*Zélie/Roën-related spoilers.*
Quick note: Since this is from a book series with a film adaptation still forthcoming, there aren’t any official images of Roën. So have this fanart care of seaweedbrainfood on Tumblr.
I’ve never been an enormous shipper—when it comes to Peeta or Gale, I’m unapologetically Team Katniss—but over the last few years, I’ve found an increasing number of ships that really garner my loyalty. Excellent writing and/or acting have gotten me invested in everyone from Leslie & Ben (Parks and Rec) to Kaz & Inej (Six of Crows) to Stede & Blackbeard (Our Flag Means Death.) Zélie and Roën, though, might be the first time that I’ve had such a definite allegiance in a love triangle, and it’s the one that I’m almost positive won’t be end game.
Yes, Children of Blood and Bone sets up this love/hate thing with Zélie and Inan. It’s all very Reylo, as it starts with him tirelessly pursuing her to capture or kill her, there are psychic meet-ups involved, and these two can’t fully quit each other even as they’re frequently on different sides in the war between the nobles and the maji. There’s lots of angst, lots of confusion and self-loathing on Inan’s part, and lots of betrayal and heartache.
But late in the book, we’re introduced to Roën, a pirate/mercenary that Zélie and Amari hire to assist them in their mission. Roën is immediately revealed to be hard and cynical but charming, and he flirts with Zélie between reminding the girls that he doesn’t really care about their quest to bring magic back to Orïsha, he’s just there to get paid.
Naturally, in Children of Virtue and Vengeance, things get deeper than that. The ritual works, but not the way Zélie and Amari were expecting. The maji have their magic back now, but magic has also been awakened in a number of nobles, creating a new class called tîtáns. Things have gotten a lot more complicated, and Amari doesn’t have the resources to keep paying Roën. But surprise, surprise, for all his posturing, he doesn’t really want to leave.
I love the dynamic between these two, by turns exasperating, playful, and honest. When Zélie and Roën argue, it’s not about whether she has the right to exist as a maji, or the pros and cons of trying to find a compromise with the oppressive, genocidal aristocracy. Rather, it’s about tactics in the fight. It’s about Zélie throwing herself into danger without thinking it through. It’s about whether Roën actually believes in anything or if he’s just in it for the payday (shades of Han Solo, but Roën feels like his own character.) It’s about Zélie’s fears and self-doubts, worrying that she can’t be the elder her people need. It’s about the scars they’ve kept from each other.
These types of conflict lead to growth, for the characters as well as their relationship. Roën isn’t from Orïsha and doesn’t have skin in this war for his own sake, but he believes in Zélie and fights for her. Zélie, after initially shutting herself off from Roën and only seeing him as a ruthless opportunist, realizes there’s much more to the mercenary than she expected. They encourage each other in low moments and see each other’s damage without thinking that’s all that they are.
Best moment for me: throughout the books, Roën calls Zélie “zïtsōl,” a word in his native language that he refuses to seriously translate for her. Every time she asks, he gives her a different answer, usually one teasing her about different traits of hers. It’s not until the two are in dire straits, when Roën is on the brink of death, that Zélie learns the real meaning from his half-conscious mumbling. Zïtsōl, she realizes, means “home.” I mean, come on! How am I supposed to not adore this ship?
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