#zoya nazyalensky shadow and bone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

delfiore · 2 years ago

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—THE GHOST YOU LEFT BEHIND.

pairing: zoya nazyalensky x fem!heartrender!reader

synopsis: a painful past between you and zoya comes to light when you are sent on an intel mission on behalf of the king.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: men being gross, a mild spoiler for the SoC book (?) idk i found the info on the wiki

a/n: hahAA 4k. shadow and bone has consumed my life and so has sujaya dasgupta ok thank you goodnight.

You looked down at the map strewn in front of you, a small smile creeping its way onto your lips. You didn’t look up, but you could imagine the fury on Zoya’s face.

“If I may, moi tsar—“

“I have made my decision, General,” Nikolai interjected, “you are my best fighter, and well, Y/N can be quite persuasive. I trust that you two would make an excellent team.”

For the glory of Ravka.

Finally, your eyes found her across the table. Her jaw was tight and her eyes hard as she looked back at you. “We depart at dawn,” she said, regal and in the manner of a good soldier, and left the room.

“Something humorous, sister?”

You shook your head, but the grin remained. “Now I think you’re just doing it for the hell of it.”

“I need all the information I can gather about jurda parem,” your half-brother reasoned, “and my advisor and general to not be at each other’s throats every time they enter the same room.”

“And your solution is to send them away alone with each other?” You scoffed.

“Precisely.” Nikolai nodded, with the same shit-eating grin. “I expect you back in a fortnight’s time with useful intel.”

By the time the sun was above you the next day, you and Zoya had been on horseback for hours outside Os Alta. Unsurprisingly, in complete silence.

You breathed in deeply. “Well, isn’t this lovely?”

“No.”

“A thrilling adventure back to my motherland,” you continued much to Zoya’s dismay, “almost like that time when we went to seek out the Crows. Just thinking about those Shu dumplings at the market makes my mouth water.”

Her silence was poisonous, and you felt the poison seep into your bones. The horses huffed as they trotted leisurely side-by-side on the dirt path.

“You know, we are going to be together for the next fortnight. Are you really going to do this without saying a word?”

“I am,” she said adamantly, “unless you’d like a punch to the jaw for breakfast, I suggest you shut it.”

“Speaking of breakfast, I am famished.” You looked down at your stomach delicately. “Perhaps we should stop. There should be a tavern in a couple of miles.”

To your surprise, Zoya let you stop at the tavern for some food, but not before she gave you a look that made you reconsider everything you’ve ever said around her. You were in the middle of devouring bacon and eggs, when you heard a scoff coming from her on the opposite end of the table.

“You eat like an animal,” she said, grimacing.

“Sorry that my table etiquette isn’t to your liking. I’ve learned to appreciate food having lived at sea where sustenance is never certain.”

“Why’d you pick it then? You were royalty.”

You huffed. “Not exactly. My status at court depended entirely on how my father, the King, felt about his illegitimate child that day. And that, in it itself, was fragile. But you knew that.”

Zoya shifted uncomfortably. You knew you had touched on a sore subject, but it was the most you had exchanged with her since returning home with Nikolai. All the spats and arguments left you little room to fill her in on all your adventures as you’d hoped. You wrote countless letters addresses to her, but you never received a response, so you’d only assumed that your words on paper had been reduced to ash by now.

“I’ll have you know I got the money for it. You just got to tell me where.”

“I’ll sell it to ya when I make sure I’ve got more coming in from Koba. The Crown’s maximizing security at the borders so it might take a while.”

“Are you listening?” You looked up at her, whispering quietly, so as not to alarm the men at the next table.

She nodded wordlessly.

“Thought the Fold being gone would make it easier, instead it’s just another useless king waving his magic wand around like a little prick.”

“Name the man. I’ll have my men do business with him.”

There was a stiff silence. Her hand fiddled with the napkin anxiously as she waited for the response.

A heavy fist slammed down on the table next to your plate, and the rugged men had surrounded your table.

“Got a couple of eavesdroppers, haven’t we?” One of the sneered.

“Oy, give us a bit of fun and maybe we’ll let you off,” another put his foot on the chair in which Zoya sat, and stroked her face greedily. “I’ll take this one.”

You could see the desperation in her eyes, begging you not to fight back. So, you held your tongue. You knew you couldn’t reveal the status of your being here. It was the reason why you and her dressed in plain clothes, and not your kefta.

“We’re just passersby, boys. Not looking for any trouble,” Zoya said sweetly, but you could tell that she was fuming too.

“C’mon, sweetling. No harm in a little fun, eh?”

You hated the way that prick was hovering over Zoya, it made you see red. In a quick motion, you whipped your head back against one of them, effectively breaking his nose with a loud crunch. With the other that stood beside you gawking, you pulled on his heart, until you could feel it squeezing in your hand, and he fell to the flooring, arresting.

The tavern once animated quickly fell silent, and the only sound left was the brawl that you found yourself in. Needless to say, a bunch of otkazat’sya were no match for two Grisha. But it was only you using your powers. Zoya had knocked down two of the men with her bare hands.

You found the informant amidst the brawl, now battered with blood on his face, and held him by the collar. “Tell me who the seller is and where I can find him.”

When the man refused to answer, you gritted your teeth, and pulled the air from his lungs.

“Fine! Fine! I’ll tell you!” He gasped. “Yuri Enkhbaatar, in Koba. Please, let me go.”

You nodded, satisfied, and punched him in the face, rendering him unconscious.

“Grisha scum!” One of them shouted as they all ran out of the tavern with their tails between their legs.

You took a moment to catch your breath. When you looked down at your hands, they were shaking and your right was bloody at the knuckles. The silver ring on your middle finger, fortunately, was still intact.

“It’s fine,” you said to Zoya, seeing her look at your wound with apprehension.

The sound of the horses neighing alarmed you. "No," you whispered and set off to chase the men, only to see them galloping away with one of your horses. You quickly ran after them, but they had rounded the corner and descended the hill, away from your immediate eyesight.

You let out an angry yell, just as Zoya caught up to you.

"Well done," she said sarcastically, a grin on her face.

"Save it," you grumbled under your breath, and keep walking in the direction you were supposed to go.

You heard Zoya's horse trot behind you, and you turned around in an attempt to counter whatever teasing comment she was going to throw at you. "Hop on," she said.

It took you a second to realize what she meant, frankly because you didn't think she'd be that hospitable. It might have been a different story if it was her horse that had been taken. You never liked being around an angry Zoya; a simmering Zoya was enough of a headache.

"You do realize that this means I'm going to be very close to you for the rest of our journey?"

"I'd rather that than have to wait for you every few paces," Zoya said, extending a hand to you. "Go on, we don't have all day. And if you keep babbling, you will walk.”

You took a deep breath before pulling yourself upwards; now you were very close to her. You thought the years of being apart would extinguish that bubbling feeling you get whenever you were around her, but here you were, trying your best to keep calm, as your legs wrapped around her. Thank the Saints she wasn’t a Heartrender.

“I’d say this is quite nice—“

“No.”

You sighed. It was going to be a very long ride to Koba.

On the fifth night, you arrived at the city. The sun had long disappeared behind the mountains, and the city lights could be seen from miles away.

“We should probably find our accommodation before doing anything,” Zoya said, “we might be here for a bit.”

You found a cheap inn in a small alley near the market. If you weren’t on a mission for the king, you’d almost see it as a much-needed vacation. You knew Zoya was exhausted by the way her eyes were barely open she waited for the innkeeper to assign you your room. She grabbed the keys as soon as it left the woman’s hand and went upstairs.

“All the Saints above in good Heaven,” you heard her exclaim as you peered inside.

“What?” You said. There was one single bed in the middle of an otherwise quite spacious room.

“It’s alright. You catch some sleep.” You said, sensing her annoyance. “I’ll go into the night market—“

She didn’t let you finish your sentence before throwing her day-bag somewhere on the floor and collapsing onto the bed, her limbs sprawled out across the entire width.

“—For a bit,” you said quietly, and closed the door behind you in the hallway, a small grin on your face at the unusual display of fatigue.

When you returned about an hour later, she was already in a deep sleep, but still in her riding clothes. Careful so as not to wake her, you pulled the cover from underneath her, earning an annoyed murmur from the girl, and throwing it over her body.

The commotion from the market had faded out the moment you stepped into your shared room. The quietness, not silence, that enshrouded the room, became loud. Your mind became loud as you thought about the past. Your past with Zoya.

You began to hear her voice, her young laughter as she chased you down the hall at the Little Palace, effectively putting many servants in charge of your wellbeing in distress. You despised your so-called family, the only one you liked was Nikolai, but things got better because you had your best friend, Zoya, the new Squaller that came from Novokribirsk.

You found her crying alone one day in a hidden part of the courtyard, when she was supposed to be training with Botkin. She had come only a few days before, and she was missing home.

“I’ll be your friend,” you remember saying to her, “that way you’re not alone anymore.” The pair of you were nine.

You sat by the side of the bed, resting your head against it, watching her sleep. She had every right to hate you, you knew that, but it hurt a lot. It hurt because you had promised yourselves to each other in the form of two silver rings. You didn’t understand the magnitude of that promise then, but you did now; Zoya Nazyalensky was your first love.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, but you knew she couldn’t hear. Quickly, you placed your hands above your chest to slow your racing heart, and keep the tears at bay. Once calmed, you settled back against the side of the bed, listening to the other steady heartbeat in the room as you succumbed to sleep.

Ten years old. You pushed down on the door handle quietly, being careful not to wake the other girls in the room. It was way past your bedtime, and you knew you would have to sneak back into your own room before the sun rises. In the dark, you made your way to where you knew was Zoya’s bunk. She was fast asleep, facing away from you.

“Zoyaaaa,” you shook her softly. The raven-haired girl turned around, and rubbed her eyes.

“I can’t sleep,” you whispered.

Wordlessly, she moved over, albeit barely as her bed was tiny, and you happily got under the cover with when as she pulled you closer.

“What are you ever going to do without me?” Zoya whispered back.

In the pale moonlight, your best friend looked like the entire universe. “I’d just never sleep.”

“Y/N. Y/N, wake up!”

You jolted awake, feeling the weight of reality crash down against your heavy eyelids.

Zoya was hovering above you, furrowing her eyebrows at the snorting noise you made when you woke up.

“Look,” she said, pointing out the window.

You rubbed your eyes and squinted subconsciously at the bright light that penetrated the room. Deep into the alley, a space opened up to what appeared to be a tea shop, and there sat two of the men you encountered at the tavern in Ravka.

“Shit,” you grumbled.

Next to them was another man, the front half of his head was shaved, the back of it skirted down his back in a long braid. He had Shu features, Enkhbaatar.

“There’s our man,” Zoya said.

You lunged towards the door when she pulled in your sleeve. “What are you going to do?”

“Stopping those bastards from importing the drug into our country.”

“By doing what? Asking them nicely?” Zoya hissed. “Y/N, we’ve already directed enough attention to ourselves the other day. We’re not in Ravka anymore, we don’t have the same kind of protection here. If they find out what we are—“

“They kill us, I know.”

She nodded firmly. “So, I have a plan.”

Zoya was good at many things, a good Squaller, a loyal soldier, a resolute decision-maker. It led you to believe that her plan might just work, it checked out in your head. You got the name, Bo Yul-Bayur. But then, you found yourself chasing after Yuri Enkhbaatar down many winding alleys, until you stopped at what seemed to be a brothel and his goons looked like they were about to swallow you alive. Turns out the men that you had beaten up at the tavern alarmed him of two Grisha nobles looking for jurda parem.

“Kill them!” He shouted to them in Shu.

“We just want to talk, Yuri!” You held your hands up in defense.

“I don’t talk to Ravkans, most of all Grisha!”

“But you’re not human, are you? You’re Grisha too.” You laughed, albeit carefully. “You’re a Fabrikator, an Alkemi.”

The look on his face shifted, as he scanned his men.

“Let us go, and you will have protection in Ravka from the King himself until we arrest Bo and bring him to justice,” Zoya prodded.

“I don’t need protection from your boy king,” Yuri growled. “Tell me, will your Saints be there to watch over you in the afterlife?”

The men charged, and all you knew was to defend Zoya from their blades. But there were too many of them. You were getting overwhelmed by the others as you try to subdue one. Men piled on top of one other trying to fight you, and there was a moment when you thought you wouldn’t get out.

It would be poetic, you thought, dying with your best friend, and your first love. Word would reach your brother of your failure, and he would do with it as he willed, but you would be here with Zoya, and you would be alone together.

Through the chaos, you spotted Yuri fleeing the scene. He really meant to kill you. You looked over to Zoya, seeing her struggling to fight three men at once. One of them, in her blind spot, with a gleaming sword in hand sliced her arm and she reacted with a painful yelp.

“Zoya!” You yelled. The added strength of seeing her in pain allowed you to stop two of the men’s hearts at once, something you’ve never done before, as they instantly dropped like flies to your feet.

You sensed an opening in the disorientation, and quickly grabbed Zoya to make a run for it. You hid in another small alley under ropes of aired out laundry for added concealment, as you attempted to catch your breath.

Zoya’s sleeve, once royal blue, was now stained with a dark red where the open wound was. It looked deep, and she was trying her best not to let the blood mark your whereabouts on the ground. She clutched it poorly in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but her face turned pale as she looked closer to fainting.

Quickly, you tore a piece at the end of your garment off to wrap it around her arm. “Keep pressure,” you said, but she turned away and refused to meet your eyes.

“I don’t need your pity, Y/L/N.”

“Pity?” You scoffed incredulously. “Zoya, you’re bleeding out!”

“Don’t pretend like you care about me now!” You knew it was her pride talking. Years of being the perfect soldier—alone—has hardened her, and having her plans fail so spectacularly. “I’ve survived worse. I took a bullet to the leg, an arrow to the shoulder. This is nothing.”

“Zoya, please let me just—“

“And you weren’t there!” You saw your own reflection in her glossy eyes, like a crosshair, like a wanted poster. You saw yourself in her disappointment.

“I left because—“ your voice was breaking, “I left because I couldn’t stand it anymore. My . . . family, never saw me as anything more than a bastard child! I felt like I didn’t have a family. I was on my own.”

Zoya laughed bitterly, sniffling her tears. From the wall she was slumping against, she took a step towards you, her eyes burned with contempt. “I was your family, Y/N, and you left without even saying goodbye.”

“I’m sorry.” Your eyes were wet. You balled your fists, your right hand fiddling with your ring. “I loved you.”

“There was a time where I would have said it back to you,” she said, her voice wavering, “but that time is long gone.”

With that, she left, no doubt to find her way back to the inn, but you didn’t bother trying to show your face for at least until that evening.

Nikolai heartily welcomed your return. He had worried for your safety when word got back about the tussle at the tavern.

"Well done, Y/N. I never doubted your abilities."

"Truly, it was Zoya that came up with the plan to catch Yul-Bayur," your voice trailed off, and you shrugged.

Sensing your discomfort, your brother came to your side by the table. "You talked, then?"

"If by 'talk' you mean we screamed in each other's faces, then yes," you sighed, your last verbal interaction fresh on your mind. “The only times I regret leaving with you are when I think about her.”

Your brother understood not to make his thoughts known, but to be your comfort when he pulled you into his chest.

The way Zoya handles her emotional baggage was never something she was proud of. Her confrontation with you in Shu Han had dug up a lot of things she wished she had forgotten about. She had promised herself to never let anyone in as much as she did you, and it scared her how easily still you got under her skin, even now.

So she figured the best way to deal with you was to pretend you never existed at all. The only times she would see you were at dinner and training anyway, but she never bat you an eye. She wanted you to know what it felt like to be left behind.

“Lady Y/N asked about you,” Genya told her, “asked how your arm is doing.”

“‘S fine.” Zoya answered courtly.

In the little time Genya Safin had the privilege of knowing Zoya, she knew the girl could be difficult to talk to. However, it never deterred her from trying.

“Why do you deprive yourself so? You know you still care about her.”

“It’s none of your business, Safin.”

“It is. It’s everyone’s business, Zoya, when you both have been lathering those longing, melancholic looks at each other all over our faces! You don’t think the other notices when you look at each other, but Saints it is so blatant that it makes me nauseous.”

Zoya didn’t reply, but opted to observe some younger Grisha mucking about during their breaks from training.

“And what about those letters? Why’d you keep them then? For decoration?”

“I—I don’t know.” She must have read every single one of your letters at least ten times, each time hanging onto every word. She would find herself smiling as some of the stories you tell her, but quickly catch herself slipping. There would be three to four letters every few months, then the numbers dwindled until she had to get used to not receiving any at all. Five months later, you returned.

“General,” a guard made himself known to the women. “His Majesty requests your presence in the council chamber.”

To her utmost dismay, you were there too, along with Tolya and Tamar. She let herself settle by the table, ignoring the burning gaze you were directing at her.

“You called for me, moi tsar?”

“Yes, I was hoping to get your input on how we shall proceed with Yuri Enkhbaatar, and subsequently Bo Yul-Bayar.” The King leaned on the edge of the table. “You were face-to-face with Enkhbaatar, what do you think?”

She let herself glance over at you for a split second, seeing you already looking at back at her with a crestfallen look. Straightening back up at the King, she answered, “We may need some time before we are able to get to Yul-Bayar. With him hiding out in Kerch, the only thing we may do is issue a bounty for him. Might I suggest our . . . friends in Ketterdam?”

By the time the meeting was over, Zoya used her best effort to leave the room as quick as possible, but, as if you had known she was going to, you caught her in the hallway.

“Zoya,” you said. There was a hesitant pause. “I was hoping to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she spoke calmly, almost too much so. You winced at her aloofness.

“Please, I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and that I thought about you every day when I was gone. You must believe me.” You clung onto her sleeve with a desperate look. Zoya almost faltered at the glossiness that been to form in your eyes, you looked so defeated.

“I still think about you,” you confessed quietly, “you are all I think about.”

Your confession hung in the air like a puff of smoke, one that she wished she could condensed into a ball and throw away. There were other things that should be said after, but if she said them, her beating heart was going to jump out of her mouth into her hands for you see. There was a time when she wouldn’t have been afraid to let you see. Parts of her wanted to return to it.

“Th-That’s it,” you mumbled quietly, but something shifted in your eyes. You avoided her eyes and visibly deflated.

Zoya watched you floated down the hallway like a ghost, regretting choosing silence.

That night you couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning in bed, you let your last conversation with Zoya played out in your head. You didn’t know what she was thinking, you used to be able to read her like a book. There were very little expressions on her face to indicate any emotion, and yet her heart was pounding in your ears like a scared prey.

One can wear as many faces as one needs, but the heart will always want what it wants.

You kicked off your covers, and quietly opened the main doors to your room. There was not a single sound in the hallway, the Castle had gone to sleep long before that. You had learned where everything was now located in your absence, and you stopped in front of a room right by the stairs leading down to the main atrium.

She opened the door, and didn’t bother to hiding the surprise on her face. “Y/N,” she called your name.

You gulped, and let yourself run your eyes across her features. Her face was bare, free of cosmetics, her hair was dark as the night and cascaded freely down her shoulders.

“I can’t sleep,” you said, smiling sadly.

There it was. You saw the walls cracking, and finally tumbling down. Her lips quivered as she stifled a small sob. She had been pretending so hard, and it all cane tumbling down.

Wordlessly, she pulled you into her room, her hands finding their ways to the nape of your neck. You let her cry against your forehead, as your fingers found the wound on her arm that has now closed.

“I’m so tired of pretending.” Zoya said.

“Then stop,” you shook your head lightly. “I’m never leaving again.”

You let her push you back towards her bed where you sat by the edge, as she slowly guided you onto your back, raven curtains divided her face from everything else. You let your hands roam free, all night, for a thousand nights.

#zoya nazyalensky x reader #zoya nazyalensky #zoya nazyalensky imagine #zoya nazyalensky shadow and bone #shadow and bone #zoya x reader #genya safin #nikolai lantsov

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