Introducing Zoya Nazyalensky

[zheji]

This damnable gown is too heavy, Zoya thought as she hurried through the corridor. Winter keftas had bulk to them. Keftas worn to battle with corecloth were even heavier. But all of it was in the service of movement. This was just weight and bulky skirts. It was a gown of her own Grisha colors, a dark blue gown detailed with silver embroidery in the shape of dragon scales. On her arms, peeking out underneath her sleeves, were the true dragon scales molded into the shape of bracers. But perhaps the heaviest of all was her crown. It was titanium, scraps from their recent battle, set with sapphires and formed in a shape of dragon's wings.

She was the Dragon Queen...and she was going to be late.

They had just buried the Darkling. Sealed him away to protect the world from the threat of the Fold. He could have stayed there and rotted for all she cared except... Except she had felt his pain. She had felt the agony he would endure if he continued to remain there and worst still, she had dreamed of what she would become if she let him. She would become him. She would become worse than him. And so she had gathered the only other people who really had a right to help her make this decision.

She turned the corner into what should have been the entrance into Nikolai's chambers - her chambers, damn it - and came to an abrupt halt. She had been walking these halls for months. Ever since the demon within Nikolai had decided to start reappearing, she had made the journey to bring Nikolai the drug that would try (and had failed) to keep the demon under control.

And this hallway was not the one she was supposed to walk into.

She was on the alert instantly. Saints, what fresh hell had she walked into? Saints. She glanced around uneasily. Was this some new Saint come to give her another lesson? Or perhaps another that was trying to kill her.

Whatever it was, she was prepared to meet it. The skirt of her gown started blowing in a breeze that shouldn't have been anywhere indoors and she started walking.

"Come out," she called when she sensed someone approaching.

Comments

[summerdude]

"You know, a 'please' wouldn't hurt," Magnus calls over his shoulder, distractedly. He doesn't rise from where he's kneeling on the floor, working a splinter out of his griffin's hind paw. If the newcomer approaches, she'll hear him telling Drosera, "See, this is why we don't kill Sunny's toys," as she squawks her protest.

[zheji]

"I don't say please," Zoya returned, advancing on the sound of the voice. A boy, she realized, no older than many of the students she taught. A boy and a...thing. It had wings, but it was neither bird nor volcra. It looked almost like someone had Tailored wings to a large cat.

"Explain," she snapped. "Where am I?"

She would deal with the 'how do I get home' once she had figured out where she was.

[temnota]

Aleksander had just come inside after a morning of putting Zhenya through his paces and making sure that all was well with him. So it was with him sweaty and smelling strongly of horse that he rounded the corner and caught sight of Zoya. He stared, frozen in shock. She was older then he remembered and with that beautiful ornate gown and crown... this was Zoya from his future, Zoya the Queen of Ravka.

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He swallowed a few times but still the words would not come. His heart hammering in his ears, he very slowly knelt before her and inclined his head. "Moya tsaritsa," he said, finding his voice at last.

[zheji]

Zoya paled every so slightly when she saw the Darkling enter the hallway. There was something...not right about him and it took her a long moment, him still kneeling, to understand what it was. He looked less than perfect. In every memory she had, even in the ones where he was not quite himself, he had always looked perfectly composed. As if he were a statue brought to life. Only his expressions changed. Pleasure. Anger. Rage. Even the scars hadn't dimmed--

The scars. The Darkling had acquired scars during the fold. Dark, like the fingers that Nikolai no longer cared to hide. There was a scar, but only the one and it was lighter. Faded.

The wind picked up speed a little as she watched him. She couldn't say that some corner of her soul didn't feel powerful on seeing him kneel. Mostly she felt annoyed. Annoyed because she knew this had to be pretense of some kind. Annoyed because she didn't understand how he was here. Annoyed because it was the better emotion than fear.

Was this another dream? Had she somehow gotten sucked into his thoughts? Or worse, had a part of her mind gone searching for him? And if that was the case, there was only one question she could think to ask.

"Why, for Saints' sake, do you smell like horse?"

[lightbearinglord]

Lan Wangji, walking with as much unhurried purpose as ever on his way inside from the morning's training with Galahad, stops. That is an unfamiliar voice, with an unfamiliar air of authority. Perhaps they are overdue for a new arrival.

He rounds the corner, tall and blank-faced and dressed in multiple layers of clean white robes, belted at the waist beneath the heaviest robe, which is patterned with sky-blue cloud embroidery and possessed of trailing, voluminous sleeves. His ink-black hair, half twisted into a perfect topknot, reaches nearly to his waist, and he has both a longsword strapped to his hip and a qin, wrapped in further layers of white, strapped to his back. He pauses, taking in her appearance without the slightest hint of a facial expression. Some respectful deference seems prudent. He puts his hands together and sinks into a polite bow of greeting, otherwise silent.

[zheji]

Zoya paused when the man turned the corner. Shu, judging by his facial features. But that outfit. He was dressed nothing like the Shu guards. A spy? But the point of a spy was to blend in. He was making himself abundantly obvious.

"This hallway is out of limits," she said, keeping a tight leash on her powers and a close eye on his hands. If he so much as twitched in the direction of his sword, he'd find himself crushed against the ceiling. "Go back the way I came and out to the front of the chapel with the rest of the guests."

Except she was mostly sure that he wasn't a guest.

[ravkanwitch]

Nina's routine has been relatively calm lately. Quiet. Peaceful, as the hot summer weather turns to cooler evenings. She's been spending time with friends, bothering people while they're cooking, training with Sagramore, and otherwise finding ways to keep herself occupied. At the back of her mind are glimpses and moments of the odd future she saw when she was her older self — but she's pushed them to the side. They aren't going to happen. The relative calm is why she is almost unsurprised to turn a corner and see Zoya Nazyalensky standing in front of her.

"Zoya?," disbelieving. The last time she saw her, they had said their goodbyes in the Little Palace before her undercover mission in Fjerda. That was nearly a year and a half ago for her. Something pings in her mind about the gown that Zoya is wearing, but she can't see it clearly because there are suddenly tears building up in her eyes, and she isn't sure if she wants to laugh through them or let them loose. She dashes some of them away with the heel of one hand. "Is it really you?"

[zheji]

Zoya knew that voice. The wind faltered as she was confronted by a very familiar and, by the same token, a very confusing face. Nina Zenik. But this was not the Nina Zenik she'd seen mere hours before, glowing and in the arms of her prince. Because that Nina had been Tailored to look like someone else. To look like a Fjerdan fisherman's wife. But this Nina, this Nina looked exactly like Zoya had always pictured her when her name came up in spy reports from Fjerda and she had cause to worry.

"Nina?" No. Impossible. She had left with that same prince. And she wouldn't have asked Genya to Tailor her back into herself. Not when Jarl Brum was still in the country. Not when there were other people who could recognize Nina Zenik and have cause to go after her. And yet.

She shook her head. A trick. It had to be.

The wind picked up pace again.

"Explain yourself," she demanded.

[sagramore]

Sagramore is assisting with today's non-perishable foods run, so his day pack is full of boxed pasta, and Szarka is dancing at his heels, delighted to be on the move again. Zoya's voice brings both of them to a halt.

Immediately he sweeps into a bow -- she must be a bow person. "My lady," he says, and to Szarka, "Sit."

He's a man of forty, tall, wiry, with graying hair and a neat beard, and a year-old, blue-eyed border collie at his feet.

[zheji]

At first glance, he appeared to be a servant. Trousers, shirt, a pack. But on closer inspection, there were things that were wrong. The trousers weren't in a material she recognized. And there was no reason a dog should be inside.

"Your Highness or Your Majesty," she corrected sharply, not letting go of the winds. There was something wrong here and she was going to get to the bottom of it. Her eyes flickered to the unfamiliar hallway behind him. She wasn't going to be able to call out for Genya or Nikolai. She was on her own.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "Explain yourself."

[sporesprouter]

That's actually a new voice! It's been a while! Tress comes around the corner with a little smile, her unruly light brown hair mostly tamed into a braid. She takes in Zoya's ornate ensemble. "Oh, hello. I'm going to guess you're new and therefore probably pretty confused."

[zheji]

"I am not lost," Zoya said bluntly. "This is my palace." Except it no longer looked like her palace. It could have been any hallway in any number of great houses. Not a house such as the one she'd grown up in, but certainly not the Grand Palace or even the Little Palace. She might not know every hallway within their walls, but know one, and you would recognize the others.

But, if she had to bluff to get more information than simply 'you're new', then so be it. Because that explained nothing. New to what? And if she wasn't in the palace, where was she?

[socialjusticedragon]

Temeraire has finally emerged from the sulk he’s been in since suddenly finding himself much smaller a month ago. The one good thing is that he can now fit inside the house much easier, and so he is stalking inside in search of some more tea for his stores. He is, however, still somewhat peeved at his stature: now the size of a reasonably large lion, down from too tall to fit through a door.

“It is very rude to order about someone you have not even met,” he replies, with a mildly annoyed shake of his wings from down the hall. “Perhaps you should come out, as I have been here the whole time.”

[zheji]

For a brief flash, it was like he was next to her. She could hear the shake and could all but picture the wings that had made the sound. And still she was surprised as she turned the corner and saw a dragon. A very small dragon. Her eyes flicked silver and her pupils slitted as the dragon within her gave a wordless statement of surprise. As far as they were both aware, there were no more dragons. At least none such as this.

"How are you here?" she demanded, ignoring the chastisement about her manners. She had those rarely and only for extreme circumstances. And usually only at the prodding of Nikolai.

[tallyyoungblood]

Tally's on her way back to her room when she hears the unfamiliar voice. "Oh, hi," she says, startled by the newcomer. She's ugly, and dressed in total Rusty princess cosplay, complete with the kind of crown that even a hole in the wall couldn't really replicate for a costume bash. Maybe she actually is a Rusty princess, Tally reminds herself. "I'm Tally. Are you new here, or am I being totally missing?"

[zheji]

The words were familiar, even if the way they were put together were not. Nor was the tattoo splashed across the young woman's face. She could explain away the first. Slang. As for the second, she'd seen tattoos on a face before, of course. She'd never seen them move.

"As far as I'm concerned," she said, not letting up on the wind, "the new one here is you. What are you doing here?" And where were they? Because this was not her palace. She might not know all of the rooms and hidden corners, but she knew enough to know that this was not one of them.

[vineleaves]

Dionysus is on his way back inside from visiting his garden. It's starting to get cooler out, so he has put a green knitted cardigan over his purple chiton. As always, he has a crown of vine leaves in his now-nearly-shoulder length, curly brown hair. He spots the newcomer and smiles. "Hello, dear, I don't believe we've met yet. I am Dionysus, god of Drama, are you brand new or have I just had the unfortunate luck of going several days without meeting you yet?"

[zheji]

God. Well. Why not? It'd only been a week or so since she'd met saints. She had to fight the urge to throw her hands up in frustration. "If you're asking if I want a brandy," she said, since brand in the context he'd used had no meaning for her, "the answer is very possibly yes. Are you the one who brought me here?"

Anyone who claimed to be a god must have some kind of power to back that statement up, mustn't they? Or was she simply dealing with a charlatan?

She glanced around at the unfamiliar hallway. Some trick if he was.

[papadopoulos]

“Most people start with a ‘please’ in a new place,” Apollo notes, walking towards her for a better look. He looks the very picture of someone who could be a Sun summoner, long blond hair in a messy bun atop his head, all freckled and sun kissed. It is also important to note that he is glowing slightly. However, he is not in any kind of kefta—in fact it’s an almost indecently short pair of jean shorts and a pink camouflage tank top. He hesitates a moment, feeling some kind of power that’s hard to gauge at present, but he gives her a cautious nod.

“Welcome, I guess. If you can call it that.”

[zheji]

"Then I'm glad I'm not 'most people'," Zoya said. The look she gave him wasn't a woman assessing a man. It was a soldier assessing a threat. She kept the wind ready, not trusting the fact that he was glowing. She knew all of the Sun Soldiers that had been created when Zoya had released her power and he was not one of them. Perhaps someone who hadn't been one of their soldiers, but she couldn't classify that outfit to any country that she knew of.

"Welcome to what? Because I wasn't aware that I was in a new place."

Even if she couldn't deny that the hallway was not the one she'd just been in.

[wickedwit]

Claudius no longer approaches newcomers with the same politician's zeal he had when sounding out supporters for a potential campaign -- now (he tells himself) he's living the leisurely life of a kept husband. He can be a good host, but he's hardly the only one, and sometimes it's easier to catch up once someone's settled in. But he's curious. Of course he's curious. Gossip's grown stale, and nothing livens it up like a new face.

At Zoya's word, he sidles over to her, looking like a well-to-do socialite at an end-of-summer cocktail party with his highball glass and his pleated dress. "I don't believe we've been introduced," he says, as idly as one would at such a gathering. "My name is Claudius. Welcome," he gestures to the halls behind him, "to our little mansion between worlds."

[zheji]

"Zoya," she responded warily. "What do you mean 'mansion between worlds'?" Her mind went back to the Shadow Fold. But they'd figured that out. And the Darkling was currently rotting in eternal agony to keep it from taking over the world. Assuming he hadn't managed to create two tears in the world, she had no idea what this might be or how she'd gotten here.

And unlike her brief time in the Fold, there didn't seem to be any explanations forthcoming. Or were there?

"How did I get here?"

[lostandforsaken]

"Simply passing through," Asmodean says somewhat wryly as he rounds the corner, harp case strapped to his back. He pauses as he takes her in. "Although I believe you are rather newly arrived, so I very much doubt you would know that."

[zheji]

"Newly arrived? I'm in the palace." She looked around a little more carefully. "Was in the palace. Where am I?" She eyed him warily. He did look harmless enough. Some traveling musician, maybe. But then, most people she'd met that were strong looked deceptively harmless. Not all, but most.

[onthewillowsthere]

She'll have been here for around a week before she encounters Galahad.

He knows about her -- Claudius knows about her, so Galahad knows about her: the way she dresses and carries herself, her eyes that sometimes turn silver, her fierce determination to go home. It doesn't help him now, because he only knows that he hasn't met her before; her face is unfamiliar, but many faces are unfamiliar to him.

He's a slight man, about to turn twenty-three, with wild hair the color of ash and intent blue eyes. It's finally beginning to feel like fall, so he has a dragonfly-embroidered cardigan over his pink gingham sundress, and a sword belted around his hip. His messenger bag is slung over his shoulder with his sketchbook, notebook, and flower press inside, not to mention plenty of spare collection jars for interesting insects.

He bows politely when he passes her in the garden. "Hello."

[zheji]

Her eyes were currently the color of his. She had been exceptionally impatient the first few days here because she'd wanted to go home. Having Nina here helped, but then there was the Darkling. She could still remember the poison she'd spewed at him. And she'd meant it. Meant all of it.

The garden helped. It wasn't hers and she didn't feel comfortable tending to the plants, but she kept an eye out. Looking for anything she could prune or a plant that wouldn't be missed. Back home, she'd had a garden for everyone she'd lost. All the people important to her, at least. The longer she didn't find any easy answers, the more she felt compelled to continue the tradition in this new...world.

She had to find a private place, though. One with enough sun and out of the way enough of the more common areas that she could be alone. Although with the weather as cool as it was, it was unlikely that things would grow.

She regarded the new arrival with interest and stood, brushing her kefta to get rid of the dirt.

"We haven't met, yet." She knew this because she'd memorized all the faces of the people she'd met. Some, of course, she already knew, but among the list of people here were Grisha and gods, dragons and children. And this man was not on that list.

"Zoya Nazyalensky."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan knows of the newcomer's arrival within hours of its occurrence, but gives her several days to become acclimated before approaching her - there's a note on the welcome table about her role, with clear instructions for how to reach her if anything is needed, but first arrivals are always overwhelmed and she shouldn't want to compound that by forcing her services upon them.

She's just come in from shooting with the bow the mansion gave her for her birthday, and her shoulders are aching pleasantly with the heavier draw weight, when she spots the new arrival in the hall outside her parlor. "Ah! Good," she says, extending her hand for a shake. "I've been meaning to introduce myself. Susan Pevensie. I'm the self-appointed seneschal of this manor. I trust you've been settling in smoothly?"

In stockinged feet Susan would be an inch or two shorter than the newcomer, but that shan't be apparent with the heeled boots she's wearing. Also not apparent is the sheer length and volume of her black hair - while it falls to her thighs, it's presently braided sensibly up and pinned neatly in a crown around her head. Though she no longer wears black every single day, her dress - which is thin enough for the heat of mid-day, but with sleeves that can withstand the chill of the early-autumn mornings - is still a dark gray. It is also tremendously flattering on Susan's figure, and the straining neckline leaves little to the imagination. Her quiver is belted around her waist; her bow is slung over her shoulder. She carries herself like a woman much older than her twenty-four years.

[zheji]

The first couple of days, Zoya had taken to wearing whatever she could find. It was haphazard and uncomfortable. Quickly enough, however, she started finding typical clothes she might have worn in the Little Palace. The Grand Palace before she'd been queen. A dark blue kefta with silver trim. The Squaller colors, even if she was theoretically more than that now. She'd found the two kinds, wool and silk, and she was wearing the silk at the moment. Visible underneath the hemline were a pair of black breeches and a pair of calf-high hide boots.

She hadn't meant to end up in front of Susan's parlor. She'd simply been exploring. Trying to find some kind of end. Or at least landmarks she could use to navigate by. She hadn't decided yet whether she'd simply found too many rooms to make sense of them or whether they were actively moving around on her. Much more of this and she was going to have to start making a map. At least that would answer the question once and for all.

"Zoya Nazyalensky," she answered, taking the woman's hand and giving it a firm shake.

"Seneschal," she repeated, frowning a little. "I don't know that word."

It might have explained why she hadn't sought out Susan now. Or that could have just been attributed to her independent nature.