and puffy from the tears that are still streaming down her face. Garin had been by earlier to check on her, but otherwise she has spent the last day alone except for her thoughts; her torturous, turbulent thoughts. Thoughts which bring a fresh sting of tears to her eyes as they cloud her mind, clamouring to be heard.

He doesn't love her. That is bad enough, but far worse is the knowledge that he had never loved her, knowledge which had been delivered in an ice cold voice, distant, dispassionate and uncaring as he broke her heart and shattered it into tiny pieces. In the space of one afternoon everything she thought she knew - everything she had been so sure of - had been turned upside and ripped away. He wasn't her General. Instead, he belonged to her, the Sun Summoner - as he had made abundantly clear in his all too brief visit - a visit which had been solely for and about the other girl.

When he came through the doorway to her room shortly after she had awoken, her heart had leapt within her chest and hope had burst through her in a rush. She thought he was there for her, that the worry and pain on his face was for her, that finally he would say the words she had been waiting years to hear.

It wasn't. He was there out of concern for Alina, the girl who was lying in a coma only a few doors away. A coma she had put her in.

Slowly, Zoya had recounted the afternoon as clearly as her still fuzzy mind could recall, panicking as she remembered the sensation of reaching for the wind only to find it would not answer her. The same panic had found her again when the healer had been here examining her.

With a frown and a dark, forbidding look, the General had asked her try again. Swallowing her panic, she had tried once more to summon, but nothing happened. Where there should have been a swirl of air there was only stillness. She ran through all the forms she knew, forms which had always worked, but there was nothing, not one puff or gust. She was truly alone in her body for the first time in her memory, alone and lost without the gentle tickle of her gift in her mind.

With a cry she had turned to the General, seeking comfort and reassurance that this wouldn't change what was between them, only to stop as she caught a glimpse of his face as he deliberately and coldly turned from her. His undisguised fury had been an awful sight, made more so by the shadows writhing around him like angry snakes, and for the first time in many years Zoya feared her General. This was nothing, however, to what he then said – his cold, dispassionate cruelty as he destroyed her hopes and dreams.

He had left then without even the courtesy of a farewell as he stormed from the room, darkness trailing in his wake, and Zoya had been left alone with the terrible realisation that she was part of a non-exclusive club of people who let themselves get too deep before seeing the truth.

He had never been hers to begin with.

Half an hour later, just as she had composed herself, Garin had returned. The normally kind head healer was quiet and stern as he checked her wounds and Zoya knew that this was just the start. There would be a price to pay for her actions that day, a steep one.

With a worried look, the healer stepped back, carefully rewrapping the criss-crossing burns on her arms. Her day got worse as Garin confirmed what she already knew. The burns weren't healing, not as they should for a Grisha. Given Garin's skill, and the time that had passed since Zoya's arrival under his care, the burns should have been almost better by now. Instead, they are still raw and weeping and show very little evidence of improvement. With horror, Zoya understands the implications. Grisha are inseparably intertwined with their gifts – it was what gave Grisha a naturally longer life than otkazat'syas and protected them from common illnesses and diseases that could kill thousands. It's also why Grisha healers have so much trouble healing otkazat'syas. Whatever had happened to Zoya the day before had done more than just take away her gift – it had effectively made her an otkazat'sya, with all the problems and limitations that created for Grisha healing.

The irony is not lost on her even as she begs to be allowed to see the injuries she's going to have to live with. She's become what she feared and hated most.

With a sigh, Garin summons two junior healers to fetch one of the mirrors hanging in the hall, but once it is brought before her she can barely bring herself to look, and when she does the girl looking back at her is one she hardly recognizes - and it isn't because of the burns.

What has she done? Who has she become? Who is this bitter, unpleasant person before her. If her family in Novokribirsk could see her in this moment they would be horrified.

Shocked.

Disgusted.

Appalled.

In the space of three minutes she's undone years of hard work; not only has she abandoned the teachings her family raised her with but, worst of all, she's betrayed the Grisha code and in doing so has betrayed herself.

With terrified eyes she looks into the mirror, cataloguing every mark and burn across her torso. In a distant part of her mind, the part not consumed with self-loathing and utter desolation, she knows she should be thankful that apart from a bruised cheek her face is unmarked, but at that moment she can't help but wish the light had taken her sight as well - for then she wouldn't have to see what she has become.

Garin and the others depart shortly after that, leaving her to her thoughts and silent distress. It's hard to find a comfortable position with her skin so sensitive to every movement and pull of her bandages, but eventually she finds a semi comfortable spot in the chair by the window, and she stares out of it unseeing as she contemplates the new reality she is now living.

Zoya is unusual for a Grisha in that she has a loving family that had maintained contact and its link to her after the testing. Most Grisha came to the Little Palace rejected, fearful of being harmed and ashamed; few either missed their families or kept in contact with them. In contrast, her family are proud of her status as a Grisha: proud of her accomplishments and achievements, proud of the woman they thought she had become. What will they say when they learn what she's done, that she's hurt – deliberately hurt – the Sun Summoner, the saint they have been praying would appear for more years than Zoya's been alive. The Sun Summoner's existence changes everything – she has the power to change everything – to banish the Fold and reunite Ravka. The Sun Summoner could even be the much needed catalyst that finally ends the interminable war between Ravka, Shu Han and the Fjerdans.

What has she done?

As the memories of the day wash over her again she feels sick, nausea rising as her breathing speeds up.

She's ruined everything. The general's reaction has shown her that, and the behaviour of the medical staff in the last few hours just reinforced it. She's a social pariah, the Grisha who not only broke the rules but also nearly killed the Sun Summoner their people had been waiting for, and she had nearly taken that from them.

Who has she become? This isn't her. She's not hot headed and cruel. She's not bitter and angry at the world. She doesn't try to hurt people to feel better, or to prove her dominance and position in the social pecking order, and she certainly doesn't do it over a man.

Through the window, Zoya watches the last vestiges of a stunning sunset, glorious reds and golds bleeding into the inky blue sky. Apart from the delivery of meals and fresh water she has been alone for hours, just sitting and thinking as she stares unseeingly at the sky. 48 hours ago she was living in blissful ignorance. 46 hours ago she made a mistake that will haunt her for life. 27 hours ago she woke up in this room, her world – and her life – irrevocably changed.

A change in the ambience of the room makes her look up and with surprise she sees Botkin seating himself on a too small chair, his normally jovial face is grave and sad as he regards her.

With a nod, Zoya's eyes drop to the white bandages wrapped around her arms, fingers fiddling with the pin that keeps them in place in discomfort. She was never a shy child and even during the embarrassing time of adolescence she seemed to skip that uncomfortable, awkward stage that her peers experienced, but now she is unaccountably timid and nervous. She knows what's coming, but has no idea how to do it, or even where to start.

The silence stretches on for some minutes in this way with Botkin's attention fixed on her, patiently waiting her out, as Zoya studiously avoids eye contact in the hope of a few more minutes reprieve. At last, her nerves frayed, she says, "you might as well just come out and say it," her tone snappy and belligerent.

Botkin raises an eyebrow full of gentle rebuke. "It is not for the student to determine the time for a lesson," he says, his familiar voice is calm and quiet, even as it brings a blush to her cheeks. Embarrassed, her eyes drop back to her bandages and she has to fight the urge to duck her head and hide.

"How is she?" she asks after a long moment, remorse curdling her stomach and prompting her to speak. In all that had happened since she awoke no one had told her how Alina is other than that she had yet to awaken.

Botkin frowns, "Alive," is his succinct answer.

Why did she do it? It's a question she still doesn't know the answer too.

"Is she… will she be okay?"

"Eventually," is the less than reassuring response to her question, but Zoya nods accepting the shortness and censure she reads in the tone. She deserves this.

After a long moment contemplating the potted plant in the corner, Botkin surprises her by raising the topic of her powers.

"Can you summon?" he asks, finally looking at her.

"No," she shakes her head. "Do you know what happened?" she asks desperately, so far no one has been able – or willing - to explain why she can no longer call the wind.

A shadow passes over the trainer's face that chills her blood. "What is given may be taken away," he says softly, his golden eyes full of emotion as he answers her.

Zoya frowns, "what do you mean?" she asks, confused.

"We will know more once the Sun Summoner is awake, but I believe what I saw. You acted against a Saint, Zoya Nazyalensky, there is always a price to pay. Worse than that, you used the very gifts the Saints gave you to do it." His gaze once so comforting is now full of condemnation, and she hears the words he has left unsaid, that she misused those gifts.

"Will I ever get my powers back?" She asks quietly, accepting the other's subtle refusal to be drawn into giving a more detailed explanation.

Botkin looks at her levelly, "do you deserve them?" He asks in return.

Zoya blinks away the threatening tears as she chokes out, "I don't know who I am without the wind. It's… being a Squaller has defined my life for so long…"

"Then you must learn." Botkin frowns, "You chose your enemy unwisely, child. That was a grave mistake. What is another?"

It takes Zoya a long moment to understand what her teacher means, and she can't help the scowl that forms when she realises what he means to do. She has no desire to dig through each bad decision with a fine toothcomb, but she can see from the set of his jaw that there is no escape from this.

Fingers worrying at the fraying edge of the bandage, she is slow to reply, taking the time to think through what she is about to say.

"I lost my temper. I shouldn't have done that. It goes against everything we're taught to attack in anger."

"Good!" Botkin praises.

"Another."

"I wanted to teach her a lesson,"

"Why?" Botkin's face is impassive, but Zoya can hear the steel hidden in his mild tone.

Why had she? That is a good question and one that makes her want to squirm in her seat to the point where it's only her iron discipline which keeps her still under Botkin's relentless interrogation. She's been angry - in all honesty she is still angry, but it isn't because of anyone one thing the Sun Summoner has said or done. It's everything: from the way she was discovered, to the deaths she had caused in her desperate flight to the Little Palace, to her utter disregard for the rules and convention of the Second Army. She comes and goes as she pleased, has private lessons and frequent contact with their General, she's feted and lauded wherever she goes and whatever she does, no matter how mediocre. Dinner is just one example – they are meant to sit with their own orders during the last meal of the day. It has been the convention for longer than Zoya has been alive, but in the space of her very first week in the Little Palace, she had started to change that; flitting between the orders, sitting with Materialki more often than she sits with her own. To make matters worse, the Corporalki who are renowned for keeping themselves to themselves and looking down on the other two orders, welcomed her with open arms.

It's infuriating. It's unfair.

"Because everything has changed," she summarises, "She's changed everything. She flouts the rules and does her own thing; she shows no interest in learning our ways… she just came in and…"

Botkin nods calmly as if this is what he expected, "envy sees the sea but not the rocks," he says as he regards her with a disappointed look. It's galling to be on the end of this man's disappointment, Zoya is used to being the star pupil, the one who never puts a foot wrong. To have her failings raked over like this is unprecedented and a whole new level of humiliation to her situation.

"Another," Botkin demands,

"I… I…" this one is harder to confess but eventually her unwilling mouth forms the words, "My pride… I – it was embarrassing what happened, the others cheering like that, I wanted her to feel the same way."

The instructor nods gravely, "pride is a failing we each have. There is no place for pride in teaching or fighting – there is no dishonour in being beaten by your student if they have fought well. Your job it was so show her the way, to teach her how to protect herself. In this you failed." Though said in a mild tone the point hits home with bruising force and Zoya can't help the flinch as it lands. "But not your failure alone. Thought you ready to teach, to guide a student, as I have guided you. That was my mistake – I did not see clearly. In this I failed you both."

And so it continues. Patiently Botkin pulls out each of Zoya's secrets, each of the reasons behind the horror of the day before and examines them with kind determination until there is only one left. One last secret, one which it pains her to think, let alone speak, and yet she knows she must.

"I love him. I thought he loved me… I thought she was trying to take him from me. I've been such a fool!" the admission hurts and brings fresh tears to her eyes.

"Many fools there are today, you are but one," Botkin says kindly. It's a generous interpretation that Zoya knows she doesn't deserve, but it soothes her battered feelings, bringing a brief smile to her face before her melancholy returns.

"But none as great as me," she acknowledges sadly. There is no escaping from or ignoring this fact.

Botkin's nods in agreement as he stands, the chair creaking as the large man pulls himself to his feet with a groan.

"What happens now?" she asks tearfully, suddenly afraid.

"You live, you learn, and you do better," he replies sternly, watching her intently for a long moment before patting her hand gently. "There is no going back in life, only forwards. Maybe your gift is returned, maybe it is not. Whatever happens you must move forward, accept your mistakes, learn from them, and atone."

Zoya can only nod. She had asked the question and now must live with the answer. Forwards is the only option, however hard that proves to be.