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Chapter Text

The sun was rising in pink and orange streaks of cloud far away to the east as Ikaiya carefully swept the front gate of her family’s once-grand home. The characters for Fe Yui gleamed above the gate in the early light, their paint long peeled away. Leaning on her broom for a moment, she watched the clouds slowly change color from palest rose to flaming red. The old women always said that a fiery sky in the morning meant a warning for the day, bad luck, an ill omen. I’ll be sure to be extra careful today, she thought. 

Not that they needed any more bad luck in the village. At least the latest rumors of uproar from the new capital, Republic City were interesting enough to keep everyone chattering about them: the Earth Kingdom was still sore from its land being taken to build the Avatar’s— well, the Avatar’s and the Fire Lord’s— grand idea of a harmonious world where all nations might gather. Of course there would be trouble, all the old women in the market said: how could you expect peace and prosperity in such a situation? Ikaiya hadn’t been in a schoolroom in years, but even she knew enough about the world to understand that stealing from one country to build another did not make for a good start to friendship. How could you cut down a neighbor’s tree to build a table, then invite that neighbor to eat at it? A complete slap in the face. Everyone knew that, so why couldn’t the Avatar, of all people, understand it?

Probably because he was frozen in ice before the war even started. Living a thing is one thing, and hearing about it is another. She wiped her forehead and kept sweeping dirt away from the pavement stones. Here in Ikana Village, which had long ago been part of the Earth Kingdom before the Fire Nation had come and set up outposts and garrisons and schools, they all knew very well the simple truth that the Earth Kingdom was sick of having its land used as bargaining tiles on the game tables of diplomacy, especially after having their boundaries chipped away by the Fire Nation for a hundred years.

She could still remember reciting the Fire Nation Oath at the village school under the hawklike eyes of Mrs. Su and the ever-present portrait of Fire Lord Ozai in the back of the class. Sometimes, it had felt like he was alive and that his eyes were burning holes into her head, especially when she was misbehaving. They had said he could hear the thoughts of bad students. My life I give to my country. Badger’s bones, but she had hated school. White marble walls, red-tiled roofs, ugly and pointed all over like a spinefish: it had been built on the foundations of a grand old Earth Kingdom home with a low gold-painted roof, gracefully curved like a turtle’s shell, and green marble pillars, Mother said, but that had been long before Ikaiya had been born… 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a man coming up to their small gate. “Good morning,” she said to him, setting the broom aside and wiping her hands on her clothes. He looked dusty, as if he had been walking for miles, and raised a hand politely when he saw her. Once he reached the step, she saw the Fire Nation symbol on the badge at his shoulder, and swallowed. What could a man like this be doing here? But he was rummaging in his bag. “Would you like some water? You’ve come a long way.”

“No, thank you, miss,” he answered, looking up and handing her a scroll. “I carry a proclamation from the Royal Palace of the Fire Nation. Take note of the dates, if you please. Are there many, um—” He looked uncomfortable for a moment and checked another scroll he had on his belt. “How many families here in this village have young unmarried women in their households?”

A proclamation from the Royal Palace? The ridiculous thought that Lord Ozai had returned to the throne, had heard her unseemly thoughts about him as she swept the pavement, and had summoned her to be punished filled her mind, and Ikaiya found her voice after a moment. Don't be  stupid. Answer the man. “Only one other than mine, and that’s the Rin family down the road. They have a green gate, you can't miss it. The rest of the households have sons or very little girls. It’s not... really a very big village.”

The messenger blinked. “I see. Ah. Well.” He awkwardly bowed and walked off down the road, and Ikaiya was left looking at a scroll in her dusty hands that she unrolled with careful fingers and read. 

“Mother!” she shouted as her eyes scanned the characters, her voice breaking in shock. “Mother, come quick!”

“I really don’t think this is a well thought-out plan,” said the Fire Lord, staring at a massive map of the Four Nations on the floor of his throne room. 

“Why not?” asked the yellow-robed man sitting placidly at his immediate right on the woven-reed mat. At twenty-five, Avatar Aang still possessed a twinkle of childish glee in those gray eyes. “We shake up some established conventions to get the world into the modern age and finally get you a girlfriend. Everyone wins.”

“You know, you’re lucky that you’re the only one in here,” said Zuko coolly, one fist clenching somewhere in his robes. “You and all my advisors act like I’m a sixty year old bachelor.”

Aang scoffed. “You’re almost thirty. That’s ancient. And your one advisor— what’s his name, the guy with the beard—”

“—Zhang—”

“Yes, him, he has a point about the Fire Nation needing a stable future in the way of having a line of succession set up—”

A chill spread down Zuko’s spine. “I wish you’d all stop talking about it,” he said through his teeth. “It’s not like I’m going to die in a week.”

Aang must have seen something in his face, because he backed off. “Okay. But, you know, a royal wedding would be fun. Bring up morale. Get Republic City focused on something else beyond crime rates.”

Fun. Zuko could not remember a time he’d ever even attended a royal wedding, or a royal function of any kind that could remotely be described as “fun”. Most Fire Nation events were incredibly boring, steeped in tradition he didn’t care that much about, and dragged on for hours and hours. “A royal wedding to a—a woman who won’t even know me, who I won’t know at all—”

“That’s the point of sending the summons! It’s completely optional. You’re not demanding people show up. Whoever wants to can come. Everyone knows ahead of time what they’re signing up for.” Aang sighed. “You’ve been saying for years you can’t settle down yet because there’s more work to be done, but Zuko… we have a United Republic, we have stability— mostly— and we can get started with our lives now. Come on. And part of the work is, you know. Securing the succession.”

“I mean, it is a step up from how my father picked out my mother,” Zuko mumbled. “Fine. How are things in Republic City?”

Aang shrugged. “Same old. Some reports. Bending gangs. I’ll handle it. You just focus on this.”

“No, you have too much on your plate. Katara’s going to have that baby soon. Surely I can send some backup for you.” Zuko pointed to the map. “I have a whole battalion waiting in the—”

“People are still afraid of the Fire Nation,” Aang said gently. “It’s gonna take some time. And besides, Sokka is a pretty good leader. People like him. He’s working with Toph to handle all that.”

Zuko reflected for a moment. Aang and Katara, expecting a second child, and he wasn’t blind: he’d seen how Sokka looked at Toph during the council meetings he attended in Republic City. Maybe it really is time for me to just… settle down, he thought, and tried to ignore the stab of resentment and fear that surged through him. He’d talk to Iroh about it. That always made him feel better. “All right,” he said, giving up. “But I don't like the idea of me getting stuck with someone I don't know anything about. I want to make a couple of changes.”

“You change whatever you want to,” said Aang, launching himself onto his feet in a whirl of air, his yellow robes flapping. “I have to get back to the city. You have fun planning. And remember to relax!”

“I am relaxed!” Zuko called as Aang zipped out of the room on an airball, then forced himself to unclench his jaw and his fists and let his head hang for a second. “I’m not relaxed,” he mumbled, and headed back down the massive hall toward his small council. 

“This, this is— this is unheard of,” said Mother, shocked as she read and re-read the scroll. Natsumi Fe Yui was tall like her daughter, with once-dark hair gone to mostly shades of silver, and her work-roughened hands traced the letters over and over. “Absolutely unheard of. Is it real?”

“I know!” Ikaiya flopped down on the couch and sat back up. “And it is real, I checked the seal. Just imagine the crowds, Mother. Hundreds of women, probably, all showing up in their best to be chosen as the next Fire Lady, from every nation, not just the Fire Nation? And they want commoners, too?”

Natsumi read it again aloud. “By order and proclamation of the Fire Nation, with endorsement from Republic City and the sanctions of the Avatar. All marriageable young women of any class who wish to put their names forward will come and present themselves at the Fire Nation Royal Palace by the sixteenth day of summer, where the Fire Lord, at his will and by his own judgment, will choose a bride. Mmm. It is an auspicious date, but…”

“Isn’t the Fire Nation Capital inside a volcano?” Ikaiya lay back down. “What if it explodes?” She imagined a sudden, fiery inferno with noblewomen in silks shrieking everywhere as they ran, and winced.

“It’s an extinct volcano,” said her mother patiently, “and it’s a very beautiful place. I went there myself long ago in the days of Ozai to be presented at court, just like all the girls from the noble families in the Colonies. Oh, we were made fun of by the national girls, but wasn’t it fun! Festivals and fireworks, and the food… and the clothes, too. And of course, I met your father there.”

Ikaiya smiled. “I guess you’re going to tell me I have to go and see more of the world anyway, so I might as well do it now.”

“Well,” Mother said, shifting her weight and looking at her, “we don’t have what we used to have, that’s a fact, Iki, and ever since your father died we’ve been barely holding on.”

“Haven’t I been helpful, Mother?” Ikaiya asked, sitting up very straight and feeling slightly ashamed. “I know you never got a marriage arranged for me, but I tried.” She looked around their living space: the mats on the floor were old and worn, but clean. The rest of the house had been closed off with sliding doors as the household had dwindled down over time to just the two of them, so now they had the kitchen, and this single space for sitting and eating and sleeping, and that was all, apart from the vegetable and herb garden outside.

“You have. I couldn’t ask for a better gardener, or accountant, or housemaid all in one, and I’m sure I learned enough myself to be eight different people: cook, maid, bookkeeper, market-lady, and handy-man on top. And you brought in decent income with the midwifery, too. But Iki…” and Natsumi sighed and looked at her daughter. “You are so like me, you know. I looked just like you when I went to the Capital.” She tucked a strand of dark hair behind Ikaiya’s ear. “Except the eyes, of course. You got those from your father.”

Ikaiya knew what she meant. Dad had possessed the tawny, almost golden eyes of someone from the Fire Nation, but pale, without the chi that gave bending, and Mother had warm brown eyes, just verging on green in the right light, like a forest. Earth Kingdom, but not a bender. She had never wanted to be a bender. Too much responsibility, everyone said. Mother was right, though, or at least what she was hinting at was: Ikaiya should go to the Capital, and when the Fire Lord chose a woman from a high and noble house as Fire Lords always did, at one of the accompanying parties or festivals that would undoubtedly be held over the next weeks, she could, perhaps, meet a nice unmarried nobleman who needed a wife, and bring her mother out of their current state of affairs. She was almost twenty-six, after all, and still not married. Mother gave up so much of her life for me. The staff we used to have, all the pretty things her grandmother gave her… I should do something with my life for her now.

“It’s a shame all my old formal dresses got sold,” Ikaiya said quietly, smiling. “I want to look nice when I go to the Capital.”

Mother’s face lit up. “Oh, Ikiaya, you are such a good daughter,” she said, and kissed her cheek. “No, I have a surprise for you. Wait here!” She hurried off to the carved wooden chest against the wall that held her clothes and came back with a paper-wrapped parcel, unfolding it reverently. “It’s the gown I wore when I was presented,” she whispered, and Ikaiya’s mouth fell open in shock and wonder: a beautiful dark green silk robe, a brown, high-collared gown with long sleeves, and a pale golden sash to match the sparse embroidery on the brown collar and the edges of the green silk. “I saved it. It’s the only pretty thing I still own.”

“I can’t wear that, it’s yours,” Ikaiya stammered. 

“Nonsense. It helped me get your father.” Mother was smiling, but there were tears in her eyes. “Now you just put it on and let’s see how it fits you. And we need to find out what’s fashionable in the Capital, so we can do your hair. Oh, Iki, won’t you have a fun time! You must promise me you’ll try some of the spicy noodles they have in the city on festival days and tell me how they were. I’ll get down to the village and see about arranging transport for you. We have some money left from the last ostrich-horse sale. Oh, what an opportunity!”

Zuko stared at himself in the golden-edged mirror in his bathroom. Don’t be sick, don’t be sick, he thought, wildly wishing, not for the first time and not for the last, that there was some way to heal the thick, ridged scarring that disfigured the left side of his face from eye to cheek to scalp in pink and scarlet ripples. He looked away, shaking. As he usually did to stop himself from flying into despair or a rage, he silently recited the mantra he had made for himself.

It will never heal. I am lucky. I still have my sight in that eye. I am a warrior. I am a firebender. I am Fire Lord. I have honor and integrity, and I can and will live with this scar to the end of my days. 

It helped somewhat. Zuko exhaled slowly and looked at himself in the mirror again. He wasn’t… terrible-looking, he guessed, apart from that scar. The other half of his face was fine. He wondered if his future wife liked clean-shaven men, or men with beards. He hadn’t tried to grow a beard since his first real attempt at age seventeen had ended in an embarrassing patchy mess on his chin, and he’d hated how it had made him look like his father. His hair had grown long, almost to his mid-back, and he preferred to have the top half held back out of his eyes with a ring or a leather strip, or up in a topknot. Would his wife, whoever she was, like long hair? Short? Would she insist he cut it? Make him grow a beard? 

“I don’t even know what I’d do with a wife,” he whispered to his reflection, drumming his fingers on the counter. Whatever you did with Mai, only more and forever, said his subconscious unhelpfully, and he shut his eyes at the thought of Mai. Uncle Iroh’s words, gentle and rough, came floating back to him. The problem with Mai is that she does not know what she wants. That would not be a desirable quality in the wife of a Fire Lord. 

He’d been right, of course. He always had been. Zuko had liked Mai, and Mai had liked Zuko, but their relationship had just been too rocky, always push and pull like the tides, ending in fights and shouting and coming back together again, her distant uninterest in almost everything combined with his temper— it wasn’t stable, it wasn’t a good match. There were qualities you could have in a girlfriend that you just could not have as a co-head of a nation, especially not under a new system where people needed stability. Especially not after what her father had done: betraying Zuko’s leadership during the Kemurikage affair… the New Ozai Society. He needed public opinion on his side, not against it, and he could not imagine a situation where wedding the daughter of an imprisoned traitor who had remained loyal to Ozai would make him very popular, especially after he had worked so hard to distance himself from his family’s legacy of hatred, of colonialism...

What am I going to do with a wife?

Their relationship had never really extended to any activity that could possibly have resulted in children. They’d gotten to, as they said, the third grid of Pai Sho, but never any further, and Mai hadn’t demanded anything else from him: her disinterest was welcome in that regard. Maybe I was the problem there, he thought, rubbing his temples. The nascent beginnings of a headache were throbbing somewhere in his skull.

Meanwhile, his advisers in the small council seemed bent on heavily hinting that he should choose a high-ranked Fire Nation noblewoman from a good family. After all, the Fire Sages had informed him, if he wished to carry on the honor of firebending to his progeny, the best consort would be a Fire Nation woman, or at the very least, a woman who had firebending in her bloodline. The libraries contained reams of parchment going back centuries, genealogies of every noble family in the Fire Nation. Interior Minister Choi had delicately pointed out that it was a good public-facing decision to gather so many young noblewomen together, yet still choose a pre-decided young woman from the group. He would thereby gain a good match and stir the imagination and excitement of the people of the world— in no time before had a Fire Lord invited people of every nation to the Capital for such a purpose. People were curious, and when their daughters and nieces and sisters and friends returned home to describe the grandeur of the Capital, he would garner favorable public opinion. Which, again, he sorely needed in the wake of the rising violence and unrest in Republic City, of course, but when a messenger had slid portraits of ten or twelve young Fire Nation noblewomen across his office desk for him to choose from, each accompanied by a list of their birth years, temperaments, accomplishments, and bloodlines, his throat had seized up and his hands had accidentally scorched the parchment. That was why he was in the bathroom, and not sitting at his desk at the moment. 

They all look so much like…

He put the terrible thought from his mind. Iroh. He’d go see Iroh. Tea and straightforward advice from his uncle seemed to clear his head most of the time. Zuko straightened up, fixed his robes, and left.

Chapter Text

On the sixteenth day of summer, Ikaiya held her head high and marched through the streets of the Fire Nation Capital, feeling horribly out of place in her mother’s robe. The further she got into the Royal Plaza, the more it became clear she was wearing unfashionable, out of date clothing, and even worse, her hair wasn’t done right— the village stylist she and her mother had gone to on the day of departure definitely hadn’t had any new fashion information since the war. Half of her dark hair was just pulled up into a braided topknot and the rest had been left to flow down her back, a yellow ribbon holding the lower part of her hair together between her shoulder blades. Apparently it had been all the rage in Gao Ling and on Kyoshi Island. Twenty years ago. 

Even the memory of the geomancer Mother had consulted wasn’t enough to buoy her spirits. The old man had tossed a few turtle shells into a fire, read the cracks, and somberly proclaimed that Ikaiya would not find a husband of the sort Mother wanted at all. Not wanting to hear that, Natsumi had promptly paid him and hustled Ikaiya off to another fortune-teller, the only woman in the village left who knew the art of reading faces. She had poked at Ikaiya’s ears and lifted her chin from side to side, and eventually said with a rather grim expression that Ikaiya would only bear one child, would not wed a man of middle social standing, and had a rather inauspicious forehead. “But she will be well looked after in old age!” she had hastened to add, at the look on Mother’s face. Ikaiya had been looking forward to possibly riding with Jiang Rin, the only other girl her age in Ikana, but Jiang had fallen ill with a head cold at the last second, so she had ended up coming here all by herself, hoping she wouldn’t get lost.

No chance of losing where she was supposed to be now, though. There was a stream of women heading into the gates of the palace, and Ikaiya forgot her preoccupations with her appearance and her future as she joined them. She wished she could stop and just look at them all: girls from the Northern Water Tribe in rich purple and silver and from the Southern Water Tribe in pale teal and deep blue and snowy white; women from all over the Earth Kingdom in clothes of emerald green and cream, golden yellow and jade; ladies from the Fire Nation in bright scarlet and gold and coal-black and dark blood-red. And the hairstyles! Braids and loops and knots, tight buns, hair wrapped over carved ivory, combs and gold headpieces with jeweled flowers in every color dangling from the ends, abalone shining like rainbows, gold and silver combs and pins, jade and pearl and silver. It made her feel like she was standing in a garden. Ikaiya looked around quickly and made her way toward a small group of girls dressed like her, in out of fashion clothes and without any expensive accessories. Maybe she could find a friend or two. I knew I couldn’t be the only person who showed up like this! It's not like normal people have the money to spend on a new wardrobe.

“Hello,” she said, bowing Fire Nation style, with her fist placed by her palm as she had been taught from the age of two, and one of them smiled at her, eyes lighting up. She immediately felt more at ease. “Can you believe how many people came? I’ve never seen so many pretty dresses.” Many hooded servants were making rounds with trays holding fluted glasses of cold melon juice, and Ikaiya made a mental note to grab one: it was really hot here, and the blazing sun felt like it was crisping up the top of her head. She should have worn a hood, too: it might have served to protect her scalp.

“Right?” gushed the smiling girl. “I only came to see what it was like, honestly, that’s why I just wore this.” She gestured at her clothes, a simple yellow robe belted with a brown sash and accessorized with a belt that had a single buckle of green jade, carved in a circle with a square in the center. “My family used to be in charge of one of the lower transportation offices in Ba Sing Se before the war. Well, I say transportation office. He signed off on fertilizer cart passes into the Second Circle. What was yours?”

Something in Ikaiya’s chest unlocked. Here, maybe, was a kindred spirit. “Me, too. I only came to see what it was like, I mean. Mother says I should hang around for a week and try to find a nice man to marry. My father was a messenger-hawk keeper here in the Capital, but my mother’s family is from Ikana Village, right in the Colonies. That’s where I came from. I’m Ikaiya Fe Yui.”

“It’s so nice to meet you! I’m Jingwei Li!” The girl pointed to her friends, who all smiled brightly and bowed at her. “And this is Mei-Mei, Ayaka, and Yoshie. You can hang around with us.”

“Oh, look, girls,” said a light, cultured voice. Ikaiya turned to see a woman about her own age decked out in a blinding array of gold and red silk, accompanied by a few other girls wearing the same. “I see the backwater colonies sent their best. I could smell that one from across the courtyard.” She pointed at Mei-Mei, who turned red in the face: she was small and round-cheeked and the heat was beading sweat on her face and staining the front of her dress. The other woman turned to look at Ikaiya. Kohl-lined eyes slid up and down. “Eugh. Was that your grandmother’s robe? Couldn’t you afford a new one?” A chorus of giggling erupted from the others. 

Ikaiya resolved to kill her. With politeness. “My mother’s. What’s good enough for our elders is good enough for us, don’t you think? I wanted to respect her.”

The other woman sniffed. Her hair was done up in an elaborate twisted coil, studded with flashy gold pins in the shape of cherry-blossom boughs. One of them could have bought Ikaiya and her mother five months' worth of rice. “Respect? I wouldn’t dream of dis respecting the Fire Lord like that. Imagine showing up in an ugly old robe fifty years out of date.”

“Thirty,” said Ikaiya serenely.

“Excuse me?”

“Thirty years ago my mother wore it to the Capital. Not fifty. I am honored that you think I’m so old. You must think that I am very distinguished.” Behind her, Mei-Mei and Yoshie laughed, and this seemed to enrage the woman in silks. 

“Do you know who I am ? I’m Ozira Choi. My father is Interior Minister to the Fire Lord. When I become your new Fire Lady, you’ll have to pay for your insolence.” She wrinkled her nose and leaned in as if to share confidential information. “They’re doing all this for show, you know. Playing at inclusivity. But Father says in private councils they’ve all agreed that the Fire Lord should choose a high-ranked Fire Nation bride.”

“And even with your father sitting at that table,” said Mei-Mei, “you still had to walk in the gate on your own two feet just like everyone else.”

Ozira’s face went scarlet. “You little colonial peasant —” She sharply drew her hand back, and Mei-Mei instinctively shied away directly into a tall serving-man who stumbled to the side, the tray of melon juice he held smashing all over him and drenching his dark brown robe from shoulder to hem. Ayaka shrieked and jumped back from the splatter.

“Ugh!” wailed one of Ozira’s hangers-on, plucking at her splashed robe. “You’ve wrecked my hem!”

Another wealthy girl shook out her sleeve, flustered as sticky juice sprayed off it. “This is imported gold needlework from Ba Sing Se. I should demand half your year’s wages to pay for half this damage.”

The serving-man only stood with his hooded head bent, as if ashamed, and Ikaiya felt sorry for him at once. She hadn’t meant to ruin anyone’s clothes, only shoot a few harmless barbs. “I’m so sorry,” she said as kindly as she could, stepping forward immediately. “It was my fault.” Ozira Choi rolled her eyes and made a disdainful noise. The man did not move, and Ikaiya had a terrible thought: what if that robe was all he had to wear? She didn’t know how the new Fire Lord treated his servants, but she did know what it was like to only have one set of clothes. “Here,” she said immediately, and untied her belt, slipping off her mother’s green silk robe as the Fire Nation women watched in shock. Ikaiya put it over the man’s shoulders clumsily, and Ozira laughed. It was not a nice sound. 

“Are you crazy? Giving a stupid servant your clothes?”

“They could be all he has,” Ikaiya shot back, her temper rising, “and now the man has to serve us in ruined robes. I have a dress. It’s hot. I don’t need a robe, too. He can have it to cover the stain. There you are,” she said to the servant, who hadn’t moved the whole time. “And if— if your superior scolds you for dressing above your station, tell him it was a gift from Ikaiya Fe Yui.”

The serving man finally moved: he bowed deeply. “Ikaiya Fe Yui. Yes. Thank you, miss. I’ll remember,” he said softly, in almost a whisper, and she caught only a glimpse of a mouth beneath the hood as he moved away through the crowd, her mother’s green robe fluttering from his shoulders. 

“That was stupid,” scoffed one of the other girls in silks as Ozira lifted her chin and floated away with her group. “Now she’ll have to go sit in the courtyard in that ugly brown thing...”

Ikiaya smoothed down her skirt as Yoshie tried vainly to get melon juice out of her shoes. The robe had served to cover the armpit sweat soaking through her dress. Now she looked like a day laborer. As if that matters. I’ll sit on the edge. Nobody will take notice of me anyway. She didn’t want to be here anymore, not really: she wanted to change into her ordinary clothes and catch a ride back to the ships and go home. Maybe after the choosing had been done, she’d find a stall with some food to sell and try those spicy noodles Mother loved so much so she could tell her all about them. "Thank you," said Mei-Mei softly. "I thought she was going to hit me. The national girls at school used to..." and her voice trailed off into silence, her eyes lowering. "Anyway. Thank you."

"It's fine," said Ikaiya, smiling at her. "Hope they trip right on their imported gold needlework aaaaall the way from Ba Sing Se," she mimicked in the formal, haughty tone the girls had used, and all four girls burst into giggles. 

"Right in front of the Fire Lord, too," said Ayaka, laughing.

"Exactly."

A horn blew far away, and every head turned, answering the summons to enter into the inner court, right in front of the massive porch where the most important Fire Nation ceremonies had been held for centuries: weddings, funerals, coronations. Jingwei grabbed Ikaiya's hand as they moved. “I’ll sit with you,” she whispered. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“Ugh, I know what you mean. So bleak.” Ikaiya already missed the green fields and forests, the rivers of home: Mother had told her that the royal palace had gardens, but she thought they must be rock gardens with not a green thing in sight, judging by the rest of the place. The palace itself was splendid, but the surrounding natural setting was not. Even the sunlight felt too bright and harsh, and it was barely three hours past sunrise.

Everyone knelt in lines as they were directed on the cool white marble of the inner court politely with their hands resting on their thighs. Ikaiya had to squint to see the great big dais and the porch and the columns: people were moving on it in blobs of gold and red, but she was very far away. 

“ Ladies of the Four Nations!” shouted a surprisingly loud voice. Ah, these must be the old advisors and ceremonial masters that Mother had mentioned, Lo and Li, and they must be about a hundred years old by now. Ikaiya smiled to herself, watching the ancient, stooped shapes taking turns bellowing so loudly that everyone could hear every word as clear as day. “ You have answered a call of your own free will to present yourselves at the gates of the Royal Palace of the Fire Nation! You have entered! You have knelt! Now, attend! The Fire Lord will choose his bride!”

Ikaiya was very curious despite herself. She had been educated in school, of course, about Ozai, and as an adult she had come to realize he had been a tyrant of the worst kind, but this new one? She only knew the current Fire Lord was twenty-nine, had helped the Avatar win the war, and been disfigured terribly in an Agni Kai as a child. Everyone knew that. She wondered if the sight was as horrifying as everyone said. There had been ink drawings of him in the newspapers that sometimes came to her village, portraits of a black-haired man with a red blot of ink obscuring his left eye, but ink on paper wasn’t the real thing, and she knew very well that what was written in books and scrolls and distributed to ordinary people was likely not entirely true. Maybe he was bald, or he had a missing eye. As the figure of the Fire Lord himself advanced from the shadows and into the light, everyone bowed, touching their brows to the ground with their hands in front of them, and sat back up. Ikaiya couldn’t really see from where she sat in the massive courtyard, but he seemed to have all his limbs and he walked tall and straight. He was just a tiny blot of crimson, gold, and black from here. I wish I could see him. Mother will want to know what he’s like.

He stepped aside a moment, and she shaded her eyes with her hand to see what he was doing. Speaking to Li or Lo, she thought, and gesturing at something he held in his hand, but whatever it was, she had no idea. Ikaiya sighed and looked up at the hot, white sky. Probably a scroll from his advisors saying to marry a rich noble girl, just as Ozira Choi had said. Her belly growled and she fought a yawn. I could really go for some noodles…

Lo (or maybe it was Li) turned back to the crowd. “ The Fire Lord has chosen! The bride is the owner of this robe! Stand!”

Robe? Was this part of the ceremony she didn’t know about? What robe? Ikaiya frowned: the thing in the Fire Lord’s hands was green and fluttered in the wind like a banner, and she thought she recognized it.

It can’t be. It can’t be. What… what? Mother’s robe? How did the Fire Lord get Mother’s robe? That can’t be Mother’s robe, it’s someone else’s. Right?

Right??!?

Nobody stood. Everyone was frozen. Jingwei jabbed her in the ribs. “Isn’t that yours?” she hissed, panic spiking her voice. “He chose you? He chose you!”

The Fire Lord stepped forward. “Ikaiya Fe Yui! I call you by the name you gave me. Where are you?” His shout was raspy and as loud as thunder, it seemed, echoing off the stone around her. “Come forward!”

Her mouth went dry. Her belly twisted over. Her knees could barely hold her up. Ikaiya got to one foot, then the other, forcing herself to stand, and felt the horrible wave of eyes all turning to stare at her in her out-of-fashion plain brown dress with the high collar and no ornament, no gold, not even a bronze trinket. It was like an awful dream, the kind of nightmare she used to have about showing up to school and not being able to speak, or being in her underwear, or being told there was a test she hadn’t studied for. The wind kicked up and a few tendrils of loose hair flew into her mouth. She spat them out awkwardly. “Me?” she croaked, and he saw her, he’d seen her, he was coming towards her now down the wide open aisle of white marble and why, why hadn’t she just made a run for it out the gates before anyone could have stopped her? This wasn’t what I wanted! This wasn’t… 

A guard in black and red armor offered his arm and she gratefully took it, then walked down the aisle of shocked, kneeling women, all the way up to the Fire Lord, who met her halfway down the line. She forced herself not to look at him, and instead collapsed, kneeling at his feet in terror with her forehead pressed to the marble and her hands out in front, palms to the ground. He’s going to have me killed when he finds out I didn’t want to marry him, I’ll be banished, he’s going to know I give my clothes to servants and, and—

But a pair of hands were lifting her up, careful and sure. “It’s all right,” he whispered, and his voice was soft around the edges, coarse, a gentle quality to it that sounded worn despite his age. “Don’t be afraid. Stand up. Walk with me.”

She couldn’t not stand up, so she did, still avoiding looking at him (Mother had been very clear about not directly making eye contact with any member of the royal family as a huge point of etiquette, just in case ) as he guided her down the aisle to a litany of whispers and shocked expressions that quickly looked away, masked by good manners. Ikaiya knew what they were thinking as she kept her eyes on the white marble. He chose that? Some uncultured poor daughter of nobody and no one? As Consort to the Fire Lord?

This couldn't be happening. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. He’s chosen me to be the Fire Lady. I’m going to be the Fire Lady. 

They got back to the huge dais and the Fire Lord turned her to face the crowd of women, the guards, and everyone else in the walls. She barely heard the words shouted out by Lo and Li or saw the faces of anyone below her: she just stared at the pavement about ten feet ahead of her toes and tried to keep her chin up as her hand trembled on the Fire Lord’s silk sleeve. She was turned away, then, when it was over, out of the bright sunshine, and drawn back into the shade of the palace, where she blinked, trying to let her eyes adjust in the huge cool hall.

“I’m sorry about… all that,” said the Fire Lord’s worn, raspy voice, and it took Ikaiya a moment to realize he was addressing her. “Here’s your robe.” Silk settled down around her shoulders, and she reached up, half-dazed, to touch it. “Thank you, by the way.”

“You were the servant,” she managed to say, understanding at last.

“Yes.” He sounded vaguely chastised, like a little boy being caught stealing dumplings. “I’m sorry for the deception. But not as sorry as I'm about to be in the next council meeting.”

She closed her eyes, feeling lightheaded and still sun-blind. “Can I sit down, please?” she whispered, and he quickly guided her over to a silk-upholstered bench, where Ikaiya sat heavily, eyes still shut as she tried to breathe. “I’m sorry, um, my lord,” she managed, trying to think of something to say. “I haven’t eaten anything since this morning on the boat.”

“I’ll get someone to bring you something,” the Fire Lord said. “What do you like?”

Tears filled her eyes. “I promised my mother I’d try spicy noodles,” she tried to say, but it came out more like, “I pruh-huh-huh muh noodles,” as she fought to stop from sobbing her eyes out on the silk sofa. I’m crying in front of the Fire Lord. Who’s going to be my husband. I’m going to have a husband. I—

He was pressing a silk square into her hand and awkwardly sitting down beside her, though, not demanding the guards drag her away and lock her up until she got hold of herself. She had just managed to suck a breath in and wipe her eyes before the doors opened and what seemed like a flood of people swept in, making a beeline directly for her and the Fire Lord and all of them talking at once. Ikaiya cringed away, startled, and the Fire Lord stood up instantly to put himself between her and them. “Give us both a minute,” he ordered, and everyone stopped what they were doing and went the other way, shutting the doors behind them. “Sorry. Like I said, the next council meeting's going to be rough,” he said in a tone that seemed to be aiming for humor, turning to Ikaiya, and for the first time she turned and looked him in the face.

An unpleasant, tingling sensation spread from the backs of her arms to the soles of her feet; the same kind of sensation she had had once, looking at a man maimed from a farming accident. The man standing in front of her was tall, lean and well-built, with broad, strong shoulders and a slim waist, robed in dark red and black and gold. Long, gleaming black hair was held half-back in a topknot pinned with the royal crown, but his face... She blinked and swallowed and forced herself to look again. The left half of his face, from cheekbone to scalp, had been warped, scarred into crimson and pink ridges of hard flesh that reached from the inner corner of his eye to his ruined and shriveled left ear. His eyebrow and eyelashes were completely gone, and the skin around his eye had shrunk and warped and constricted into a tight, narrow slit through which an amber-gold iris peeked. 

The other half of his face, the untouched half... was handsome. High cheekbones, a strong mouth with a full bottom lip, a well-shaped black eyebrow, a steep nose that Mother would have called auspicious , and a fine eye the color of amber, of gold, of warm flame.

The Fire Lord must have seen the expression on her face, because something in his own expression seemed to shutter and falter, then smoothed out into something as still as water. “Before anything else, you will have a meeting with the small council while I meet with the great one. You need not see me any more than is strictly necessary, if that is what you want. Everyone here is at your com— she needs rest and food before you start painting her like a pot and dressing her in silks!” he snapped, turning on the people who had entered silently as he had spoken and were still waiting for his next order. 

“My Lord, your council meeting is—” started one of the women.

“I know! I’m going!” Without even a backward look at Ikaiya, he turned, and then he was gone, sweeping out while this fresh convergence of people descended on her.

The very first thing they did was take her into a meeting with a couple of council members and representatives from Republic City, just as the Fire Lord had said, and these people explained at length and in detail the public relations side of things, and that her etiquette lessons would start immediately, and the fact that she was now going to be under great scrutiny by everyone from here to the North Pole. That was a little frightening to think about, but it wasn’t all bad being the sudden fiancée of the Fire Lord. Ikaiya got everything she asked for instantly, the first thing being the most delicious lunch she’d ever had, along with something she hadn’t asked for: an invitation to the royal garden.

Probably a bunch of rocks and sand like I thought, she thought dolefully until she stepped out into them and found a green, lush landscape awaiting her. There were ponds and trees, manicured flowerbeds and clipped grass and birds singing in the trees as turtleducks croaked and chirped in the water, and she was led over a gravel path and over a painted bridge to a small table set up on the soft green grass where tea was set and ready as an older man in green and brown with a distinguished gray beard and topknot poured it, sitting on the ground.

“Ah,” he said, looking up and smiling. “You must be Ikaiya. Please, sit.”

“Thank you,” she said politely, taking her place at the table across from him. She knew this face, at least: the legendary Lord Iroh, Dragon of the West, he who should have been Fire Lord, and couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him. “Is it always so hot here, my lord?” Her brown dress was sweltering. Sweat dripped down her breastbone and tickled her arms.

“Yes, apart from the winters,” he said, handing her a delicate porcelain cup. “Which is why I prefer Ba Sing Se these days. I know you have been in council speaking of many things all morning. But now, let us speak about the most pressing matter at hand: my nephew.”

“Oh,” said Ikaiya, and sipped her tea carefully. It was very good: a note of jasmine, sweetened just enough to take the sour edge off.

The old man’s eyes were warm. “Tell me truly. Do you want to be his consort? He told me you did not come with that in mind at all, having overheard your conversation with the other ladies from the old Colonies of the Earth Kingdom.”

Ikaiya choked on the hot tea and set it aside. Were they going to have her killed for insolence or deception after all? Iroh looked only kind, however, and she felt she could at least try to be honest with this man. “I came to the Capital because my mother said I should go,” she said, looking at the lacquered table. “She said it was a shame I had never gotten to see the royal court, and I— I was supposed to go find a husband of small rank. When she finds out I got the Fire Lord instead, she might faint.”

“Your father?” Iroh sipped his own tea. 

“I was only twelve when he died. He was a messenger-hawk man here in the Capital.”

“Was he? Fe Yui, Fe Yui… oh! Yes, I remember him,” said Iroh. 

“You knew my father?” she asked, surprised.

Iroh smiled. “I knew all the men who worked here. Han Fe Yui. He loved those hawks like they were his children, and spoke often of his beautiful Natsumi every time I asked how his family was doing. And of course, his baby daughter. I thought your name sounded familiar. May his memory be honored.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She tried not to let herself 

“But the question still remains to be answered. Do you wish, truly, to be the consort of my nephew?”

“Well, I… don’t know anything about the job yet,” said Ikaiya slowly, trying to think through her answer. “And I don’t think the Fire Lord likes me very much, not after he really looked at me. Why did he choose me? Do you know? Because if I knew that, then I might have an answer as to whether I want to be his wife or not, Lord Iroh.”

Iroh pondered and poured more tea. “Eat one of these cookies,” he said, pointing to a tray. “They’re plain, to balance out the sweetness of the tea. Let me see.” Ikaiya nibbled on one as he laced his fingers and considered. “Well, when he came to me for advice on choosing a consort, I asked him, ‘ Nephew, tell me, what are the qualities you desire in anyone you must rule and judge with?’ and he said ‘ Kindness, courage, strength, and integrity’. So I said, ‘And what are the qualities you desire in a wife?’ and he became very quiet for a moment, and then said ‘ The same ones, Uncle, but I wouldn’t mind if she was pretty, too.’ I told him that he must see with the eyes of an ordinary man if he was to choose both, since a person unobserved reveals their true self. You do not reveal your true self if you are standing to be examined like a dragon-moose at the market, do you?”

“No,” said Ikaiya, fascinated by this glimpse into the Fire Lord’s mind.

“No. So he decided to use a disguise to discover who he thought fit the qualities he desired, and he chose you. What makes you think he has changed his mind or does not like you?”

“I—when I looked at him in the face and saw his… scar,” she said hesitantly, “I was... shocked, and I didn’t do a very good job of hiding it. He was upset. And then he left me alone with the people of the court and the council.” She bit down on the cookie. It crumbled softly into her mouth, tasting of ginger.

“Hm,” said Iroh. “Zuko is near to thirty— and blessed am I to live so long to see it— but I am sure you can understand that the wound his father gave him scars his heart worse than it scars his face. Do you think that is a quality you can abide in a husband?”

“I didn’t think I had a choice,” she said, surprised. 

“Of course you have a choice. This is not the days of old, when Fire Lords took consorts against their will. The Avatar was very clear. If you tell me right now you have no desire to wed my nephew, we will send you back to the Earth Kingdom on the next boat, with a chest of money for your trouble. No official statement has yet been made.”

It was a bit of a relieving thought, but how humiliating would that be for the Fire Lord? Ikaiya looked down, something tugging at her heart as she imagined that man watching her go— after choosing her from the whole court of women, after extending kindness to her. “Is that why he looked so upset when he turned away? Did he think I would ask to be sent home after seeing his face?”

Iroh looked pensive. “Perhaps. I have not spoken to him since. He went to council and then to his chambers, but I heard there was a conversation after he left concerning the possibility of there being no wedding after all. Then again, they did want him to choose a Fire Nation noblewoman. He went rogue, as they say. You are an interesting choice. Someone from the colonies, someone who might be able to offer insight into the new world the young are stepping into. Those old men at those tables don’t want anyone interesting: they want a consort who will give Zuko a suitable heir as soon as possible and stay out of the public thought.”

To go home with a chest of money would be no small thing, surely, but money only lasted so long. What do I want? Ikaiya considered. All her life she had wanted to raise her family back to the status it had enjoyed when her mother was young, but was that truly her desire, or the desire of her mother? Did it matter? It would be a great adventure to be a Fire Lady, in such a new world, wouldn’t it? And truly, she might help a thousand families back to the prosperity they had once enjoyed, or even more: she might raise the standards of living for millions of people still mired in the aftermath of the war if she chose to go through with the wedding. She had, in fact, been offered a chance to make a real difference in the world. And to secure her mother’s future.

Ikaiya swallowed and set her chin high, horribly conscious of the fact that her next words could either mean public shame for a nation trying to rebuild its image, or happiness for the whole Four Nations. I am no longer only myself if I choose this. My actions affect the world... She made her decision in a heartbeat. “Lord Iroh, I am twenty-five and unmarried. I was raised to be dutiful, but I am not cultured, and I— I don’t understand anything about court etiquette or anything like that. Although, um, I was told I would have lessons, which is a good thing. I only wanted to make my mother comfortable in her later years, and now I think, given the chance... I want to help the world, too. If marrying the Fire Lord is my duty, and if it can help me make a change, then I will do it.”

“And the qualities that you desire in a husband?” Iroh prompted gently. “Put aside duty a moment, while you still can. What do you want?”

“Kindness,” she said, hesitant: she’d thought about this more when she was younger, but having a husband had seemed so distant and far-off at the time. “Respect. Um. Understanding. Thoughtfulness. I think that’s all I can think of right now.”

“This will not be an ordinary marriage,” Iroh said, sipping at his own tea. “You will be consort to a head of a nation. Your every action will be like a pebble falling down a mountain or a seed planted in a field, causing great destruction or great growth.”

“I understand that, my lord,” said Ikaiya. “I understood it when you said that the Fire Lord had reacted badly to my silence. I— I would like to speak to him, if I could.”

“Mm,” said Iroh, and turned, raising a hand. A servant appeared as if from nowhere and bowed at his elbow. “Go find the Fire Lord, please, and inform him that Lady Fe Yui and I are in the garden and that she desires to speak to him.”

“Yes, my lord,” said the servant, and hurried away. Iroh turned back to her. 

“I will be honest with you, Ikaiya. My nephew is a man given still to fits of passion and temper, and I hope a change like this will suit him for the better, like ballast in a ship’s hold to even the rocking. You seem level-headed.”

“Tell my mother that, when I kept riding our ostrich-horse all over the village in my father’s clothes,” Ikaiya said, smiling. 

The deep wrinkles around the old man’s eyes deepened as he laughed. “Such spirit is to be commended in a — ah, nephew.” Iroh looked up, and Ikaiya made herself take a breath before she followed suit. A shadow was blocking out the sun above them. She had to squint. “Sit, please.”

“Is this a joke?” The Fire Lord sounded like he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Why are you having tea with— why is she still here?” Ikaiya’s face grew as hot as the sun overhead. Did he want her to leave?

“There seems to have been a misunderstanding, nephew. You must still learn the art of patience, I think,” Iroh chided gently. “Sit.”

The Fire Lord sat. He’d put away his crown and outer robes, and Ikaiya stole a glance at him: he wore crimson and dark brown robes, simply belted at the waist, and tall boots. Sitting to her left, she could hardly see the scar from here. Then he looked her full in the face, and Ikaiya swallowed as her spine tingled again. “What would you like to speak to me about, my lady?” he asked in his raspy, worn voice.

She wanted to ask Iroh to go, but thought maybe having him nearby was a good idea, if Zuko was really as given to “fits of temper” as his uncle had mentioned. “I have no plans to leave the palace, my lord,” she said as clearly as she could. “It wouldn’t be honest of me to leave after all that. And it’s my duty—”

“I’m not going to marry someone who’s marrying me out of duty,” said the Fire Lord sharply. 

“I’m not marrying anyone out of duty!” she snapped, and pressed her mouth shut as his eyes widened in surprise. “I— sorry, your Highness. No. I’m trying to say that I have a duty to my mother, but I also think I might be good at helping you and the Avatar rebuild the world. I’ll try to learn as much as I can about state matters and politics and etiquette, and— I taught myself how to re-tile a roof, it can’t be that hard, can it? I mean, I mean I’m sure it will be hard at first, but I’m a fast learner.”

The Fire Lord was very still where he sat, his face frozen. “You… want to marry me,” he said, through lips that barely moved. 

“Yes, if that’s... what you still want,” she said, her belly churning with anxiety. “Your Highness.”

“Well. Yes,” he said blankly.

“Well! That’s settled. Congratulations, nephew,” said Iroh, beaming, and clapped the Fire Lord on the back so hard he almost fell over. “I’ll go inform both the small council and the large one. Enjoy the tea.” He got up and hurried off, his robes rustling, and Ikaiya turned to the Fire Lord immediately. He was gazing at her, lips parted, and she had no idea what he was thinking.

“Please say something,” she whispered, clutching her hands in her lap. “You’re just staring at me like you’ve been stung by a hawk-wasp.”

“I look forward to our… partnership,” he managed, looking everywhere but at her. “In… matters of state. I think… I think the council wanted the wedding, if it was still happening, to be at the end of the month. Is that too soon?”

The end of this month? “I’d like to bring my mother here for it, if that’s…”

“That’s fine,” he said very quickly. “I’m not— I’m not my father, you’re not going to be cut off from your whole family when you marry me.” He had gone very pale, almost sickly-looking in the sunshine. Sweat had broken out on his forehead. “In fact, I’ll see to it personally that she’s brought here.” The fountain in the garden was rippling cheerfully. Ikaiya forced herself to breathe. “And it’s not 'Highness'. It’s just ‘my lord’. They'll, uh. They'll go over that in your etiquette lessons. I just wanted you to know."

“Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, and dug through her pockets for the silk he’d given her earlier to dry her tears. “You… do you want this back?”

“No, you keep it,” he said, standing up. “I should go.” And he left her there in the garden with a table of tea, all alone. 

Chapter Text

The rest of the month passed in a blur that was somehow too long and yet too short. Ikaiya was primped, scrubbed, polished, preened, and pressed to within an inch of her life, taught every form of etiquette imaginable, taught how to hold formal and informal chopsticks, taught the right forms of address for fifty different ranks, taught how to walk and move in the heavy robes of state she was supposed to wear to formal events, and even taught how to speak correctly and how to pitch her voice. 

Self-defense lessons we part of the regimen, too, but most of them were about how to behave if she was ever kidnapped or taken hostage, which didn’t seem extremely useful— after all, she now had guards who were posted outside almost every door, and she couldn’t even go for a walk in the garden without a posse of people following from a short distance. I wonder if they're really so worried about my safety. She'd heard rumors that people had been dispatched to Ikana Village to ensure she was who she said she was: it was not so far-fetched of an idea that a young woman from the colonies might be sent to assassinate the Fire Lord. But apparently they'd found nothing incriminating. 

She was given a household, too: ladies in waiting who were all relatives of high-ranking Fire Lord advisers and nobles, a much-subdued and far politer Ozira Choi among them. Ikaiya had asked about Mei-Mei and Jingwei and the girls she had met, but they had all gone back to their homes, and anyway even if they hadn’t, it was not customary for a Fire Lady to have lowborn persons in her household. Even if the Fire Lady was herself lowborn. Which was, in a word, disappointing.

A whole horde of reporters came from Republic City with a brand-new thing called a camera, and she had to sit for a picture, the first one she’d ever taken in her life, all painted up with lights shining on her so her face would show up on the plate. The idea of her image being captured and shown to people she didn’t even know was unnerving, but a few days later when she received a copy of the official portrait, she had to admit it was very good— better than any ink-brush painting she’d ever seen. She looked regal, sitting in her robes of state, with her hair done properly and her crown already on (of course she hadn’t been crowned yet, but as they’d explained, people would ask where the crown was if they didn’t have it in the picture).

Mother showed up the day before the wedding, and after the initial hysterically excited meeting, full of laughing and tears and disbelief, she sat down with Ikaiya to give her a talk about the expectations of married life which left Ikaiya feeling even more nervous than usual about all of this.

What on earth was she actually getting herself into?

Zuko paced. He couldn’t sleep anymore, hadn’t in days, not with his wedding day drawing near and plans to sign off on and people to talk to and the whole affair to coordinate. Invitations had been sent, Aang and Katara and their young son had already come back from Republic City and were staying in the Avatar’s suite in the royal palace, and Ikaiya had chosen to keep away for five days before the wedding, as was traditional, but it was nerve-wracking, the idea of seeing her in red and gold and white, lit by the evening fires at sunset as the Fire Sages joined them forever as man and wife and she was officially crowned Royal Consort.

He didn’t even know if he liked her. 

No, that wasn’t true: he did like her. She was intelligent, she got along with his uncle and was kind to the servants and she’d tried her best to be nice to him, and she had a streak of rebellion to complement the sense of duty practically everyone around his age in the Fire Nation had been raised with. He’d heard she’d assigned Ozira Choi dish-clearing duty for a week after the woman had made a snobbish remark about touching dirty items being servant’s work. And Ikaiya was pretty, or if not strictly what the Fire Nation considered pretty, then she wasn’t ugly, either: a little taller than most women, with careful, long-fingered hands that a battalion of maids had scoured the calluses off, and a long, high-boned face to boot. Tawny-pale eyes, too, fringed by thick black lashes, dark brows that tended to flatness, an expressive little mouth with a bright smile he’d seen when she’d laughed at his uncle’s jokes, a delicate, steep nose, and thick dark hair she liked to wear in a single braid. Slender, wide-hipped, the servants whispered when they thought he wasn’t around to hear. A good form for bearing healthy heirs. 

Bearing heirs. A chill wracked his body. Zuko turned his back on the mirror in his chambers and tried to banish the nightmares that plagued him during his sparse and restless sleep: terrible dreams where he watched a faceless woman give birth, and his father came out screaming between her legs. A tiny Ozai with a crown who raised a hand and seared off the other half of Zuko’s face, finishing what he had begun.

I can’t think about it. I won’t. Cold sweat broke out on his lip as he sank to his knees, trying to meditate, but it did no good. I’m afraid, I’m afraid, I’m so afraid. He wished his mother was still here. It didn’t seem fair that his bride-to-be had her mother and he did not have his. 

She chose her path. I must set out on mine, to whatever end.

The wedding day broke bright, clear, and hot. Ikaiya groaned inwardly as her team of ladies woke her before dawn, fed her a meal, painted her face, got her dressed in her first outfit of the day, a gossamer-woven white thing that floated around her ankles, and took her to the Fire Temple, where she was blessed by the Fire Sages in an hour-long ceremony before being taken back to the palace at sunrise in a litter down every street in the Capital so everyone could see her. The streets were lined with people all waving and shouting and throwing flowers, and she leaned out and waved back, to their great delight.

Then it was breakfast time and dowry-exchanging with the families, which meant another set of elaborate robes (these black and white with crimson cranes embroidered on them) and her hair was let loose, combed, and tied back with a red cord: she sat and ate with Mother and Uncle Iroh and the Fire Lord, who sat awkwardly at the other end of the table. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, or maybe he was getting sick? There was a dark shadow beneath his eye, and his lips were chapped and pale, but his jaw was clenched in determination. She couldn’t ask, since she had to sit across from him, but he mostly just stared at his food and didn’t eat as Mother and Iroh had a lively conversation about the pros and cons of growing one’s own tea. I really hope he’s not sick, she thought. The dowry-chests were produced by Iroh and formally accepted by Mother, and then it was time to wrap up breakfast and start getting dressed for the third main event: greeting the most important guests. And during all this, reporters from Republic City were taking pictures and getting in the way of people. This is not how I always thought that my wedding-day would go.

Ikaiya stood in a flowing red and white robe patterned with gold chrysanthemums with her handmaidens and ladies of the court on either side of her and Zuko across the aisle in the throne room, standing with his uncle and advisors on either side of him as they greeted a whole receiving line of people whose names she tried her hardest to remember, but kept forgetting. The Avatar had come, though, a tall man in saffron-colored robes, and he was accompanied by his wife, a pretty and very exhausted-looking woman, Master Katara from the Southern Water Tribe, who was wrangling a hyperactive toddler with a shock of dark hair while her husband spoke to the Fire Lord. She was also clearly in the later stages of pregnancy, her swollen feet barely able to fit into her beautiful beaded sandals. 

“You know,” said Ikaiya, leaning in as they greeted each other, “if you take off your shoes under your seat, nobody will know the difference.” Thank heavens the Avatar wasn’t talking to her. Just seeing him made her jittery and tongue-tied. She wasn’t likely to forget his name.

Katara grinned at her. “I should have made them a size bigger. Or borrowed my brother’s. Bumi, say hello to Fire Lady Ikaiya, please. Remember? Like we practiced?”

The toddler hid in his mother’s skirts, peeking out at Ikaiya with one suspicious pale-blue eye. “Hi, Fire Lady ‘Gaya.”

“Come on, Bumi, you can do better than that,” said the man accompanying them both in feigned outrage, tall, dark, and rawboned with sunburnt cheeks and a wide smile. “Really impress her. Pick your nose or something.” His clothing was resplendent with white fur trim and delicately crafted patterns of stylized wolves and diamonds in tiny beads, and his name was Chief Sokka. “I got him, sis,” he told Master Katara, and scooped up the delighted, giggling Bumi in one arm, flinging him over his shoulder and heading for the other side of the aisle. “Okay, kid, let’s go say hi to Zuko.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Katara said softly, giving Ikaiya a genuine smile. “If I don’t get a chance to see you before the end of the wedding, I’m sure we’ll meet again.” She made her way over to Zuko’s side, where Sokka was in deep conversation with the Fire Lord while Bumi grabbed his uncle’s topknot and yanked, laughing.

Following behind Katara and Sokka was Toph Beifong, who Ikaiya already knew about: everyone in the Earth Kingdom practically revered her. She had worn a fine slate-gray, gold, and green robe, and her feet were bare: her black hair fell in front of her sightless, clouded eyes.

“Hi,” she said without preamble or care for formalities, bowing Earth Kingdom style with her hands clasped together, then reaching out and shaking Ikaiya’s hand as if they were both workmen. Her grip was strong as steel. “Wow, you’re skinny. Didn’t they feed you enough in the colonies?”

Ikaiya liked her instantly. “They’re working on fixing that. I think I’ve had two breakfasts today.”

Toph laughed and turned her head slightly, addressing Zuko across the aisle as she raised her voice. “You picked a good one. Not a Miss Hoity-Toity, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said uncomfortably. “You go get the good seats.” His eyes flashed down to Katara’s belly, huge under her blue silk robes, and was Ikaiya imagining it, or did he look vaguely sick? “Katara, if you need anything at all, just ask a servant. I’ll have someone close by.”

“Thank you so much, Zuko,” she said sincerely, and smiled at him before moving off with Avatar Aang and their son.

Ikaiya reflected on that as she greeted the next round of people. Maybe he was one of those men who were repulsed by pregnancy. Maybe he was worried she’d give birth in the middle of the ceremony. Maybe he’s just sleep-deprived and worried sick and you’re reading too much into things that aren’t there, she chided herself. The greeting line dragged on and on. She tried to catch the Fire Lord’s eye a few times from across the aisle, but to no avail. He seemed bent on doing his absolute duty and nothing else. 

After the formal greeting part was over, she was whisked back to the palace apartments to eat a quick snack and get into a ceremonial bath. Steaming water filled the huge gold tub, and she watched as a Fire Sage blessed it and her ladies poured oils and flowers into it. She got ready to descend, looking forward to the soak, but the door to the hall burst open as she was lowering her robe and a Republic City reporter rushed in with a camera, yammering at the top of his lungs.

Ikaiya yelped and yanked the robe back up as everyone in the room shouted at him in outrage. “You can’t come in here, the Fire Lady is bathing!” shouted Ozira Choi, scandalized, and she made a mental note to thank her later.

“But I’m supposed to take a picture of the—“

“You’re not taking anything! Leave!” One of the sages advanced, his gray beard wiggling with the force of his consternation. “Get out at once!”

“But I was told…”

The other door slammed open, and Ikaiya shrank back as the Fire Lord, half dressed for the wedding, barefoot, and accompanied by a pair of guards, stormed in with a face like thunder. “You’re supposed to be in the antechamber with the rest of the press!” he bellowed. “Who let you in here?”

The reporter backed up several steps, but didn't let go of his camera. “Photos of the Fire Lady are in top demand in Republic City! You gotta understand, your Majesty, I got a job to do!”

Mute with horror, Ikaiya watched as the Fire Lord sank into a bending stance, feet placed wide. His left hand tucked into his heart, his right hand extended as he shifted his weight from foot to foot: a jet of gold flame streaked from his outstretched fingertips, searing the air, making her face bake with heat— the camera clattered to the ground, a smoking wreck, and the air cleared as the Fire Lord dropped his hands. 

“I said. Get. Out.” The reporter didn’t need to be told twice. He ran for it. Ikaiya’s heavy robe was slipping off her shoulders. She fought to keep it up as the Fire Lord turned to her, fury written over every line of his face and body. “Are you all right?”

“Ah,” she said faintly. Her heart was thudding in her chest strangely. “You—“

“He didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” she said, gripping her robe. The air still smelled of something burned. Shapes of flame were burned onto the inside of her retinas. She blinked to clear it. “You... have very good aim, my lord.”

Something in his bearing relaxed a little. “Get her dressed, please,” he said to the maids. “I want guards posted at every door. We don’t need press crawling into every single nook and cranny.”

And then he went back through the door to the other room, leaving Ikaiya alone and trembling in the middle of the floor. 

Lightning, striking the roof of their barn: she was twelve and she tasted it on her tongue in the storm. 

The screaming ostrich-horses, her father shouting for help as flame licked up the edges of the walls, burning, burning, burning. Smoke filled the fields, there was no rain, no water to drown the fire, and her father’s eyes had been white and terrified in a soot-black face...

“My lady? Are you all right?”

How much time had passed? She had been bathed already and hadn’t felt a thing. They were pulling her from the water. “Does the Fire Lord often bend inside th-the, the—”

“The palace?” Ozira looked taken aback. “Not often. Oh, you’re shocked… of course you would be, you’ve never seen him firebend before.”

Ikaiya tried to stop her hands from shaking. “No,” she whispered as they started to dress her, to sit her down, to comb her long hair and begin the elaborate style fit for a royal bride. But I’ve seen fire, when I was young, and it destroyed… it brought death and terror. 

“Well, he only does it when he’s very upset, I hear. Not often at all. And it’s like you said. He has good aim.”

Iroh said he had a temper. What if he chose to be upset with me? Ikaiya suddenly felt as if she had no idea what she was doing or who she was getting married to at all, and to be honest, she didn’t. What am I doing? This is all wrong, it’s a mistake… but they were settling the heavy gold pins on either side of her head in the thick braid of hair that circled her head like a halo, and the last layer of her wedding robe was being slipped onto her shoulders. It felt as heavy as the whole world. 

I can do this.

They led her through the empty halls and to the huge double doors that would lead out to the massive court, the court where she’d been chosen only a month ago. The paint on her lips felt tacky. She tried not to move them. 

I can do this. 

“He’s coming,” whispered one of her women, and to a chorus of muffled giggles, the shape of the Fire Lord stepped from the shadows in robes of crimson, black, and gold. The ladies-in-waiting disappeared, retreating into the palace and leaving the two alone. The Fire Lord wore a massive gold curved shoulder-piece, worked with figures of flame, and beneath it hung simpler lines of very fine robes worked with dragons in gold thread. Ikaiya had to admit it looked very imposing. He’d shaved, too: she saw a speck of dried blood on his jaw. “My lady,” he said stiffly, and he really did look like he might faint: had he been sleeping at all this past week? “You look… nice.”

“Thank you,” she returned. “You have, uh…” and she pointed at her own chin. 

“Oh,” he said, touching his jaw. “My hand slipped. I thought I’d got it all.”

“Let me,” Ikaiya told him, and reached up, licking the tip of her finger and carefully blotting away the dried blood until a tiny dark scab was all that remained. His skin was feverishly warm, and he froze beneath her touch. “You can’t very well go out there with a shaving nick in front of all those camera things.”

“No, I can’t,” he agreed, the vaguest ghost of a smile playing at his mouth. “I should let the servants do it, but... thank you. I— you’re all right? You seemed upset earlier, in the bath.”

“It was nothing,” she said quickly, dropping her hand. “Just… the fire.” Her belly roiled unpleasantly. “It startled me.”

“Oh,” he said tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I’m fine now.” She straightened up and looked at the doors. “How long do you think we have before they open these?”

“A minute. I… my lady, if you don’t— I won’t firebend around you, if you don’t want me to. I know… people from the old Colonies don’t have good memories of firebenders. Or the Fire Nation. Or— my father. Or. Or me.”

He sounded so shaky that she turned and looked at him in surprise. “Are you sick?” she asked, and bit her cheek at her impudence. “I mean, you look terrible, you sound—”

“I’m just tired. I’m sure you are too. It’s been a long month.” He shot her a look. “If you, if— when it’s all over and we have to share a chamber tonight— we don’t have to... do anything.”

Well, that was some relief, to put off what was sure to be an awkward night between them. “I… thank you very much for your consideration, my lord,” she said. “You’re so tired, of course you should sleep instead.”

He looked as relieved as she felt. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and turned back to the doors. A distant creaking, and the doors opened, and the Fire Lord gave her his arm and guided her through into the roar of a delighted crowd. 

Zuko barely heard the Fire Sages as they spoke and chanted and prayed and did whatever they were supposed to do to officiate. He only had two words to say for his part, and so did Ikaiya, who knelt beside him in a huge swath of gold, red, and white silk robes embroidered in symbols of fire, of phoenixes, of flowers and mountains, her hair in the most formal style her maids could have done (and probably not all of it hers, too, hairpieces were the most important part of any good Fire Nation ceremonial costume) and her face painted.

She looked beautiful. Her lips were stained red, her cheeks flushed with pink paint, her face done in a pale wash: eyebrows darkened, lashes, too. The jeweled gold pins in her thick braid gleamed in the firelight of the evening. She’s nice. She’s not going to make me perform like someone’s prize stud komodo-rhino. It was funny, how she thought he was being considerate of her, when he was only thinking about himself. That’s bad. I should think about her, too. Her feelings. Her needs. Like the firebending, she's afraid... I should make a list of things she likes and doesn’t like, so I can learn more about her. 

His last frantic meeting with Iroh had been a source of humiliation for him, really: he’d collapsed onto a cushion and begged Iroh to tell him what exactly Ikaiya was like, anything, and Iroh had only smiled serenely and told him that she was kind, with a sense of humor, and mindful of duty. As if that didn’t describe any girl from any lower family, and Zuko had said as much. 

“Well,” Iroh had told him impassively, “she has excellent taste in tea, nephew, and that you cannot find just anywhere: it is born taste, and not learned.”

Zuko had almost flung the table into the wall in frustration, and then confessed that he was not looking forward to the night of the wedding. Iroh had been slightly concerned: why not? After some gentle prodding (was Zuko finding himself more inclined towards male company? was Zuko ill? did he find the young woman distasteful in some way?) he had finally mumbled the nightmare that had seemed so horrible inside his mind, but sounded foolish and pathetic when spoken aloud. Who dreamed dreams like that? What kind of cowardly grown man woke in a cold sweat dreaming of a baby?

But Iroh had seemed to understand, and nodded to himself. “Your true fear is of what the marriage-bed might result in,” he told Zuko. “Be at peace. There are weddings, and there are marriages, and there are consummations. Those may all happen at once, or not. There is time. Speak to Ikaiya. Tell her how you feel.”

“How am I supposed to tell her how I feel when I don’t even know how I feel?” Zuko had snapped. 

“Spend time alone together. Speak to each other. There is a wall between you two, nephew, and someone must be first to start breaking it down,” said Iroh softly. 

Yes, a wall. Zuko could almost taste it where he knelt, invisible, between him and his common-born bride who his advisers had assured him in retrospect was a decent choice. She had the wrong kind of education for a noblewoman, of course, but that could be remedied with some political lessons, and she showed a willingness to learn and listen. Most important of all, she had the right kind of background to make common people in both the old Colonies and the Fire Nation and the United Republic like her and sympathize with her, which wasn’t something you could just force to happen. 

But that wall! That stupid, stupid wall! 

She looked out over the crowd, unblinking and calm as the moon, and Zuko fought the horrible urge to reach out and scrub her painted face off with his sleeve, eliminating the false pale wash over her sun-kissed cheeks, as she had done with the cut on his chin. Her hands had been careful and sure, cool on his skin. He thought about those hands cupping his cheek, his scarred one and his smooth one, and thought for a moment that maybe the marriage bed might not be a place of terrors after all…

And then you’ll lose your control, as you always do, and sire a tyrant that will set out to do what his grandfather could not, and undo all you have done. 

Or… she’ll laugh at you.

Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He almost missed the Fire Sage asking him if he consented to wed this woman and take her as a bride. “I do,” he croaked, trying to stop his hands from shaking. 

“And you, Ikaiya Fe Yui, do you consent to take Zuko, Fire Lord of the Fire Nation, and wed him, to take him as a husband?”

“I do consent,” she said very clearly.

“Take each other’s hands,” said the Sage, and Zuko turned and reached out for her fingers as she did the same to him. His were shaking so badly he feared the front row below them could see, but Ikaiya took them firmly and squeezed, looking right into his eyes. It’s okay, she mouthed so subtly that only he could see, or maybe it was Zuko, and he swallowed as the Sages took fire from the braziers and went through the little symbolic melding of two flames into one, intoning about who knew what. All he could see were those pale gold eyes, a rim around the night-black irises, dilated in the dim light. Eyes like an eclipse, the sun behind the moon with the light all washed out and cool…

It was over. They stood, hand in hand, and were proclaimed Fire Lord and Fire Lady to a huge roar of approval from the crowd. Zuko’s eyes found Aang in the front row, smiling up at his friend, and felt slightly more at ease: this was the right path to take, because the Avatar had said it was, right?

So why did he feel like he was going to pass out?

Chapter Text

The wedding dinner was massive, each course more elaborate than the last, with nobles from all over the world invited and the whole formal dining hall packed to the eaves. Zuko and Ikaiya sat side by side, at the head of the biggest table with Iroh at Ikaiya’s left and Natsumi at Zuko’s right, to symbolize the families brought together. If Ikaiya squinted, she could make out Aang's bald head shining somewhere further down the table, but people-watching wasn't on her list of priorities right now. She had a knot in her stomach and no appetite.

“Really,” Mother was saying, as Ikaiya tried to make herself eat a dumpling, “it’s no bother. And it’s our family house, anyway; been there for generations. I’m happy to stay.”

“But you’ll accept something to have it repaired, at least?” Zuko asked her. “I can’t have the mother of the consort to the Fire Lord staying in a house that’s falling down around her head.”

“You’re too kind, my lord,” said Mother, smiling. “Yes, all right, I’ll accept that.”

“And some help?” he pressed. "Traditionally, you'd be given a household of your own."

“I thought you were all about getting rid of the old ways!” teased the older woman.

“Mother,” hissed Ikaiya, leaning over her plate and staring daggers. “Don’t make fun of him.”

“It’s fine,” Zuko said. “No, I just want to make things simpler and more peaceful. And of course, that includes having a happy mother-in-law.”

Ikaiya shut her eyes as Natsumi laughed and turned her attention back to her food. She couldn’t focus on eating at all, and looked over to Iroh, who was happily munching away on fire cakes. “How much longer does this go on for?” she whispered.

“Ah,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Another few hours. There will be traditional dancing and music.”

Her neck ached from the weight of her hairpiece. The robes weighed on her shoulders like iron. “Dancing,” Ikaiya said weakly. “Right.”

“You don’t have to be there for it,” Iroh told her. “Or Zuko. You can both slip off and go to sleep if you want to. After all, this part is for the guests, not the hosts.”

“That sounds great,” Ikaiya said, shooting an awkward glance at the Fire Lord, who seemed to have just as much of a nonexistent appetite as she did. I’ll just ask him. “Um. My lord,” she said softly, and Zuko turned instantly, blinking at her. 

“Yes?”

“I was, I was wondering if I could, um. Go to bed. And you— you could come, too, I mean. Because we’re both tired. Your uncle said we don’t have to stay.” This was not how she’d meant to sound, and she gave up trying to save her badly worded request. “I mean, my neck is killing me by now and we’ve both been up since dawn.”

A hint of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Yeah, my back hurts, too. All right. Let’s go.”

Well, that was easy. He stood, and she followed suit, which resulted in a round of applause and cheering and a few raunchy shouts from the more inebriated seats. “Not even waiting for the dancing? We’ll have an heir by next summer!” 

Ikaiya felt her face go hot and hid it in her sleeves, humiliated. The Fire Lord took her gently by the elbow and turned to the crowd. “You leave my consort alone,” he called back in good humor. “She wants to lie down.”

“Yes!” shouted someone, “and you should lie down with her, so she’s kept company!”

Laughter and cheering sounded like thunder in Ikaiya’s ears as she hurried off the platform, still clinging to the Fire Lord's arm as they walked off together into a dark back hall, where silence fell on their ears. “I hope nobody’s going to sniff around for the bedsheets in the morning,” she said, trying not to look at her husband as they walked back down the long hallway to the royal apartments. 

His hand left her elbow like she'd singed him. “Nobody’s demanded evidence of a consummation in a hundred years,” Zuko said, walking ahead of her. “Don’t worry about that. Follow me. I’ll show you to your new room.”

There seemed to be nothing else to say. She followed him down the corridor and down a set of wide steps, into a massive bedchamber, and walked in a little further to look around as he shut the doors. 

All her things had been moved: her new robes and clothes, the items she had asked for that had been kept in the room she’d stayed in all the previous month. Everything was neatly put away already, and as she stared at her new rooms, two maids in pale red robes came forward and bowed with a polite salute. “May we undress you, Lady Ikaiya?” asked one.

“Yes, please, my neck’s about to crack,” she said gratefully, and let them guide her over to the dressing table. The Fire Lord retreated, as if he was about to go out the other door, but then he stayed where he was, unobtrusively sitting on a sofa and watching as the maids took out the pins, removed the elaborate headpiece and all the jewelry, and lifted away the layers of robes after cleaning the makeup off her face. On and on it went, until she was finally bare-faced in her sleeveless under-robe, a thin white wrap-around thing that was practically transparent. Ikaiya thought she could feel the Fire Lord’s golden eyes burning a hole through them, but when she glanced up in the mirror, he was looking away, a flush coloring his cheeks.

“Do you wish to bathe, my lady?” asked the other maid.

“I’ll bathe myself later,” said Ikaiya. “Thank you.” Just having servants still felt bizarre, let alone people that wouldn’t let her lift a finger. “Go and… um, take the rest of the night off. There’s plenty of food in the banquet hall. If anyone stops you, tell them it was my command.”

“Oh, thank you, my lady,” squeaked the first, and they fled off together, shutting the door behind them. Ikaiya rubbed her temples, leaning on her elbow. 

“Do you just… get used to having people all around you all the time?” she asked.

“Eventually,” he said, and stood up as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. "You'll come to appreciate it." Ikaiya stood, too, and realized that the lamp set on the table behind her was shining through the back of the under-robe, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. She stepped away from it, blushing as the Fire Lord— no, Zuko, his name was Zuko— but he hadn’t told her to call him that, had he?—tried to look everywhere else but at her. 

“These rooms… are very nice,” she managed, looking at the ceiling and the carpet and the enormous low bed with its canopy and red silk cover embroidered with phoenixes in gold thread. 

“These have been the chambers of the consort of the Fire Lord for centuries,” he said. “They connect to the... to mine, I mean. Look, I’ll show you.”

Well, that was something to do for a second. Ikaiya followed him to the wall, where a beautifully carved panel of dragons and phoenixes intertwined gave way at a touch to reveal an opening into the wall: a hidden door that led to a room. She peeked inside, curious. “ That’s yours?” she asked, blinking.

“Yes. Do you want to see it?”

“Okay.” She followed him in, a little confused: there was no sumptuous furniture here, no tapestries or gold or silk. Marks on the floor showed where a large bed had been at one point, but it was gone now. There remained only a sleeping-mat, the type used by ordinary people— the type she herself had slept on for years, and a thin blanket for the hot weather folded neatly atop it. Apart from that, the room might have been an office. He had a large low desk, cushions for sitting, paperwork and shelves full of scrolls and pens and ink and brushes all over the place, and a pair of swords mounted on the wall, along with a scowling, fanged blue and white theater mask of some type. She wanted to ask him about it, but his face had gone strangely blank and closed-off, as if he had unwillingly said something rude and was bracing himself for judgment. “Well,” she said, trying for humor, “I guess I see why you waited in my room. I think my bed is far more comfortable.”

He gave her a strange look, like he wasn’t sure what she meant. “Do you… want me to come back to your room?”

“If— if you want to.” Her heartbeat felt loud in her ears. “I thought you said… you didn’t—”

“Shh,” he said, and held a finger to his lips before urging her back through the passageway and into her bedroom, closing the door behind them. “The walls are not as thick as they seem.”

“Oh. Are we… safe here?”

“Yes Your room is safe. I made sure all the secret passageways were blocked up in your room. Nobody can listen in, not in here.” 

Secret passageways? Ikaiya was immediately interested, but put that aside for a moment. Her husband looked like he might be sick. “Sit down, please,” she said, pointing at the couch. “You look terrible, my lord.”

He did as she told him and sat for a moment, chest heaving as he breathed. “It’s been a long week,” he said, sounding worn out.

“I thought you might faint on that dais in front of the whole crowd when the Fire Sages blessed us as one,” she remarked, pouring him water from the jug at her bedside table. “Here.” She pressed it into his hands, and he drank deeply. “Was it that terrifying?”

“That… no, I was thinking about something else.” He offered her a weak grimace, and Ikaiya saw the lines at the edges of his eye, where stress was showing its marks. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stuck around in here tonight. You’re tired, and so am I, and in the morning I’ll be flooded with questions and decrees and paperwork.”

“They’re supposed to give you a two-week break from all that,” Ikaiya said, confused. “They told me in one of the meetings. Your uncle was willing to take on the responsibility...”

“I waived it.” The Fire Lord looked like a caged animal. “I have to get back to work. Thank you for your concern.” He bowed at the waist, fist under his straight palm in a salute. “Good night, my lady.”

This was not the reception she had expected on her wedding night. “Good...night,” Ikaiya said, bewildered, as he went back through the carved door and shut it behind him, leaving her alone.

Zuko undressed and bathed by himself, scraping the day’s worth of sweat and exhaustion off his skin and sitting in the hot water until he was pink as a boiled crab before hoisting himself out of the marble tub and examining himself in the floor-length bathroom mirror. 

He wasn’t… too bad looking. That was a start, he guessed. The pink puckered fist-sized scar directly under his heart, just above his stomach, from the last Agni Kai he’d ever fought— that would likely never fade, like the one on his face. Zuko turned and examined himself from the side, indulging in a moment of vanity as he stretched and performed a lunge. Good form. Nice and tight. He stood straight again, back to the mirror, and peeked over his shoulder to look at his back: clean lines of well-exercised muscle from neck to ankle. Some young men approaching thirty had a paunch, or bad posture, or baldness. Zuko had none of those things. He lifted his hand to rake wet hair out of his eyes, and noted the shape of the muscle of his shoulder and arm.

Ikaiya had a nice figure. He’d seen it through that last layer of thin pale silk, backlit by flame. Zuko shut his eyes and took a small breath. Shapely legs, a trim waist, and as she’d stood from the vanity he’d seen a comfortable-looking backside, good broad hips like everyone had said—

A surge of heat and pressure to his groin almost choked him with its suddenness. He hadn’t felt anything like it in… months, probably, not since he’d gotten caught up in the plans for the wedding and the issues before that concerning the United Republic, and the council meetings that never seemed to end. He’d even stopped waking up hard— not that that was an issue when he barely slept, but still. 

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut so he didn’t have to look at himself in the mirror. “Stop,” he mumbled, clenching his fists in shame. His body didn’t follow orders, though, and rose to full attention anyway. I shouldn’t have taken my clothes off, he thought stupidly, his hands curled into fists at his sides. Despite his bone-deep exhaustion, something else was taking hold of his body, an urge that could not be ignored, not even with cold water. 

He never liked this, he thought as he turned away from the mirror, closing his eyes and curling his hand around himself. And yet, he still ached to do it. Zuko stumbled over to the sleeping pad and grabbed his dirty undershirt from the day with his free hand. Let the servants all gossip and whisper; he didn’t care. A gasped breath or two, a long minute of frantic, sharp movements, and he was gritting his teeth silently, spilling over into his undershirt as he bit his lip to keep from making any sound. And as it always did, memory stole in like an unwanted thief to spirit away his pleasure and leave his blood cold as ice, raw with fear and guilt.

The door creaking open: almost-silent, little catlike footsteps sneaking up. He hadn’t heard a thing, not until the curtain by his bed was pulled away and a giggle filled his ears. 

Shame, guilt, cold fear washing over him as he spilled, too late to stop it. 

That’s disgusting, Zuzu, she’d said, still laughing and pointing. It’s so ugly. You know, only imbeciles and weaklings in the dirty Colonies do that? I’m telling Father. He’ll send you away.

No! he’d begged, panicking, trying to put his clothes back on as she laughed and laughed: no, don’t tell Father, don’t tell Father!

He opened his eyes and exhaled shakily, then wiped himself clean and lay down, curling up under the blanket, but he did not sleep, only drifted into a fitful half-dream of dark corridors, where a blue dragon mocked him at every turn.

Chapter Text

Ikaiya sat demurely at the table, pouring tea for her guests: her ladies-in-waiting and other wives and daughters of the small council members, mostly, with a few from Republic City, too. Her first two months as Fire Lady had been filled with little events like this: long lessons in politics and diplomacy in the morning, and gatherings and social visits in the afternoon. 

Her new husband was thoughtful, but in a distant sort of way— he left small gifts in her rooms every so often, things like slippers and hair pins, small Earth Kingdom-made porcelain jars and dishes to make her feel more at home, thin silk split-toed socks embroidered with gold and red phoenixes, calligraphy sets, clothes in the newest fashions from Republic City. Her ladies made much of the little presents, but Ikaiya didn’t know how to interpret them at all: she felt she’d done nothing to deserve them. And of course, it wasn’t like she could just tell him to stop: he was the Fire Lord and would do as he pleased.

Autumn was coming on, and soon they would embark on a tour of the United Republic, accompanied by half the court, and stay in Republic City, which she was looking forward to very much. Aang would accompany them, since Katara was going back to Republic City: she wasn’t supposed to have her baby for another few weeks at least, and hopefully it would be timed just so they would arrive when she had it at the new home Aang had built on Air Temple Island. 

“Are you any good at Pai Sho, my lady?” asked one of the women at the table, smiling as she sipped tea. She was a Chu, of the Chu Shipping company, and her husband was a prominent businessman in Republic City.

“Not very,” Ikaiya said, returning the smile (not too wide, not too bright: demure, demure, said her etiquette teacher in the back of her mind). “Lord Iroh is teaching me. Why do you ask?”

The woman’s smile deepened. “Oh, no reason. I hear the Fire Lord is a very… swift player.”

Ikaiya kept her face still as two other women giggled and hid their mouths behind their fans. This, then, must be some joke she did not understand— some innuendo, perhaps. “Pai Sho can be played slowly, Madame Chu, in a delicate game of strategy, or it can be played fast, as a game of chance. Which do you think the Fire Lord prefers?”

She must have said something shocking, because three women’s faces turned bright red, and Madame Chu almost choked on her tea. “Forgive me, my lady,” she stammered. 

“Think nothing of it,” said Ikaiya, wondering what on earth she could possibly mean. “Does your husband enjoy Pai Sho?”

Madame Chu’s mouth twisted into a wry little smile. “He enjoys playing with others, my lady. It is no matter to me: I hate a clumsy player with a small… mind.”

The giggles started again, and Ikaiya suddenly understood what was being said here— a double meaning, a second conversation cleverly taking place beneath the first one. This is what the instructor meant by court language… “I see,” she said, allowing herself to smile. “Then you must find a player worthy of your wits, and so every party will be happy.”

Laughter pealed up from the table, and Ikaiya allowed herself to laugh with them. “But really,” begged one younger girl, a daughter of— she could not remember, she thought it might be a minor council member. “What sort is the Fire Lord? All of us were dying to see who he’d marry, and even a month and a half past the wedding he’s still walking around as if he hasn’t slept in weeks!”

Ikaiya felt her breath catch. She couldn’t very well tell the truth: that the Fire Lord had stayed about as far away from her bed as any other man in the palace. “Ah—” she began, and flushed so hotly that one of the older women smacked the younger’s hand with a fan. 

“You’ve gone and embarrassed the poor Fire Lady! And you’re a guest, too!”

“Goodness, young lady! Witless!”

“The young these days don’t know how to speak!”

“Please, there’s no need.” Ikaiya poured more tea. “Would you like to walk in the garden when we’re done here? The lilies are about to bloom.”

“Oh, yes!” said Madam Chu, and the others chorused their agreement, and Ikaiya played the good hostess that she had worked hard to learn to be.

Zuko watched his wife from the shadow of the pavilion. His last meeting had ended fifteen minutes ago, and he had some time before his next one, so he spent it standing there and watching her smile politely, bow her head, speak, and show off the gardens with a group of well-dressed women carrying parasols to ward off the hot sunshine. 

She’s the prettiest. The thought caught him like an animal by the throat, sudden and possessive and strange. My wife, my wife I haven’t even touched yet. But she was, with her unpolished way of speaking that drove her tutors to distraction and her open laughter. Even now, she was kneeling in the dirt excitedly to show off a furled fire lily bloom to Madame Chu, who looked delightfully scandalized by her behavior. Consorts to the Fire Lord did not kneel in front of lower ranking people, and Fire Lords knelt to no one: maybe she’d forgotten or maybe she didn’t care. 

The wall between them had not gone away, obviously: he was too ashamed to ask Iroh for advice, and the only time they spent together was once or twice a week for dinner, after which he immediately excused himself and went to his chambers, where he stayed up until past midnight working and did not sleep for more than a few hours before rising again. Zuko wondered if Ikaiya was having trouble sleeping, too. If her bed was too soft, or not soft enough; if she slept in that sleeveless silk thing or nothing at all in the heat.

Something unfurled in his gut, hot and heavy, and he stepped away from the rail, further into the shadow. Lust is like a dragon, his father had used to say. Uncontained, it will destroy a dynasty. Zuko knew what mistresses were for, having learned about them in history, and how the Fire Lords of old had seen nothing wrong with mistresses when unmarried— and when married in many cases, but Ozai had not tolerated them at all, preferring to channel his lust for power into cruelty and domination on the whole world once Mother had gone away. Better to extinguish his own desires completely than to go down that path. Better to never speak of it than to let anyone know, especially not Ikaiya. She’d be disgusted by him. Repulsed. Call him weak. Laugh.

Zuko turned away, blind to Ikaiya, who stood looking at him from the pathways, watching him go back into the cool shade of the palace walls.

“Did you disapprove of the gathering today?” she asked at dinner that night, eating dumplings and spicy noodles. Across from the table, the Fire Lord’s face was drawn, paler than usual, with a sallow cast to his skin. 

“Disapprove?” he echoed, sounding confused.

“Yes, my lord. I… should I have not taken the ladies into the garden? I saw you watching from the pavilion outside the eastern wing. I didn’t know if I had done something wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong, my lady,” he said shortly, lifting his cup to his lips. “Did you enjoy the party?”

“I did. There was a lot of… strange conversation,” she told him, wondering how on earth to broach the subject without sending him running for the hills. “About Pai Sho. Perhaps you could help me understand it.”

“It’s not a game I’m very talented at, but I can do my best,” he said, setting his cup down.

“Well, they wished to know what kind of a player you were, but I don’t think they really meant Pai Sho. I think they meant… a player in, in—” She swallowed hard and watched two spots of scarlet appear on his pale face. “In… matters of, um… the bedchamber.”

The Fire Lord was silent for a long moment, and Ikaiya silently prayed he was not angry. “And how did you answer them?” he asked, his voice sounding rougher than it ever had before.

Ikaiya couldn’t even look at him. “Well, Madame Chu said that it was rumored you played the game fast and without any thought, but I said there were two ways to play Pai Sho, the careful way or the quick way, and which did she think you preferred? And everyone was really embarrassed. So I must have said the right thing. Was I wrong in my answer?”

“No,” said the Fire Lord, looking amused. “That was a clever way to turn it on Madame Chu. Then you didn’t say…”

This was the closest they had ever come to discussing the unspoken problem between them. Ikaiya gathered her courage. “One asked me directly. I... let them think I was too shy to speak about that kind of thing, and everyone scolded her for asking. I think… well, you look like you’re not sleeping well, and everyone is assuming it’s because… other things keep you awake at night. My lord.” 

“Are they,” he said flatly, closing his eyes. “Pai Sho has a double meaning for bedroom… activities, my lady, in the Fire Nation. The grids are spoken of in terms of advancing— so the first grid is a kiss, and second grid and third go on from there, until the fourth grid of the game is reached.”

Ikaiya had lost her appetite. “And ‘reaching the fourth grid’ means…”

He really did look ill. “Yes,” he said shortly. 

“We… don’t have to do that for some time if you don’t want to,” she said quickly. “What— well, we haven’t even advanced to the first, and are just staring at each other from across a set board.”

A smile, half-ghost, moved his lips. “This is true,” he agreed. 

Ask him, ask him! “Is there something wrong with me? Don’t you find me… you don’t want—”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” said the Fire Lord firmly, looking up immediately at her with eyes like molten gold, the smile gone. “Absolutely nothing.”

She didn’t miss the slight emphasis on the word you and  swallowed hard. “Are you… unwell? I know some men, um, have trouble with, with…” Just say it, just ask! “Uh… you know. Rising. To… the occasion.”

He was as still as stone. “Are you asking your Fire Lord if he is impotent?”

What have I said? Her stomach felt as tight and roiling as a bucket of eels. “I— I’m sorry if I have insulted y—”

He stood in a rush of silk, and Ikaiya had just enough time to think oh no I’m going to be sent back to the Colonies before he had come around the table, dropped to his knees beside her cushion in a strangely predatory movement, and gripped her by the back of the neck. His hand was warm, almost hot, and she had just enough time to open her mouth in— what? She didn’t know. An apology, a plea, perhaps, for mercy, but it didn’t matter because his mouth was on hers, artlessly ravaging her lips with a kiss that felt as angry as it did desperate. She grabbed him by his robe without thinking, and he groaned half into her mouth before pulling her even closer, close enough that she could feel a stiff intrusion below his robes against her thigh. “Do I feel like I’m impotent?” he rasped, and she felt the hurt and fury in his voice, threatening to boil over. “Do I?”

“No,” she panted, mindful of the hand still gripping her neck. He was touching her, touching her, and she actually didn’t dislike it at all despite the roughness— in fact, she liked it. A lot. “You don’t. My lord.”

His golden-amber eyes searched hers for a moment as he struggled for words. “There is a… wall between us,” he managed. “I don’t—it’s me. Me.”

“I don’t want that,” she murmured. “A wall, I mean. Let me help. Please. Whatever it is—”

“You can’t,” the Fire Lord said, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

“Well, at least we have reached the first grid,” Ikaiya said softly, watching his face flicker with some suppressed emotion— but he hadn’t let go of her neck yet, the hand still cupping her there all tangled in her hair, and she wondered what would happen if he didn’t let go. If he kissed her again. If she kissed him. She swallowed. Her body had gone very warm, and it had nothing to do with the hot sun. “It’s all right. You didn’t hurt me.”

“No?” he said, and let out a bitter little sound like a laugh before he released her, sitting back on his heels and closing his eyes. “I always told myself I would never be cruel to my wife like my father was to his. And here I am, shoving you around because my manhood was questioned.” He dragged the heels of his hand across his eyes, and Ikaiya felt a stab of shock: was he crying? “You were right to ask me, my lady. It’s a logical assumption, especially because I haven’t come near you in two months, isn’t it?”

“I won’t ask to help again,” Ikaiya told him firmly. “If you don’t want me to, my lord, I mean, but if you want to talk about anything, I— I can listen.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, somewhere in his throat, and bent his head, his shoulders shaking. 

“I didn’t say I’d understand. I said I’d listen.” Ikaiya folded her hands in her lap. “And whatever it is, I won’t—I’m sure there’s a good reason.”

“There’s no good reason,” he said harshly, and stood on unsteady feet before bowing low, saluting her with a fist under his palm. “Forgive me. Good night.”

But— she wanted to cry out as he left through the far door. But what do you mean there’s no good reason? Then why? There was nothing more to say, however, and Ikaiya sat alone at the table, staring at her cold food.

“So,” said Iroh patiently, sitting down in the tiny private chamber off the small council chamber. 

“What?” demanded Zuko, forcing himself to sit. 

“You have been married for two months,” said Iroh, in the calm, gentle tone he always took before he was about to bring up something unpleasant. “How are you finding Ikaiya? How are you finding each other?”

“Why do you ask?” Zuko snapped, unable to look his uncle in the eye. 

“Well, it’s a funny thing. The laundry-maids and servants are beginning to whisper behind their hands that there’s not a shred of evidence as to any consummation of the Fire Lord and Fire Lady’s marriage at all.” Iroh poured tea as if he was talking about the weather, and not the state of Zuko’s marital life. “And while one might assume, then, that perhaps… certain activities were taking place away from the bedroom, both your schedules are so fully accounted for that there is simply no time at all for such things. I wondered, perhaps, if you might clarify this, nephew.”

Shame welled up behind Zuko’s eyelids, hot and stinging. He forced it down. “There’s nothing to clarify,” he said.

“You mean that the marriage remains unconsummated?” Iroh did not sound judgmental, or angry, or confused: only asking.

“Yes,” said Zuko, and felt something lift, just a little, off his chest, as if a weight had been taken off a crushing pile. One less secret to carry, then. “She— she spoke to me yesterday at dinner. She thinks— she thought I was unable to— to do my duty.” A weakling, hissed the blue dragon around his heart, and he swallowed hard. 

“We spoke before of your fears, nephew. I assume they remain the same, and that is why you have not… performed your duties,” said Iroh delicately. “I know I said you had time, but…”

“It’s more than that,” said Zuko thickly, unable to look at anything but the table in front of him and his hands trembling in tight fists. “I can’t— I can’t talk about it, Uncle.”

“But you have talked about it to Ikaiya? She is your wife.”

“I can’t talk to anybody about it!” Zuko exploded, his fists clenched so tightly he thought his knuckles might crack as tears filled his eyes, and he hated the fact that he was almost thirty and crying like a child in front of his uncle, but he couldn’t stop them, or the words that poured out of his mouth. “I can’t— you don’t understand, you won’t understand. I’m— I thought, I thought this would fix everything, make it better and instead it made everything worse, worse and I’m so tired, Uncle. I’m so tired. ” His voice broke, and Iroh stood up immediately, rounding the table and tugging him into an embrace that Zuko half-collapsed into. 

“Zuko,” he whispered, warm and gentle as a father should be. “Tell me what you can, and I will try to help you. No man should fear his wife’s bed. Is Ikaiya cruel to you?”

“No,” Zuko sobbed. “No, she’s kind to me, but she will be, she’ll be cruel once I, when I—” 

When I let her in, when I expose a weakness. The blue dragon. The blue dragon knows. 

“Sit down,” said Iroh, and guided his nephew to a couch, where Zuko tumbled down like a puppet with cut strings and put his face in his hands. “I think I know now. Zuko, Ikaiya is not your sister, to be passionately cruel, and she is not Mai, to be cool and distant. She has a good temperament, and she has been left alone for months, wondering when her husband will finally come to her bed— or either dreading it. Do you truly think she dreads it? Do you truly think she dislikes you so much?”

Zuko shut his eyes, the memory of a punishing kiss and the soft lips that welcomed it bleeding into his mind. I don’t want a wall between us. “No,” he whispered. “But I don’t… know how— how to do it right. Any of it, I mean.”

“Ah,” said Iroh, his wrinkled cheeks coloring deeply. “Well, nephew. It is like this. We men are like lightning: a single bolt and the whole forest goes up in flames at once. Women are... like a smoldering coal, from which a tiny spark is gently coaxed to a great fire over time. You must be gentle, so that the spark is not extinguished too early, and you must be firm, as a bellows is pumped to heat a fire of coals.”

“Coals,” said Zuko, blinking. How women were like coals, he had no idea, but he definitely didn’t want to let Uncle Iroh start waxing poetic about the intricacies of a marriage-bed. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“Of course. Have you started packing yet for your tour?”

“Not yet,” he admitted. “I’m… not looking forward to having to leave you behind.”

“Nonsense. You’re ready to go on your own, and I know Aang is eager to show you all that has changed since you left last year.” Iroh squeezed his shoulder. “And you and Ikaiya will have some quiet time together.”

Quiet time. With Ikaiya. Zuko’s stomach clenched, and he wasn’t sure if it was fear or excitement. “Great,” he managed to say.

The royal yacht set sail the next week, gold and red banners unfurled in the breeze as they churned past the Great Gates of Azulon, which Ikaiya eyed with some trepidation. She’d not liked the sight of them as she’d come in, and she liked them even less on the way out. He looks like he’s watching me, she thought, staring up at the huge bronze statue of the long-dead Fire Lord. And that he doesn’t think much of what he sees, either.  Ikaiya would have preferred looking at the dragons that nestled in the cliffs of the bay, one on each side, but it was hard to shake the unsettling sensation of Azulon's statue glaring her down. She thought she'd be ill at ease until they'd sailed far enough away that it wasn't watching her anymore.

“I bet you’re wondering if he was as awful in life as he looks,” said a tired, worn voice at her shoulder. She turned to see the current Fire Lord, his black hair caught and whipping in the wind as his eyes gazed upward. “He was worse.”

“Well, at least the sculptor got that right,” she said lightly, and was gratified to see a half-smile quirk at his mouth. “What about the dragons?"

"All the dragons are dead," he said swiftly, glancing at the twin bronze statues, snakelike and motionless in the cliffsides. "Everyone knows that. Long ago."

"Ah. So. What’s our first stop?”

“Kyoshi Island. Only for two nights, though. After that, Gao Ling, which I think you’ll be more familiar with than I will be.”

“Gao Ling was only a few miles away from my village,” Ikaiya said, pleased he’d remembered. “I thought they told me in council that you once had Kyoshi Warriors as your bodyguards.”

“I did. I sent them home for a year on leave, though. They’ll rejoin us when we arrive on the island and remain with us for the rest of the tour.”

“Are they as good as everyone says?”

“Better.” The Fire Lord sighed and looked out over the water as the last island disappeared behind them on their southeast course. “It’ll get colder as we get closer.”

“I’ve missed the cold,” Ikaiya confessed, tilting her head back to welcome the cool sea breeze. “It’s so hot in the capital.”

“Oh,” he said, and looked out awkwardly over the railing, as if he’d forgotten what he was going to say. “Well. Do you want to look at our rooms? The Avatar is still unpacking, but he’ll join us shortly. We have some time.”

“Oh, right,” said Ikaiya, and trailed after him down to the lower decks, where he led her through a gleaming corridor hung with silk and into the royal apartments, which consisted of a massive living space, a large bedchamber, and an office that led into the bridge of the ship. Surprisingly, these rooms weren’t as overbearingly red and gold, dripping in ornamentation: the bed was piled in soft pale reds and browns, the decoration was limited to a dragon and a phoenix entwined on the floor in mother of pearl inlay, and the drapes around the bed were gauzy white silk. “I like it,” she said quietly, reaching up to touch the fabric. 

“I… didn’t know if you would,” he said. “I had it redone after the war.”

“No, it’s fine. Less busy. Simple.” Ikaiya sat on the bed and sank into delicious softness. “Ooh. You didn’t skimp on the mattress, did you?”

He chuckled a little. “No. A commander has to have a good night’s sleep.”

“And have you… gotten much sleep lately?” she ventured, sneaking a glance up into his face. 

The Fire Lord swallowed. “No,” he said, and there was a look in his eyes as if he expected her to do something terrible, though what that was she couldn’t imagine. “I’ll go and see how Aang is doing,” he said, inching toward the door. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

With that, he was gone, and Ikaiya huffed lightly, then flung herself onto her back, sinking a little into the soft bed. Really, she’d expected to have to get used to her husband, but two months and only a single kiss? Something was wrong. I’m going to have to work it out of him. I will. There’s only one bed, anyway. He can’t just avoid me forever.

Dinner was delicious and simple: white steamed rice, savory seaweed soup with tofu and mushrooms, grilled and grated vegetables, and pickled plums cut in the shape of the Fire Nation crest to sit on the rice. Ikaiya complimented the delighted cook personally and ate every bite, wondering what further culinary adventures awaited on this journey. The Fire Lord picked at his food.

Aang was a joy to speak to once she got over her nervousness about meeting the Avatar, and he wanted to know all about her: where she had grown up, what her life was like, who her family was. She found herself spilling out everything to him, everything: those keen gray eyes listened to every word. She talked about the war, which had been all she had known since she was a child in the Colonies, and her father, loyal to the Fire Nation, had been unpopular in Ikana Village and mostly spent his time in the Capital, but her mother, who came from an old fine family, had been well-liked. She told him about how people had talked behind their hands when they’d had to dismiss everyone and close down the house and sell their nice things. “But I wasn’t the only one, and I had it better than most,” she explained, sipping soup. “I knew how to do things, you know, like wrangle ostrich-horses. My father loved animals, and he always said he thought I had the gift, too.”

“What did you think of the Fire Nation back then?” Aang asked, eyes bright and sharp.

She swallowed, thinking briefly that she had better mind what she said because someone would tell the Fire Lord, and then remembered she was the Fire Lady and her husband, sitting across the table from her, was the Fire Lord. And yet, she did not want to hurt Zuko’s feelings. “We thought Lord Ozai could read our minds, and that he decreed the weather,” she said finally.

Zuko choked on his tea. “You what?”

“Really. Mrs. Su— my old form teacher— she used to say that if we misbehaved, Lord Ozai would know, and that he would send a drought if we didn’t pledge complete loyalty in our hearts. There was a big painting of him on the back wall of our classroom, and I used to convince myself he was looking at me when I was thinking bad thoughts. And once after we had said the pledge of loyalty, you know, my life I give to my country, I asked Mrs. Su if my country was the Fire Nation or the Earth Kingdom, and she was so angry that she whipped me with a cane and made me stand in the corner for three periods.”

The cup in Zuko’s hand fell out of his fingers, clunked on the low table, and hit the mat on the floor. “Your teachers beat you,” he said flatly.

The smile slipped off Ikaiya’s face. “Yes. Didn’t yours?”

Aang glanced from his face to hers. “It’s against the law— or was— for an instructor to lay a hand on any child of the Fire Nation Royal Family. Scholars are a lower class,” he explained. 

“I see.”

“Yes,” said Zuko flatly. “Yes, the privilege of corporal punishment belonged to my father alone. Excuse me, my lady. I think I’m going to try to get some sleep early tonight.”

“Of course,” said Ikaiya, startled. “I— I’ll see you in the bedroom, then?” He bowed to her formally, indicated Aang with a tilt of his head, and left. She turned to the Avatar. “I think I must have said something wrong again.”

“No,” said Aang quietly, shaking his head. “The only thing you’ve done is… simply being a living reminder of the pain his father inflicted on the world, I think.”

“Well, if he didn’t want to be reminded of that, he shouldn’t have picked me,” she mumbled, embarrassed.

“You misunderstand. He did want to be reminded of it. I think that might be why he chose you, instead of a Fire Nation noblewoman, protected from the… real world, you know—the consequences of his father’s actions— in silk and cotton. That doesn’t mean he won’t struggle.” Those eyes! Sharp as needles, gray as a cloudy sky. Ikaiya had to look away. They weren’t the eyes of a man her age: they were the eyes of a man who’d lived a thousand lives. And isn’t that exactly what he is?

A servant came with a bottle of plum shochu , setting it down on the table and backing away. Ikaiya poured a tiny cup for the Avatar and then one for herself. He lifted a hand, smiling. “Oh. You don’t drink? I’m sorry— I knew you were vegetarian, but not—”

“It’s all right. Have it on me.”  

“That I can do,” she joked.

As night fell and the stars bloomed silver over the calm seas, Ikaiya bid farewell to Aang and made her way back down the corridor, to the stairs, down the fine silk-hung corridor, and to their room. Surely Zuko would be in there, sleeping… but Ikaiya found herself in their fine room all alone.

Where is he?

She put on a robe and picked up a lamp, determined and a little tipsy from the shochu : he couldn’t just ignore her and stay away from her this whole trip. People would talk, and she knew from her instructors that rumors were the foundation of bad public opinion, and that bad public opinion meant, sometimes, the difference between life and death. She had to find him, and find him quickly. 

Down the corridors. Nothing. In the other empty rooms, nothing; in the study, nothing, in the bridge, nothing, and finally she came to a door at the very stern of the ship, and opened it to find a storage closet and her husband curled up on his side on a sleeping-mat, a thin blanket bunched around his waist. 

Her heart lurched: he wasn’t wearing a tunic, and his hair was loose, falling around his bare shoulders and face like an unbound river of ink. “My lord,” she whispered, kneeling down and touching his shoulder. Zuko sat up fast, eyes wild and startled, and she shushed him softly, covering his mouth with her hand and putting her finger to her lips. “Shh. It’s only me. You have to come to bed.”

He took her hand away from his mouth. His fingers closed entirely around her wrist. “I’m sleeping here,” he said, in a hard, gravelly voice.

“You can’t. Someone’s going to see you, and then people will talk. You don’t have to—” Belatedly she realized the door was still open, kicked it almost shut so that they were alone in the closet, light coming in through a vent in the door, and leaned in. It seemed like a very small space. The hair on the back of her scalp prickled. “You don’t have to touch me, or even sleep in the bed if you can’t stand to, just please— sleep in the room.”

“Fine,” he said after a moment, and Ikaiya sighed in relief, then turned to hide her flustered expression as he stood up and gathered his mat and blanket, revealing far more of his body than she’d ever seen: he slept, it seemed, in just his loose drawers. 

Ikaiya led him back to their chambers and only let out her breath once the door had shut behind them, then shuffled her robe off, leaving her in her thin-strapped sleeping gown. It was still too hot for proper sleepwear here, and she turned on her husband, intending to chastise him for running off and sleeping in a closet: what if someone had found him like that? But—

Zuko was staring at her. His mouth was slightly open in frank admiration, and he seemed to be growing flushed. She looked down, and realized to her embarrassment that her gown was almost transparent in this light. “You have to sleep in here,” she squeaked out, and cleared her throat as he jerked his eyes away from her body and up to her face. “In here. So nobody starts talking. Please.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then he nodded. “Yes. You— you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Will you, do you want to sleep on the bed, or—”

“The bed,” he said, and coughed. “No, the floor. I— I mean I’ll sleep on the floor. On my mat. I won’t bother you.”

Bother me? “I’m not a very easily bothered person,” Ikaiya said, wishing he would put a robe on so she didn’t have to keep staring at the well-sculpted chest, the broad arms, the finely built shoulders and trim waist. He had another scar, about the length of her hand and pinkish-red, round and almost craterlike, directly where his sternum ended above his belly. She wondered where it had come from. “Are you? My lord?”

“I—you can just call me Zuko, my lady,” he said, sounding like it was a struggle to get the words out. 

“Only if you call me Ikaiya.” She felt very bold, asking for so much all in one night. “And it wouldn’t bother me if you slept in the bed. I’m sure you could use a good night’s rest.”

But he was backing away, looking everywhere but at her as he rolled his mat out and wrapped himself in his blanket. “Good night,” he said tightly, and rolled to his side, looking away from her as she gave up, snuffed the light, and tucked herself into that huge, soft, empty bed.

Chapter Text

It couldn’t be that he didn’t find her attractive. It just couldn’t. Ikaiya thought about it as they came ashore to Kyoshi Island’s pine-forested shores, as they were welcomed, as she handed out little gifts to the children who were delighted to receive them and gave deep bows to the elders, who were less pleased, but still polite and receptive. Zuko was watching her, and he looked pleased with her, so he must like her in some way: it couldn’t be disgust. 

Nor was it disinterest, she thought, as they were shown the shrine of Avatar Kyoshi and the statue in the center of the town, and honored it with a ceremony. Certainly not disinterest; no disinterested man looked at her the way Zuko did, or kissed her like he had, once. 

She wished he would kiss her again. Maybe if she goaded him into it… no, that was no sound basis for a marriage. I’ll have to be blunt, she thought, dreading it, and smiled as Aang regaled them with a story about how he had legally defended Kyoshi from Chin the Conqueror in a mock trial during the Hundred Year’s War. There was a man, surely, without any compunctions toward a marriage bed: he was open and free with his emotions and thoughts, where Zuko kept them reserved behind a door she could not unlock. A wall she could not get over or knock down.

But I will, she thought, determined. I must. People at court had already started eyeing up her middle and whispering to themselves when they thought she wasn’t looking: wondering, no doubt, if any heir was forthcoming. Ikaiya wasn’t stupid: she knew exactly how babies were fathered and born, and she’d always liked the idea of having one or two herself. There had just been no opportunity for much past a lot of kissing and petting and sneaking around in the barns with one or two village boys she’d liked, out of sight of Mother, who would have had a fit if she’d found out that Ikaiya had done anything to compromise a good marriage arrangement. She wondered if Zuko had ever done it before, and if he had, had something happened to make him afraid to do it again? Or had he never done it, and perhaps he was simply afraid of the unknown? 

They were led to the finest guest-house the town had, low and steep-roofed with wooden sliding doors and paper panels, and Zuko and Ikaiya bowed gratefully to the townspeople before they entered. “Hey, I just remembered something,” Aang said, smiling as he reached up to touch a carved wooden good-luck talisman hanging from the ceiling. “They say if a bender is conceived on Kyoshi Island, they’ll have good luck all their life.” 

Zuko went slightly pale. “Good night,” he said quickly, and Ikaiya had to hurry after him to catch up as he escaped to the door of their room and slid it shut behind them, eyes closed.

Wait, she thought, thunderstruck. Something about having a child disconcerts him. That’s what the problem is. “Zuko, the Avatar wasn’t trying to imply anything.”

“I know he wasn’t,” snapped her husband, sweat on his forehead despite the cool weather. He wiped it away. “I know. I—just, just go to bed.”

Ikaiya bit back a sharp remark and forced herself to be gentle. “Please talk to me. Let me help you, whatever it is—”

“You can’t help me, ” he said, bristling like a trapped animal with his back against the door.

“Badger’s bones, Zuko, I’m not going to jump on you.” She patted the mat. “Just come sit. Talk with me. I want to know what upsets you so I don’t say something wrong.”

He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he might come to her, might sit down, but he shook his head and slid the door open without a word, leaving her there.

Ikaiya groaned and threw a cushion at the wall, then felt bad and went to go pick it up. 

“Aang,” Zuko said, slipping into the Avatar’s chambers. 

“Zuko?” The other man sat up, immediately settling into a cross-legged seat. “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it? I didn’t mean to say anything that made it worse.”

“Don’t worry about it. I— I need advice.” Zuko sat cross-legged too, head bowed. “I— this is a stupid thing to ask an Avatar for.”

“Probably not a stupid thing to ask a friend for, though, so go ahead,” Aang replied.

“You— you and Katara,” he said, trying to work out the words. “You—I mean. She’s. She’s having another child.”

“Uh... yeah,” said Aang, looking vaguely worried. 

“I— I don’t—ugh.” Zuko buried his face in his hands. “How do I—how did you—no, that’s not what I meant to say. Your... marriage. How does it work?”

“Well,” said Aang carefully, thinking. “We talk about stuff. She’s always on my case about how I’m going to have to focus more on family when this baby comes, because I can’t keep going everywhere doing Avatar stuff and trying to be a father at the same time, and I keep telling her I have a duty and I’m struggling with knowing which I’m supposed to prioritize, my personal life or my Avatar life— or even rebuilding the Air Nomads as a people. Um, so, yeah—we talk a lot, and we’re open with each other, and I ask for her advice on things about the Southern Water Tribe and the reconstruction project. But mostly she stays on Air Temple Island with Bumi when she’s in the city, and when he’s not busy, Sokka helps.”

Zuko wished he had a brush and paper. Talk about stuff, be open with each other. Both things he struggled with, right down at the core. “And… I don’t want to pry about… uh, marital intimacy, but how, how exactly do you…” He could not finish, and went silent.

“What— oh, you mean, like, in general?” Aang stroked his chin for a moment and turned a little pink. “Zuko, did your uncle never, uh, have the talk with you?”

This was too much. “Why does everyone keep assuming I— I know how it works!” Zuko snapped. “You, you have to, you know. Get to the fourth grid of Pai Sho. And then you get a baby nine months later.” A shudder wracked him. 

“I mean, not always,” said Aang. “Katara and I were married for, like, four years before she got pregnant.”

Not always? Zuko froze in his seat. “I… oh. I thought a baby always—you mean you were, you were doing… things… for four years without anything happening?”

“Sure,” said Aang. “I mean, it’s fun, right? Especially when you’re, you know, taking some precautions, so you know there’s not gonna be anything to worry about down the line.”

Fun? Precautions? Zuko was completely lost. He gave up. “Okay, you’re going to have to be really clear here. What part of having a wife is supposed to be fun? And what precautions are you talking about?”

Aang just stared at him, looking as bewildered as Zuko felt. “What do you mean? You… you know, you spend time with each other, you kiss and, and touch each other and things like that. It’s fun. I mean, Air Nomads aren’t really supposed to have earthly attachments, but I’m the Avatar, too, so…” He shrugged, looking a little self-conscious. “And, uh, it’s not like Air Nomads didn’t enjoy each other’s company. I mean, where else would airbender kids come from? It's just the marriage part. That's kind of... yeah. But, uh, like I said.”

“I thought… I thought all that petting stuff and kissing and— I thought that was what mistresses were for,” Zuko managed, scarlet to his ears.

Aang looked stunned. “What? No! Are you— you’re not messing with someone behind Ikaiya’s back, are you?”

“No!” Zuko almost shouted, but lowered his voice. “No, and I don’t plan to. But you said precautions, what—”

“Oh, like— you know. Papaya seeds. Wild carrot. They’re inventing things in Republic City that work as a barrier, too.”

“A barrier against what? ” Zuko hissed. 

Aang looked like he was torn between sympathy and shock. “Getting... pregnant? Zuko, you mean nobody told you about how to do it safely, or how to plan when you want a baby?”

“I didn’t— I never—” Zuko was stunned. You could plan a baby? “You mean the Air Nomads told you this stuff?”

“Sure they did. You think people who were bent on having no earthly attachments didn’t find ways to make sure there wouldn’t be a chance of attachments you didn’t plan on having?” Aang held out his hands, curling one into a loose fist, and extending the first two fingers on his other hand. “Okay, here’s one way you can do it without any papaya or anything. So you have your part and her part, right?”

“Right,” said Zuko, trying to tamp down the humiliation of making the Avatar— even worse, Aang— explain this to him. 

“So when you, you know, do it and you’re trying to have a child, you want to, uh, finish inside, like this,” Aang explained, and thrust the two fingers snugly into his fist. “Because your seed is what makes the baby, and it has to get inside a body to do that. But if you don’t want a child, you just—” and Aang pulled his fingers away, wiggling them and blowing a raspberry with his tongue. “Away from her. Works pretty well. I mean, Katara knew all about Southern Water Tribe stuff like sealskin barriers, but—”

“I get the idea, thanks,” said Zuko, trying really hard not to think about it. “And you said... papaya seeds and wild carrot?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s an Earth Kingdom thing, though. Golden papaya seeds make men unable to father children as long as you eat a couple a day, and wild carrot makes it so women can’t get pregnant as long as they drink tea made of the flowers. Toph told me about those. Pretty neat, right? Well, anyway, now you can keep doing whatever, and you won’t have to worry.”

“Aang,” said Zuko, his throat as dry as the Si Wong, “I haven’t done anything. I’ve barely touched her yet.”

There was a long silence. “Oh, buddy, ” said Aang, wincing. 

Zuko felt sparks glitter at his fingertips and clenched his hand into a fist. “I know. I know, don’t lecture me, Uncle did enough of that already—”

“But… why? There has to be a reason. I mean, she’s— she’s kind. And she’s friendly. Katara likes her and said she was really considerate. And I see how she looks at you.”

“What?” Zuko blinked, shocked out of his embarrassment. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not exactly subtle, Zuko. She looks at you like she doesn’t know what to do with herself when you’re around. She cares about you.”

A bitter laugh left Zuko’s mouth. “The only people who care about me do it because they get something out of it.”

“You know that’s not true. Your uncle—”

“—knew he’d get a place on my council if I became Fire Lord.” Resentment and fear was boiling to the surface, fear he’d long thought conquered; fears hissed to life again by the blue dragon in his chest. “My mother abandoned me to go back to her first lover and have a whole new family without me, even you might only be friends with me for what I can give this United Republic—”

“And what do you think Ikaiya gets out of it?” Aang asked softly. There was no arguing, no denial: he would let Zuko work out whatever frustrations he had.

Zuko swallowed. What a stupid question: Ikaiya had gotten wealth and power and silk clothes and servants to attend to her every need, with better food than she’d ever eaten in her life. But had she wanted that? His mind slipped back to the words she’d spoken to the other women in the courtyard, the day he’d laid eyes on her: I only came to see what it was like…

“I don’t know,” he rasped. “But it— something. It has to be something.”

Aang’s gray eyes were wiser than his years. “Why does it have to be something?”

“Because it’s always something. Nobody is ever just kind and friendly to me for nothing. That’s— that’s not how any of this works. None of it.” Zuko’s stomach turned. “I’m going to bed. I shouldn’t have asked you about any of this. I’m sorry. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t—” began Aang, but Zuko was already gone, sliding the door shut as he went.

Ikaiya lifted her head, half asleep, as her door slid open and shut again. Footsteps crossed the floor, firm and light. “Hmm?” she mumbled. The sleeping-mat was comfortable, but it was a little drafty on the floor. 

“Go to sleep,” whispered a raspy, low voice she knew well. There was a rustle and slip, and she knew he’d pulled the sleeping mat beside hers away from her, over to the other side of the room. That stung. She sat up, confused, and watched him crouch over the mat ten feet away, smoothing it out. 

“It’s cold,” she said plaintively. And it was: the autumn night breeze found its way through every crack, pine-scented. 

“You have a blanket. Good night.”

Oh, so he was just outright rejecting her. Ikaiya’s eyes stung with hot tears, and she lay back down, determined not to make a sound as she rolled over in her blanket and closed her eyes. It will get better. He’s just upset about something… something he wouldn’t tell her about, something she couldn’t reach. 

Once, as a child, she’d climbed onto a table to get to a packet of red bean dumplings high up on a shelf, and knocked over everything in her path to get to it. Mother had been furious, and she’d had to help clean the mess up, and gotten no dumplings to boot. There is a right way to get what you want, and a wrong way. Trying to reach something closed off by force was a sure way to ruin everything.

Ikaiya took a deep breath and drifted off into sleep.

“The Kyoshi Warriors are proud to serve the Fire Lord once more,” proclaimed a woman in heavy green robes and bronze and gold armor, saluting their party in front of a team of six more identically-clothed women, all in white makeup and red eye-paint. Ikaiya bowed along with Zuko, who had spent a sleepless night in their room, judging by the dark circles beneath his eyes. The speaker was their leader, a petite woman with reddish-brown hair, who Aang greeted by name— Suki— and who seemed to know Zuko fairly well. 

She greeted Ikaiya warmly, and Ikaiya returned it with a formal bow. “I’ve heard many stories of your fearlessness, and the talent of the Kyoshi Warriors. I’m honored to meet you.”

“Thank you, my lady. We’ve heard a lot about you, too. You’re kind of a celebrity out here, and in the Earth Kingdom.” Suki smiled. “I’m sorry we couldn’t make it to the wedding. There’s been a few skirmishes with some disgruntled Fire Nation people down here… Zuko knows what I’m talking about.”

“The New Ozai Society?” asked Ikaiya. “Or— what did they call themselves a few years ago?”

“The Safe Nation Society,” said Suki, lifting her lip in a sneer. “Ugh. Kidnapping children. Yeah, they’re not as strong as they were in the Capital, but they’re out there. I’m surprised nobody warned you.”

“We didn’t want her to worry,” said Zuko, his mouth a grim line. Ikaiya chose to leave that alone. “Are we safe here?” 

“With us defending you? Of course you are. Lady Ikaiya, are you trained in any defensive arts?”

“No,” said Ikaiya. “I mean, apart from how to behave diplomatically if I’m ever kidnapped. But I’ve never been in a fight with, um, weapons.”

Suki frowned. “If you want some real self-defense pointers, I can teach you in the training hall. I’m surprised they didn’t cover that in your preparations to be Fire Lady.”

“Ooh! Can I train her?” asked one of the Kyoshi Warriors, a bright smile on her painted face. “Please?”

“Ty Lee, you can train someone when I want the building you’re doing it in demolished,” said Suki firmly, giving her a look.

“I think they assumed I’d be more of a… diplomacy and tea party Fire Lady and not a fan-wielding, sword… stabby Fire Lady,” said Ikaiya, laughing. “But I accept your generous offer, Suki. When can we start?”

Afternoon was stretching over the island when Ikaiya entered the lodge on the hill above the town and found Suki, her face scrubbed clean, wearing simple billowing pants and a wrap top. “Good, you made it,” she said, and frowned at her clothes: a long pair of brown silk trousers and a loose, red, overlarge man’s shirt. “Is that all they gave you for everyday stuff?”

“Well, half my clothes are silk now, and all they packed for Kyoshi Island were fancy dresses,” said Ikaiya, grinning. She felt at ease with this woman. “So I had to borrow this from one of our guards. Haido. Nice guy.” 

“Well, my regards to Haido. Hope he’s not running around naked.” Suki beckoned her forward and dropped into a relaxed and balanced stance, her feet spread apart. “Do what I do. You want your center of gravity to be low, so it’s more easily controlled.”

Ikaiya crouched. It felt good to exercise the muscles in her legs. “Hands up?”

“Yes. Eye level. Good.” Suki shifted her weight, then flashed out a hand and struck Ikaiya on the upper arm so hard she tumbled to the woven mat. “Your center is unbalanced. Back up.”

Ikaiya jumped back up and tried to find her center again, balancing. This time, she was ready for the blow, and dodged it, head down, spinning and coming back. “Like that?”

“Good! And now defend yourself—” Suki delivered a firm set of blows with the side of her hand to Ikaiya’s shoulder, hip, and thigh, and Ikaiya fell again, huffing. “I won’t hit you in the stomach,” she assured her as she got back up. “Just, you know. In case.”

“Hit me wherever you like,” said Ikaiya through gritted teeth, and darted toward Suki, landing one blow to the shoulder before she was overpowered and tossed down to the mat again. “Ow!”

“Good to know,” said Suki, eyes twinkling, and went over her form with a judging eye. “You’re long in the torso,” she decided. “Use your legs. Kick out like this: up, and over, one— two—”

Ikaiya kicked high as Suki had demonstrated and landed a good blow to her cheek before Suki dodged her kick, darted under her knee, and began to lift her to throw again. None of that! Ikaiya thought, and threw her weight towards the woman, knocking her off her balance and pinning her down with her leg. “Good!” Suki warbled, grinning even as she turned red from the weight. “Up!”

“Not bad?” Ikaiya asked, releasing her and sitting back as she rubbed her neck.

“Eh, you’re all right. You know what you’re doing with your hands, at least.” Suki shot her a smile. “Let’s get back up. I have more lessons to run you through. We don’t have all night.”

As Ikaiya left, taking the path back to town in the twilight, she reflected on the many sore areas of her body and the ache in her muscles. I haven’t had fun like that in forever. The air smelled like pine, and the birds were singing overhead. A swelling on her cheekbone would likely be a bruise by tomorrow, but she’d landed one in return on Suki’s mouth that had split her lip open. 

She sighed and hummed half a song, and as she was reaching the bend in the trail that led to the square, something landed on her— something heavy and hard, and she fell with a cry before something covered her nose and mouth, something burned as she inhaled, and then she knew nothing more.

Gradually, Ikaiya became aware she was sitting upright, and that she was tied to something. Rope secured her to a tree, and she knew it was a tree because the bark was scratchy against her back and there was a root jammed in her backside. “Oh,” she mumbled, looking around in the dark. “What…?”

“Are you sure that’s the Fire Lady?” demanded a man’s voice from the darkness around her. 

Another man sounded annoyed. “I heard her talking to the Kyoshi Warrior! It’s her. She’s in borrowed clothes. I swear. I swear by my gran-gran’s bones—”

“Nobody wants to hear about your gran-gran’s bones.” A shape, blurred in the dark, swam closer to her face. “I don’t know…”

I’ve been kidnapped. Ikaiya was initially frightened, but made herself calm down: she was still on Kyoshi Island, by the smell, and they hadn’t done anything but knock her out. Maybe if she found out what they wanted, it would turn out all right. She remembered her hostage training immediately: be polite, make them like you, make friends. “Who do I have the honor of addressing?” she asked, peering into the dark.

Flame lit up the night, and she blinked at the sight of a man in brown holding flame in the palm of his hand: a firebender, then. “We’re the New Ozai Society.” His voice was half a whisper, pausing for dramatic effect.

Ikaiya frowned. “I thought you were the Safe something society now.”

“No, we changed it back again.” The man sounded ill at ease. “Got banished, didn’t we? So we don’t want a safe nation anymore, we want another Fire Lord.”

Ikaiya smiled politely. “I think one Fire Lord’s enough for all of us,” she said. “What are we going to do with two?”

“Don’t talk to her! She’s a fancy court lady. She’ll get into your head with her wiling ways.” That was a third man, crouching by the edge of the clearing. She could see them all, now: all in brown and red, maybe in their late thirties or mid-forties, two with beards and one without. M ake connections with your kidnappers, be polite, put them off their guard. Empathize. Sympathize.

“I’m not a court lady. I grew up north of here in the Earth Kingdom, in a village by Gao Ling, near the foot of the mountains. I’m not fancy at all.” She winced. The bruise on her face ached, and she felt stinging scratches on her legs and arms, a pain in her foot. “How far did you drag me? I’m all scratched up. It hurts.”

“Only about half a m—” began one, interrupted by a frantic chorus of shushing by the other two.

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” Ikaiya said, gnawing on her own lip. “Of course you don’t want me to know where I am. So what, uh, what exactly was the point of kidnapping me?” If I’m half a mile from the town, someone has to find me soon.  "Ransom? Hostage?"

“To send a message to the Fire Nation!” said the first one angrily. “We want him gone, and we want Ozai to be Fire Lord again. There’s more of us, too.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. But, uh, the thing is, I don’t think— well, you probably should have kidnapped someone else,” said Ikaiya. “I’m not… that important to the Fire Nation. I don’t think they would really care that much.”

“What? But you’re the queen! You could be carrying the heir!”

“No, I’m not a queen, I’m Consort to the Fire Lord. The Earth Kingdom is the one with kings and queens. Anyway. It was kind of an arranged marriage. You know that, right?”

“Everyone knows that. You think we don’t get news out here?” The second man, the firebender, crouched in front of her, and she finally saw his face. Hard, lined, tired. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, to tell you the truth…” Ikaiya shifted uncomfortably. That root was painful. “I’m definitely not carrying his heir yet. So.”

“Oh,” said the third man awkwardly. “Well. Uh. Sorry about that, your ladyship.”

“It’s fine!” she assured him. “He’s very considerate and sends me presents. I don’t mind. You know. I— sorry, what are your names? And you can just call me Ikaiya, if you want to.”

“I’m Rin,” said the firebender. “That’s Yu, and that’s Cho.”

Names! She had names. “Nice to meet you, Rin, Yu, and Cho. So what… why do you want Ozai to be reinstated? I’m just curious, because I never heard of your movement in my village.”

“He was making the Fire Nation great!” exclaimed Yu. “We had prosperity under his reign, and might, and we were going to be a worldwide empire! And then the Avatar had to show up with that traitor prince, and ruined everything, and we lost our ways of life!”

“What did you lose when Zuko became Fire Lord?” asked Ikaiya, keen on getting them to keep talking.

“I had a nice little farm by Fire Fountain City,” said Cho. “When Zuko became Fire Lord, all the soldiers who used to buy my eggs got sent off somewhere else, and I couldn’t sell my wares.”

“Yes, and I was a shopkeeper in the Colonies. I was respected! I had a wife and children. And when they ordered us to either relocate to Republic City or to the Fire Nation, I had nowhere to go. I don’t know anything about shopkeeping in a big city, and I don't want to compete with established places in the homeland!” Yu looked upset. “This new Fire Lord’s causing nothing but damage.”

“I see,” said Ikaiya, nodding in sympathy. “And you, Rin?”

“My whole family was respectable. I was the son of a governor’s secretary. I was lined up for a good position in the army. The governor got deposed and sent back, and now I have nothing.”

“Many things can happen in the course of a life for better or worse” said Ikaiya, trying to sound wise and calm like Iroh. “I was the daughter of a messenger-hawk man. When he died, my mother and I had to survive on our own and preserve the honor of our house. I was raised to do my duty and work hard.” She dropped the measured cadence and let herself talk more normally. “I mean, the house was practically falling down around us when I went to the Capital. Leaking roof and everything.”

Yu looked as if he was thinking very hard, but Rin stood up jerkily. “You’re not the same as us. You sold yourself out! You have fancy clothes now and a roof over your head in exchange for what’s between your legs. You’re— you’re just an upjumped wharf-walker, is what you are.”

Ikaiya bit her cheek at the insult. “That’s news to me,” she said politely, “since I spend every night alone. Must be some wharf-walker to never have a single visitor.”

Cho’s eyes about bugged out of his head. “Really? He doesn’t even—”

“No,” said Ikaiya, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Maybe she’d said too much. Oops. 

Rin laughed. It wasn’t a very nice sound. “A virgin consort. What a lie. I have half an idea to check between those legs of yours and see for myself.”

Oh, I definitely said too much.

“What? Don’t do that,” said Cho, startled.

“Don’t touch me,” said Ikaiya, danger prickling hot along her neck. “It will be worse for you in the end. The Kyoshi Warriors are searching for me. And the Fire Lord is, too.” I hope.

“You think he’d come himself?” Rin scoffed. “A Fire Lord who can’t do his job either in bed or out of it? You think he’d care?”

"Don't insult my husband," she said tightly, trying to muster some of the loyalty she knew was expected of a wife to a husband.

“You’re not being very nice to the lady,” said Yu hotly. “She hasn’t done anything to us.”

“I think we should let her go!” snapped Cho. 

Rin sounded furious. “Are you kidding? We’ll never get a chance like this again. We can demand anything we want—”

“You just said he wouldn’t care about her!” Yu looked half-ready to fight Rin. “You don’t even know what you’re doing, and now we’re going to be in trouble on top of trouble for this!”

“Shut up!” shouted Rin, rounding on the other man.

FWOOOOOOOSH. 

Bright orange flame, red and white and yellow all intermingled, lit up the clearing, soaking the trees in blinding light and bathing everyone in it in oven-like waves of warmth. Ikaiya squeezed her eyes shut as shouting filled her ears and sweat broke out on her brow, her lip: the heat, but she could not allow herself to be pulled back into memories of the terrifying past, not now.  There was a strange thunk , and she opened her eyes to see a golden fan pinning a struggling Yu’s sleeve to a tree. “I’m over here!” she shouted, struggling to get out of her bonds. "Over here!"

She looked over to see Rin furiously fighting—

Zuko?

The Fire Lord was fighting, bending, dancing , a pair of twin broadswords in his hands, flame erupting from hands and feet in billowing yellow arcs, searing the bark of the trees, lifting his hair on heat in floating strands, his face contorted into a teeth-baring snarl. Rin was fighting for his life, gouts of flame spitting from his fists, but he clearly didn’t possess the training Zuko did, and stepped wrong on a stone, slipping as Ikaiya shouted in alarm.

It was a fatal mistake. The edge of the broadsword nicked his throat on the way down, and Rin collapsed as his life poured out in a red flood to the forest floor beneath him. Ikaiya screamed and shut her eyes against the sight, trying not to be sick. A Kyoshi Warrior— Ty Lee, she realized—raced to Ikaiya’s side and sliced through the bonds with a knife. “Hi! Are you okay? Did they—”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Ikaiya protested, and stood up, trembling, wincing, and rubbing her arms. Funny, she hardly felt pain right now. Zuko remained a moment over the body of his foe, then wiped his swords clean, sheathed them, bowed respectfully, saluting his fallen opponent, and turned in a rush, storming over to her. Ty Lee scuttled off to unpin Yu from the tree. Ikaiya cringed away, fully expecting the reaming of her life for being so stupid, walking alone in the dark without an escort— 

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his gravelly voice cracking as he caught her by the shoulders and examined her, catching sight of the marks on her cheek. “Did they beat you—” He whirled on the groveling Yu. “You laid hands on my wife?”

“That was actually me, sorry,” said Suki, clean-faced and still in her training clothes as she dragged a howling Cho out of the bracken by his ear. 

“They didn’t touch me,” Ikaiya said, surprised by this sudden display of care. “Don’t hurt them, please, Zuko. Rin was the leader, and he’s dead. They only did what they thought was best.”

“What they thought was best?” Zuko demanded, turning to look at the kneeling, terrified men. “Abducting you? You’re begging clemency for these men?”

“They are a shopkeeper and a farmer whose lives have been uprooted by the decisions you and the Avatar have made,” Ikiaya said firmly. “They need help, not punishment.”

A muscle worked in Zuko’s jaw. “I see,” he said finally, and turned on the men. “You will thank the Lady Ikaiya for your lives, since it is only by her request that I am not ending them instantly.”

Yu and Cho bowed deeply, their foreheads touching the ground. “Thank you, oh, thank you, Fire Lady—” 

“Oh, stop that and sit up,” said Ikaiya, slightly embarrassed. “Look, I want them both to be given a sack of gold pieces so they can go where they need to go. Yu, you can open a shop wherever you please, and Cho, you can go and find a new farm, a place where you can do your business. Does that sound reasonable?”

Cho gaped. “Reasonable?” The two men looked on the verge of tears, and Yu spoke up. “Oh, Lady Ikaiya, we’ll sing your praises to the people everywhere we—”

“Please don’t,” she said uncomfortably. “Just go and don’t cause trouble again, because I might not be there to help you.”

“Give them their gold out of our trip expenses. Tell my secretary I command it. Get them out of my sight,” Zuko ordered, and the Kyoshi Warriors bowed, then dragged the men up to their feet. Two of them carried Rin’s body away. He took Ikaiya’s wrists and examined them, where the robes had cut into her skin and rubbed it red; briefly touched the scrape on her cheek, grazed her shoulders as if to make sure she was not broken. “Why are you wearing that? Are these men’s clothes?”

She swallowed. His hot hands were very careful. “I borrowed them from Haido, the guard posted at the door. I didn’t have any good training clothing.”

Gold eyes flashed to meet hers. “You were too lenient toward those men. If word gets out—”

“You are not a tyrant,” she said firmly, and he stopped short. “Rin already paid with his life. Those others were compassionate toward me, and tried to stop him from harming me.”

Zuko’s mouth worked for a moment. “You didn’t say that,” he mumbled. “And you undermined my authority in front of—”

“You didn’t ask, and no I did not! I said their lives had been uprooted by your decisions. And it’s true. So many people don’t want to live in Republic City when small town life is all they ever knew, especially in the old Colonies. These things take time. Changes frighten people, and fear makes people do bad things. But if you handle them with grace and compassion instead of cruelty and retaliation, it will be better in the end, won’t it?”

Zuko took that in for a moment, then looked her over from head to toe. His jaw clenched, and he bent down, lifting her off her feet in a rush that made her squeak and cling to his neck. “What—”

“You’re bleeding. You have a thorn in your foot,” he said, beginning to walk, and then she felt it: a nasty stabbing pain in the side of her foot near her heel. “I’ll take you back.”

“Thank you,” she muttered, curled up against the heat of his chest. It must be true what people said, that the life energy, the chi inside benders was more powerful than ordinary people like her, because he was as warm as a furnace, as if living fire itself beat where his heart should be. She shivered. 

“And I’ll make you tea,” he said, doggedly marching on.

He did more than make her tea when they got back to their house: he pulled the thorn from her foot and silently dipped his hands into a large wooden tub, sending heat into it until the water inside was steaming. “I have to meet with the Avatar about this, you understand,” he said. “I hope you’ll be… comfortable until I come back.”

“Thank you,” Ikaiya said, and limped to the tub. 

“I’ll find some ointment and put it on your scrapes for you,” he added, almost quickly. “I’ll be back soon.”

She waited until he had left, sliding the door shut, to disrobe and climb into the tub, sinking in it up to her neck and sighing. The heat chased all the cold away and stung her scrapes. Her face throbbed where Suki had gotten that good hit in. She rested her head against the edge of the tub and sighed, trying to relax, but her mind kept showing her the image of Zuko wielding fire and steel, snarling, lunging toward Rin and killing him. 

He’s a good fighter. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for Rin, and shuddered. The wet slide of tempered steel opening a throat. Horrifying. And yet she could not get it out of her memory or quiet her frantic heart, which didn’t quite seem to understand that she was safe yet. 

She must have been lying there half-dreaming for some time, because the door slid open, sounding to her like a sword ringing from its sheath. Ikaiya gasped and leapt to her feet with a slosh of water, trembling, but saw only Zuko, staring at her with a face rapidly turning red, and realized too late she was naked, and dripping wet. “Oh,” she said in a very small voice, covering herself with her arms. “I thought. I—it—”

“I have the… stuff,” he said, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from her body. “You can, you can sit down. In the tub. Or not. If you want to.”

Her skin was rippling with goosebumps, whether from the sudden chill of the air or not she did not know. “I…” Her foot stung, throbbing, and she winced, then lifted it out, shuffling over the high edge and coming to stand on the floor, favoring her hurting heel. “Ouch.”

“I’ll get your robe,” Zuko told her, and picked up a soft woven robe, a nice cold-weather one, the color of autumn leaves. He came closer and held it out as if he didn’t know how to put it on her, and she clung to it tightly, shoving her arms in and shivering as he guided her over to the sleeping mat and helped her sit. “You might want to lie down,” he said, opening the tin of ointment. The smell of camphor filled the room, bringing back memories of childhood scrapes and falls.

She lay down and rolled to her belly, letting him take her foot in his hands, and bit back a cry as he touched her. Pain stabbed through her foot, but the ointment seemed to help as he rubbed it in with sure fingers and then wound her foot closely in gauzy linen. “Thank you,” she said quietly, turning her head to look back at him. 

Zuko set her foot down. “You have any more?” he asked brusquely.

“Yes. The back of my left leg and hip. And my shoulder. They dragged me on my side.” She sat up, shot him a cautious look, and dropped the robe, pushing it off her body and showing him the angry red scrapes, freshly scabbing over, that marked her left shoulder and upper back.

Zuko’s breath came in a hiss between his teeth. He reached out and touched her skin, just below the scrape, and he felt so warm and firm that she wanted to lean back into him, to have him hold her close— but how could she ask? “I see,” he said, and then his fingers were rubbing the ointment into her shoulder in a smooth, even layer, chasing away the sting and feeling warm and soothing. “Better?”

“Yes.”

“And your leg?”

Ikaiya swallowed hard and rolled the robe away from her body, exposing the whole left half of her to Zuko, whose golden eyes went straight to the large patch of scraped skin along her left hip, backside, and thigh, front and back. “It hurts,” she whispered, and felt a terrible, desperate heat that hadn’t come from the bath spreading through her body, pooling in her belly— and lower. 

“I’ll help,” Zuko answered, and dipped his fingers into the stuff again, reaching out and touching her there, on the hip, the thigh, her backside; rubbing in firm, careful circles. Ikaiya could barely feel the pain anymore: she just wanted those hands closer, ever closer, like maybe on her chest or touching her throat or—

His hand slipped and grazed between her thighs. She tensed as his finger brushed the slickly hot, delicate flesh there, and Zuko froze, his hand just barely touching where she wanted him most of all. She couldn’t even look at him. Please, she begged silently, please, please. 

“Are you hurt— there?” he asked, voice ragged.

“What?” she croaked. He withdrew his hand and examined it, then looked back down at her with confusion and concern in his eyes.

“I thought— it’s wet? And… hot. I thought... I thought maybe they’d hurt you there and you were bleeding.”

“I’m not bleeding,” she managed. “I— it—” Badger’s bones. Nobody had ever told him. Nobody. “It gets… like that when, when, when a woman w-wants a m-man.”

Zuko’s lips parted in shock, like he didn’t believe her. “It… does?”

“Well, your body changes when you want a woman; why shouldn’t mine change too?”

His face shut down. “You don’t know anything about my— my—”

“Yes, I do,” she said, shocked at her own daring. “I know it gets like that when you kiss me. I know something inside you wants— wants something you won’t let it have.”

Zuko stood up almost instantly, as if she had scorched him. “We are not speaking about this.”

Her temper flared. “No? All right. Then I guess we’ll just let Republic City wonder for the rest of our lives why there’s no heir yet to the Fire Nation.”

“If you want an heir, go make yourself an heir,” he hissed, lips barely moving. “It makes no difference to me.”

Ikaiya propped herself up on her forearms. “I can’t give you an heir unless you— wait, are you telling me to just go bed someone behind your back? Are you serious? What do you think you married me for?”

“Yes. If that’s what you truly want, then don’t let me stand in your way.” His lips had gone salt-white with fury. “Haido seems like a good candidate. Tall. Strong. Kind to you, probably. Doesn’t have half his face seared off and a—”

Ikaiya lunged to her feet, forgetting the pain in her foot, and flew at him in a rage. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” she shouted, and Zuko struggled with her for a moment, trying to cover her mouth with his hand as she fought him. “How dare you, I’m not that kind of consort — ”

He flipped her to the sleeping-mat and pinned her down, both hands on her wrists, his knees bracketing her hips. But he wasn’t being rough: he wasn’t hurting her, he was simply holding her down. “You are my consort,” he hissed into her face. “And if I decide I want my bloodline to end, I will make it happen, and if I tell you to go find someone else, you—”

“You’re no better than Rin,” she gasped. “He called me an upjumped wharf-walker. So go ahead. Call me a whore. Order me around just like your f—”

Zuko’s mouth descended on hers, and the rest of her words were lost in a moan. Ikaiya’s robe was falling off. Her bare skin scraped against his coarse clothing, the heavier fabrics, and his weight half-crushed her, hot and solid. “Don’t,” he panted, tearing away from her mouth, “ ever tell me I’m like my father.”

“Then stop acting like a tyrant,” she gasped, an inch from his face. “Ordering me to go to another man’s bed when you haven’t even been in mine yet.”

Golden eyes shut in shame. “That was… spoken in anger,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

“It seems I can only ever get a kiss from my husband when I’ve been rude,” she said, barely daring to move. “Maybe I won’t forgive you. That would be rude, wouldn’t it? Then I might get more kisses out of it.”

He sighed deeply, sounding exasperated. “I had to learn when I was young that anger was no way to channel my firebending. Perhaps I have to learn now that anger is no way to channel anything at all.” Zuko sat up, pushing away from her, and sat back on his haunches, rubbing his eyes. “I again ask you to forgive me.”

“So you don’t want me to go down and bend over a barrel for Haido?” Ikaiya said lightly, still lying on her back. Maybe he’d lean down and kiss her again, or at least touch her.

His eyes flashed down to hers, gold and burning. “If he so much as touches you without cause, I’ll have him thrown into the sea.” But he did not move.

Ikaiya clenched her jaw, annoyed. “You remind me of a fable I was told as a child. The boar with the truffles. Have you heard of it?” Zuko shook his head, and Ikaiya forced a smile and pulled her robe closed as she sat up. “Once upon a time a boar sat at the foot of a great tree where there was a wealth of truffles in the dirt, and guarded them so fiercely that any other animal that came near was frightened and ran away when they saw his sharp tusks… but the boar never ate the truffles himself, only hoarded them selfishly until they rotted away.” She didn’t wait for an answer, and retreated to her own sleeping-mat. “All that possessiveness for absolutely nothing. Good night. Husband.”

Zuko was quiet as she extinguished the lamp, but she thought she heard a low sigh from the other wall as the moon shone down into their room, lighting all in silver.

Chapter Text

The visit to Gao Ling was considerably pleasant. They were entertained at the richest families' tables, attended parties, got their photographs taken opening a new school, and had afternoon tea with wealthy business owners and minor nobility who had stock in different companies in Republic City. Ikaiya entertained as best she could, remembered everyone’s names, told funny stories, made people laugh, and generally had a nice time.

More importantly, nobody else tried to kidnap her, which might have been due to the fact that the media had gotten hold of the incident, and the reporters who clustered on the street outside every event constantly shouted things like “Fire Lord! Do you have any comment on the unsafe conditions and rise in criminal activity on Kyoshi Island?” and also due to the fact that they had six Kyoshi Warriors with them at all times, even guarding them when they slept. Ikaiya couldn’t help but feel safer with Suki outside her door.

They made sure to be seen in public smiling with each other all the way to Ba Sing Se, if only for the cameras: Ikaiya made him try her favorite foods and drinks, and laughed at him when he found he liked them. But behind closed doors, in private, it was the same as ever: he did not allow himself the luxury of spending any time at all with her alone, and as time went on she began to understand that he wanted to spend time with her— perhaps even desperately wanted to, indulging in a touch on her hand or her neck, a pretense of brushing away dust even as his cheeks reddened and his breath came short and sharp. But he still refused to sleep in the same bed, preferring to spend his nights in another room, or if it couldn’t be avoided, in the same room but as far away from her as he could get. 

Ba Sing Se was as grand and massive as Ikaiya had ever heard it was. They traveled through prospering, lush, emerald-green fields and into the Three Rings, and were housed in the finest guest-house that the Earth King could offer. He had lately married, too, and already had a child on the way— his wife was resting for the first three months behind closed doors, as was tradition, so she didn’t come to any dinners or events, and Ikaiya felt very left out without anyone to talk to.

She had fun, though, with the Kyoshi Warriors, and with Suki and Ty Lee, who coached her through more defense maneuvers when she had the spare time, so she was usually asleep with the exhaustion that a well-exercised day brought by the time her head hit the soft down pillow in the enormous carved bed with its panels and lattices and inlaid goldwork that she was supposed to share with Zuko.

He slept, as ever, on the floor.

After a few days, they boarded the royal yacht again, which had sailed around the coast and up to Ba Sing Se to meet them, and left for the Northern Water Tribe. 

“It’s so cold,” Ikaiya whispered, delighted to see the crystalline flakes scattering out of the sky and melting in her breath, her eyelashes, her clothes. The heavy snow clothes they’d packed for her were trimmed in white fur, the hood of her scarlet parka big enough to almost swallow her head whole, and the mittens on her hands kept them toasty warm. 

Zuko was wrapped in red and gold from head to toe, black-brown fox fur lining his boots and his hood. “When I came here as a boy,” he said, looking out over the icy ocean, “General Zhao killed the moon spirit to attempt to gain an advantage over the waterbenders in the last invasion the Fire Nation ever attempted on the Northern Water Tribe.”

“Clearly he failed,” said Ikaiya, glancing up at the pale half-moon, high in the afternoon sky. 

“Only because someone else sacrificed herself to stop him,” said Zuko softly. “Spirits are not to be trifled with. Zhao was never seen again.”

A shiver went down Ikaiya’s spine in spite of the warm clothes. “I’m afraid I’m not very versed on spiritual matters,” she said. Not a lot of time for that when your biggest concern is mending a broken fence, getting food on the table, and fixing leaky roofs.

“Well, this is a very spiritual place. You might still see or feel or hear things you can’t explain.” Zuko looked over at her and reached out a gloved hand, tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, then flushing and turning back to look out over the sea. “Are you cold?”

She chose to ignore the gesture. It seemed when she did, they happened more often. “I like it. Very bracing. Keeps you awake, doesn’t it?”

“Lord Zuko!” The quartermaster hurried up and saluted as he bowed. “There’s been a fleet of Northern ships spotted heading our way, and fast.”

He didn’t seem fazed. “Likely our escorts, here to guide us into Agna Qel’a. The New Moon Festival is almost upon us, too, so it could be Southern ships. Keep an eye out, but don’t take offensive maneuvers.”

“It’s not as if we have any defenses anyway, sir. This is a pleasure yacht, not a battleship.”

“Oh. Right.” Zuko shook his head. “Well, post a couple of firebending guards on the port and starboard sides just in case.”

“So, three days in Agna Qel’a, and after that…” Ikiaya tried very hard to remember the formal outline of the trip they’d been given as the quartermaster walked off. “Down the Su Oku River, to Republic City?”

“Right.” Zuko looked slightly pleased. “We don’t have time for a whole tour of the Fire Nation, but on the way back to the Capital we’ll stop at a few towns.”

“I’d like that,” said Ikaiya. 

“Ships alongside!” bellowed the lookout on the highest deck, and Ikaiya turned just in time to see a hill of water rise, carrying a small ship atop it with two men waving their arms in measured, fluid strokes. She’d never seen waterbenders before, and she was entranced by their grace and agility, so unlike the way she’d seen Zuko bend, or the way she’d seen earthbenders move. 

“Sokka!” shouted Aang, right behind her, and leaped out over the side of the yacht, a spout of water rising to meet him as he used it to whirl away in a tornado of flapping yellow and orange robes to land on the deck of one of the largest ships.

“Well, they’ll have a thousand things to speak about, and leave us alone for a minute,” said Zuko, half-smiling. “Look, there’s the city. Do you see it?”

Ikaiya screened her eyes with her mittened hand. “That speck of blue there on the horizon?”

“That’s it.”

“Is it true the whole city is made of snow?” Ikaiya shivered, her nose dripping as a gust of wind picked up.

“Yeah. Don’t worry. They have a lot of blankets and furs and things. You’ll barely notice it.” He rubbed his own nose, which was red with cold. 

“Oh, I bet,” said Ikaiya, and sighed to herself as the icy wind blew across her cheeks.

Agna Qel’a was huge, grand, glittering, and true to rumor, completely made of ice. Ikaiya thought she was going to freeze her butt off, especially after sitting on a sealskin cushion for three straight hours at a banquet thrown in their honor. The food was all things like sea prune stew, arctic hen, octopus, giant sea crab, and seaweed noodles, and while Ikaiya prided herself on trying everything at least once, the saltiness of almost every dish made her so thirsty that her lips dried out. It was almost worse than the overbearing spice-burn of Fire Nation cuisine. She did her best to not show her discomfort, however, especially because Sokka had brought Katara along for the ride, and she felt that the comfort of a woman who looked about three days from delivering and was still traveling around was probably more important than hers. She certainly had no right to complain. The New Moon Festival, though, went on all night, and Zuko let the reporters tagging along from Republic City snap photos of the royal Fire Nation couple trying fried crab on sticks and moon dumplings out in the streets of the city before finally insisting on retiring. 

They were shown into their rooms, which consisted of a high-ceilinged room in the royal palace decorated with intricate ice carvings, a wide, carved-wood bed, and a large circular window so thin that the moonlight shone through it. Their luggage had already been brought up and unpacked, waiting, on the solid, blue-tinted ice floor.

Zuko’s breath smoked as the door shut behind them. “You think this place has a bathroom?”

“If the tub’s made of ice, too, I am not going to take a bath,” said Ikaiya, shivering. “Let’s look. Is that a door?”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling to himself, and ducked his head through the circular arch to check. “Good news. Tub’s wooden.”

“Oh, thank the spirits,” gasped Ikaiya, shuffling past him and taking in the huge tub, the freshly folded towels, the robes, the running water taps. “Is the water hot?”

“I’ll take care of it. Go ahead and—” Zuko caught himself, seemingly surprised by his own words. “Um. You can undress.”

“Okay,” she said, and started peeling off her layers as he filled the tub: heavy outer coat with its hood and tassels, boots, mittens, inner second layer of robes, scarf, third layer, thick pants, and down all the way to her skin, leaving a huge pile of clothes on the icy floor that she stood on, shivering in the frigid air, to keep her feet from going numb. Even so, she had to bounce from one foot to the other. “How do people live like this?” she asked, her teeth chattering as she hugged herself tight. 

“I think they bathe less regularly,” Zuko said, shooting her a wry little expression. “You don’t get as sweaty in freezing temperatures.”

“Lucky them,” Ikaiya said, scooting her her discarded parka across the icy floor with her feet to keep them warm as Zuko knelt and took his gloves off, heating the tub with a burst of flame from his hands. It only took a moment for the water to start steaming, and Ikaiya made sure she wouldn’t scald her feet on the metal before she climbed in ungracefully and huddled down to her chin, sighing as the hot water sank into her body and warmed her thoroughly. “Oh, I’m going to make you heat the water for me every night. This is perfect.”

“I thought you said the cold was nice and bracing,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. His breath smoked in the frigid air of the bathroom. 

“That was when I could escape it. I’m not complaining right now, anyway. This tub’s big enough for two,” said Ikaiya, choosing to leave it at that and not insist. 

Zuko gave her a little look she caught out of the corner of her eye as she started soaping up the washcloth. “All right,” he said quietly after a very long moment, and her heart almost stopped as he stood and started to undress himself. “Just. Look at the wall when I— please.”

She watched out of the corner of her eye, excitement rising in her throat as Zuko slid off his parka, then his robe, then his boots, then everything beneath, exposing more and more skin until he was wearing only the loose, baggy white drawers he wore under his pants and nothing else. He hesitated for the briefest second, looking at her, and Ikaiya turned away, pretending to scrub at her arms until she heard the slip and rustle of fabric, and then he was climbing into the tub and they were both naked and inches from each other with water up to their necks.

He has a nice body, she thought, passing him the washcloth and soap. Solid, lithe, with the kind of muscle formed from athletics: lean and hard and in his prime. He had scars, too, along with the one on his face that she hardly noticed anymore and the large one beneath his heart, red-pink and angry-looking. The others were small, brownish or silvery, long or round or irregular, hardly noticeable. Maybe small fights, skirmishes over the years? She’d heard rumors. It didn’t really matter, though. She lifted the silver cup set at the bath’s edge and wet her hair, sighing and then shivering as the cold air clung to the water. “Ooh, I’m going to give myself a head cold,” she mumbled, still throat-deep in the bath. 

“We can’t have a sick Fire Lady on a royal tour,” Zuko said lightly, washing his own hair. “We’ll have to keep you warm, then.”

“It’ll be hard out here,” joked Ikaiya, scrubbing her underarms clean with the other cloth. “Can you do my back?”

“Sure,” he said, and she turned her back on him, scraping her hair out of the way so he could take the washcloth and wash her clean… but he didn’t do that, not at first. Instead, his fingers rested on her shoulder blades, tracing the outlines of them beneath the muscle and skin there, then glided over to the divot of her spine. “You have nice… skin,” he said quietly, sounding almost strained. 

Ikaiya’s mouth felt drier than it had at dinner. “You have. Nice hands.”

“I— I do?” His fingertips glided up, pulling a few loose strands of hair away from her back. “You. Do you, you like… them, uh, touching you?”

“Yeah,” she said, gnawing on her bottom lip as Zuko spread his hands out, resting them fully on her upper back. He was warm, warmer than the water, and she shivered and leaned back into the touch. “That’s. Ooh. That feels good.”

“Oh. Uh. Good.” One hand left her, and he started to scrub her skin silently, gentle and careful. “I never… apologized for what I said on Kyoshi Island, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” Ikaiya said, after thinking for a moment. 

There was a kind of steel resolve in his voice when he spoke again. A concrete vulnerability, a defiance of his own fears. “Then I’ll say it now. I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t really, uh, handle… intimacy very well. Emotional or otherwise. It took me years to even speak openly about my feelings with Aang, and I’ve known him for a long time.” 

“I can see why,” said Ikaiya, staring at the edge of the tub and not the man behind her. “With a family like yours, I mean.” He was silent, his hands stilling. “Oh— I didn’t mean to offend you. I meant—”

“No, you’re right,” he said quietly, and resumed scrubbing, then rinsed her clean. 

“If you’re… you said something about your bloodline ending,” she said, and Zuko paused again. “I—I mean, I wouldn’t be prying if it didn’t involve me, too, but—”

“No, it does. You’re right to ask. I— do you want children?” He sounded strained.

“I— one day, if the time is right. One or two. Not immediately, of course.”

“No, not immediately,” he said, sounding slightly more relaxed. “And you—you know… things about, um, what, what— you know. The... arts of love.”

“The arts of love?” Ikaiya repeated, bewildered, and then understood what he was asking her. “Oh! I— well, I’ve— I’m, uh, I’ve…” Here it was, then, the moment of truth. “To be frank, Zuko, I’m not… exactly unspoiled ground in that regard.”

“You’re not?” He sounded almost relieved, and she turned her head to look at him, blushing furiously. “I mean, you’re not…”

“Not, I— no, but I’ve, um, messed around some before,” she managed. A hundred years ago this would have probably had me executed. “Kissing and, um, other stuff. Nobody really asked before the wedding, so I thought, I just— you don’t mind, though?”

“Of course not. At least one of us will know what they’re doing,” he said, looking away. “So you know, you know ways to, uh, not have children when you don’t want to?”

Ikaiya blinked. “Yes, of course I do. Do you… not want children? Why would you arrange for a marriage if you didn’t—”

“The marriage was my advisors’ idea,” he said quickly, still not looking at her. “I thought I’d go along with it to make them happy, and I guess I thought I’d just… marry my wife and send her off to Ember Island or let her do whatever she wanted with her life. I didn’t expect to… care about her.” Amber-gold eyes met hers, and Ikaiya felt pinned to the spot, naked in the hot water. “As much as I did. Do. I do. Or, or— want things I didn’t think I’d wanted as time went on.”

“But children…” she prompted.

“Not yet. I— I don’t know,” he said, and turned away, his face shutting down into that mask again. 

“Well, then I’ll tell you what I know,” she said quickly, trying to keep the conversation going. “I know I didn’t agree to marry you to be just a walking baby-machine, or a body to be painted and propped up at state dinners. I married you because I’ve seen what war does to people, and I want to help change that, and being— being your wife is a way to do what I want to do. And I—I do like you, Zuko. I didn’t think I’d feel the way I feel now about you, not at first, but I, I do.”

“How… exactly do you feel about me?” he asked, sounding tentative.

Ikaiya turned completely around, the water sloshing as she came face to face with her husband, all pale scarred skin and black wet hair as he instinctively covered his groin beneath the hot water. “I care about you,” she said, pointedly focusing on his eyes. “You’re my husband. I want you to get better sleep, and I want you to sleep in my bed, even if you don’t do anything else in it yet. You can’t be a good Fire Lord if you’re running yourself ragged.”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips. “No, I guess not,” he said, and his eyes lowered to her mouth before coming back up to look at her face. “And besides, I did promise to keep you warm here.”

“You did,” said Ikaiya, inches from him. “I have a confession. I kept back something just then. About how I feel about you.”

“Oh? Well, lying to a Fire Lord is a terrible crime,” Zuko murmured, his free fingers gripping the edge of the tub so hard his knuckles were white. “You’d better tell me before I have to send you to the Boiling Rock.”

The heat coiling in her belly was not from the bathwater. “Do you want me to say it bluntly or in fancy court-talk?”

“Bluntly,” he said immediately, eyes like molten gold. 

“I do want you to touch me,” Ikaiya whispered. “I want, I want—you have such nice hands, and I want them all over me, everywhere— I want you to kiss me like you did before, I want to do all the things husband should do with their wives—”

Her words were cut off by Zuko closing the distance between their mouths, and for a moment there was no more speaking, only the slosh of the bathwater as he pulled her to him with one arm and kissed her so deeply she could barely breathe. “Like that?” he whispered raggedly, pulling away.

“More,” she said instantly, afraid she was pushing her luck. He was so warm, so firm and gentle at the same time. “Please. You can’t just, you can’t kiss me like that and leave me alone again.”

“Why not?” he asked, boldly pressing another kiss to her cheek, her chin, her jawline.  

“Because it, it—” Shame flooded her cheeks with more heat. “Because then I have to satisfy myself alone and I’d rather do it with you.”

Zuko made a noise like he’d been told a badger-mole had grown wings and was flying outside the window as he pulled back and stared at her. “You can… do that too?”

“Yes, of course I can—” Ikaiya pressed her lips together and reached up, stroking his wet hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. “I want to show you so many things, Zuko. Will you let me?” She had no idea what he was thinking as his jaw knotted up, his mouth tightened. “You don’t have to do anything,” she quickly added. “You don’t have to be open to me. But I want to be open to you. So. Will you let me?”

A cloud crossed his face. What was he thinking? She had no idea. “Later,” he said hoarsely, shutting his eyes. “Later. I— later. Please. Let’s go to bed.”

Zuko got dressed numbly in his white sleeping-things and followed Ikaiya back out to the bedroom as if he was in a dream. 

I want to be open to you. So, then, the wall between them was crumbling, bit by bit. He didn’t know if he liked that at all, actually: having that wall had felt safe compared to this terrifying nakedness. She wasn’t an idiot, this wife he’d chosen, and he almost wished she was. What he wouldn’t give for some softheaded noblewoman he could have just sent off to a resort for half the year! I made my bed, and now I must lie in it, he thought miserably as he lifted the blankets and got in on one side, Ikaiya on the other. Literally.

He didn’t even know how to share a bed. Once, as a child, he had slipped into the library and stumbled across a collection of erotic art painted on scrolls, ancient and crumbling at the edges— men and women locked into kisses, passionate embraces, lying in a bed together on top of each other or facing one another looking enamored, limbs tangled.  Was that how married men and women slept? How would he know? He resolved to just stay to his side, pretending there was a line painted down the center, and he would just curl up on his side and sleep facing away from her. 

If women can satisfy themselves, what do they need lovers for?

“I’m cold,” whispered Ikaiya, and he turned his head. She was, too: the top of her head barely peeked out from the blankets and furs, and her nose was red again. Her skin had always felt a little cooler to him than his own, but that was likely because he was a bender and she was not. Non-benders have cooler chi, that’s what everyone always says.

“Well, here,” he said, and rolled to his side, tugging her close and folding his arms around her, rubbing her arms. She sighed, and the scent of her surrounded him: clean skin, soap. She smelled good. He rested his cheek on her head and sniffed her hair, inhaling the scent of the oil she used to keep the straight locks silky: spice, cardamom and cinnamon, like spiced tea. The smell of home. 

“Oh, you’re really warm,” she whispered, squirming backward a little to get closer, and he suddenly became aware that her round, firm backside was pressed right into his crotch. Zuko swallowed, trying desperately to fight off the wave of lust that surged into him, swelling, filling out hard and ready, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t— and she felt it, had to feel it, because she stopped squirming and lay very still in his arms. 

I’m sorry, he wanted to say. I’m sorry, I’m disgusting, inflicting this on you. But he couldn’t let go of her, not now: she felt so good to touch and hold, and she smelled like home. “Ikaiya,” he rasped instead, his voice cracking. 

“Give me your hand,” she whispered, and that was the last thing he had expected her to say, but he silently gave his left hand over to her anyway and she pulled it to her chest, tucking his arm under hers and making sure his palm was firmly planted right on her—

Oh. 

Firm, that breast in his palm. Small enough that he could hold all of it in one hand, but big enough that he could feel the weight of it, the shape, the plump softness. Her nipple was poking through the layer of white fabric she wore as nightwear, identical to his, and he wondered for a wild moment what she would do if he tore the clothes off her and—

“Do you trust me?” she whispered, and he forced himself back to the present: he was so hard against her backside he thought he might explode, and his hand was on her breast. He was squeezing it, too, rubbing it lightly with his fingers: he didn’t know when he’d started doing that, but he was, and he wanted to stop, but he also didn’t want to stop, ever. 

Do you trust her?

“Yeah,” he gasped, shutting his eyes against her neck and burying his nose in her hair. “Yes, I—”

She took his hand off her breast, and he wanted to rage at the loss, at being denied what was his by rights , but swallowed down his frustration as she fumbled with the tied front of her sleeping gown and slipped his hand into it, and against her smooth warm skin, and then further down, against something smooth and slick hiding under softly coarse hair, with complex delicate folds his fingers brushed up against. 

He knew that. He’d felt it before, though not in such depth. It gets like that when a woman wants a man. “Ikaiya,” he whispered, his hand trembling a little as his fingers explored the strange new terrain beneath them. No, this was not his by rights: it was something she had chosen to give to him, and that made it all the better. “Show— show me. How. You said... how do you…”

“Like this,” she mumbled, and took his fingers in her hand, dragging them to the very top, where he felt something very small and firm under his fingertips. When he touched it, Ikaiya stiffened, shuddering, and Zuko suddenly understood: a tiny spark, from which flame must be coaxed. 

“Like this?” he whispered, and began to rub at her slowly, carefully. You must be gentle, so that the spark is not extinguished too early, and you must be firm, as a bellows is pumped to heat a fire of coals. Her only answer as she guided his hand was a little sound, her face buried in the pillow, and his wrist and fingers were aching by the time she finished, still facing away from him, her whole body trembling, taut, then going pliant and warm against him. 

“Yes, Zuko. Just like that. Do you want me to…” She lifted her head to look behind her, but old panic born from painful memory suddenly flashed through him: it was a trick, she couldn’t see him, shouldn’t see him, it would be terrible and she would laugh and call him weak and—

“I’ll take care of it on my own. Go to sleep.” He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, it had just burst out like that. Ikaiya lay back down immediately, still and quiet, and he thought she might be crying for a horrible moment until he realized she was asleep, her chest falling and rising softly, her hair spread out everywhere and her eyes closed. 

He slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom, where he only had to work for about ten seconds before he dizzily stumbled toward the sink to wipe himself clean. 

Chapter Text

Ikaiya sat in a frigid, enormous igloo with Katara at her side as the healers gave a demonstration of their waterbending abilities. She was fascinated by the various subsets of bending and how they related to medicine, and ordinarily the more she learned the more interested she was, but right now her thoughts just kept straying off to her husband.

The first night here, he’d shared her bed and it had been so close, so close to everything she’d wanted, but he’d drawn the line at her seeing him or touching him (even though he’d had no problem touching her ), and then the second night they had been shyly kissing in the bath again, and when she had tried to look down, he had lost his composure and fled the bathroom, holding a towel in front of his waist. It can’t be that he doesn’t want to be seen naked, because he got into the bath naked with me… but even then, he kept himself covered and asked me not to look. It must, then, be an issue of being seen, and if not being seen naked, then definitely in the… state usually attained right before a man had intercourse.

Or, in vulgar terms, he didn’t want her to see him when he was hard. 

Maybe? She didn’t know. And confronting him about it seemed to be the wrong approach. What was she going to do?

As the demonstration ended and she politely thanked the masters for allowing her to watch, she walked with Katara out into the blindingly white snow. “Katara… I have a question,” she said hesitantly, looking over at the other woman. At twenty-nine, Katara was in her prime: beautiful blue eyes, thick black hair, and generous hips that suggested she’d have no trouble at all bearing the child that was currently making her waddle like a turtleduck in her parka as they walked together.

“Ask away,” she said, smiling. 

“It’s… kind of a weird question,” Ikaiya said. “You’re just the only other married woman I know, so…”

“Oh, that kind of a question,” said Katara, eyebrows raised as she pressed her hand against her back and let out a sigh. “Let’s go inside and sit with something hot, then.” 

The guest lodge reserved for Katara and Aang was outside the royal palace. A long building of wood and hides, it was nice and warm inside, with thick soft furs laid on the floor, and Ikiaya almost wished she could stay here instead of in that massive carved block of ice. Bumi’s toys were scattered on the sleeping-mat. 

Katara made to reach for the kettle on the fire with a labored grunt, and Ikaiya shooed her away. “You sit. I’ll make the tea.”

“You’re a guest—”

“And you’re about to pop. Sit and let me do it.” 

Katara settled down heavily, sighing in relief as Ikaiya poured them both cups and set it back, handing one to her hostess. “Thank you. Oooh. I really did have to borrow Sokka’s boots today.”

“Shouldn’t you be in Republic City resting?” Ikaiya gave her a once-over with a practiced eye. “You’ve dropped considerably since the wedding.”

“Probably, but there’s just no time,” said Katara, sipping her tea. When she set the cup down, something flickered in her blue eyes. “Besides, to tell you the truth, I’m in a bit of a panic. Bumi’s… likely not a bender, and I’m worried this one might not be, either.”

“Really?” Ikaiya was mystified. Everyone knew that if one parent in a union was a bender, at least one child produced would also be a bender. “You’d think with two parents as powerful as you…”

“No, well, apparently it doesn’t work quite like that. There’s not a lot of documentation on the subject since for so long it was… rare to have a bender of one element have a child with another, but we thought— well, we thought Bumi would be a bender of at least either water or air. Aang was… really hoping for air.” She looked like she might cry, and Ikaiya, horrified, sat down and took her hand. 

“Oh, I hadn’t even thought about that. He’s the only one left, so of course he would.”

“I mean, really, what are the chances?” Katara wiped her eyes. “We thought either water or air, not neither. Aang was so disappointed that he meditated for a whole day after Bumi was born, and I’m just— I’m worried it’ll happen again.” She let her hand rest on her belly, and sighed. “To be honest, I’m hoping it’s a waterbender. Spirits help any child who comes out bending air. That’s so much responsibility. But enough about me. What did you want to ask about?”

“That! Oh,” said Ikaiya, feeling very small and foolish with her dumb problems compared to Katara’s. “I just, well, I wondered if it was your experience, when you got married, that your husband, ah, um, had problems with... showing himself to you.”

“All men have to get used to becoming close to another person, just like all women do,” said Katara sagely. “The true self is something that we don’t even like to show ourselves. Zuko particularly, I think… well, he’s struggled his whole life with heavy weights on his shoulders, and that can shape a man into something wounded. His only real friend was his mother, and she left when he was small. He was obsessed with pleasing his father, he was constantly struggling with his sister who was also being pitted against him by his awful father, he lashed out and hurt his uncle who truly cared about him… and after the war, you know, he struggled often with inner conflict and the right thing as opposed to the good thing, with a healthy dose of paranoia due to the pure weight on him, and I think he fears having a son who will undo all he has done. He’s not going to be an easy man to be married to, but if you can— I shouldn’t say make him trust you, should I? Forcing a thing is never the way. No, I think if you can show patience and kindness, he will eventually show his true self to you.”

“Well,” said Ikaiya, hot all the way to her ears, “that’s excellent advice, so thank you, but I meant— I meant literally, he won’t let me look at him when he’s… you know.” She made a crude gesture with her hands, and it was Katara’s turn to go red as a beet. 

“Oh. Just… when he’s like that? Or—”

“Yes, just when it’s like that. We bathed together twice without any problems, but every time he gets… let’s say excited, he runs away or won’t let me continue if I make any suggestion of even acknowledging it. I don’t understand it.”

Katara’s flush receded a little. “I don’t either,” she confessed. “But I am a healer, and I do know that sometimes when people are hurt in certain ways, their minds make connections between the hurt and something about the situation in which they were hurt that seem to other people to be nonsensical. Do you think it’s possible someone once did something harmful to him when he was like that, and it left a mark on his mind?”

“I hear him sometimes having nightmares,” Ikaiya said, unwilling to expose her husband’s fears to Katara but seeing no other way to help him. “He cries out about a blue dragon.”

“Ah,” said Katara, looking drawn and pained. “He told me once he had dreams like that, and the dragon spoke with the voice of his sister.”

His sister. Everyone knew her name, but nobody liked to speak it: she had vanished years ago. Some said she was insane, but everyone in the outlying Earth Kingdom villages from Gao Ling to Ba Sing Se had heard (and many had firsthand experience) that she was ruthless and unpredictable and cruel. “Azula,” said Ikaiya.

Katara closed her eyes. “Yes. About ten years ago, Azula made clear to him that she was going to dedicate her life to manipulating him into being a Fire Lord who ruled with fear and authoritarianism— the kind of Fire Lord she had once dreamed of being. A desperate attempt at control. This was after she engineered all those children being kidnapped, you’ll remember— or maybe you won’t, you were on the mainland and it was all in the Capital... Anyway, she used the New Ozai Society to do it. People were terrified. There were riots. He had to adopt stricter policies and force curfews, which didn’t help with public opinion at all. Zuko’s girlfriend at the time— well, on and off girlfriend, Mai, her little brother was abducted on purpose because Azula knew she could get at him personally that way. Anyway, she met him in the crypts, made a big deal out of crowing about it, and claimed she’d turned him into a dictator just like she wanted. Zuko’s half-sister Kiyi had to leave the Capital and go into hiding. We haven’t seen a hint of Azula in ten years.” She leaned back and sighed deeply. “I think that was part of why Mai and Zuko broke it off, honestly. That and her father, Ukano— his part in the uprising a few years back. Bad optics.”

“I understand,” said Ikaiya, trying to parse all that out. Half-sister? She’d have to ask Zuko about that later. With a mad sister on the loose, you couldn’t take any chances of indirectly putting the ones you loved in danger… and yet from how Katara spoke, she thought maybe Azula had wanted that all along, too. “But he’s not a dictator.”

Katara wiped sweat off her upper lip. “No. I know that. You know that. Everyone knows that. But I wouldn’t be surprised if it haunts him still: the fear that he might become his father, the fear that every conflict in the world is somehow being engineered by Azula to make him into a tyrant.” She made a face and shifted her weight where she sat.

“Did she dislike Mai so much that she purposely kidnapped her brother?”

“Oh, no. Azula and Mai were friends at school. But Mai betrayed her for Zuko’s sake during the Hundred Years’ War, and she never really recovered from the insult.” Katara sipped her tea again and a shadow crossed her face, a glimmer of pain as she adjusted her seat again. “Ooh. Sorry. I’ve been having cramps all day, and they seem to be getting worse.”

“Cramps?” Ikaiya’s eyes narrowed. “I helped in dozens of births back home. Could I look at you?”

“I really…” Katara’s eyes were hesitant, but she sighed anyway and set aside her cup. “All right. Let me just take off everything below the waist.”

Ikaiya helped her undress and stand with her legs spread, then peered up beneath the parka. “Oh,” she said, her voice sounding very muffled from underneath. “Um. Katara?”

“Yes?” said Katara, in a hopeless voice that suggested she knew exactly what Ikaiya was about to say. 

“You’re progressing. Like, a lot. Your waters have already broken. I think you’re in active labor.” Ikaiya withdrew her head. “Should I call a midwife? Or Aang?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Katara moaned, dropping to her knees on the floor of the lodge. “No, I can’t be. There’s so much to do: I have to go back to Republic City, I have to, to host that dinner for the displaced colonists and the—” Another pain wracked her, and she shuddered. “And I have to get that meditation room ready on Air Temple Island—”

“That can wait. I’ll heat some more water and get a healer.” Ikaiya got to her feet and stoked the fire, her belly turning flops: she hadn’t assisted in a birth in over six months. “Maybe two healers.”

“No, I don’t want a bunch of people—” Katara’s sentence ended in a gasp as yet another relentless contraction struck, making her groan. “Oh, I’m so sorry—”

Ikaiya spread out a couple of furs for her to rest on. How did Water Tribe women birth their babies? She knew Earth Kingdom people bore their children kneeling, letting gravity pull the child’s head down to the ground, but maybe Water Tribe people stood, or lay on their sides. She didn’t feel like she could really ask now.

Katara got to her feet as Ikaiya undressed her down to her under-gown, which was already clinging to her with sweat. “I want to walk,” she gasped, and Ikaiya helped her walk around the lodge in circles, pausing every so often to stop and breathe through contractions that seemed to come harder and faster with every passing moment. “It’s so— fast this time,” she moaned, clinging to Ikaiya’s sleeve. “Bumi took forever. I thought it would never end.”

“Well, your second baby is always quicker, so they say,” said Ikaiya, trying to be helpful. “Should I call Aang?”

“No! No, don’t call him.” Katara shook her head, red-faced. “If it’s not… not a bender…”

“How can you even tell, at birth?” Ikaya got her to the floor, where she knelt, sweating.

“Eyes, sometimes,” gasped Katara, and muffled a cry with her sleeve. “Just don’t call him. Not until it’s born. Please.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Ikaiya wiped her forehead and cheeks with a handful of melting snow. “You take some deep breaths. It won’t matter if it’s a bender or not. As long as it’s healthy. Right?”

Katara’s only answer was a long, low moan as Ikaiya snatched up all the hides and blankets she could find. “How did you bear Bumi?” she asked, coming back and spreading more out. 

“Supposed to do it in warm water,” she groaned, sweat beading on her lip as she knelt down on all fours. “Tradition. Couldn’t. Gave birth lying down… hated it. Doctors in the city don’t know anything.” 

Lying down? Like, on her back? What an awful thought. No wonder her first labor had been so long. “Do you want to get into water now?”

“No. I want to stay here.” Katara groaned and tried to reach down between her thighs, but couldn’t quite reach, and gave Ikaiya a look. “Check for the head?”

“Of course.” Ikaiya knelt by her and got her hand between her legs, feeling around: she was well dilated, and as Ikaiya probed further, she felt something firm and wet and slightly curved. “I can feel the baby’s head.”

“Good.” Katara smiled, closing her eyes. 

“Yes, on the way out. How you sat there and had tea with me talking about all kinds of nonsense for half an hour, I have no idea.” Ikaiya took off her own parka quickly, so it wouldn’t get splattered, and set it aside, rolling her sleeves up and cupping her hands beneath Katara’s body. 

“I want to push,” said Katara feebly, gripping Ikaiya’s shoulders.

“You push all you like, just remember to breathe so the baby can breathe. Ready?”

Katara breathed deep and seized Ikaiya in a death-grip, the pair of them locked together as she bore down and down, bellowing out into the empty lodge as the thing under Ikaiya’s hands slid out… and further… and further. “I can’t,” she panted, stopping. “I can’t. I need to go to sleep. Try again tomorrow.”

“No, not tomorrow, now,” said Ikaiya firmly. “Push with all you’ve got, Katara. You can do it. Head’s out. This baby wants to meet you now. Come on.”

Katara let out a scream fit to tear the roof off and pushed , the snow around them vibrating and bending with the force of her power, and just like that, as simple and easy as breathing, a purply-white newborn covered in vernix and smeared in blood slithered its way into Ikaiya’s hands, limp. 

“Yes!” she cried, flipping over the infant and rubbing its body. “Come on, little one, let’s breathe—”

The baby jerked to life, the tiny mouth opening as the face crinkled up in outrage and a high, wailing, hiccupping cry filled the lodge. Katara reached out, eyes trained completely on the baby, and Ikaiya handed it over, beaming, then picked up a worn old blanket as the afterbirth came out. She didn’t know if Water Tribe people had customs about them, so she left it where it was, wrapped up. “It’s a girl,” Katara said, tears running down her cheeks, and cuddled the baby close, supporting the tiny head. “A girl.”

“I’ll go and get Aang,” said Ikaiya, smiling as she wrapped the little girl up in a blanket. “Congratulations. If you have a third, it’ll probably come out in ten seconds.”

Katara looked up to laugh, but turned her head, eyes wide, and Ikaiya followed her line of vision, sitting back on her heels. The door to the lodge was open, and Zuko was standing there— Zuko and Aang and Sokka behind them both, with Bumi on his shoulders. “Uh,” Ikaiya began, flummoxed. “I was just about to come find you, Avatar Aang—”

Aang practically knocked Zuko over to get into the lodge, his gray eyes wide. “Katara! I heard you screaming! Are you okay? Did I miss it? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, I was held up—”

“Shut up and come meet your daughter,” Katara said, beaming through her tears. “You can cut the cord in a minute.”

“I have a niece? Bumi, listen to that! You’re a big brother!” Sokka swung the toddler off his shoulders and tickled him, and Bumi shrieked with laughter as his uncle tugged him into the lodge. “Let’s meet your little sister, huh?”

Zuko remained where he was, staring at Ikaiya. Ikaiya felt extremely self conscious of her appearance suddenly: her hair was a mess, her hands and under-robe were stained with blood and vernix and amniotic fluid, and she felt like Katara might have left bruises on her shoulders from squeezing so hard. But Zuko just looked at her, then took a tentative step in, then another, eyes fixed on her, then the squalling newborn, then Aang and Katara. 

“What’ll we name her?” asked Aang, reaching out to stroke the little head with a finger. 

The baby stopped crying and opened her eyes, blinking: the irises were a bright, undeniable teal-blue, deep as the ocean.

“Kya,” whispered Katara, cradling the tiny body. “For my mother.”

“Kya, then,” said Aang, curling up in the nest of furs with his wife and newest child. “Bumi, come here and meet your sister.”

Bumi hurried over and peered at the infant. “Daddy, issa baby!” he said, sounding shocked. 

“Yes, Bumi, that’s your baby sister.” Katara kissed his unruly little head. “Come here and rest with Mommy for a minute, huh?”

“Baby sister?” Bumi looked like he didn’t know how to take this. “Unca Sokka! Baby! My baby! See?”

“Yeah, I see her, kiddo,” said Sokka, smiling. “Man, Katara, you didn’t wait around with this one, huh?”

“I had excellent help,” said Katara, smiling at Ikaiya, who returned it. “Zuko, you should go get your wife cleaned up. She’s had enough excitement today.”

“Oh, no,” protested Ikaiya, remembering. “No, wait, I— I had that lunch with the waterbending masters at noon, and I’ve missed it—”

“You’re turning into me,” Katara said, laughing before it turned into a grimace. “Oh, ow. Don’t make me laugh.”

“I’ll take her back to the palace,” Zuko said finally, the first words he’d spoken since entering. “Can I…” His gaze fell on the tiny baby, and Katara beamed at him. 

“Of course you can.”

Zuko knelt by Ikaiya and reached out. His mittened hand looked very big next to that tiny head with its fluff of wet, dark hair. “Kya,” he murmured. “A good name. Can I hold her?”

“Support her head,” Katara instructed. “She can’t lift it on her own yet.”

He picked up the infant as carefully as if she was a mine primed to blow, and Ikaiya felt something stir inside her at the sight of her husband, thick and muffled in his purple-blue parka, cradling a newborn. His black hair was damp from melting snowflakes. The baby smacked her little mouth, closing her eyes, at peace in his arms. 

There was silence in the tent, except for Bumi, talking to himself about a baby sister as he snuggled up to his exhausted mother. Ikaiya couldn’t tear her eyes away from Zuko as he held baby Kya, looking down into her face with wet eyes. I would give you a child like that one day, she thought helplessly. If only you’d let me. A child to bring you peace, not terror. 

Zuko lifted his head and looked at her like he’d heard her thoughts, and Katara must have noticed something, because she looked at Aang, who, with the practiced ease of a man who knows what his wife is thinking, took Kya out of Zuko’s arms gently and laid her back on Katara’s chest. “You go wash,” he said lightly, smiling at Ikaiya. “Consider the events for the rest of the day canceled. We’ll have a celebration later. It’s good luck, a child born during the New Moon Festival.”

Ikaiya got to her feet, thanking the Avatar and pulling her parka back on, and Zuko followed her out like a man in a trance. She was cold without the rest of her clothes, but hardly felt the wind as she walked back to the palace, Zuko trailing behind her the whole way.

Chapter Text

“I want to show you something,” Zuko blurted out, standing in the middle of their bedroom as his wife washed her hands and changed into a loose purple robe. “If you’ll come with me.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“I can’t tell you. You’ll just have to trust me.” Something gleamed in his amber eyes, and Ikaiya fought a smile as she tugged her parka and skirt and mittens back on.

“All right. Lead the way, Fire Lord.”

Zuko showed her out the door and led her down a path, a long walk through echoing, cold halls, to a long courtyard behind the palace, where a small, ancient looking wooden door set in a snowy ice-wall lay at the end. “The last time I was here,” he told her, tugging the door open, “I sneaked in the back way. Very rude of me.”

“What is it?” She peered inside, and surprisingly hot air floated around her face. “Oh, it’s warm here. An underground cave?”

“Go on and see,” he said, and Ikaiya stepped in, listening to the rush of roaring water, and her feet crunching on not snow, but grass. Grass? Marveling, she stepped in further, and saw that the sky overhead was distant and small, the snow blowing far above the cavern they were in, but the air here at the bottom was as temperate and mild as a spring day in the Earth Kingdom. A waterfall was flowing at the far end, and in front of the waterfall was a small island, lush with greenery and flowers and blossoming cherry trees, connected to the earth around the pool by a pair of bridges. A waterfall flowing into a pool, an island in the pool, another pool on the island. Connections and connections.

“What is this place?” she whispered, delighted. 

“The most spiritual place in the whole Northern Water Tribe,” said Zuko, following her in and shutting the door. “The Spirit Oasis. I know you said you’re not very spiritual, but I thought you might like the warmer temperatures.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “I don’t even need a parka in here. I’m sweating.” Ikaiya stripped it off and walked further in, looking around in amazement. “This is perfect, Zuko. Thank you. Should we— are we allowed to be in here?”

“It’s open to anyone,” he told her, following her to the bridge so they could cross to the island. “It’s a place of great spiritual clarity. Anyone can come and meditate.”

Ikaiya hung her parka on the rail of the bridge. “I’m no good at meditating, unfortunately. I can barely sit still long enough for those tea parties they keep making me host in the Capital all the time.”

Zuko chuckled. “Well, at least you had some excitement today. I didn’t know you were a midwife.”

“You never asked, and it’s not really the most appropriate mealtime conversation, so.” Ikaiya sat down on the grass, tilting her head back to bask in the sunshine. 

“I’ll make sure to remember it from now on, then,” he told her gravely, and sat next to her after shedding his parka. “Did she… go into labor on the way out of the healing demonstration?”

“No, I— well, I stopped her to ask a question, and we got carried away talking, and then I realized she’d probably been in labor all day and hadn’t said a word.”

“Oh? What were you talking about?”

“You,” said Ikaiya simply: there was no point being coy. 

“Me. Oh.” Zuko looked away, fiddling with the grass. 

“Yes. You never mentioned your fears to me. The— about your sister, I mean, and—”

“Don’t speak of her. Please.” Zuko’s face had gone taut as a bowstring, waiting to snap and cut. 

“When I was young,” Ikaiya said softly, looking into the pond in the middle of the island and the two large koi that swam around each other in a constant circle, “lightning struck the barn we kept the ostrich horses in. It burned down, killed all the horses. My father died. We found his body in the barn. After that, for years I couldn’t stand storms. I had to hide at the sound of thunder, under my bed, even when I was seventeen. Eighteen. A grown woman. And today, even still, the sight of lightning or— or fire strikes me with fear.”

Zuko was silent. “That’s why you were so unsettled the day of our wedding. Because I used it in front of you.”

“Yes. But now I am telling you fully why, so that you know. Once you name the thing that scares you to death and realize why you’re afraid, you can handle it better. When you used fire to rescue me on Kyoshi Island, I wasn’t afraid. I was able to make myself know it wouldn’t hurt me.”

He swallowed. “Sometimes things need to stay in silence, Ikaiya. Not… out in the open. Sometimes even a spouse can’t know everything.”

“No,” she agreed. “But a spouse should know enough to be able to help.”

“That’s true,” he acknowledged. “Did Katara tell you about… about the kidnappings?”

“Yes, and how—how she thought that Mai might have been targeted for her relationship to you.” 

“She was,” said Zuko shortly. “It wasn’t an amiable breakup, but it was… understood on both sides in the end. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let Azula hurt anyone she knew I cared about. I couldn’t let her win like that.”

“And you think she might still be out there?”

“I do. It tears me apart. Not knowing if she’s behind a scuffle over borders or, or even your skirmish on Kyoshi Island— I thought the worst when I knew you were missing, back then.” He closed his eyes. “I told you, I didn’t expect to come to care for you as I have. It’s— it’s a weakness she’ll try to exploit—”

“It isn’t a weakness, it’s strength,” Ikaiya said quietly, covering his hand with hers. “Because in spite of her you still love, and you care, and you are good. You are a good ruler, Zuko.”

Tears tangled in his black lashes as he shook his head. “How can I be a good ruler when I’m so afraid? I can’t sleep, I can barely eat, I don’t—I can’t even bed my wife like a man should—”

“Are you afraid when you kiss me?” she whispered, brushing a tear from his scarred cheek with her thumb. “Hmm?”

“A little. Afraid I’m doing it wrong, or that, that you won’t— that you’ll—”

“I’ll what?”

“Laugh at me,” he choked out. “When you see me. It’s, it’s embarrassing.”

“Why is it embarrassing?”

Zuko sounded like he might cry. “I don’t— because it looks weird like that, it’s ugly, it’s shameful.”

“What’s shameful about your body? Or pleasure with your wife?” she asked, and for that he had no answer. “Did someone once mock you about it? Mai?”

“No, not Mai. She never—” and Zuko shut his mouth like a steel trap, shaking his head again. 

“Oh,” said Ikaiya softly. A cruel sister, mocking and manipulative. “I see. You must have been young.”

“Twelve,” he forced out, like he was lancing a wound full of rot, and once pierced, it all came out in a flood. “Twelve, I was twelve and starting, starting to change and she was ten and Mother was gone and I—she sneaked up on me. I would think I was alone and she would find me and laugh at me, and tell me how ugly it was and how stupid and weak I was, and it, it... I was afraid to even touch myself, because I thought I’d be sent to the Colonies. And then as I got older I just… it didn’t happen anymore, or rarely, or only when I slept, and I thought something was wrong with me and that made it worse.” A torn sob ripped past his lips. “I’m sorry. I’m—it’s weak and wrong and I’m broken, it doesn’t, I’m—”

Ikaiya rolled up to her knees and pulled him into an embrace: the tightest, firmest one she could give, and Zuko melted into her arms, clinging to her back and sobbing into her neck. “There is nothing wrong with you,” she said firmly, stroking his hair. “Nothing at all. Shh. It’s all right.”

“How can you say that?” he demanded, muffled in her hair. “I’ve failed you as a husband.”

“We’ve only been married for three months, Zuko. I think there’s some more time to go before I can make that judgment.”

He sighed, hot and damp along her neck. “You’d make a good Fire Lord. You’re patient. I’m not.”

“You’re patient when you want to be,” she told him. “You’re not weak. You’re not broken. You are good, Zuko, and maybe you don’t see it yet. But I have. How do you feel?”

“Lighter,” he answered after a moment. “This place… lifts you, doesn’t it?”

“Well, you did say it was spiritual,” Ikaiya said into his hair. The water rippled on and on, all around them, and the grass was soft. “You might not even believe it’s winter here.”

“No,” he said, sounding strangely throaty, and turned his head into her cheek, nosing his way down to her throat. “No, you might not.”

Ikaiya hadn’t thought that the conversation topic they’d been on would have been a precursor to… this, but she wasn’t complaining. “It’s warm,” she managed as his mouth trailed along her jawline. “Warm like summer.”

“Yeah,” Zuko croaked into her shoulder. Something hard was pressing into her leg. “S-sorry. I… you feel. Good. To, uh. Hug.”

“All right,” she said simply, and tightened her arms around him. “So don’t say sorry.”

“Ikaiya,” he muttered, and sighed… but he didn’t move away, or release her: he held her as if he’d never let go. His hand trailed down from her shoulders to her back, to her waist. “Is this,” he stammered, fingers tangled in her robe, “is this… good?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her heart pounding: finally, finally. “It’s good. I’ll tell you if it’s not.”

“I don’t want you to see.” His hands pulled up, went searching under: warm on her skin, all the way to her hips as he felt for her. “Not yet. Ikaiya.” His left hand was shaking. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” she whispered, her left hand tangled in his hair and her right one clutching the wrapped-over tunic he wore. Long sleeved, high-necked. Defensive clothing. Clothing made to shield. “Tell me where to look, then.”

Zuko’s voice was breaking as he tried to speak, tried to get himself extricated from his own clothes below the waist. “Spirits above. Just, just close your eyes— you’re so wet, Ikaiya, I—” His finger slipped inside her, and Ikaiya spread her legs even further, trying to give him better access as something blunt, surprisingly hot, and smooth nudged up against her thigh, beneath the robes.

Her eyes flew open, staring at the garden of flowers behind them. She’d seen him without his clothes all of once, and from that fleeting glance had surmised that he was fairly ordinary in the way men were, but whatever was touching her was— well,she couldn’t be sure, but it felt like it might take some work to fit inside her. “Zuko,” she squeaked, barely daring to breathe. 

“Wh— what?” he panted, one hand between their bodies. “Is… am I in the wrong place? It’s... complicated down here.”

“N-no, just, um. You… you’re big.”

“Is that… bad?” he asked, sounding lost. 

“No! No. Just, it’s just that I might have to touch you to get you inside me and if you don’t want me to look at you then you—”

Zuko silenced her with a kiss, long and rough and firm, his tongue exploring her mouth, and she gave as good as she got, letting herself sink into his chest as he kept touching her, rubbing her between her legs, right where she needed him. “Okay,” he mumbled against her cheek, panting a little as his hand worked. “I can wait. I’ll wait, I’ll be patient. Ikaiya—”

“Zu—” Ikaiya choked, cried aloud, and toppled over her peak, shuddering into his arms as she got her breath back. He was solid, and warm as summer, and held her close as she raised her head sleepily. “Um. Hello.”

“Hi,” he said, bringing her down to lie with him on the grass— and wonder of wonders, he was smiling, smiling more than she’d ever seen him smile. It was still a cautious smile, a guarded one, but it was there, blooming small on his face, and it made her heart glad to see. “Feeling better?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and let her fingers play at the collar of his tunic. “I don’t suppose you’d want me to return the favor.”

“Not… now,” he said softly, and she knew it wasn’t for lack of desire: he was still solid as stone beneath her thigh. “Later.”

“Later, then,” Ikaiya whispered, and closed her eyes, at peace as the water rippled around them both. 

As soon as Katara was well enough to travel, Aang and his family departed for Republic City, leaving instructions for Sokka to act as interim advisor to Zuko for the rest of the trip— which wasn’t going to be very long, either, since it was a straight trip down to the city from the mouth of the Su Oku river to the Mo Ce Sea, and after a week there, it would be home again. 

Zuko, for the first time in his life, had trouble controlling his body’s responses to Ikaiya being in the vicinity. His eyes raced over her body as she sat beside him at formal functions, his mind leaping to recall her naked body: slender arms, firm little breasts, soft trim belly, firm backside. The idea of bedding his wife suddenly seemed far less terrifying after their stay in the Spirit Oasis (and the thought of even that sent his body into a state that brought a flush to his cheeks and an uncomfortable shifting to his seat), but he still shied away from the idea of her seeing him naked. Even odder, his bending had begun to become unpredictable: one moment in the practice yard he would be perfectly in control of a stream of flame, the next it was an inferno by no intent of his own, or a weak sputter of pale flame that died. He had stopped practicing at all, citing a busy schedule to anyone who asked. The last thing he needed was to burn down the yacht by mistake. Or worse, have people start whispering he was losing his bending prowess.

Unfortunately, he kept waking up erect and pressed against Ikaiya, as if in his sleep, he was unconsciously gravitating towards her. This was concerning, and he tried his best to keep his distance. He could tell she wasn’t pleased about his choice to stay at arm’s length for the time being, but he couldn’t take the distractions— what if he allowed himself to slip further, and made some memory even worse than the silken smoothness of her inner thighs? He wouldn’t be able to get anything done. Too late, he realized the point of the two-week break he was supposed to have had right after the wedding. And I told them I didn’t want to do it! Ugh! I’m such an idiot!

Still, there was nothing to be done for it. He welcomed the visiting reporters politely, tried not to make too much eye contact with Ikaiya, and found other things to do. I’ll wait until we’re home. Just until we’re home.

Ikaiya did her best to act as proper and formal as she could, especially when reporters were interviewing her. It was the first time ever that ordinary people would have a glimpse into the life of a Fire Lady, and she wanted to make sure she came across exactly as she intended to.

Her first one had been scheduled to take place in the courtyard at the royal palace of the Northern Water Tribe during the New Moon Festival, and she’d taken her seat as the reporters set up their camera and brushes and paper, ready to write down her every word. Yes, the north was far colder than home; yes, she was thrilled to meet so many people. Then the questions got more complex: what were the policies of the Fire Nation going to be like in light of the new dynamic with the United Republic of Nations? What was the Fire Nation’s plan in regards to the tension between the old colonies and the Earth Kingdom? Ikaiya did her best to answer everything as diplomatically as she could, but lost her composure when one particularly annoying reporter asked “Is there any hint yet of any happy news for you and Lord Zuko?”

She pretended to be an idiot, just to embarrass him. “Happy news?”

“Well, yes— you know, an heir.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir. Do you dislike Lord Zuko so much that you anticipate the next Fire Lord so eagerly?”

He turned a gratifying shade of red. “No! No, Lady Ikaiya—”

“Interview’s over,” said Zuko coolly, sweeping out of the doors and helping Ikaiya to her feet. “Thank you for your time.”

Once they had left the North and were on the way down the river, after another similarly disastrous press conference at a landing point in the Earth Kingdom, he had pulled her aside. “You can’t treat the press like that,” he said sternly. “You know that.”

She glared right back at him. “And what would you suggest I say to a man rudely asking me about whether or not I’m pregnant? As if it’s his business!”

Zuko sighed. “It is his business. In a way. Not— not in a detailed way, obviously, but the public needs to know about these things for security reasons. It’s not as if you’re a private person anymore.”

Ikaiya’s temper flared. “No? Oh. Then I’ll just go and tell them that not only am I not pregnant, the marriage hasn’t even been—”

“Don’t,” he said sharply, all the humor gone out of him, and seized her by the sleeve, yanking her against him. “Ikaiya. Don’t.” There hadn’t even been any more kissing since the afternoon spent in the Spirit Oasis, although she’d woken up that very morning with his arm solidly wrapped around her waist and his nose against her head… and something else jabbing her in the backside.

Resentment gave her voice a bitter edge. “So it’s private when it’s about you, but not when it’s about me.” 

“You know that’s not what—”

“Well, I’m not answering any more questions about that. You can answer them however you want to. Leave me out of it.” She tugged her sleeve free of his grip. 

“I— how am I supposed to answer th—”

“Figure it out!” she snapped. “All anyone cares about is whether or not I’m carrying your child, even when they ask me about policy and tensions and border disputes! That’s all I am to the United Republic, aren’t I? A womb with legs? I wanted to make a difference, not be forgotten and known to history as just the mother of your child!” Hot tears sprang up in her eyes, and she scrubbed them away furiously. Zuko was staring at her in shock. “But I still want— I want—”

“What? What do you want?”

Oh, he was so stupid sometimes. “ You , you blockhead!” 

He clapped his hand over her mouth and hissed, “Lower your voice , someone will hear you,” before lowering it to her chin, exposing her lips. “You’ll have me,” he whispered. “I promise you. I… I thought about it. A lot. I decided on a good time.”

That took her off guard. “You decided? When were you going to tell me—”

“I thought… I thought it would be, uh, more discreet to— well, to wait until we’re back in the Fire Nation.” He wore an expression like a small child caught out. “I was going to tell you tonight.”

Oh. Ikaiya’s lips parted in shock as his hands fell away. “You— but how long exactly is that going to be?”

“Well, we’re staying at the resort at the mouth of the Su Oku for two days, and then sailing up the river for three days. Republic City is another full week of engagements, and after that the voyage home should take three or four days, if the weather’s good. So… three weeks. Give or take.”

“I’d rather take,” she mumbled. The double meaning was not lost on Zuko, who choked and mumbled something as he turned red. “You really want to wait three whole weeks?”

“Of course I don’t want to. But it’s the right thing to do. Otherwise I’d get nothing done.”

It was Ikaiya’s turn to go red. “Oh,” she said. 

“And I’ve thought about… doing it so there’s no heir conceived,” he added very seriously. “I found some artistic poetry and illustrations in the Agna Qel’a library. There were a couple of very interesting scrolls… anyway, have you ever heard of acts involving the mouth?”

Ikaiya fought to keep a straight face. “I may have,” she said very politely. 

Zuko turned pink again. “You’re teasing me. You’ve probably done them.”

“No— well, I’ve done it to someone, but I’ve never had it done to me.”

“No?” he asked, eyes alight with sudden interest. “Do you... want it done to you?”

“I— if, if the other person is willing to listen to instruction,” she stammered, half in disbelief. 

“He is,” he said very firmly, and both eyes trailed down her body, still hidden and shapeless under the bulky parka. “Then. When we reach the Su Oku, I’ll do that.”

Why did her knees feel so weak and unsteady? “I’ll look forward to it, my lord,” she said.

Chapter Text

The Su Oku resort was just as beautiful and luxurious as Zuko had described it, and Ikaiya was glad to leave behind the bulky, heavy winter parkas and change back into robes and silks. It was warmer here, though not as hot as the Fire Nation, with fir and maple trees and cool fall winds, and she stepped off the yacht with a smile as she greeted the waiting reporters with a wave, Zuko at her side in yellow and scarlet in the evening breeze.

They didn’t speak to any press, instead meeting an assortment of people who guided them into the resort with smiles and lots of respectful nods and bows. “We are honored to have you as our guests, my lord and lady,” an older woman in gray and red robes said, beaming as the outer doors slid shut behind them, locking out the press. Ikaiya slid her shoes off gratefully, stepping up onto the smooth wooden floor in her split-socks and into a pair of waiting slippers. “We have reserved the best room for your use, and you must try the mineral pool: it’s so good for the circulation…”

Her chattering went on, and Ikaiya nodded and smiled politely as the hostess led them to their rooms. The Kyoshi Warriors took up their posts outside the door as Zuko and Ikaiya went in and shut it behind them.

Ikiaya took in the room, delighted, as Zuko shrugged off his outer robe and laid it over the back of a chair. A low, firm bed, wide windows that overlooked the sunset-lit river, and tea waiting ready for them on a low table: it was perfect. “This is so beautiful,” she said, kneeling at the table and resting her chin on her hand. “Didn’t you say you’d been here during the war?”

“I did come here, yes. After the siege of the North failed. I didn’t spend much time enjoying myself, though. I was more concerned with dwelling on my failures.” His face twitched for a moment, as if remembering something unpleasant, but it passed as he glanced up at her. “Let’s have some tea.”

She poured it for him, and they sat together quietly, just watching the river ripple in the sunshine and listening to the sighing breeze come through the open window. It was nice, Ikaiya thought, just sitting with each other. She noticed Zuko had finished his tea, and was glancing at her surreptitiously, then over at the wide, low bed, then back at his empty cup. Ikaiya bit her lip to hide a smile. Really, he could just ask. “More tea?” she offered.

“Ah. No. Thank you. I—mm.” It was almost comical, the way he was completely unable to look her in the eyes and kept looking around the room while a flush rose up his throat and stained his unscarred cheek. “Do you remember, um, when we, when I— we talked? In the North. And I said. I said I’d do… things. Here. When we got here.”

 “I do,” she said serenely. As if it hadn’t been almost everything she thought about since then.

“Uh. Right. So do you, would you— now?”

The teapot hit the table with a thump as Ikaiya scrambled to her feet. “ Yes, spirits above, I thought you’d never ask.”

Zuko’s face broke into a smile: a real beaming grin— it took years off his face, giving his expression a boyish excitement that she couldn’t help but return with her own grin. “Really? Okay. Um. I guess, I guess you should take off your clothes. Or, uh, as much as you want?”

“I’ll just, I’ll,” Ikaiya managed, and shucked off everything but her under-robe, sitting on the bed and pulling the hem up to her waist, then taking off the silk drawers beneath, leaving her bare from the waist down. Thank the heavens my monthlies just ended. “Is that—”

“Uh,” said Zuko, eyes fastened to her groin as he drew nearer and knelt between her feet, staring at her crotch with fascination. “Can I… touch you here?”

“You’ve touched me there before,” she reminded him, suddenly shy of everything: was she not neat enough? Not pretty down there? Had her hair grown in too thickly? She had had all her body hair removed before the wedding, as was custom, but hadn’t cared enough to keep going back to the royal spa for repeated treatments, and anyway with a husband who didn’t bed her, it hadn’t mattered. But now… 

Zuko was touching her. His hands were warm and shaky, and Ikaiya sucked a breath in as he gently parted her there and pressed a careful kiss to her inner thigh. The touch of his mouth was warm and soft, and his breath drifted up her skin, tickling her. “You have to tell me how,” he whispered, and Ikaiya couldn’t move: if she moved he’d bolt like a scared animal. 

“Yes. I’ll tell you.” Badger’s bones, I hope I don’t need a bath. “S-spread me open a little. With your fingers.”

He did, his single eyebrow drawing down in concentration as he parted her gently, spreading her open. “It’s so smooth,” he whispered, looking surprised. “In here, I mean. And this…” A finger trailed down the slick parts of her to where she wanted him, and Ikaiya let out a little gasp, closing her eyes as his finger dipped inside her. She could feel her body trying to clench down, to hold him: it wasn’t enough. “Oh. Huh. That’s— where.”

“Don’t, don’t worry about that now,” she panted, trying to keep herself upright on her elbows. “Um, at the top, remember the—”

“Little spark,” he said, almost to himself, and bent quickly, his hot tongue flat and slipping over her and Ikaiya almost choked with how good it felt. “Mmm,” he mumbled, mouth working against her body clumsily. 

“Oh— Zuko, that, that’s good, a little, little harder— yes just like th-that, ah, ah —”

His silk-soft hair brushed her legs, spreading out over his back as he kissed her between her legs as deeply as he could, obediently following her instructions, and when she asked for a finger, he gave it gladly, pushing it deep inside of her and moaning as he felt her heat. It was only another moment, and then she was cresting her peak, shuddering as she crashed into peace, her mind floating in a warm pool as she panted for air, heart thudding in her ears. 

Zuko lifted his head, his chin and cheeks gleaming with a wet shine. “Was that good?” he whispered, gazing at her as if she held all the secrets in the world. 

“Good,” she echoed, trying to catch her breath. Yes, she was satisfied, but she wanted him again: wanted more, wanted it all. “Yes. So good. Y-you know, uh, there’s—you really could do it now if you wanted to. All of it. Everything. Really, I mean. I wouldn’t look. I’d close my eyes for you. Please.”

Zuko closed his eyes and laid his unscarred, soft cheek on her bare thigh, a ragged little breath escaping his lips. “Ikaiya,” he said hoarsely. “I…”

A sharp rap at the door jerked them both to attention, Ikaiya fumbling madly with her robes to pull them down and Zuko flinging himself away and hiding the tented front of his trousers with a robe. “Come in!” he barked, looking dazed. 

The hostess of the resort poked her cheerful head in, taking in Ikaiya sitting on the bed with her hair in disarray and Zuko ten feet away at the window posed like he might climb out. “Ah, hello, your Highnesses! I was just making sure all was to your liking. The mud baths have been set aside for your particular use, as have two of our best masseuses, and the saltwater bath is fine this time of year.”

“Thank you,” said Ikaiya graciously. “Ah, we will come down soon. We are enjoying… the tea. It’s very good.” Don't look at Zuko, don't look at him!

The lady’s chest puffed up. “Brewed it myself, I did! Thank you kindly, your Highness. Oh, what’ll they say in the village when I tell them the Fire Lady liked my tea?” She left, clucking and chattering to herself like an excited chicken, and Ikaiya finally met Zuko’s gaze across the room. They both burst into muffled laughter, hiding their mouths in their sleeves, and Zuko came over to sit at her side, smiling. 

“I’ll bet you she could hear everything. The walls in this part of the country are only paper panels in summer, and they might not have changed them to bamboo yet for the winter,” said Ikaiya, grinning at him.

“Hopefully she’ll tell everyone she knows. Maybe we can avoid any further irritating personal questions,” Zuko said, covering her hand with his broad, pale one. “The baths here are gender-separated. You’ll have fun with the Kyoshi Warriors, I’m sure.”

Ikaiya chuckled. “Yeah, me all naked and freezing cold like a plucked bird out there in the wind.”

“I don’t know. I think some parts of you are improved in the cold,” Zuko said, glancing down at where her robe was loosely wrapped over her chest. Excitement (or embarassment) bit some color into his cheeks, but he persisted. “I’ve seen you cold and naked. Your… nipples get— they stand up. You can see them through thin clothes.”

“Oh?” Ikaiya said, arching an eyebrow as best she could. “You, um, you like them?”

He reached forward and gently pulled the robe open, exposing her left one, the areola pale brown, the nipple darker. “Yes,” he said firmly, staring as if pinned in place, and reached out, glancing up at her once as if to see if she’d stop him. She didn’t: she thought she liked where this was going, and his fingers brushed her nipple, pinching gently, rubbing. “I— I wish I could put them in my mouth,” he said quickly and all in a rush, his ear turning crimson as he looked away. “I’m sorry. That’s— I wouldn’t—”

“Do it,” she whispered, hardly daring to breathe as she stared at him. 

Zuko froze. “Do— what? You want me to—”

“Yes. Here, go ahead.” She pulled open the robe and exposed her other breast, and Zuko’s lips parted in shock. It was almost funny, how he kept staring at her breasts and then at her face and then back again, like he didn’t know where to look. “Kiss me here. And then, later, I’ll kiss you in the same place.”

A soft breath hissed past his lips, and Zuko slid off the bed and to his knees in front of her, wedging himself between her thighs and bringing his head on a level with her chest. The Fire Lord is kneeling at my feet, she thought, dizzy, and then let out a soft moan: his hot, smooth lips had sucked her left nipple in, and his tongue was playing with it, tentative and careful. “Ikaiya,” he mumbled into her skin, around all the kissing and licking. She thought she might die if she didn’t get him inside of her: how was she supposed to wait another three weeks? I’ll self-combust, we won’t make it. “Soft.”

The scarred flesh on his face was rough and coarse as she reached down, stroking his hair away from it, from his ruined cheek, tracing what remained of his left ear. Strange, how it didn’t bother her anymore. “Do whatever you like to me,” she told him, trying to sound as if she could remember words at all. “Anything.”

He grunted and brought his hands up to cup her breasts, test the weight and give and form: she was not particularly well-endowed, but he didn’t really seem to care. Gently, he leaned in closer and closed his eyes, his tongue and open mouth gliding along the swell caused by his grasping hands. Ikaiya shivered. “Beautiful,” he rasped, and licked her right nipple, making it stand out hard and small to match the left. When he was satisfied, the flesh dark and pebbled, he latched his mouth onto her, suckling, laving his tongue everywhere he could reach. Ikaiya unconsciously cradled his head to hold him close, tangling her fingers into his ink-dark hair. She’d never had anyone kiss her there like that before, and she found she was enjoying it very much. With a soft pop, he released her, and her wet skin felt cold without him in the air of the bedroom. Zuko looked up at her with dazed eyes, the pupils as wide and dark as the night sky. “Ikaiya,” he groaned again, and closed his eyes in shame, his hips moving of their own accord to rub against her thigh— and she felt him there beneath the layers of fabric: hard as stone. She cupped his cheeks in her hands as he took in a labored breath. “I’m s-sorry. It feels, it feels—I shouldn’t—”

“Don’t think,” she said immediately, desperate for him to stay, to finish this out. “Just feel it. Please, Zuko.”

“I want— you,” he managed, tears filling his amber-gold eyes as he awkwardly rutted against her. “Don’t, don’t m-move, I’m sorry, I just need— ow I need—”

“You’ll chafe if you do it like that,” Ikaiya said softly, letting her hand trail down from his cheek to his throat, from his throat to his chest as he paused in his movement. He didn’t move to stop her yet, so she went lower, to his belt, and his breath caught in his throat, but he still didn’t stop her. I must be cautious, she thought wildly, and cupped him as gently as she could through his clothes, feeling for the outline of him— and there he was, thick and warm and so hard she thought she could feel a heartbeat through those layers of silk and cotton and wool. “Oh,” she said, closing her eyes. “Badger’s bones, it’s like a spear-shaft. Uh, so you— you could, you could undress, and I could— I could use my hands on you, but not look. If you, if that’s—”

“Use your hands on me ,” repeated Zuko, sounding hoarse and hollow and half-terrified. “You want — you want to, to put your hands on— touch me, on—” He cut himself off, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Yes. I can— look, I’ll show you. Sit here.” She patted the bed, and he crawled up, then sat as she directed, facing away from her and sitting between her thighs, her hands resting in his lap. Her vision was obstructed by his broad back and shoulders. “Like this, right? And then I just…” Ikaiya made a crude gesture with her hand, and he made a funny little sound, like a half-laugh choked off. “We could try it.”

“We could.” Zuko sounded strained, and his hands were trembling on her knees where they rested. “All right. I’ll— don’t, don’t look.”

“I won’t,” she assured him, pressing her forehead into the nape of his neck and looking down. “See? Can’t see a thing. Just your back.”

The silence while he weighed that seemed like an eternity, but finally he exhaled sharply and reached up, untying his belt. “Nobody’s ever done this to me,” he whispered, shucking off the layers and letting his robe slip partway down his back. Ikaiya felt around with her hands, her eyes shut tight for good measure: he was opening his robes, undoing his trousers, shuffling them down, and his pulse was so fast she thought he might pass out. Take it easy, she thought to herself, and reached up, pressing her palms against his chest, feeling the heated, sweat-sticky skin there, the hard, rough scar tissue over his sternum, and the thudding, living heartbeat behind and above it.

“Deep breaths. Be calm. I’m not going to hurt you. I want you to feel good.”

“Feel good,” he repeated, breath coming shallowly. “Okay.” Her hands brushed his nipples, flat and soft, and he twitched a little. “Ah,” he muttered. “Huh. Those are sensitive.”

“Good to know. You feel strong.” Her hands mapped out the topography of his chest: two broad, firm pectorals, the collarbones, the very sparse hair on his sweat-slick chest, the rough thin ripples of scar just below his sternum like a crater left by a falling star. “I have my eyes closed. I’m going to move my hands down further. Okay?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment, and she slid her hands down to glide past his ribcage: his abdominal muscles, thick and solid, and his sides, and then to his navel, where a trail of hair below it led down to— Ikaiya swallowed. Not too eager, don’t be too eager. His lower belly was soft and smooth, the skin delicate, his hips sharp beneath his skin. “This feels. Really nice,” he croaked, and she felt him trembling. A hand, large and firm, caught at her left one tightly, and brought it to his mouth to kiss it. “If I, if I can’t do this, just— I want you to know it wasn’t you. It’s not you.”

“I understand,” she whispered, eyes still shut. “Can I move down and touch it?” She kissed his back, right between his shoulder blades. “It’s okay if you say no.”

A weak, half gulped breath, and then: “Yes. Please. Yes.”

Her hands crept down softly, as delicately as she could, and trailed through a thatch of coarse, thick hair: past that, she found the root of him, and traced the circumference as Zuko groaned aloud, the sound reverberating through her head. Jutting from his thighs at a clean angle, it was thick and hard—very much so—and as her fingertips trailed further down, the skin became smooth and soft, warm to the touch until she reached the end, where he ended in a blunt curve, a raised lip like an upside-down cup marking out the edges of the slick head from below. “Beautiful,” she whispered, kissing his bare shoulder gently. “I don’t need to see it. Just here: you’re dripping for me. Like I was for you.” Her thumb found tender flesh, and she rubbed softly, spreading slickness.

The only answer was an inarticulate, wordless sob, and a thrust towards her palm. “Please,” he gasped, his left hand working at her thigh. “Ikaiya. I need—”

“This, I know,” she said, and curled her hand around him, giving him a few quick movements that ripped a guttural moan from his lips before he grasped her hand, guiding it as he liked. 

“A little, a little faster, just— oh, that’s, that’s— Ikaiya—” His voice broke off into a whine, and his hips jerked up to meet her strokes.

“I bet you look so good like this,” she whispered daringly against his skin, working at him. “Are you blushing for me? Just for me?”

“I—yeah, please—”

“Such a nice one, too. So pretty. Nice and long and thick.” She emphasized that with a good firm stroke, and he hung his head, giving a low, desperate groan. “Isn’t it? You should tell me, since I can’t see. Isn’t it pretty?”

“It’s— it’s—” He was gasping, panting, trying to hold on. “ Please, Ikaiya—”

“Tell me. Tell me you’re beautiful. You’re good,” she urged, listening to his breathing go ragged. “Say it, you can say it—”

“It’s—I’m good! I’m good, I’m—” he shouted, and shuddered violently with a groan, dissolving into sobs as Ikaiya felt something warm and sticky splatter onto her hand and fingers. His breath was coming in gasps, and she felt hot tears streaking down his cheeks and chin and plunking onto her free hand, which was clinging to his chest. 

“There,” she whispered, hugging him close as he held himself up, his arms locked and trembling as he went limp everywhere else. “There we go. Breathe. You’re all right.” 

“Uh,” panted Zuko, collecting himself enough to start fumbling wildly with his pants. “I got it on you. I’m sorry. That—  was— that was—”

“I don’t care,” she told him blithely. “There’s a washroom. Lie down if you have to.”

“If I... lie down, I’ll fall asleep and miss dinner,” he said heavily, but slumped over to his side anyway, bracing himself with one hand. She opened her eyes and saw he’d managed to cover himself, and that he was flushed a rosy pink color all the way to his ears and his eyes were bright with tears. 

“I’ll wash and come back. Give me a moment.” She darted off to the adjoining washroom, where she cleaned her hands off and splashed her face with cold water. The bedroom was silent, and when she walked back in, Zuko was on his side, eyes closed, lips parted and slack: he was asleep, chest rising and falling serenely.

Ikaiya pressed her lips together in a wry smile. Poor man. At last he’ll get some rest. She went to the sliding door and opened it, poking her head out at the Kyoshi Warriors, and if they’d heard anything behind those thin walls, they had the sense to not say a word. “The Fire Lord is resting. I’ll have dinner in here, please, and then I’ll visit the cool spring. Could you ask them to leave a tray? We’ll both visit the hot pools and the spas tomorrow.”

“Yes, your Highness,” said Suki, inclining her head, and turned to leave. Ty Lee remained where she was, and shot a small smile at Ikaiya.

“Don’t tell me you wore him out already,” she whispered, eyes gleaming.

Ikaiya felt a flush rise to her cheeks. “It’s been a long day,” she said primly, and withdrew from the door, closing it tight.

Zuko came slowly out of a dead, dreamless sleep. At first he felt so thickly under that he was sinking, unable to open his eyes with the weight of it: he felt warmth on his face, a light from somewhere, soft blankets surrounding him, and the smell of food nearby. His belly growled, and he blinked, squinting and drawing his arm up to his eyes with a grunt. “Mm?”

“Oh, you’re awake. Good.” That was Ikaiya’s voice, straightforward and quiet, and the rustle of fabric could only be her robes. “I had breakfast brought up for you. You slept through dinner last night.”

“I— what?” he managed, pushing himself up with his arms. He was in bed, dressed in his clothes from the day before, and the sun was shining outside the windows, falling over the river in golden beams. “I slept through the night? How long was I—”

“Thirteen hours,” she said, pouring tea. She looked nice: she’d braided her hair into a single thick rope that hung down her back, and she wore the resort’s provided simple gray and red robes, one sleeve rolled back over her forearm to keep it out of the tea. “You fell asleep a few hours before sunset and it’s three past sunrise now. How do you feel?”

Zuko considered that as he swung out of bed and stretched, feeling the pleasant ache of used muscle. There was no pain in his neck or his back, and he felt… rested. Peaceful, even. “Good,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders back. “Really good.”

Ikaiya smiled at him, her pale-tawny eyes sparkling. Was it his imagination, or was she blushing a little? “That’s good to hear. Go wash up and come eat your food before it gets cold.”

Standing, he headed over to the attached bathroom and slid the door shut behind him, his mouth dry as he began to strip down and fill the cypress-wood tub. Memory was coming back: her hands on him, her face nestled hot into the space between his shoulder blades, his own voice rasping out that he was good and the bright, glittering rush of release that had drenched him from head to toe afterward. 

She didn’t laugh at me. She said it was beautiful. That I was…

Zuko raised his head and looked into the long, narrow mirror set into the wall. His face looked the same as it ever had, the left eye reduced to a slit set in reddened ripples of scar tissue, but something felt different. Better. He took a deep breath and stood up straight, staring himself in the eyes, and to his shock, he felt them well with tears. She doesn’t think I’m ugly. She didn’t mock me, she didn’t hurt me. 

He slid into the bathwater, closing his eyes and letting the tears fall freely down his cheeks. 

My wife. My wife. 

Ikaiya looked up as Zuko came through the bathroom door, dressed in clean robes. He ducked his head a little at her as he sat down on the floor to eat breakfast, and she poured him tea as he started in on his soup. He looks rested. He actually looked better than she’d ever seen him, come to think of it. “I think,” she said, finishing her soup, “that maybe I’ll try the hot mineral spring today.”

“Ah,” he said, glancing over at her. “Then I’ll probably do the saltwater baths. You’ll be all right with half the Kyoshi Warriors?”

“You’re taking three with you?” Ikaiya had to smile. “I thought the pools were gender-separated.”

“Exceptions can be made for almost anything,” he said, smiling back. “Don’t worry. If my Fire Lady commands it, I’ll have them turn their backs when I get into the pool.”

“Oh, I’m not jealous,” she assured him. “At least the pools are private.”

“They are. Would you like to do the massage afterward together?”

“Yes, actually. I could use a good hard—” Ikaiya stopped herself and almost choked. “I mean, I mean—”

Zuko grinned, actually grinned so widely he looked like a boy again. “Oh, no, please continue. A good hard what?”

“Oh, badger’s bones, don’t tease me,” she stammered, covering her face and trying not to laugh. “I was going to say rubbing and then I— I realized what that—”

He threw back his head and cracked up, and Ikaiya dissolved into giggles, flinging her head and arms down on the table as Zuko’s laughter filled the room like the morning sun. “Spirits above,” he choked, wiping his eyes. “I think I can arrange a good hard rubbing, Ikaiya.”

“Promise?” she gasped, breathless with laughter, and he grinned, nodding. 

“Yeah. Tonight. After the baths.”

“It’s a date, then.” He shook his head, still smiling, and gulped down his soup. 

The mineral bath was beautiful. Rough stone edged the spring water, sunshine beamed through the whirls of thick steam coming off the surface in bright golden rays, and the changing leaves blanketed the view in a tapestry of yellow and crimson below a fresh blue sky. Ikaiya swam to the edge, looking out over the river, and rested her chin on her folded arms, careful to not let the folded towel on her head fall into the velvety water.

He was laughing with me. She kicked her feet and sighed, contented. The Kyoshi Warriors stood guard by the pools, but they gave her a little privacy, enough to make her feel as if she could be alone with her thoughts. What a step they had made last night! A big step, too, a very daring one, and it had been a success: he had been happy this morning, and rested, and laughed. Laughed! She had never heard him laugh like that before. Open and clear and free. Like nothing bothered him, like he had not a single a care in the world. Heat soaked into her body from the mineral water, leaving her skin soft and smooth, and the thin red and gold leaves above rustled pleasantly in the breeze. Light glinted off the river in a million radiant, ever-moving sparkles. 

Maybe waiting three weeks was a good thing. She didn’t think she’d be able to handle the awkwardness of having her first real experience in a place where everyone could hear her. On the other hand, she was pretty sure she’d get driven crazy by the time they got back to the Fire Nation. Maybe Zuko would, too. Ikaiya fought to banish the thought of him pulling her into her bedroom, laying her down on the red and gold silk… his hair would be hanging in his beautiful eyes and he’d say finally and then they’d really be husband and wife, truly— 

“My lady?”

She inwardly groaned, stirred out of her daydream. “Suki?”

“It’s been an hour. You said this morning you wanted to get a massage with Lord Zuko?”

“Oh, right! Yes!” She’d lost track of the time due to the late morning, and hastily scrambled from the hot spring bath, using her cloth for modesty as another one of the warriors handed her a gray cotton robe, which she belted firmly about her waist. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“You looked distracted.”

“I was.” She walked alongside Suki. Having a phalanx of warriors to guard her was still a new experience, but she was grateful for their presence. “I was thinking about the rest of the trip.”

“Three more weeks.” Suki’s armor clattered softly as she descended the stairs to the level below. Something in her tone was odd: a slight flatness.

“You don’t like the Capital, do you?” said Ikaiya quietly, noting the soft line in the white face-paint that marred the skin between her brows. “No more than I do.”

“It’s too hot,” said Suki with a resigned sigh.

Ikaiya laughed. “It is! It’s so hot. Ugh. You think maybe Zuko can import some ice blocks from the Northern Water Tribe and cool the palace down?” she joked.

“You know, we actually used to use ice in the summers on Kyoshi for that. You have someone stand with a fan and fan air over the ice in a big bowl, and the cold air feels so good…”

The massage room was quiet and peaceful, one wall half-open to the autumn breeze and the smell of the river and the surrounding woods, the floor teak, the tables soft, padded with dry beans to conform to the weight and shape of a body. Ikaiya took off her robe as instructed by the masseuse and lay flat on the table face down as the woman shook out a sheet and delicately lay it over her back. “I will get the Fire Lord,” she said, and left, sliding the door shut.

Ikaiya blinked. Her face was wedged comfortably into a padded hole at the end of the table. All she could see was the floor, and all she could hear was the wind in the leaves outside as it carried the woodsy scent of decaying leaves, of cypress and fresh water, into the room. I could fall asleep here, she thought drowsily. 

The door slid open. Footsteps padded across the floor, the soft sound of a person barefoot on hardwood flooring. “Zuko?” she whispered.

“It’s me,” said his familiar, low, raspy voice. “Don’t get up.” 

“Okay.” The sound of his robe slipping over his skin met her ears, and then the soft creak of the massage table as he climbed up and lay down. “You didn’t get a sheet?”

“Very funny.” He sounded tense. That didn’t bode well.

“Is... everything okay?”

“I—”

The door slid open and the masseuse came in, followed by a second. Ikaiya could hear them bowing, even if she couldn’t see them. “We will begin the massage now,” said one of them softly, and then the sound of the second sheet flapping out to cover Zuko filled the room briefly. Ikaiya smiled to herself. 

She had never had a massage before— the ten thousand spa treatments before the wedding didn’t count, because she barely remembered anything they’d done— so this was a whole new experience. Part of the sheet would be lifted to expose her body, and one part worked on: then covered again and another part uncovered and rubbed with hands so firm and careful, slicked in warm oil that smelled delightfully of the sweet, smoky scent of osmanthus. She was flipped to her front, her arms and palms handled by strong fingers, every knot rolled away. Ikaiya almost fell asleep, but found herself brought back to sharp, prickling wakefulness when Zuko’s voice, taut and harsh, broke the peaceful silence.

“Do not touch me there.”

“I apologize, Fire Lord. You carry great tension in your stomach. I thought that you might benefit from—”

“Zuko?” asked Ikaiya, raising her head up and turning it to find him. He was sitting upright, pale, fists clenched, and the masseuse was flushed with confused embarrassment, looking everywhere but at him. What had she missed? She cleared her throat. 

The other masseuse, whose hands had paused on Ikaiya’s thigh, swallowed. “I apologize, my lord,” she said quietly. “You had stated your preference before the session and I forgot to convey it to Miko. The fault is mine.” 

“Perhaps if you would like to move to the neck and the shoulders of the Fire Lord,” Ikaiya said quietly, firmly, firmally. “Thank you, Miko.”

A flash of gold and the briefest nod was all she got by way of a thank-you from her husband, but they both lay back down and the massage continued. When it was over, the masseuses reached out and put Ikaiya’s hand in Zuko’s, between the tables, and rang a small bell, then bowed and left the room.

Zuko’s hand was hot, damp, and shaking. As soon as the door shut, he tore his hand away and sat up, inhaling gusts of fresh air like he was dying for it. “Zuko—”

“Don’t,” he said, and took the sheet with him as he got off the table, stumbled to the window, went to the little balcony outside, and gripped the railing. “Don’t, just don’t.”

Okay. Ikaiya got up, wondering what on earth had happened, but did not speak, just trailed him out to the balcony with her own sheet wrapped around her like a robed monk and sat down patiently, waiting for him to be ready to speak. His shoulders hunched, tense, and he took several deep breaths before turning from the railing and looking down at her. Wind stirred his long, black hair. “Please sit,” she said quietly.

“Not here. Come back inside.”

“Okay.” She got up and went back in, and this time he followed her, sitting on the table and letting most of the sheet drape off his shoulder. 

“Miko didn’t hurt me,” he said hollowly. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Something upset you regardless of pain,” said Ikaiya. 

“She—” His right hand trailed over his stomach, over the puckered crater, over the discolored rough skin just below his sternum, and Ikaiya waited. “She meant well,” he finally said.

“Do you want to tell me about that scar?” Ikaiya offered.

“It was…” He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply. “It…” Try as he might, the words wouldn’t leave him, and he turned towards her with a wordless little expression of helpless pain. Ikaiya sat down next to him on the table and covered his hand with hers, and he flipped his palm upward to curl his warm fingers around her hand. Then, and only then, did he take another deep breath and speak. “It was my sister. She was trying to kill Katara at the end of the war, and I couldn’t— I couldn’t redirect the lightning fast enough, so I just took the full brunt of it. She— she only aimed at Katara to spite me. To cheat. We were in the middle of an Agni Kai, and I was matching her because she was losing it and she was angry and she—she aimed at Katara. It almost killed me. You know—” he wiped his arm across his face, took another deep breath. “I had some trouble with it after the war was over. But I thought I’d taken care of it. I talked to Aang about it—he told me about chakras. He said that the stomach chakra is the fire chakra; that if mine was blocked that my chi would be weakened. And now I think it’s— something’s wrong. Something didn't feel right, anyway." He lapsed back into silence and pulled his hand away from hers, looking at the wall.

“Tell me about the chakras,” said Ikaiya softly after a moment. “I only know about one or two.” That wasn’t quite true: the Earth Kingdom’s midwives and traditional doctors knew all about the Seven Chi Gates, but she had never learned about them framed in this particular way before. Besides, she'd rather he talk than sit in brooding silence.

“Everyone has them, because everyone has chi, and the chakras are how the chi flows through the body. Benders… have the misfortune of being able to physically see the effects of their blocked energy.” Zuko swallowed. “They all have an associated element and color, something in life, a part of life or spirit that they deal with. There are seven of them.”

“Not four? For elements? You said fire…”

“Well, sound and light and energy aren’t classical bending elements but some people think they could be bent… Aang learned energybending from lion-turtles, and Toph Beifong thinks sound should theoretically count as a bendable element but that’s… getting off track. Um. But my— my scar, here, is either interfering with my stomach chakra or my heart chakra, and lately I’ve been… my bending is acting strangely.”

“How do you mean? You can’t… bend, or—”

He shook his head. “No, no. Imagine a Fire Lord who couldn’t bend. No. It’s more like unexpected… bursts of flame in odd times, strange moments. I’ve never had it happen before. And— the thing is, the stomach chakra is the fire chakra. It deals with… willpower. Control.”

Ikaiya nodded. “What causes a blockage in the fire chakra?”

His eyes, gold as the sun, met hers. “Shame,” he whispered, and it hung between them for a long moment. “I want to… ask Aang when I see him again in Republic City. I…”

“Show me the stomach chakra,” said Ikiaya quietly, and he took her hand again, pulled it to his chest, and let it rest below the puckered mass of rigid flesh on his sternum. His skin was fever-warm, damp. “Here?”

“Yes,” he rasped.

“Then it’s too low. Look.” She traced the ripples of scarred flesh, brushing over the epicenter, which was just over his sternum, below the bottom of his pectorals. “See? If lightning struck you, it could have branched inside you like in a stormcloud, I suppose… but the heart chakra?” Her fingers trailed over his skin. “Hmm.”

“You know where my heart is,” he said softly, and Ikaiya slid her fingers up, up over smooth hot skin still slick with oil, his hand still over her fingers, until she could feel the hard, steady thumping of Zuko’s heart. “Heart chakra.” He wet his lips, which seemed to have gone dry. “Deals with— um— with—”

“Did you forget?” She brushed her thumb over his skin. The cool breeze from the open door to the balcony lifted both their hair in floating dark strands.

“No, I just— can’t remember anything apart from its color right now,” he said, sounding slightly strangled. “Green.”

“Green.”

“Ah. Deals with… um. With… love.” He was so close to her, so close and warm, and his nose brushed hers softly. Ikaiya felt a chill spread down her spine, warm and wanting. Beneath her fingers, his heart was pounding hard and fast, heavy and deep. His free hand reached up, knocked the sheet off her shoulder, left her half-nude as he cradled her jaw and guided her to his mouth, or maybe he was guiding himself to her, but either way his mouth was on hers, hot and damp and softer than anything she’d imagined as she gasped through her nose, tucked her shoulders high up, huddled close to him. His tongue slipped over her bottom lip: she opened her mouth to him gladly and felt the all-encompassing heat of him as he slid both his hands down her body, lifted her easily, turned, set her on the massage table. His sheet fell to the floor in a crumpled pile, like a snowdrift. She lifted her knees to pull him in closer, and felt bare, hot, hard flesh pressed to her thigh. “Please,” Ikaiya gasped between kisses, clinging to him, “yes, please—”

Someone moved in the corridor, a quiet voice speaking some feet down the hall outside. Zuko jerked like someone had bent lightning through his veins and stumbled away from her. Ikaiya tugged her sheet up and realized a half-second too late that he was completely naked. She immediately looked at the wall, at the sliding wooden door with its paper panels, and listened to Zuko breathing and rustling around. Footsteps. Cloth rumpling, flapping: cloth on cloth. She shut her eyes: maybe he wouldn’t be angry if he knew she’d tried not to—

A hand touched hers. Her eyes flew open. Zuko was standing there in his robe, holding out hers in one shaking hand. “My lady,” he said, in a voice that was just this side of shaky, and as soon as Ikaiya had taken the folded cloth, he turned and left the room. 

The rest of the day was uneventful. Ikaiya tried out the other baths, but the beauty of the place had seemingly all been drained away by that interrupted moment in the massage room. If only he hadn’t been startled by someone outside! 

She sneaked up on me, said the voice in her memory, and oh, she thought, dismayed even more, oh, that was why. Perhaps he needed space. Needed to be alone after that. She understood. Or, she tried to: say, perhaps, that someone had clanged a thunderous noise at a certain time that reminded her too much of a lightning storm. She’d need a moment, too, to reorganize her thoughts.

The door to their room slid open, and Ikaiya froze, a piece of fish halfway to her lips. Zuko stepped in and slid the door shut behind him, and just stood there; he was not looking at her. Slowly, she set her chopsticks down. “Good evening,” she said uncertainly.

“I wanted. To apologize,” he said roughly, eyes downcast, shoulders tense.

“You don’t have to—”

“No, I do, I— just stop telling me what I don’t have to do and listen to me. Please.” 

Ikaiya set her chopsticks down and put her hands in her lap. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He sucked in air, let it out, fiddled with his hands. “I apologize for my behavior earlier. You are my wife, and you are Fire Lady, and— trying to manhandle you in a massage room was— low behavior, and it won’t— happen again. That’s all.”

What are you talking about??? Ikaiya closed her eyes and took the world’s deepest calming breath. “Zuko, did you forget the part where I was saying yes?”

Silence filled the room. She cracked an eye open. A bewildered expression was on his face, and his right ear was red. “I… may have,” he muttered. “Forgotten, I mean.”

Badger’s bones. “Have you eaten today?”

“No. Not since breakfast.”

“Sit down.” Ikaiya slid her dishes across to him, and Zuko sat down and started eating without another word. She sighed and got up while he devoured the rest of the fish and rice and vegetables, closing the paper sliding doors that led out to their private balcony, and then went to the door to poke her head out. “Suki?”

“Yes, my lady?” Suki was as painted and perfect as a dancer, a small smile on her lips. 

“Will you kindly post down at the end of the hallway and send Ty Lee to the other end?”

“Of course, my lady,” said Suki, bowing, and made off at once. Ikaiya shut the door and latched it, then turned to look at Zuko, who was watching her with some trepidation. 

“I don’t want anyone surprising us,” she said matter-of-factly, and his shoulders seemed to relax just a little, something soft creeping into his face. “Well, I’m going to bathe. You can join me when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” he said, eyes trained on her as she went to the sliding wooden door that led to the bathroom. She shut it behind her and let out a deep breath before taking off her robe and running the hot water into the deep cypress-wood tub, letting it fill while she scrubbed herself clean in the overhead pipe’s flow of water. All the massage oil, all the salt, all the minerals: everything went down the drain, leaving her skin clean and soft, and she tied her wet hair up and got into the huge tub, shutting the steaming water off and waiting. 

He’ll come. She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her cheek on her knees. I will not count. She just waited, closing her eyes. Sometimes ostrich-horses that had been mistreated or frightened badly acted in odd ways, and you had to be patient and kind, and not get upset if they did not come to you at once, even if you held out fruit to eat. 

A memory seeped into her mind. She had been frustrated with one of the poor animals, impatient and small and maybe seven years old. The fruit in her little hand had been squeezed to a grimy, sticky pulp in the hot sun as an ostrich-horse in the paddock had refused to take the bait for what had felt like hours and hours.

Baba, it’s not working! Why doesn’t she come?  

And his response, soft and far-off and clouded:

You must understand that living creatures cannot see good intentions, Iki. All she knows is what she knew before you. You must teach her a new way, and that takes time.

The door slid open, cautious and slow, and she hummed a little to acknowledge him, but did not open her eyes. “If I had known what kind of person you were the day you came to the Capital," he said hoarsely, “I would have taken you to the palace and married you that same day.” 

A chill rippled over her skin. “Oh,” she said quietly, blushing. 

Cloth moved over skin, fell to the slatted wooden floor. Warm fingers grazed her upper arm, sliding past her elbow and up to her shoulder, past it to her neck. “Ikaiya,” he murmured. “Open your eyes. Please.” 

So she did. Zuko was on his knees at the edge of the tub, shoulders gleaming like pale gold in the light from the lanterns hanging over them, the ones the staff had lit earlier, and his golden eyes were almost black, the pupils swallowing the light that entered them. “Can I join you?” he asked, voice rough around the edges.

“You can, once you wash up,” she whispered, and he smiled a little, stood, turned to rinse off in the shower of water. And she was looking at him, and it was all right, he wasn’t panicking and he wasn’t covering himself. He was naked from head to toe, his unbound hair plastered to his shoulders and upper back like a single thick brush-stroke of pitch-black ink, his body strong and well-formed, scarred and beautiful. When he turned towards her, his chest rising and falling, his hands clenched into fists as if he expected to have to fight off something, Ikaiya closed her eyes out of force of habit, and turned her face away. 

“Look at me,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Please. Please look at me.”

So she did. The dark thatch of black hair between the juncture of his leanly muscled thighs dripped with water like little glass beads, and the flesh there, soft and powerless, hung heavy and reddened with heat. Ikaiya raised her eyes slowly and found his face. “Beautiful,” she whispered.

“Chakras,” he said, stepping closer to the tub, “are an interesting study. From the top of the head to the base of the spine, the… emotions and concepts they deal with go from the enlightened to the primal, from the basest instinct to the highest level of awareness and… self-consciousness.”

Of course she knew that, but she wasn’t about to shut him down now. “Tell me about them all,” said Ikaiya, avidly watching every inch of him as he knelt by the tub and placed his elbows on the rim. “Please.”

“Top of the head,” he said softly, reaching out and touching the crown of her head, over her wet hair. “This is the thought chakra. It handles pure cosmic energy, which connects us to the universe, and is blocked by earthly attachments. Its associated color is violet. Purple.” His hand felt warm and gentle, and Ikaiya swallowed.

“Tell me the next,” she said.

“Here,” he continued, sliding his fingers forward over her forehead and letting his fingertips rest between her brows, “on the forehead, is the light chakra. Indigo. It is blocked by illusion and handles insight.”

“The next,” said Ikaiya, gooseflesh rising on her arms even though the water was hot.

Zuko took the smallest breath and moved his hand downward, over her cheeks, grazing past her jawline, down until he was touching the most delicate part of her throat, over her larynx. “This is the sound chakra. Its color is blue, and it deals with truth and is blocked… by lies.” His own throat bobbed for a moment, and he spoke again. “I once knew a blue dragon who could do nothing but speak lies.”

“All the dragons in the world died long ago,” said Ikaiya quietly, meeting his eyes. 

“Is that so? Mmm.” Zuko stood. “Make some room. I can’t show you the rest of the chakras from the outside of the tub.”

She smiled and slid back, a slosh of water rising and falling in a wave like the sea, and Zuko climbed in, sighing as the heat flushed his skin. “We were on the sound chakra,” she reminded him as she tucked her legs under herself in the deep bath to sit kneeling.

“Yes, right. Sound. So next are the four elemental chakras, which deal with baser instincts than the three cosmic chakras.” He reached out and touched her collarbone, then slipped his fingers down to rest just over her sternum, spreading his hand open. His thumb and his little finger covered her bare, wet nipples. “The first of these,” Zuko said softly, “is the air chakra, located in the heart. Its color is green, and which deals with love and is… is blocked by grief.”

Grief. Ikaiya nodded. “How do the scholars define love?”

“The Avatar says it is an energy that permeates all people; connects us. That when someone who loves us dies… that love is renewed and reborn in some other way.” Was it her imagination or was his hand trembling a little on her chest? “The next one is the fire chakra.”

“I remember this one,” said Ikaiya, reaching out and touching his stomach lightly, just below the rippled pink-red scar tissue that marred his sternum. “Here, and the color is yellow, and the… it is blocked by shame, you said, and deals with willpower.”

“Very good,” he told her, his tone dropping as he slipped his hand below the water. “The…” and his cheeks burned pink, his breath stuttered. “The next one is, um, somewhere delicate.”

“I’m your wife,” she said, her pulse quickening. “You can touch me anywhere you like.”

Zuko’s hands, below the water, slid down to below her navel, and further down, and further, making her cheeks hot as he carefully cupped his palm between her legs, the heel of his hand against her pubic mound and his fingers brushing just over the delicate folds of skin below, behind. “Here,” he whispered. “In a place I cannot touch with my hands, deep inside your pelvis is the water chakra. Orange. Deals with… pleasure, and is blocked by guilt.”

“Is it… the same on your body as it is on mine?” she whispered, not wanting his hand to leave her.

“Yes. You can— you can touch me if you like.” He sounded strained. Ikaiya slipped her hands through the steaming, fragrant water, and found him easily with her hands, circling the root of him, slipping her fingers over thin, soft skin and cupping him in her palm as he was cupping her. He was no longer soft and quiet, but solid and hard as iron in her palm, his pulse a heavy and fast beat. Her fingertips grazed skin below, behind. “Yes,” he rasped. “Yes. There.”

“Water chakra,” she repeated thickly. “We’re… in water now.”

“Yes,” he answered, half a gasp, and shifted toward her, his hands moving, pulling her forward into his lap and kissing her again, deep and hard and almost frantic, like he was afraid someone would stop them. She shifted her hand against his body and used her free one to cup the back of his head, fingers struggling through his wet hair, mouth open, tongue pressed to his mouth as he maneuvered her toward the back of the tub, braced his hands on the rim, canted his hips against hers— 

The smell of scorched wood caught her attention at the exact same time that he lurched away with a low groan, his head bent, and she turned, confused and startled, to see that he had burned the wood of the tub into twin smoking black marks the size of his hands, rimmed with glittering red and orange. “Oh,” she said. “Is this what you meant when you said that your bending had gone all funny?”

“Yes,” he said numbly, meeting her gaze and then looking away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t— I—”

“Zuko.” Ikaiya reached up and touched his cheek tenderly. “I’m not hurt.”

“I don’t know if it’s getting more unpredictable the longer I force myself away from you or if I’m just— blocked,” he said grimly. “And I don’t… want to take the chance I hurt you.”

“We were going to wait anyway,” she reminded him.

“Yes, I know. I don’t think I can wait that long.”

“Me either,” Ikaiya confessed, which got a dim smile out of him, at least. “But you were so… I don’t know. Different this morning. Happy. At peace. And nothing bad happened last night.”

“I won’t ask you to— do anything to me that— that—” He sounded agitated, almost fearful. “I should be giving you the same amount of satisfaction, shouldn’t I?”

“You can tally up everything you owe me and repay it when we get home,” she informed him. “I’d like to— if you’re all right with it, um, I’d like to repay what, ah. What you did for me.”

“The…” He paused, calculating. “Oh. The thing you said you’d done before with your mouth?”

“Yes.”

“I…” Zuko swallowed. Uncertainty and curiosity seemed to war on his face. “I am told that certain acts are more appropriate for… a mistress and not a wife. Not that I’ll ever take a mistress,” he said quickly, “but…”

“Well, that didn’t stop you from putting your head between my legs,” said Ikaiya.

“Point taken,” said Zuko dryly. “All right. Let’s, uh. Get out of here.”

Ikaiya’s pale gold eyes watched him as he dried off and came to the bed, sitting down tentatively on the low mattress and crossing his legs. Despite his previous words, his body was, apparently, still very much interested in what was about to happen to it. Traitor, he thought at his own flesh. Ikaiya patted the bed. 

“You should lie down with your legs apart,” she informed him.

“Like you did?” That sounded right: the art he’d seen as a child had had both the man and woman lying down together. But he wasn’t experienced, and she was. Well, more than he was, anyway.

“Yes. It’s easier.”

Zuko sucked in a deep breath and lay down as she directed, fists clenched at his sides. “Like this?” he asked thinly. His heartbeat was pounding in his head, heavy and thick as what was between his legs. Was he about to panic, or was he just excited? How was he supposed to tell the difference?

“Yes. Good.” Ikaiya slipped herself over him, naked and lithe. The soft hair between her thighs was shadowed dark, hiding what he knew was a flower-petal wonder of soft slick skin, and he fought the urge to reach up and touch it again. “I’m going to sit between your knees.”

“All right,” he gasped. She settled herself in place and bent. The lantern-light gleamed off the curve of her back. This isn’t right, she’s my wife, not a mistress, not… But he didn’t care, he didn’t, especially not when her hand curled gently around him and she brought him to her mouth and gave him a soft, quick lap at the over-sensitive head, exposed to the air. 

Sensation ripped through him. He made a terrible sound and grabbed at the blankets, trembling: how could anything feel like that? This was completely different than the thing she had done with her hands last night: this was soft and wet and hot and smooth, and— 

Ikaiya tilted her head forward and put her mouth on him, on him completely, then gently sank her head down and sucked, hollowing her cheeks, and he choked on his own tongue, grabbed her by the hair, and mindlessly jerked his hips up toward her, desperately seeking more of whatever she was doing.

She gagged and pulled her mouth off him. “Don’t do that,” she whispered, coughing a little as saliva ran down her lips. “Ah— Zuko—”

“S-sorry, sorry,” he whimpered, and what kind of Fire Lord whined like a dog in bed? “I d-don’t, I, I—”

She patted his belly. “It’s okay. Just keep your hips where they are and don’t rut up into my face like that, or I’ll choke.”

“Okay.” He flung his head back down on the pillow, resolving to not move an inch, but when she bent her head down again and took the head of him into her mouth and her tongue started sliding back and forth and around, he had to reach up and grab the pillows with the effort it took not to move. A choked gasp left his mouth, and he covered his own mouth out of instinct, shuddering: don’t make a sound, be silent. He’d forgotten why he should be silent. One of his knees buckled upward, his foot bracing itself on the bed. Don’t burn anything, keep yourself in check. Which meant reciting the great poets from the reign of his grandfather, trying to solve mathematical equations, biting his hand hard enough to draw blood—

All the pleasure vanished like frost on a sunny morning. So did his erection. Humiliated, he sat up as Ikaiya sat back on her heels… but even then, she did not laugh or mock him. A slight line appeared between her brows as she gnawed on her lip. “I must have done something wrong,” she said, as if to herself.

“No,” he croaked. The taste of blood lingered, iron and metal, in his mouth. “No, you didn’t. It was me.”

Eyes flashed up to his face, then his hands. “You’re bleeding. Oh, Zuko.” Cool, smooth hands took his. “Did you bite yourself? I’ll get a bandage.”

His eyes burned. Why was she being kind? “I don’t deserve this,” he managed. “I don’t…”

“Yes, you do. Stop it. Shh.” She kissed the bite mark on the heel of his hand and went for the door. He could hear her soft conversation with one of the Kyoshi Warriors as he moved to the head of the bed and put his back against the wall, solid cool wood pressing into his skin. Tears dripped from his eyes as she came back to the bed with a packet of binding-cloths and some ointment. How much time had passed? He didn’t know. “We can work this out together,” she said as she cleaned his hand and dabbed it with the ointment, which smelled like camphor. “Are you just worried you’ll burn something if you let yourself go?”

“Something like that, I think,” he mumbled.

“Chakra blockage,” she said, sounding very determined as she wound gauze around his hand. “The Avatar should be consulted.”

A stab of resentment flared up. “Aang doesn’t need to know more about my private life than he already—”

“Aang is your friend, Zuko,” Ikaiya reminded him as she tightened the bandage. “He can help you. But if I was the Avatar and I knew all about chakras, I would say you have more than one chakra blocked, and that’s why you’re struggling so badly with your bending.”

“More than one,” he said softly. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll… I’ll meditate on it.”

“And, Zuko,” she said quietly, in a tone that made him look her directly in the eyes. “If you need to, you can sleep somewhere else for the time being. I don’t… I don’t want to be more of a bother to you than I already am.”

“You’re not bothering me,” he said instantly. “How could you think that? You’re— not. You could never.”

She chewed the inside of her mouth. “Or— not a bother, but a distraction, if you’re… I don’t know, everyone always said that a bender’s chi makes them more spiritual and worried about higher things than the day-to-day, and I thought… since this, um, problem with your bending only started recently when we started doing more, um, things together in bed, then… maybe it was my fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault,” he said firmly. “It’s just… how it is. I don’t want to sleep anywhere but here. With you.”

“All right,” said Ikiaya. “Two weeks?”

“Two weeks,” he said, his voice only wavering a little.

Chapter Text

The three day journey up the river in the royal barge was torture. Zuko spent most of his time speaking to the boatmen, and when he wasn’t doing that, he was sitting and meditating on the barge’s sheltered deck alone. Ikaiya would have liked to spend her time on the decks, too, looking at the blazing fall colors as the wind lifted her hair, but the Kyoshi Warriors advised safety over sightseeing, so she was stuck inside, in the small chambers that she took all her meals in and slept in, going over the itineraries with her secretary.

From the dining room, she could see her husband often. He sat with his back ramrod-straight, his legs crossed, and did not move for hours. What was he doing, she wondered? What was he meditating on? Spiritual matters? Her?

On the last night of the voyage, when he came to their room and crawled into bed next to her in his loose sleeping-wear, she rolled over and looked at him. “Any progress with your bending?” she whispered.

“I’m not practicing on the boat,” he told her. “It’s dangerous. And anyway, if someone sees me stumble…” A sigh left his throat. “I’ve decided I’ll speak to Aang in Republic City.”

She held back the I told you so. “It’ll be nice to see his family again. I hope Katara and the baby are doing well.”

“Yeah,” said Zuko softly, clearing his throat. “I don’t want you to worry about my bending. You’ll have enough to occupy yourself with in the city.”

“Oh, yes. All those engagements.” Ikaiya sighed deeply: it had been really nice to take a break, and she wasn't looking forward to jumping right back in. “I brought a bunch of those clothes you got me from the city. My secretary says they’re very stylish.”

“Do you like them?”

“Yes! They’re just so… odd. I don’t know. Different from what I’m used to.”

“Yeah, I’m not a fan of the tight shirts,” he said, half a smile creeping up to his face. “Don’t worry. It’s just a week, and I think the only time we’re expected to wear the new stuff is at the refugee reception.”

“What day’s that?”

“Third day. It got moved up from the week we were in the Pole because Katara couldn’t host, remember?”

“Oh. Right.” She sighed heavily. “You know, life was a lot easier to keep track of when I was just Natsumi Fe Yui’s daughter in Ikana and my biggest concern was hoping the roof patching I did wouldn’t leak. Not that you’d know anything about that, but—”

“I lived in Ba Sing Se as a normal person for an extended period of time, you know,” said Zuko quietly, lifting his head to pillow his arm beneath it. “Worked in a tea shop.”

“No. Did you really?” Ikaiya was delighted at the idea. The royal prince, wrapped in an apron and asking people whether they wanted green or black tea? “I didn’t know that.”

“You never asked.” He smiled and tapped her nose, which she wrinkled, smiling back. “Uncle Iroh ran the place, and I served. It taught me a lot.” The smile faded softly. “About service, and about the ordinary people whose lives had been affected by my father’s policies. When you said you’d been whipped in school…”

“What? Oh. That was weeks ago.”

“I know. But I’m glad you’re someone who also understands the… real-world effects of what my people— what my family did to the world. You can speak directly to people. To their anger. Their pain.”

“Yeah,” said Ikaiya quietly, thinking. “Yes, I can.”

They came down the mouth of the Su Oku and into Yue Bay at dawn on the third day. Ikaiya stood on the deck and watched, awed. Streaks of rose cloud in a pale-gold sky stretched out toward the land as if the hand of some ancient god was trying to clutch at the city built there on the shore. Behind the sprawling city rose snowy-peaked mountains, heaped and bent like the knees of sitting giants. “You built this city with the Avatar?” she asked, gazing at the towers that were taller than any pinnacle on any palace, the massive docks. “Really?”

Zuko chuckled from her left side. “No, not from the ground up. Uh, before the war it was an abandoned city— that’s a long story, ask Aang— and during and just after the war, a couple of industrial corporations realized there was a massive deposit of valuable crystals there. So they built a mine and then a town for the mine, and that was called Cranefish Town, and after Aang helped put down a bender uprising, we decided to make it a city where people could find refuge from the war. Anyone, all over. It isn’t Earth Kingdom, and it isn’t Fire Nation. It’s just… Republic City.” His eyes shone as he gazed over the water toward the new city. “And it’s not perfect,” he added, “but we’re trying.”

“Yeah, they didn’t think much of the land being taken to build it in the Earth Kingdom,” said Ikaiya. 

“Well, it wasn’t taken. The Earth King signed over the tracts to the Avatar.”

“And to you.”

“My name wasn’t on the paperwork.” He turned to look at her, brows furrowed.

“No, I know, but you were at his side the whole time, you were involved. I’m saying what people perceive is more important. Don’t forget those men on Kyoshi Island.”

“I’ll never forget them,” said Zuko in dark tones, looking back out over the water. 

“Me either.” The pink sky was burning away into blue, and the sun was so bright and clear and looked so close that Ikaiya almost felt like she could touch it, a solid thing. “Don’t mind what I said about the land tracts. I suppose if you go far back enough, Ba Sing Se took all those lands from the little kingdoms that had owned them before.”

“Yes. I think the Earth Kingdom is the most diverse nation in the world. But that’s a strength, not a weakness.”

“I bet they taught you we were all a bunch of ignorant peasants.” Ikaiya nudged his arm, smiling. 

He didn’t return the smile. “I was told many things that were not true, and were designed to make me loyal solely to my nation. I can only hope to undo all that was done, and… work at more understanding.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ikaiya, letting her arms fall straight. “Um, I’ll just— I’ll go get dressed, and meet you back here for disembarking.”

“As you wish,” he said, eyes not on her, but far across the distant bay.

When she came up out of the bowels of the ship, Zuko turned out of his daydream and almost choked. His advisers and the Master of Wardrobes had packed a set of robes for the Fire Lady specifically for this moment; silk robes that had been hand-embroidered with camellias and pine trees in gold and red and green and silver, the robes that so perfectly married Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation aesthetic, with their high-waisted silhouette and their long draping sleeves that would float in the breeze when she got off the boat. 

Ikaiya was not wearing them.

Instead, she wore a split skirt in a warm brown color, pleated and tied snugly around her slim waist and gathered just above her sock-clad ankles, an elbow-length white blouse that was high-necked and wrapped left over right across her chest, and her hair, instead of the elaborate style that evoked her wedding-hair, was combed back and braided down her back in one thick plait. Her only concessions to ornamental beauty were the carved jade button fastening her skirt at the front, the jade earrings she wore, the tiny gold cuff with the flame-shaped crest of the Fire Nation curled around the end of her braid, and a single gold bracelet that he recognized as one of the gifts he had given her after they had married. She paused a few feet from him and held her arms out. “Well?” she asked, smiling. 

He struggled to speak. “Where’s the— what— what are you wearing?” he blurted out.

Ikaiya lowered her arms. “Clothes. You gave me this blouse. Don’t you remember?”

“You were supposed to be wearing robes! ”

“I changed my mind.”

“You can’t just change your mind about things like this. Wardrobe decisions for formal events get decided weeks in advance! And I’ll look overdressed next to you— the optics are not—”

“Well, there’s still time for you to go change,” she said.

“That’s not— what— why are you—”

She gave him a sharp look. “Because the last thing I’m about to do in a city where a lot of the population is refugees and immigrants trying to make their way in the world is walk around in a lot of filmy fancy silk gowns like I’m better than everyone else. What kind of message does that send? You said I’m supposed to speak directly to people. Well, that’s what I’m doing. Meeting them one-on-one starts with dressing like them.”

“That’s not what this outfit is for!” Zuko felt the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes. “We’re meeting extremely wealthy industrialists and businessmen for our first event of the day at a private formal breakfast and then having a reception at City Hall. You’re not going to be going outside and seeing the public today. Go change your clothes. ”

She looked like she might argue with him for a moment, and he gave her his best Fire Lord scowl, the one reserved for serious offenders that usually sent War Council members’ knees knocking. “Fine!” she snapped and whirled off back toward the door to belowdecks.

As they disembarked to the clamor of camera flashes and shouts from reporters, Ikaiya pasted on a bright smile, attempting to gather the multiple layers of elaborate floating sleeves and skirts around herself to get into the transportation that would take them and their entourage to City Hall. I shouldn’t have changed, she thought, dismayed. I should have fought Zuko harder on it. The transport was a massive, smoke-belching carriage on wheels: sure, it was modern and fancy and new, with all those shiny brass fittings and bright red paint, but it stunk the whole street up, and once inside with the doors and windows shut, it was stiflingly hot compared to the fresh air from outside. And there was a whole line of them waiting for the people they’d brought along! Nobody will even be able to see the sky from inside these machines. What's the point?

“We are so glad to welcome you back to Republic City, Fire Lord,” said the mayor, a pleasant, though somewhat harried-looking man, from the other seat inside the carriage across from them. “And to welcome your new bride. I cannot say how glad the happy news of your marriage has made us.” His spectacled eyes flashed over Ikaiya, and she demurely nodded, like she’d been taught. “Now, forgive me, I was under the impression that you, my lady, were from Ikana Village in the Occupied Earth territories?”

“I am, sir,” she said uncertainly.

“My word. Ah. Well.” His eyes flickered over her again, and she flushed behind the cosmetics they’d slapped on her face. Of course he was looking at the gold and silver, the silks and jade. She could only imagine what he was thinking, and made a mental note to have a few testy words with her wardrobe planners.

“I am very glad to be back,” said Zuko, saving her from an awkward silence. Grateful for it, as he started asking questions about policies and gang violence and education, Ikaiya turned and looked out the window. People had crowded the streets, some waving and some looking curious, some cheering and others looking a bit suspicious. She was not sure how she felt about those looks. The streets were paved with brick and stone, and up close she could see that the buildings were all so different: some like huge towers, others small and squat; some piled atop each other like children's blocks, some low and long. Laundry hung from windows and across courtyards and down alleyways like banners, every color under the sun. Children played with balls in the streets. Vendors hawked their wares under tents and canopies, markets were bustling, shops were packed. She had never seen anything like it. So many huge buildings and people living so close together! As they passed an intersection, she caught a glimpse of a building project down a perpendicular street: earthbenders and waterbenders were working together to erect a frame, and firebenders were welding— something, and then it passed. 

Incredible. People of all four nations, living together. Of course it would not be truly harmonious for a long time— that was obvious from the faded and torn posters plastered on the street corners. She could just catch some of the words. Technology: A Bender’s Bondage! was plastered under an unflattering picture of a man in plain brown clothing, reaching out a hammered iron cuff with one hand to touch another man in scarlet and gold on the neck. Another poster, bearing a picture of Aang standing triumphant over the city, one hand raised, read: Unite For A Better Future! Her secretary had given her a brief rundown of the multiple political factions in the city, and sensitive subjects not to cross, but seeing it in reality was fascinating. 

She became aware that Zuko had gone slightly tense beside her. “What’s wrong?” she asked, paying attention to the mayor, whose face had gone a little pale as he spoke quickly to the driver of the vehicle through a sliding iron door. 

“Driver took a wrong turn,” said the mayor thinly as he turned back around and slid the door closed. “I apologize most humbly, Fire Lord. We are not far from City Hall, but we have ended up in a rather unsafe part of the Downtown district.”

 “It’s fine,” said Zuko sharply. “Keep us moving. We’ll—”

With a crunch and a jerk, the whole vehicle came to a grinding halt. Ikaiya grabbed her seat with one hand and Zuko with the other. “Did this thing just break?” she asked, more startled than afraid. 

“Oh, no, ” moaned the mayor, and slid the iron door back. “Driver, what’s going on?” Ikaiya looked back out the window. A crowd had started to gather, eyeing up the smoke-belching transport machine with suspicious expressions. The Kyoshi Warriors were all in another vehicle… and Zuko’s firebending could not be counted on.

This could go very badly. 

Quickly, she grabbed Zuko. “Play along,” she whispered, and his eyes widened in horror as she kicked open the door, dragged herself out with an exasperated affectation, and brushed off her skirts. “I told you that stinking thing was going to break!” she shouted over her shoulder as loudly as she could. “What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned ostrich-horse? Badger’s bones!” That got a ripple of laughter from the women in the street, and Ikaiya turned to them, shaking her head in exasperation and smiling as she put her hands on her hips. “Anyone know the way to City Hall?”

A young woman about her own age with a dark green split-skirt and a brown tunic pointed west. “You gotta go back that way, lady,” she said, voice brimming with good humor. “You from the Earth Kingdom?”

“You could say that,” Ikaiya said, smiling. 

“I can tell. First time here?”

“You’ve got that right, too. And my husband, spirits help him, managed to get us lost because he wouldn’t listen.”

“Common problem with husbands,” called out an older woman, chuckling, and that got a groan from the men in the crowd. “Get used to it, child.”

Ikaiya flung her hands up, grinning at the woman. “Believe me, Auntie, I’m trying! They don’t make it easy.”

“What’s your—” asked the first girl, still laughing, and that was when Zuko emerged from the carriage, looking absolutely bewildered. Even if the citizens of Republic City had never seen the Fire Lord with their own eyes before, they had seen drawings, and after that the photographs in the papers, and the scar over his left eye was known throughout the world. The girl and several others paled and stepped back, and Ikaiya cast a glance over her shoulder. 

“Yes,” she said simply, rolling her eyes. “That’s him. Zuko, we’re going to have to walk it.”

He came up to her side. Golden eyes, sharp and keen as a hawk’s, took in the situation, and then he fell into place as naturally as if she’d explained it all to him for an hour beforehand. “I think you’re right, dear. What about the mayor and driver?”

“Ask them what they want, I guess,” said Ikaiya, shrugging and trying to not look too delighted at his awkward use of a pet name.

“Spirits above. You’re the Fire Lady ,” said the girl in green and brown, eyes round as cups. “I cut out the wedding picture of you and the Fire Lord from the paper and pinned it to my mirror!”

“Oh, did you like it that much?” asked Ikaiya, turning back and smiling. “That hairstyle was so heavy, you wouldn’t believe it.” And the women, delight on their faces, absolutely mobbed her, leaving Zuko to handle the mayor and the driver as she answered a dozen questions. 

“What’s a Fire Nation wedding like?” “What did your shoes look like? We didn’t get any pictures.” “Were you nervous?” “What was the food like?” “ How many outfits did you have?” “What does the palace look like?”

By the time they reached City Hall, guided along the way in exchange for details of the state wedding, Ikaiya was dusty and sweaty, her beautiful gold robes were splattered up the hem in mud, and she was having the time of her life. Zuko was gamely following, equally as grimy and speaking with all the men about repairs needing to be done on the roads in every neighborhood. “And I’ll talk to the industrialists about needing to find a cleaner way to power their machines,” he was saying to one man who nodded eagerly as they ascended the white marble steps. “The air can’t be good for anyone’s lungs, let alone the elderly and children.” The mayor was haplessly nodding along, trying to keep up with a million questions bombarding him. At least it’s questions they throw and not rocks, Ikaiya thought. 

The doors opened, and Aang came out, looking amused at the scene. Apparently someone had sent a message ahead: the place was bristling with police who were trying to keep back reporters. “Well, you didn’t get lost, I see,” he joked, clapping Zuko on the back. Zuko returned the smile and the gesture, presenting Ikiaya with a sweep of his arm. 

“You remember my wife,” he said.

Aang beamed. “As if anyone could forget her. Lady Ikaiya, welcome.”

“Avatar Aang,” said Ikaiya, bowing deeply in the Earth Kingdom style and not the Fire Nation way, which got a lot of impressed murmurs from the crowd. “It’s good to see you again. How are Katara and baby Kya?”

“Recovering well, and screaming at all hours of the night. In that order.” He smiled wearily, and then turned to address the crowd, who looked starstruck. Clearly any discontent with the city did not yet extend to the Avatar. “Thank you all very much for returning my lost Fire Lord and Lady. If any of you make it to Air Temple Island, you are welcome to have a meal with my family. As long as you don’t mind the mess. I do have a toddler.”

The crowd laughed and began to dissipate. Ikaiya took a deep breath and blew a strand of wayward hair out of her eyes as Aang took them all into City Hall’s glass-paned, pillared interior, as cool as spring and quiet as a glade. Zuko’s hand took her by the elbow, gentle but firm. “That was very brave,” he said quietly. “And smart. And incredibly dangerous.”

“I know,” she muttered. 

He sighed. “We need to wash before we eat. We’ll insult everyone, sitting down like this. Aang, is there—”

“Yep, on it,” said Aang, guiding them down a hall and to a large private washroom. “I think your people brought other clothes, if you want to change. You’re already late, so don’t worry. I’ll give you about half an hour. Is that okay?”

“That’s perfect,” said Ikaiya gratefully. “Thank you, Aang.” 

The washroom was fascinating. Ikaiya wished she had a chance to sit down and investigate the copper plumbing, but there wasn’t enough time, and Zuko had already taken his leave and gone somewhere else to change. She stripped out of her stained gold robes and shoes (which weren’t even proper shoes, they were slippers, and there was a hole in them now) all the way down to her skin, while her maid fussed with her hair and ended up tying it and starching it back in a fashionable low roll, studded with gold combs featuring autumn leaves, and dressing her in a dark orange silk gown embroidered with flowers in gold, a vermilion belt tying it closed around her waist. “It is not an auspicious color to wear at this time of year,” she moaned, brushing off Ikaiya’s shoulders.

“In the Fire Nation?”

“Yes. Autumn calls for cooler colors. Rose pink, my lady, or a nice lavender, or…”

“Well, we don’t have time to change now, Sayuri. I think it looks very nice, and— and in the Earth Kingdom, anyway, orange means life and strength.” Ikaiya smoothed her skirt and checked her freshly made-up face in the mirror. “I’m ready.” She tried not to think too much about the possible political implications of marking herself so clearly as Earth Kingdom.

Sayuri provided a new pair of slippers, which Ikaiya got her feet into, and then it was back out into the corridor with Zuko, who was wearing a new set of clothes as well, half his hair caught up into a gold-banded knot, and the rest flowing down his shoulders. “You look nice,” she said.

“So do you,” he said, giving her an approving glance. “All right. Day one. Let’s get this done with.”

She memorized at least twenty new people’s names that day. They had to push back a few things until the next morning due to the mix-up with the transport, and Ikaiya was assured a dozen times that the driver would be punished for taking them into the bad part of town , which she tried to push back against, because nothing had been bad about that part of town at all, but it was all to no use. The breakfast was hurried, and even if it hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have been satisfied. It was a formal Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation fusion meal, so everything was on miniscule plates in tiny portions and she highly doubted that anyone had actually had enough to eat.

Then, it was off for the reception, and she was powering her way through with a hunger-induced headache, smiling like a theater mask at everyone she met, trying her best, trying , and after that someone found her willow-bark powder and a glass of water, which meant the headache went away, but she was still hungry. Then, instead of lunch, it was a tour of a factory that made clamps of some kind, and then another tour of another factory that employed earthbenders and made copper pipes, and then a visit to a very large white building called a hospital , where a few waterbending healers dozens of and non-bending assistants showed them around the facilities. It was cold and blank and terribly unwelcoming. She wanted very much to pay attention to all the things they told her about the new discoveries being made with technology that would replace the four nations' ancient arts of medicine, but she was so distracted and hungry that she couldn’t. 

The entire time, they were mobbed by delighted citizens in windows, in streets, up on roofs shouting down. Apparently Ikaiya was something of a public interest, and everyone wanted to know more about her, but the citizens didn’t even get anywhere near her: she spent most of her time fending off overeager reporters at each and every event they attended. She was asked about her dress, her shoes, her hair, her family, her history, her village, her childhood, over and over again— she couldn’t hope to answer them all in full. It was a nightmare. 

By the time they finally reached their home for the next week, a massive, brand-new, white-stone building called the Four Elements Hotel that overlooked a park in the center of the city, she was so miserable that she was almost crying. 

“Are you okay?” asked Zuko, concerned, as the door to the room finally closed, leaving everyone else outside.

“Get me food!” she barked, and dragged herself to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. There was a commode and a tub and a shower, all made of white enamel and marble, and when she took off all her uncomfortable clothes and sat down on the commode, Ikaiya put her head in her hands and took a shaky breath, trying to center herself.

Come on. Just a nice hot bath and you’ll feel better. 

She sniffled, got up, flushed the commode, and started the tub water, then showered. Slipping into the enormous tub felt wonderful, especially with the provided salts, softly fragrant with jasmine oil. The hungry growl in her belly faded a little as she relaxed, unpinning her hair and rubbing the stiffness out of her temples. She still had to wash her face, but that could wait a moment. Her feet were sore, and when she pulled her ankle up over her thigh, she sighed, annoyed: she had a blister under her big toe and another at the back of her heel. 

There was a tentative knock on the door. “Food’s here,” said Zuko’s voice, muffled from behind it.

Oh, thank the spirits. “Can you bring it in here? I’ll just eat in the tub.”

The door slid open and Zuko came in, balancing a tray. His boots had been discarded, and he looked a little apprehensive. “Are you feeling all right?”

“It’s fine. It’s…” She sighed. “I’ve had a very, very long day. That was a lot to start with. And I’m starving and I have blisters.”

He blinked. “Oh. I—I didn’t know, I— I can leave. Do you want me to send Sayuri in?”

“No, not right now. I just want to sit here in the tub for a minute and eat.” She tried to smile at him. “What, um, what’s on the menu?”

“It’s a Four Elements specialty,” he said, uncovering the lacquered tray. “Four rice balls with fillings inspired by each nation. I should have had them work in a meal today. I didn’t know you’d be sick.”

“I’m not sick,” she said, embarrassed, and reached for the seaweed-wrapped rice balls. “I’m just exhausted.” The first one was Earth Kingdom, and the flavor brought back home so sharply that she had to catch herself. Cabbage, chopped finely, mixed with beef and onion, the sweet-sour tang filling her mouth… 

“You’re crying,” said Zuko, startled. 

“It’s really good,” she whispered, tears running down her face. “Sorry. I’m sorry. The whole day just went… feet up, and I can’t remember a single person’s face I met today and I really wanted to see all of the city, not just…” She couldn’t find the words, and stuffed the rest of the rice ball into her mouth. 

“I know what you mean.” Zuko sat on the teak stool by the tub and sighed. “When you’re Fire Lord, everyone puts on a show. I saw more of the real world when I was in exile than I ever did as a prince. At least tomorrow we’re going to Air Temple Island. Less, uh, madness. More of a quiet day.”

“Good,” said Ikaiya, gulping down the last bits of rice and pointing at the remaining three balls. “Which one of these is Fire Nation?”

“Oh, the balls? Uh, this one, I think.” He pointed to the one covered in a fine dust of chili flakes. “I’ll eat it.”

“Flip you to see who has to eat the Water Tribe one. I get thirsty just thinking about those meals.”

“Very funny.” He gave her a soft smile. “It’s actually not too salty. I got a look at the menu. Fried octopus with ginger and green onion.”

“Ooh, never mind, then. I want that one.”

“Oh, good. The Air Temple one is stuffed with tofu curry. I call it.”

“Hey!” she said, laughing. “Okay, go ahead. I’m sorry. You didn’t eat either.”

“I haven’t had much of an appetite lately,” he said, picking up the Air Temple rice ball and biting into it. 

“Oh. You think it’s connected to your firebending going all…” She gestured with her hand, unsure how to explain it.

“As you said, feet up,” he said, chewing. “Maybe. We can speak to Aang about it tomorrow.”

“Good. Mmm.” The Water Tribe ball was actually delicious, and she shoveled it down in a matter of moments. “If you want to use the shower, I’ll be in here for a while longer.”

“Sure,” he said, and got up, setting the tray aside. “Just…” He paused, hesitant, and chuckled. “I was going to say just try to relax, but I don’t want you to fall asleep in the tub.”

“Oh,” said Ikaiya, smiling as he slipped off his clothes. “No, no chance of that.”

“Anyway,” he said, tugging off his socks and heading for the shower. She lifted her head: she might be in pain and miserable, but she could appreciate his backside just fine. Then, he paused to stare at the maze of copper pipes and the knob, hands on his hips. “Okay. How exactly does this work?”

“Oh, turn that center knob. You have to mess with it a little.”

“I see,” he said gravely, and twisted the knob hard to the left, which brought a gush of cold water down over his head. “Aah!”

Ikaiya started laughing. She couldn’t help it: he looked like a drowned cat with his hair all plastered over his face as he fought the shower-knob and spluttered, shivering. “Right for hot!” she said, giggling as he jumped out of the freezing shower. “Sorry, there’s a little golden arrow to show you which way—”

He balanced with one foot in the shower on the knobby green tile and one on the bamboo-slatted mat and gave her a severe look. “You could have said.”

“I thought you could see it!”

Golden eyes narrowed, but then a smile broke out on his face as he shook his head. “Who designed this thing anyway? Who wants a cold shower?”

“Might be useful in the Fire Nation, but anywhere else…”

“I should get one installed in the palace.”

“Oh, please do,” Ikaiya said, sliding down in the water. 

“Yeah?” He had figured out the temperature, and slipped back into the stall, washing his hair. Water ran down his back in streams. Ikaiya sat up a little more and watched him. "Natural hot springs not doing it for you?"

“Mm-mm. Cold shower, please. Especially if you want me to stick around all summer.”

“We don’t normally stay in the Capital in the summer,” he said, scrubbing himself down. “We go to Ember Island. My family has a beach house there. I haven’t used it in some time, but… if you’d like, we could go there together. Next summer, I mean.”

“I’d like that,” said Ikaiya, watching the water slide off his shoulders and cling, shining, to his bare backside. “I really would.” 

“Then it’s a deal,” he said, giving her a glance as he rinsed, turned off the water, and reached for a towel. “I’ll send in Sayuri. Well. Good night.”

“Good night,” she whispered, and watched him leave the bathroom, towel slung low around his hips, before dunking her head under the water and letting all her frustration out in a stream of bubbles.

Their rooms connected via a large reception room, which was set up as a dressing area with all their luggage. Sayuri came in with clean clothes, and once Ikaiya was clean and dry and dressed in a fresh sleeping-gown, she felt much better. “I’m going to get myself some tea,” she said, and dismissed Sayuri’s protests and offers to make it for her. 

The reception room came with a shelf for making tea. When she rang a bell by pulling a silk rope in the corner of the room, one of the hotel staff brought boiling water in a copper pot and left it, so she could stir up fresh, hot herbal tea herself in the beautiful glazed teapot with leaves and flowers painted on the side. Ikaiya sat alone for a while, enjoying the silence and solitude as the sunset streaked the bay outside the window in bright colors. She wished she had been able to give every person the attention that they deserved: she wished she had not been so miserable all day, she wished she was back home, she wished Zuko would… would… 

If wishes were fishes, we’d all cast nets. That had been a favorite saying of one of the old grandmothers in Ikana Village. Ikaiya shifted. The cup in her hands was going cool. She’d wanted so badly to ask more questions about the hospital and why they felt they needed to replace medicine with technology. Maybe she’d have a chance later this week. Stop making wishes and figure out how to work to make them happen instead  was what it meant, that saying, and she...

The door to Zuko’s bedroom opened, and he checked himself sharply when he saw her sitting by the window. “Oh. I apologize. I was… I…”

“You don’t have to excuse yourself. You’re the Fire Lord,” she said lightly. He was dressed for bed, too, in a red-brown side-tie tunic and long baggy pants that gathered at the ankles, a robe thrown over his shoulders. “Tea?” She gestured at the pot.

“Yes, actually.” He came and sat down by her, and she poured him a cup. “Thank you. I was… going to check on you, actually. Sayuri left. I thought you were in bed.”

“I thought I’d relax.” She tipped the half-full cup of tea back and forth in her hand and looked out the window. “What exactly were you planning on doing in my bedroom, my lord?”

“Uh. Well.” He cleared his throat, and she glanced back over, fighting a smile as he met her eyes. “Just— just to see how you were, my lady.”

She gave him a look. He appeared even more tired than she felt: dark, purplish shadows under his eyes, a permanent line furrowing its way into his forehead. “You can’t sleep either, huh?”

“No,” he admitted, gulping down the rest of the tea. “Been having these dreams lately. Dragons. Weird stuff. I was… I don’t know what I wanted, really.”

She set her cup on the table and scooted back. “Here,” she said, patting her lap. “Lay down.”

Zuko paused, frozen, for a long moment, then shrugged off his outer robe and leaned forward and down, his warm head in her lap, left side down and right side up. Ikaiya gently ran her fingers through his hair, soft and black and unbound, rubbing her fingertips over his scalp, massaging his temple, his forehead. His eyes shut almost instantly, and she felt his body go soft and pliant against her thigh. “That’s… nice,” he whispered. 

“I can do the other side, too,” she offered, raking his hair back in long, firm strokes. 

“Mm. Okay.” He rolled over, to lie on his right side, which put his face almost directly into her abdomen, and put the scarred left half of his face up. Ikaiya softly ran her fingers through his hair, starting at the edge of his scar and where it met his hair. He had only lost a very little of his hairline on the left side of his temple, just above the misshapen, scarred flesh that was all that remained of his left ear, and she was glad: his hair was beautiful. She traced her fingers over the ruined landscape of his left cheek, below his eye, over it where his eyebrow should have been— had once been. The scarred skin was slightly cooler and rough to the touch. As her left hand combed through his hair, stroking it, her right played absently over the little valleys and ridges created by the burns he had sustained so long ago. The flames had left his lower part of his cheek and his jawline unscathed. He would still be able to grow a beard if he wanted. She smiled at the thought.

“What?” asked Zuko hoarsely, and then she came back to herself and remembered she was touching a part of his face that he was likely incredibly sensitive about, and she hadn’t even asked.

“I was just thinking about you with a long white beard, all old and venerable,” she answered, her hand stilling. “Sorry. Do you want me to—”

“Don’t stop,” he rasped, reaching up and pressing his own hand flat against hers, cupping her palm against his cheekbone. His free arm curled around her waist. “Please don’t.”

“Oh.” Ikaiya went back to outlining the edges of the scar with her right hand, skimming lightly over his eye, past it, over the pink remains of his right ear. “Can you feel it? I don’t have much experience with this kind of scar tissue, I mean.”

“Yes. I can feel it. I can always feel it.” Zuko’s breath was warm, and it soaked through her thin clothing as he spoke. “Especially around the edges. I feel it when the temperature changes, most of all. It used to itch so badly. I’d have dreams all the time about peeling it off to get my face back… now that I’m older, it’s not as bad. The itching, I mean. I sometimes still dream those dreams. In all my other dreams, the ones where I don't feel it, I just don’t have the scar. I wonder if that’ll… ever change.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ikaiya softly. “I like your face.”

“You don’t have to lie.” His voice was bleak.

“I do. It’s yours, so I like it.” She brushed her fingers softly against the red ridges where his eyebrow had been. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t,” she said lightly, and carded her fingers through his hair again. 

He shifted and brought his right arm around to prop himself up across her lap, bringing his head to a level with hers as he searched her face with golden eyes. “You’re not lying,” he said quietly after a moment.

“No,” she told him, letting her hand trail down to where his neck met his shoulder. The front of his tunic was sliding open on one side, baring a deep, narrow triangle of smooth skin, clean and damp and warm. Ikaiya swallowed and focused on his eyes. “I won’t lie. When I first met you, seeing you in person, so close… was startling. But I got used to it. It’s part of who you are. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t have all the scars you bear, would you?”

He did not move. He just stared without speaking for a long moment, and then he said, “Were you afraid of me?”

“Yes.” Zuko seemed to almost flinch at how quickly she answered. “But I’m not now. Much.”

“Much, huh?” The corner of his mouth twitched, and her belly tingled. 

“I don’t know. You could still send me packing if I displeased you. There’s precedent. I read about it in the pre-wedding royal family crash course.”

He snorted. “There’s precedent for concubines, too, but I’m not taking one. I’m going to be different from every other Fire Lord.”

“You’re going to be a good one,” Ikaiya said softly. “A great one, even. You have a good heart, Zuko.”

Why was his face so close to hers? She swallowed. His eyes darted down to the front of her gown, then back up to her face, and he wet his lips. His hand came up to briefly touch her jaw, map out the contours of her face. “I want to be better. I want to… unlearn all the things I learned.”

“Yeah. Like, they told us firebenders were superior,” breathed Ikaiya, very close to his mouth, “because you could manifest the element without it already existing in the world around you.”

“That’s stupid,” Zuko said very thickly as his nose brushed hers. “It exists, it’s the energy from the sun. There’s. There’s science and stuff about it.”

“Science and stuff.” She had to smile.

“Yeah, you know, there’s… experiments,” he mumbled, and then his mouth was brushing hers, open, hot and damp and tasting like jasmine tea and Ikaiya grabbed at him, clutched his clothing, tangled her hands in his long hair and—

And caught her knee in her skirt and knocked them both off balance, knocking the table to slide over a foot and dump an empty dish or two off as they crashed down, tangled together, on the floor mat among the seating cushions. “Sorry—” she gasped, teeth pressed against his bottom lip as he tugged her forward onto him. 

“It’s fine—” Zuko was grappling with her clothes, trying to get her to straddle his lap, but her skirt was too straight for her knees to open. The fine silk tore, a thin little rrrip filling the air to chime in with the sounds of their heavy breathing, and Ikaiya sat back to yank her ruined skirt up around the waist so her legs were free and she was sitting firmly on his lap, only his sleep-pants separating them. 

“Anything you want,” she gasped, leaning forward again to kiss him. “Please.”

“Ika— kaiya— ” His warm, firm hands, calloused at the base of his fingers, slid up her thighs, and he made a sound like he’d been stabbed. “You just stay. Stay. Right here. I just— I need—”

“Okay, I’ll stay,” Ikaiya whispered, and he reached up into the front of her gown with a surer hand, palming her breast, planting hot kisses along her neck. She felt him under her thighs as he shifted his weight slightly, moved the angle, and then began to softly, almost imperceptibly jerk his hips in small, quick motions. “Zuko,” she whispered, brushing hair out of his hot, damp face.

“Nnnngh— don’t— don’t, ” he rasped, gripping her waist with the hand that wasn’t on her chest, a fistful of silk. “Stay.”

So she did, and it was only a few more seconds before the rhythm stuttered and jerked and dissolved under her body, and Zuko let out a hoarse, guttural sound before burying his face in her neck, in her hair, and letting go of her. He tumbled back to the floor, gasping, lips swollen and pink, and Ikaiya gingerly got off his hips and tried not to notice the stain seeping through the fabric of his pants. “I’ll get a cloth,” she whispered.

When he spoke, it was raw and ragged. “No. You’re gonna come too.”

Heat flooded her. “Oh, I am, am I?” she managed, blushing furiously.

“Yes. If— if you want. Do you—?”

“Yes!”

“Oh. Good. Sit on the table.” She stuffed her scandalized delight down and sat primly on the low table as Zuko collected himself and knelt between her spread knees, arms pinning her to the glossy wood.  “I think I remember how you like it. Like this, right?” He parted her with two fingers and licked softly, and Ikaiya clapped a hand to her mouth, moaning as her knees rose and clamped to the sides of his head. He laughed, huffing out air between his nose and her body, and peeled her off his ears, grinning as his tunic slipped off his shoulders. “Suffocate your Fire Lord and the consequences will be dire, my lady,” he joked.

“G-get your face back down there please, ” hissed Ikaiya, wriggling, and he gladly obliged, slipping two fingers into her body along with the attention his mouth was giving where it needed to go, and she choked, bent her legs, and braced her feet on the floor. It still wasn’t quite as she wanted it, so she reached down to fumble with his wrist, pumping it in and out of her clumsily, and that felt amazing, so after a few more moments, she threw her head back and yelled into her sleeves, trembling as she came apart on the table into what felt like warm heaven. A hot bath. An endless sea of nothing but bliss. She couldn’t even feel her blisters for a second.

When she lifted her head and looked down, Zuko was still between her thighs, and his scarred cheek was pressed to her skin, his mouth silently working and his eyes half shut as his shoulders and arms, bare and taut, trembled in rapid, small movements. She knew what he was doing, even though his hands were hidden down beneath her clothes and between his legs, and closed her eyes, focusing on letting her breathing come back as she softly, unobtrusively opened her sleeping gown and touched her right nipple, which was still standing at attention, puffy and brown, in soft, circular movements. His eyes were transfixed on her fingers, his lips shaking.

Finally, Zuko choked out something she didn’t catch and slid forward with a long groan, bending his head as he finished a second time. His cheeks were stained pink as a sunset, and tears were tangled in his lashes as he lifted his head to rest his chin on her thigh and look at her. “Thank you,” he gasped, air gusting over her skin. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“Shh,” she whispered, reaching down and touching his cheek. He pushed forward into her palm, resting his cheek in her hand like a trusting animal, and Ikaiya felt a shiver raise the flesh on her arms. This is the Fire Lord. Kneeling at my feet. “Tomorrow, I want… I want to try to return the favor again. If you’d like.”

Golden eyes opened immediately, finding her mouth, her eyes, her bare neck. “Yes,” he whispered. “Please.”

“Then, husband,” she said, sitting up and kissing his head, “I will see you tomorrow. Sleep well.” And with that, she left him disheveled and sticky on the floor of the reception room, still breathing heavily.

Chapter Text

Air Temple Island was the most enchanting place Ikaiya thought she’d ever seen. Thickly forested with trees that were all changing color, its steep rocky sides almost directly jutting from the waters of the bay, it had a beach for landing and a zig-zag path that led up to the temple itself, which Aang had just finished building, and a little cove off to the northern side with blue, clear water shallow enough to swim in. Overhead, the massive air bison belonging to Aang floated, shaggy head turning this way and that way as it looked for food. A group of smaller ones floated behind it, lowing and twisting in the air. As the Kyoshi Warriors disembarked with them, Aang came down to greet them, riding a sphere of wind that dissipated and let him land gracefully on his feet with a smile. “Zuko! Ikaiya! Great to see you again. Let me show you the island. You’ll love it.”

And she did. The plaza was wide, marble-paved and clean as a whistle, and the main building of the temple still smelled like fresh sawdust. “We’re planning on adding a library and dormitories, like in the old Air Temples,” Aang explained, pointing at large areas of untouched forest. “Right now, it’s just enough for the family. Which is fine, it’s all we need.”

“And more than we can handle,” called out Katara’s voice, sounding tired, and Ikaiya turned to see her friend heading toward her, smiling wearily and clutching baby Kya, tiny and bundled up in blue. Bumi clung to her skirts, red-eyed, a thumb in his mouth as he eyed up Ikaiya.

“Katara? What are you doing up?” Ikaiya embraced her warmly. “You should be in bed for at least a month after birth.”

“Is that an Earth Kingdom tradition?” asked Katara, smiling.

“Yes. Well, most of the Earth Kingdom anyway. You keep the mother warm and quiet for thirty days to facilitate healing. You shouldn’t be going anywhere, and definitely not seeing me and Zuko. But it’s so good to see you again.”

Bumi was yanking on her skirt and whining. “It’s good to see you, too. Bumi, I can’t hold you right now, I have the baby.”

“I can take her if you want,” Ikaiya said instantly, and Katara gave her a grateful look and handed over Kya, who felt so small and light that Ikaiya was afraid she’d drop her.

“He just needs a Mom cuddle. Poor kid.” They made their way over to a stone bench, where Katara sank down and gathered her toddler into her lap. The little boy flung his arms around her neck, settling in, and she sighed and wrapped her arms around him. 

“Don’t you have your brother to help you?” asked Ikaiya, flicking back a corner of the wrapping with a finger. Kya’s eyes were shut tight, her little mouth open in a soft triangle. 

“He had to go back to the Northern Water Tribe to handle some kind of minor political issue. Supposed to be back in a few days.” Katara closed her eyes. “It’s… really difficult adjusting with two,” she mumbled. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to unload all my problems the second you stepped off the ferry. I’m sure you have enough of your own.”

“Don’t be. I can help you. I think Zuko wanted to speak to Aang alone, anyway.” She screened her eyes with her free hand and waved at Zuko, who waved back, then turned his back and spoke to Aang as they moved off into the trees, yellow-orange and red-gold robes blending in with the foliage. “Would it be easier if I took Bumi or Kya for a while? When did she last eat?”

“I just fed her, actually. She should be okay until she starts fussing again. Unless she’s dirty.”

“I hope Aang’s helping where he can,” said Ikaiya quietly.

“I— he is. When he can. He— means well. He’s always been so busy, and he doesn’t always think before he speaks, and I just… I don’t really want him around me right now,” said Katara tightly. Tears began to fall from her eyes, and Ikaiya, sympathetic, reached out and touched her shoulder. “I just— ugh, he said— I was so annoyed, I shouldn’t be complaining but I’m annoyed. I was feeding Kya and he said he was so glad she was probably a waterbender, and maybe the next one would be an airbender, and I wanted to strangle him, I was so mad. Like—” She sniffled, cuddling Bumi. “He looked so hopeful, and I just said, ‘the next one? I’m still bleeding, Aang,’ and he got all hurt and upset that he’d been rude but I don’t want him to be upset that he was rude, I want him to help me!”  

“Oh, Katara,” said Ikaiya, sympathy filling her. “Okay. What can I do? I can take Kya for an hour, maybe, and Bumi— actually, should I take Bumi? Do you just want a hot bath and nobody to talk to you for an hour?”

“That would actually be amazing,” said Katara, watery-eyed and sniffling. 

“No, Mama, no,” wailed Bumi, sensing the impending doom of separation.

“When’s his naptime?” asked Ikaiya.

“He’s getting there right about now. You have to sit down with him and pat him on the butt until he falls asleep, but once he’s out, he’ll be out for two and a half hours.”

“Bumi,” said Ikaiya softly. “Look what I have for you.” She fished through her robes and brought out the little toy she had been intending to give to him anyway, the one she’d bought at a stall in the Water Tribe during the festival: it was a little wooden whale, and when she toggled the wide flat tail up and down, the mouth opened and the tongue stuck out. “Bleh,” she said in a high-pitched tone, and Bumi smiled, picking his head up out of his mother’s chest. Ikaiya waited until he was watching, then pushed the tail down again to open the mouth. “Bleh!” she squeaked again, and Bumi giggled, then reached his hand out toward it.

“Me do,” he said confidently, sticking out his own tongue. “Bleh!”

Ikaiya grinned. “Let’s go to the house so we don’t lose it, okay? Then you can do it.”

“Me do at house?” He slid off Katara’s lap, completely forgetting about everything else but the funny little toy in Ikaiya’s hands, and Katara mouthed a silent thank you . 

After Ikaiya had patted Bumi to sleep on the family bed, the wooden whale clutched in his grimy fist, and Katara had handed over Kya and gone up to take a soak in the hot spring, Kya had started to make little upset noises and squirm. She checked the tiny girl’s clout, and found it was dirty. “Time for you to get a changing, little sister,” she told Kya seriously as she unwrapped her and changed out the wet clout for a fresh one lined with dry moss. Kya’s tiny froglike legs lifted up as she stretched, little fists over her head, and then she fell right back asleep as Ikaiya was finishing wiping her clean with a warm wet cloth. Her umbilical cord was still partly attached, shriveling and dark beyond the blue and white thread tying it off, and Ikaiya took care to not get it wet as she finished cleaning the baby. The dark, slatey-blue splotches on Kya’s backside made her smile. “You know,” she told the sleeping baby as she rewound her in a fresh clout and swaddling, “in the Earth Kingdom, we call those the Blossoms of Jing Li.” Kya’s blue eyes opened suddenly, and she focused on Ikaiya, blinking steadily.

“Oh, hello,” said Ikaiya, slightly startled. “Well, here’s the story, then.” She picked up Kya and cradled her in her arms, looking down at her little face as she quietly began to tell the story. “Yuelan was an Avatar from the Earth Kingdom, long ago in the time of living spirits, beyond anyone’s memory. She loved babies, and little children, and mothers. Her best friend was a blue peony spirit named Jing Li who loved flowers and the spring. Avatar Yuelan and Jing Li would go all over the world looking to help mothers have their babies, but one day a dark spirit came into a village in the Earth Kingdom, and all the babies born that day were born sleeping and never woke or breathed. All the mothers wept, and they were so afraid that they refused to have any more babies. So Jing Li fought the dark spirit, and Yuelan defeated him. Jing Li’s chi was almost all drained, but before she went out of the physical world and back to the land of spirits forever, she said: I will use the last of my chi to lay my fallen petals on the skin of the children of all the world, so that no darkness may touch them, and no evil spirits come to them again. That’s why your blossoms are on the base of your spine. The very first Chi Gate is the Chi Gate of Earth, Kya, and that is the one that lets in survival, and is closed up by fear. So if you have the blossoms there, no fear can touch you or your mother, and you can both sleep quietly at night.”

Kya’s little eyes had drifted shut again, her triangular little mouth slightly open as she slept peacefully once more. Ikaiya smiled, and then had the distinct sensation she was being watched. She looked up and saw Zuko standing on the lower flagstones of the entry gate, his shoes still on. “Oh. I didn’t see you there,” she said.

“You said you didn’t know anything about chakras,” he said, almost accusatory, a wry smile on his face.

“Every midwife in the Earth Kingdom knows about the Seven Chi Gates of the body. I did want to know about chakras. For all I knew they were totally different.” She gave him a wink. “The Kyoshi Warriors are setting up in the guest wing of the house. How’s your talk with Aang going?”

“Uh, well— he thinks I should meditate for a while with him. So I’m going to do that. Are you and Katara— you’re doing okay? Where is she?”

“Katara,” said Ikaiya, choosing her words carefully, “is exhausted from having to deal with a toddler and a newborn all by herself. I think if Aang is too busy to help, he should probably get some people here to do it.”

“Ah. I see.” Zuko glanced at the baby in her arms. “How’s Kya?”

“Sleeping. They don’t do much at this stage except cry, sleep, eat, and get their clouts dirty. Bumi’s having his nap, so he’ll be fine for a couple hours.”

“Oh. Okay, good.” He turned to slide the door open, then paused and looked back at her. “I’m glad you… know things about children,” he said haltingly. 

“Well, you might take this as an opportunity to learn some things yourself, Fire Lord,” Ikaiya said, lifting an eyebrow.

He swallowed and nodded at her, then left the building.

The meditation deck was a serene, lovely place, high up in the air overlooking the bay. The wooden planks were smooth and smelled like the forest, and as Zuko sat down cross-legged with his back straight, resting his palms on his knees, he already felt a little less stressed. 

A very little less stressed. 

Aang, saffron robes flowing around his knees in a pool the color of sunlight, sat across from him. “Here, drink this,” he said, passing Zuko a bowl. Zuko sniffed it and made a face, but gulped down half the stuff anyway. 

“What is that?” he asked, coughing. It was pungent and sickly sweet, somehow, at the same time.

“Onion and banana juice. Clarifies your mind and it’s nutritious. Now. We’ll start from the bottom to the top with your chakras,” he said quietly. “Close your eyes and meditate.” Robed like this, dark brown beard growing along his chin and jawline, he very much looked the part of the Avatar, even though he was two years Zuko’s junior. Zuko sighed, closed his eyes and exhaled, focusing on nothing but breath and awareness as he’d been taught to do from the time he could walk.

In, and out. In and out. The wind moved the trees. In cold through his nose, and out warm through his mouth. His heart was beating. His hands were warm. His feet felt slightly cold. In, and out. A strand of hair tickled his cheek. There was a patch of dry skin on his lip. His scar itched a little. In, and out. Inhale, exhale. I am here, now, in this moment myself. His heart rate slowed, and his mind slowed with it. In, out.  Was time slowing, too? What was in that juice? He felt as aware of the inner, secret functions of his own body as he did of his fingers and feet. In fact, Zuko fancied he could hear his own heartbeat, and control it if he so pleased.

Aang’s voice spoke, low and quiet as the ripple of water on a forgotten shoreline. Zuko did not know how long it had been since he had closed his eyes. “The first chakra is the earth chakra, at the base of the spine. It deals with survival and is blocked by fear. What do you fear, Zuko?”

Well, that’s a hell of a first question, he thought, and then in his mind’s eye a series of images flashed as bright and clear as if he was seeing them with his own eyes. A blue dragon, laughing in the darkest shadows of his most private self. A baby sliding from Ikaiya’s body: a boy with the face of his father, a monster reborn. “No,” he said, strangled on his own breath. “No—”

“Zuko. It’s only a vision. Tell me what you see.”

“A son who will undo all I have done,” he managed, trembling. “Azula coming back, coming— to break everything I love, everything I have worked so hard to build. That… that everything I do and see is manipulated by her. All my choices are pointless. Because she’s out there, somewhere, mocking me. Pulling the strings.”

“Azula has not been seen in years, Zuko. You know this well. The past is the past. You have allies now, powerful ones, who will help you if she ever shows herself again. Your fears cannot be a wall standing between you and your duty to the world.” All Zuko could see was blue fire, silhouetting the form of his sister as she turned to face him, a manic smile on her perfect face. Her face: so like their mother’s, nothing like their mother’s. “Let her go, or you will descend into paranoia. Just as she did.”

And that’s what she would want most of all, Zuko thought with a burst of clarity. For a moment, it was as if he caught a glimpse into a possible future: an aged, mad Fire Lord, convinced his wife was his enemy, convinced his children were plotting against him, convinced everyone around him was a plant of his sister. Fire in Republic City, smoke on the horizons of Ba Sing Se. Another war, worse than the first. Ikaiya is not my enemy, he thought with difficulty. My wife loves me, and cares about me, and Azula will never touch her as long as I live. You don’t frighten me anymore, sister. The vision of Azula, rimmed by blue flame, faded and bent and blew away like a candle in the wind, and for a moment it was as if he felt a warm sensation at the base of his spine, just before he opened his eyes to see Aang smiling. 

“You did it. Congratulations, Zuko. That was great.”

He took a breath. Cold sweat drenched his clothing and dampened his hair. “Next one,” he requested.

“You need a second?”

“I’m okay. Really.” He was, weirdly: he felt lighter and warmer with every breath. 

“Okay. Have a drink.” Zuko took another gulp of onion-banana juice, but it didn’t taste as pungent as it had before. He set the bowl down and closed his eyes, resuming the position. “The next chakra is located in the sacrum. This is the water chakra. Do you remember what it deals with?”

“Yes. Pleasure. And is blocked by guilt.” Pleasure: the simple pleasure of sitting with his wife in a bath and just being with each other: the pleasure of drinking tea, looking at the trees changing colors. 

“What do you feel guilty about? What do you lay blame on yourself for?”

Visions swept his inner eye. Here was his hate-fueled childhood quest to kill the very man sitting in front of him: here were all his desperate attempts at being a good man. His mishandling of the bender supremacy uprising, the mess he had made of the Kemurikage affair, the fact that everything he did he seemed to look back on with dissatisfaction, because none of it was ever good enough. “Everything,” he forced out. “Everything.”

“Then look at everything. Accept that life happens. Mistakes are made; they are not our measure. You have to forgive yourself, Zuko, or you’ll never be able to take joy in anything.”

Inhale. Exhale. He centered himself and looked all his mistakes in the face. It’s okay to fail, he whispered to himself. The blue dragon around his heart hissed, but he persevered. No. It is okay to fail, and make mistakes. I forgive myself. The visions dissolved, and he felt warm again, deep in the cradle of his pelvis. His head hung softly, loose and tired. “Done,” he whispered.

“The third chakra is the fire chakra. Located in the stomach, it handles strength of will and is blocked by shame. What are you ashamed of, Zuko?”

The vision, the memory, twined around his senses like a waking nightmare. His throat choked off his air, and his hands shook.

That’s disgusting, Zuzu. 

“No,” he forced out. “No, stop.”

It’s so ugly. Features twisted in scorn, mocking, pointing. You know, only imbeciles and weaklings in the dirty Colonies do that? I’m telling Father. 

“Stop! Stop!” He leaped to his feet, striking out blindly with fists that erratically sputtered golden flame. Dimly, he heard Aang speaking, but Aang wasn’t real, the vision was, and he was once again twelve years old, trembling and confused and crying in terror, shame drowning him. “Make it stop make it stop—”

Air caught him, embraced him tightly: winding bonds made of autumn breezes and the smell of cedar. Tears were running down his face. “Stop, stop, I don’t want to. I don’t,” he sobbed as he sank back down to the floor. “Stop, I can’t. I can’t say it.”

Aang’s voice was exceedingly gentle. Warm. “Zuko, you can say it. It’s just me. But if you can’t, it’s okay. It’s only a memory. It can’t hurt you, whatever it is.”

Azula’s face swam in front of his eyes. I’m telling Father. 

Zuko sucked in a strangled breath and forced himself to focus. It was a memory. He knew that. I remembered it. It wasn’t real, not anymore, although it had been once. Father could not hurt him. He had been stripped of his bending and locked away. He could not hurt him anymore. It’s only a memory. “I am ashamed of… of what I want,” he rasped, hoarse and shaking. “Of my… own desires and— and needs, and ashamed of the things that happened to me to... make me ashamed of them. I am ashamed that my fears prevent me from— having a full life with my wife.”

“Balance comes from accepting all aspects of a life. Good and bad. The wounds, and the healing. Accept this, and let your shame go. Have the will to pass it by. You are strong-willed, and you can do this.”

He could feel the sweat on his forehead. Let it go? Pass it by? How? How do I put this down? Where can I let it go? Azula’s mocking face swam, jeering, before his eyes: it’s so ugly … and then he remembered Ikaiya’s arms, warm around his chest, clinging to him. Beautiful. Tell me you’re beautiful. He clung to that like a shield against his memory, and then another memory came, this one almost forgotten: his mother, kissing his forehead and saying my handsome little boy, my sweet one. You are perfect just the way you are.

You’re wrong, he said to the phantom of Azula. You’re wrong, and hateful and cruel. I am not abnormal for what I desire. You did this to me, wounded me with your words, but now I am healing, and I am letting you go. 

Azula’s form vanished, leaving his sight clear: Aang sat cross-legged on the wooden deck, and Zuko was left alone, hands shaking and head swimming. Warmth flooded his belly. “Are you gonna be sick?” asked Aang, concerned.

“No,” said Zuko, breathing hard as bile flooded his mouth. “I’m okay.”

“It’s emotionally difficult to do this sometimes, especially as an adult and not a child. It’s all right. When you’re ready.”

Zuko took a deep breath, swallowed, and focused on breathing once more. When the sour tang on his tongue had faded, Aang said quietly, “The next chakra is the air chakra, located in the heart. Here we find love, blocked by grief.”

He did not have to ask who Zuko grieved for. Immediately, his mother’s face floated before his mind’s eye. After so long, he had found her again, but she had gone away a second time to raise Kiyi with her second husband, her first love, leaving Zuko behind. Because as long as Azula lives, our family is in danger. All of our family. Yet that did not ease his grief at losing her. “My mother,” he said simply, and that was all.

“She still loves you, Zuko,” said Aang softly. “She could never stop loving you, even from afar. Who else loves you?”

“Ikaiya,” said Zuko, voice trembling. “And Iroh.”

“And your friends. All of us. Me, and Katara, and Sokka, and Toph. It is not a replacement for your mother’s love, but it is all love in a different form. As light breaks and scatters in a prism into different colors, are the colors no longer light? No. They are simply different forms of that light.” Tears welled in Zuko’s eyes again. “You grieve her departure because you loved her. Let it go, and let yourself feel love.”

He breathed. He let the overwhelming grief go, let it move over and through him, and pass away, and in its place was bright, clear love: the love he had always felt for his mother, the love he so desperately had wanted himself to feel for Ikaiya. The blue dragon around his heart uncurled, whimpered, loosed its claws: something was burning there now that could never be quenched. Zuko wiped tears from his cheeks and nodded at Aang, a smile on his face. “Yeah,” he said softly.

“The fifth chakra,” Aang said solemnly, a twinkle in his gray eyes, “is the sound chakra.”

“Throat,” said Zuko at once. “I know this one. Deals with truth, blocked by lies.”

“The lies we tell ourselves,” Aang clarified. “What lies do you tell yourself, Zuko?”

What lies do I tell myself? Zuko hesitated, lost for a moment: was everything he told himself a lie? He was a struggling young Fire Lord who was failing at ruling and likely would never undo the generations of pain inflicted on the world by his forebears; he had difficulty getting close to and trusting people even when they liked him… The blue dragon’s claws tightened again. Or is that a lie? he thought, doubtful suddenly. Do I just drive people away? What was the truth? Had he lied to himself so often that he did not know? If I was a bad Fire Lord, Uncle Iroh would tell me, he thought. 

Would he? hissed the dragon. Or would he let you fail and seize the—

No, Zuko told it. No, he never wanted the throne. That’s true. He gave up his rightful place because he is selfless. He loves me, and that is also true. He breathed in, and out again. “I tell myself that everyone is waiting for me to fail,” he said clearly. “That no one truly believes in me. That I cannot rule fairly and with justice. That I am weak, and will never be able to undo the damage my father’s tyranny did to the world. But those are lies I tell myself.” Another thing touched uncomfortably on his memory, and he flinched. “I concealed my identity from Ikaiya when I chose her to marry me,” he said aloud, although that seemed less like lying than the other things.

Aang let out a soft breath. “You have a position, Zuko. You are who you are. Fire Lord, and my friend, and a good ruler. You cannot lie about who and what you are any less than a tree can lie about what it is.”

Accept my life as it is, in truth, and let it go. Zuko saw Iroh’s smiling, old face all wreathed in wrinkles, and the blue dragon wailed. You can do nothing but lie, he told it, and it was as if he’d caught it in his fist by the throat, turning it from a dragon into a tiny worm. It might always be there, but it would be diminished, powerless unless he fed it fears. You are nothing. I am Zuko, and you cannot harm me any longer. A gust of hot air left his lips, and he sighed in fresh, clean air, letting it out again as he opened his eyes.

“The sixth chakra is the light chakra,” said Aang. “It deals with insight and is blocked by illusion, and is located on the forehead. I will tell you what Guru Pathik told me long ago. The greatest illusion in the world is that things are separate from each other, different, when they are in reality all the same thing, connected. Even light connects to dark: without the sun’s cycle, we would not have either, and dark is only the absence of light, not its opposite.”

“Fire and water are opposites,” said Zuko dryly.

Aang gave him a mild look. “The elemental philosophers in Republic City can tell you that fire is nothing but a chemical reaction, and water itself, when broken down to its basest form, is a chemical. Both cannot exist without air. Water feeds life, which generates in turn the energy that you use to bend fire. Does that sound like an opposite?”

Disgruntled, Zuko chewed at the inside of his mouth. “Okay, I see your point,” he conceded. “The illusion of being separate or different. It’s like…” Realization suddenly struck him, as if sideways. “Like the Earth Kingdom before it was the Earth Kingdom. Factions of people who had separated themselves from each other all fighting, but they were all still people. Or the Four Nations, even. The illusion of being separate is what keeps people from being united. But at the same time, sometimes those things that keep them separate are important to them. Like, Air Nomads were— are vegetarian, and Water Tribe people eat mostly meat…”

“But all people eat food.” Aang sounded very patient.

“Right.” Zuko absorbed that for a moment. “Wait, does that mean I can’t be separate from my father? From the Fire Nation’s legacy?”

“In a spiritual sense,” Aang said carefully. “Think of it like this. If you refuse to see separation between the concept of yourself and all other people, then you are everyone. You’re your father, but you’re also your mother. You are the Fire Nation’s legacy of imperialism and colonization, and you are every brave man, woman, and child who fought and resisted against it. You have the capacity and the ability to be terrible, or to be benevolent. You’re the same as everyone who’s ever lived— you feel anger and joy and hatred and love and happiness and grief exactly as they all do. That’s insight, Zuko. To see inside, to the heart of truth. And the truth is that everyone is capable of being worse than the cruelest Fire Lord, and better than the kindest old monk in the Southern Air Temple. Because that is what being a person means. Do you understand?”

Zuko did. He understood so deeply that for a moment he couldn’t speak. When he was about ten, he had stumbled over a piece of poetry in the royal library that had pierced him so deeply to the heart he’d cried: this felt like that. Something light-edged and luminous, a spear of pure understanding beyond words. His forehead was warm, his ears hot. Aang nodded gently, and sat up straighter.

“The last chakra,” he said very quietly, “is the thought chakra, at the crown of your head. It is blocked by earthly attachments and lets in the pure energy of the cosmos. Meditate on what ties you to this earthly plane. What are you most attached to?”

He inhaled and exhaled, soft and even. In through the nose, out through the mouth. What am I most attached to? His mother’s face floated behind his closed lids. Katara and Sokka embraced him. Toph laughed at a joke. Aang himself clapped him on the shoulder with a bright grin, Uncle Iroh smiled as he explained the art of jasmine tea… and then he saw Ikaiya, smiling as she cradled a wet, squalling newborn Kya, Ikaiya’s expression as she argued with him about her clothes, Ikaiya kneeling in the dirt of the palace gardens to show off a fire lily blossom, not yet bloomed. “My friends. My family. My… loved ones,” he said softly.

“Will you be able to let us go?” asked Aang quietly, and Zuko felt tears slide down his cheeks. Memory formed image: he stood at the funeral pyre of his cousin Lu Ten, watching tears on Iroh’s cheeks. He remembered standing with Iroh weeks later, awkwardly expressing his sympathies for his loss, and Iroh’s reply.

He is not lost, Zuko. One day, I will see him again.

All was connected: energy, spirit, life. The man in front of him had lived a thousand lives, reborn over and over again— death was not loss. Life did not ever end, it became other life.  

Perhaps it will be in the spirit realm, Iroh had said . Perhaps he is now the sunlight, or the mist of the morning. But when I see him once more, no matter the form he takes, I will know him, and I will embrace my son so closely that nothing will ever be able to separate me from him again. 

Zuko’s eyes opened, blinded with the afternoon sunshine, and he breathed in all his fears and worries and doubts, then exhaled them out, letting them go. “Yes,” he whispered. “Death is not the end.”

“Then stand up and show me you believe it,” said Aang almost fiercely, joy in his voice, and Zuko unfolded his legs and stood in a perfect bending stance, hands pressed together palms-flat in the first firebending form, movements he had learned at the age of three, inhaled, exhaled— 

And perfect, billowing fire, red and gold and orange, streamed from his palm, arced from his hands as he executed every move of the first form: palms straight and flat, every move controlled. Exultation surged through him as he kicked high, let his body sink into a low lunge, swept his leg in a circle. Energy poured through him, as controlled and easy as water through a teapot’s spout, and as the heat of his fire warmed the crisp autumn air, he completed the form and came to rest motionless on both feet, drawing up to stand, and bowing respectfully toward Aang, who sat quietly, smiling. “Thank you, Avatar,” he said formally, and let his hands dangle at his sides. “Aang,” he added, less formally. “I can’t say how much I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me,” said Aang, flying gracefully up to his feet on a billow of air. “How about we go check in at the house, and after that I’ll give you a tour of the library?”

“Actually,” said Zuko, wiping sweat off his forehead, “I’d like to, uh, spend some time with Ikaiya, if I can.”

“Oh,” said Aang, and then raised one eyebrow. “Ohhhh.”

“Shut up,” said Zuko, flicking a ball of flame at him. Aang laughed and easily knocked it out of the way with a gust of air, and the two of them left the meditation deck together. “I thought you were the one trying to help me out here.”

“I was! I am, I mean.”

The main house was alive with voices and noise as the two men drew closer, and Zuko frowned in confusion, then pressed his lips together in an effort not to laugh as he realized what was going on. All six Kyoshi Warriors, bereft of their face-paint and headdresses, were wearing head-scarves, had their sleeves and skirts tucked up, and were busily cleaning the whole house. Dust billowed out of floor-mats hung over lines in the garden, soapy water sloshed over the wood floors, and Suki herself was elbow-deep in dirty dishes in the kitchen and shouting orders. Aang brought himself up short, seemingly at a loss for words, and looked around helplessly until he caught sight of Katara, sitting placidly in a nest of cushions and nursing baby Kya. Ikaiya, who had changed into borrowed old cleaning clothes, was just setting down a plate of food in front of her as she looked over and caught sight of them. Her eyebrows lifted, then drew down hard in an expression of barely-repressed anger, and she stood up straight and marched over.

“I think,” said Zuko mildly, “you might be in for a lecture from my wife, Aang.”

“Avatar,” said Ikaiya, a basket of clean wet laundry on her hips as she came to a halt in front of him. “How was your meditation session?” Something in her tone brooked absolutely no argument, and Zuko, who rarely saw Aang genuinely unsettled, bit his cheek to stop from laughing as the Avatar blinked at her and actually took a step back.

“Um. Very, uh, good, Fire Lady—”

“By the way, you were gone for an hour,” said Ikiaya, “and a half. And while I deeply appreciate your hospitality, I found dead spiders in the sink and last week’s meals smeared all over your toddler’s clothing. And the floor. And the furniture. And your wife hasn’t sat down by herself alone and eaten a full meal since she’s given birth.”

Aang gulped, eyes darting from the Fire Lady to Katara, who was regarding him with a flat, calm expression. “I. Ah. Um—”

“So I am very glad you’re back, because someone needs to hang this laundry to dry,” said Ikaiya without further ado, and shoved the basket into Aang’s hands. “Now. So it doesn’t mildew.”

“I— yes, of course,” said Aang, chastened, and took off into the air, a billow of wind curling under his feet to take him up to the roof, where he balanced on a tile to hang up the wet clothing and bedding as quickly as he could, face beet-red. 

“Don’t think you’re escaping, either,” said Ikaiya to Zuko, one finger brandished. There was dust smeared on her forehead and her hair was escaping its braid under the head scarf, but he thought she’d never looked so beautiful before. “Go beat the floor-mats and rugs so Kura can help Ty Lee dry the dishes Suki’s washing. Bumi’s gonna wake up any minute with all this noise, which means we’ll be able to air out the family sleeping room, and—”

A wail erupted from behind the closed sliding doors of the family room. “Mamaaaa!”

“And that’s my cue,” said Katara, sighing as she started to get to her feet.

Ikaiya waved her back down into her nest of cushions. “You’re nursing, I’ll get him, don’t get up. Zuko! Mats!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said quickly, saluting and bowing as if she was his superior officer, and as he turned away to shrug off his outer robes, he caught the ghost of a smile on her face.

Ikaiya brought Bumi to Katara and held Kya until Bumi was sufficiently soothed by cuddles with his mother, and then she traded again with Katara, giving Bumi a snack and wiping his face and entertaining him by chasing him around the garden to keep him out of the house and out from under foot of the Kyoshi Warriors while Aang set to work blowing air into the clean laundry to dry it. Pausing for breath (toddlers were apparently inexhaustible sources of energy) by the large stone lantern carved at one end of the garden, she sneaked a look at Zuko.

He had taken off everything but his baggy pants to beat the dust out of the mats and the woven carpets and the quilts. Ikaiya cleared her throat to herself and let her eyes track over his torso. Bare skin gleamed like pale gold in the autumn sunlight, and sweat sheened his back and his chest as he hauled back with the bamboo rug-beater, swung, and struck his target again and again. The lean, hard muscles in his chest and arms bulged. Badger’s bones, one and a half more weeks. She’d never make it. This was impossible.

Bumi careened around a corner and gave her a huge grin as he flung himself into her knees. “I get you!” he squealed.

“You got me!” she exclaimed, pretending to fall over dramatically. “Ohhh, nooo! Bumi got me!”

“You turn!” The toddler turned to run into the garden, and his right foot caught the back of his left foot. He plummeted down face-first into the pavement like a tree, and Ikaiya rushed to scoop him up as his mouth contorted into an open, silent O before he got air into his lungs and let loose with a scream of fright and pain that echoed between the walls and pillars of the house. “Maaamaaaa!”

“Let’s see, let’s see it,” said Ikaiya soothingly, brushing his hair off his head. A tiny scrape and a red mark on his forehead marked where he’d fallen. Relief swept her: no gushing blood, nothing broken. “Oh, Bumi, you’re okay! Wow, that was a good big fall!”

He howled, face turning red, and clung to her neck as she picked him up and carried him to the fountain by the cherry tree, sitting down and dipping her hand into the cold water. “Wan’ maaamaa!”

“I know,” she crooned, patting his back. “We’ll go see Mama in a second. Here, this will make it better.” 

Zuko’s voice floated over to her. “Is he… okay?” Anxiety colored his tone, and Ikaiya looked up to see him standing awkwardly with the rug-beater in one hand, at a loss.

“He’s fine, just took a spill and bumped his head. Okay, Bumi, let’s see that bump.” She pressed her cold wet hand to his scrape, and the toddler sniffed hard, snot running down his chin. “All better?”

“Owie,” he said tremulously, and then put his hand into the water with great interest. “Owie go ‘way?”

“Mmm-hmm. You do me. I think I have an owie here too.” Ikaiya tapped her forehead, and Bumi pushed his sticky, wet hand between her eyes. She wrinkled her nose, then made a face of wide-eyed happiness with her mouth open. “Oooh! Thank you, Bumi. All better!” 

He giggled through his tears, then lunged over and churned both hands through the water again. “All better! Me fix!” He clapped his soaked hands to her cheeks, splashing her with water, and Ikaiya stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes.

“Bleh!” she said.

He laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. “Me fix Gaya!”

“You sure did. Want to play with your ball?”

“Ball!” He slid off her lap, forgetting all about his tumble, and made for the corner of the garden, where a box full of toys waited. Ikaiya stood up and brushed her clothes off, stopping somewhat self-consciously when she saw Zuko staring. 

“What?” she asked. “Did he leave snot on me?”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I’m looking at,” said Zuko, a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. 

Bumi came straight back, a ball in his hand, and threw it haphazardly toward Zuko. “Unca Zuko play!” he demanded.

“Oh— uh, me?” said Zuko, frozen where he stood.

“You know what? That’s a really good idea, Bumi. Uncle Zuko play,” said Ikaiya, grinning as she made her way over and plucked the rug beater out of his hands. “I’ll do the rugs for a while and you can entertain the toddler.”

“I didn’t even think he knew my name,” he said, looking stricken.

“Kids are full of surprises. Anyway, have fun.” She blew him a kiss and sauntered off toward the mats, watching out of the corner of her eye as Zuko picked up the ball and bounced it toward Bumi, who shrieked happily and tried to catch it. 

“Look,” she heard him say as she lifted the beater and started thwacking dust out, “hold your arms out, Bumi. Like this— yes, just like that, and then you can catch it.”

Sunset found ten exhausted adults sitting around the freshly scrubbed dinner table, devouring a meal of sweet rice, mushroom and tofu curry, and seaweed soup. Bumi fell asleep facedown in his plate and was promptly put to bed by his father, soon followed by Katara, who gave the Kyoshi Warriors and Ikaiya a grateful look and a heartfelt thank-you before taking Kya into the bedroom for the night.

Zuko stood up and stretched. “I think I’ll hit the springs,” he said wearily.

“I’ll join you,” said Ikaiya. Everything was sore: she hadn’t had a good hard day of real work in months. “After I clean up the dishes.”

“I’ll get that,” said Suki quickly, getting to her feet. “Ty Lee, would you accompany them to—”

“Actually,” said Zuko a little too quickly, “I think we’re good. You stay here and get some rest, all of you. The hot springs are only a few minutes’ walk from here.”

“Yes, Fire Lord,” said Suki, something knowing glinting in her eyes. Ikaiya felt hot all over and got to her feet, following Zuko to the guest wing, where they retrieved clean robes and soap and washcloths before sliding the door open and heading out into the sunset air. 

Twilight was just creeping up over the eastern sky, the faded dusty blue deepening to rich indigo, and the west was painted in remnants of orange and red. The wind stirred her clothing like the insistent hands of a child, tugging and pulling, as they silently crossed the garden and walked up into the mossy, soft steps in the hills. “Long day,” she remarked, feeling like she had nothing else to say.

“Very,” he agreed, extending his hand to help her down into the hollow where a hot-spring waterfall streamed between a cleft in the rocks and flowed over moss away past a steaming pool. Maples rustled, their handlike leaves waving in shades of vermilion and orange. “I think Aang might be rethinking his approach to letting the Air Acolytes stay on the island.”

“Air Acolytes?” Ikaiya stepped down and sat on a flat stone, easing off her sandals and untying her robe. 

“Yes. Did you not learn about them yet?”

“Um, I did. It’ll come to me.” She frowned, casting back her memories of every political lesson she’d ever taken until something pinged her memory. “Oh! They’re the ones who are trying to rebuild Air Nomad society, right? They’re really, really into the culture?”

“Yeah. Aang was a little weirded out by them at first, but he’s working with them to help restore the practices and the way of life. He didn’t want them on Air Temple Island because he’d prefer it be more private for his family. I think—” Zuko untied his belt, letting his robe fall open, and sighed, reaching up to tug his hair free of the topknot he’d put it in. “Not that I’m any kind of authority on this, but Aang doesn’t really have a solid, uh, personal foundation on how families… work. He was raised communally by monks, not by his mother and father. I think he felt his only option was a two-parent family, since the Air Nomads are all gone. He really wanted to do it right, but I think today he understood for the first time how much work he doesn’t see that goes into raising a family when only two people are involved.”

“I’m surprised Katara hasn’t lost it on him yet.”

Zuko chuckled. “Having Sokka around to help has kind of taken the edge off, I think. But I guarantee you she’s having a word or two with him behind closed doors.” He folded his dirty robe neatly and placed it on the rock, shaking out his fresh one and hanging it on a tree branch. “Would you like some light? Sun’s getting low.”

“That would be nice, thanks,” Ikaiya said, tugging off her filthy socks and standing to tug off the rest of her borrowed cleaning clothes. Zuko nodded and raised a hand, firing a swift blaze of golden flame into three stone oil lamps that stood at the edge of the steaming natural pool. “Oh,” she added, laying her clothes aside and heading for the falls. “I never asked how your meditation went, by the way.”

“It went well,” Zuko told her, pausing where he stood to watch her. She stood under the hot water, sighing as the mineral-rich liquid drenched her from head to toe. “You want the soap?”

“Oh, yeah. Thank you.” She poked her head out of the waterfall and took the soap, scrubbing her hair free of dirt. The scent of sandalwood oil filled the air as she tilted her head back into the hot stream, and when she opened her eyes, Zuko was still standing there and looking at her. The lamps behind him illuminated every fine hair on his body in gold, casting him in a halo of light, and Ikaiya swallowed, then reached out her hands. “Get in here. It’s cold,” she said.

He stepped to her, bare feet as quiet as a cat’s, and under the hot water his hands found her arms, slid up, gently mapped out the contours of her throat and collarbones and chest. “I didn’t notice,” he said softly.

She let her eyes flicker shut. He was so warm: so alive, and she wanted nothing but to envelop herself in that warmth, so Ikaiya slid her arms around his back and simply embraced him tightly, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Zuko hesitated for the briefest moment, then returned the hug, his chin resting on her head. “This is nice,” she whispered, relaxing against him.

“Yeah.” He tightened his arms briefly, tucking her in close, and held her, then slid his hands gently down over her bare back. “This is… nice.”

Ikaiya shut her eyes, her skin tingling as he slipped his warm hands down… and down further, delicately cupping her backside. She swallowed. “I seem to remember someone wanting to wait until we’re back in the Fire Nation.” It came out very breathy and soft: she hadn’t quite planned that.

“Um,” said Zuko, hands frozen. “Did you— want to— wait?”

“I—” She swallowed, fighting an overwhelming surge of need that seemed to grab her by the throat. “I want to— I—”

“Tell me,” he rasped, one hand wandering up and finding her hair, stroking it.

“I want to— do what I was trying to do at the resort. Please. Will you let me try?”

Zuko shivered despite the heat of the water. “Let me… wash first,” he said softly.

“Of course.” Ikaiya stepped back and got into the hot pool, sinking up to her chest as she watched him. He washed the dirt and dust of the day off with the sandalwood soap, scrubbed off his armpits and his legs and his shoulders and neck, and lathered his palms up to wash between his legs with fastidious care, lifting and rubbing. She felt her cheeks go hot, and looked away as he rinsed and came to her in the pool, sitting down at the edge by her side. “All washed?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” he answered, resting his weight on his hands. The way the tension delineated his muscles in the lamplight… Ikaiya bit her lip and glanced away for a moment to collect herself. “When you say, uh, you want to do what you were, um, trying to do at the resort… you mean, uh, you mean that thing with your mouth?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Ikaiya said, almost too quickly. She turned, kneeling on the stone ledge Zuko’s feet were resting on below the surface, and raised herself up, bringing her face just to a level with his as she placed her dripping wet, steaming hands on either side of his hips. Soft patchy grass, hard gravel. He moistened his lips nervously, and she forced herself to slow down, to breathe. “If you need me to stop, or even slow down, you can tell me, you know. Always. Every time.”

“I can?” he whispered, blinking in the light.

“Sure. Would that help?”

His throat bobbed softly. “Yeah. I think— yeah.”

“Good. Okay. I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

“Oh, good,” he whispered, and she caught the faintest glimpse of his eyes shutting as she leaned in and kissed him full on the mouth, bracing herself on her hands as his hands left the grass and found their way up to cradle her face, tangle in her hair, slide down her shoulders. Ikaiya pressed her palms to his chest, slipping down over smooth wet skin, down to the puckered burn-scar below his sternum, and bent her head forward to kiss his chest. He was hot to her lips. Almost feverish. “Ikaiya,” he rasped.

“Just stay where you are,” she whispered against his skin, and kissed her way softly down until her tongue slipped over his nipple, flat and soft. A little breath left his lips, but he stayed where he was, and she moved to the other, paying close attention to every little texture and detail. His breathing started coming a little shallower, a little faster: his legs shifted. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” It was a half-gasped prayer, low and urgent.

“Do you trust yourself?”

Silence. Breathing. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” She opened her mouth against his scar and lapped at it softly, gently, on her way down to kneel between his feet. “Don’t grab my hair, and don’t—”

“Move my hips. Or I’ll choke you. I remember.”

“Well done,” she teased, and didn’t miss the shuddering gasp that left his lungs as she eased his thighs further apart and bent forward in the warm water to kiss him on the right hip, then the left. He smelled like sandalwood. Clean and wet. “Talk to me,” she whispered, and nosed her way to center, licking a soft stripe from base to tip. Zuko let out a strangled whine, but remained where he was as she began to work in earnest.

“I— don’t want to burn— you,” he gasped, his hands clenched around the rocks, in the tufts of grass. “I want— I want to finish this time.”

“Mmm,” she hummed encouragingly, using one hand to make up for what she couldn’t fit into her mouth as she pulled away for a moment. “Tell me how to make you finish.”

Every muscle in his shoulders was taut in the lamplight, etched in gold and black. “S-suck harder at the tip and, and move a little faster,” he forced out, cheeks red, and Ikaiya went right back to what she had been doing, following his instructions. It must have been right, because it took Zuko all of twenty seconds before his stomach was hard and tense against her free hand and the smell of singed grass filled her nose and the taste of a sticky, faintly salty substance spread over her tongue. She pulled away and coughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, then looked up at Zuko, who was shaking all over with both hands grasping smoking tufts of grass. His chest rose and fell, his gasping breaths almost identical to her own. 

“You can let go of the grass now,” she reminded him, smiling, and he let go, patting out the twinkling edges of black-smoldering greenery frantically. “Was that, um, good?”

“That was—” He paused, blinking at her. “That was incredible. Is that— is that what it feels like when I do it to you?”

“Kind of, I think.” Ikaiya grinned at him and splashed her face with hot water as he slid into the spring and exhaled deeply, resting his head on the stone lip. “But you better not do anything to me in the water.”

“Why?”

“It’s not healthy. One of the old midwives I trained under used to say that only things should go into a woman’s— well, the polite term is childbirth gate, but— anyway, the only things going in there should be a man’s part, some clean cold water for the purpose of washing, and a woman’s own fingers. Anything else might upset the balance of the body. I used to think she was silly, but then a girl in my village— well, her boyfriend had her in a pool of water and then she got sick. It was terrible. But that’s not a subject I want to bother you with.”

“No, I’m interested,” said Zuko, inching closer. “Sick how?”

“It burned like fire when she used the, um, commode,” said Ikaiya awkwardly. “The village healers said that there was clearly an imbalance of the Third Excess. Heat, I mean. I don’t think— I think the Fire Nation has a different way of looking at disease in the body, and the schools did their best to sort of… replace our old knowledge with… theirs, but—”

“We had something like that, too, before my grandfather set out to industrialize the Fire Nation,” Zuko said. “Herbal remedies. The balance of chi. But we never thought of heat or fire as an excess. I mean, something that could be in excess. Not for benders. Non-benders, yes.”

“I wondered why the Republic City hospital we went to was so… sterile and cold,” said Ikaiya. “Industrialized medicine. Ugh. It looked like a place you put the dead, not a place you put people trying to heal.”

“It did, didn’t it? So— wait, so in Ikana Village, they still practiced the old ways?”

“Yes. A lot of Earth Kingdom people did. Do, probably.”

“And you know about— you were taught medicine?”

“Not formally, no. Just enough to help with births. I was way too busy with all my other work to become a doctor.” She tucked her chin into her bent knees, sighing. “It would have been interesting, though.”

“Wait, so what— what does the Earth Kingdom— what are the other Excesses?”

“Wind, Cold, Heat, and Damp.”

“Only four? I think in the old Fire Nation we had five.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Ikaiya gave him a startled look. She hadn’t thought that anyone in the Fire Nation even remembered that much of the old ways. “The Fire Nation is more… heat-centric in its medicine. So your people differentiated between Damp and Dry, instead of just seeing dryness as a Damp-related issue. It’s more like damp cold, and dry heat. Meanwhile, the Earth Kingdom is more… I guess Earth is the element that’s stable. Level. A balance between Damp and Dry. So we put more emphasis on Cold and Hot. Hot earth dries, and cold earth is moist and damp. Right? But Fire is just Hot, it can’t be Cold…” She cut herself off, smiling. “Badger’s bones, listen to me rambling about philosophy.”

“I think—I think you would be a really good asset to the Fire Nation,” he said suddenly. “I mean, in the context of fixing all the issues with— with erasing Earth Kingdom culture in the colonies.”

“Really?” She sat up straight, surprised. 

“Yeah. When we get back, I want you to sit in on the small council. One of the issues at hand in Republic City is trying to get people to go to the hospital, and if they had more traditional ways of healing available, maybe they’d feel more comfortable there. I think you’d have really valuable input.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I meant to say— Katara, back when she had Kya, she was talking about how she had to give birth on her back in the hospital. I can’t imagine it’s a big draw for people about to give birth, either.”

“That was…” Zuko sighed. “She thought it would be a really good way to encourage childbirth in the hospital, because they had employed some waterbending healers from the Northern Water Tribe, and she wanted to raise more public awareness of their skills. Aang was all for it, and then she actually went into labor and it took… two days, I think.”

“Oh, badger’s bones, ” said Ikaiya, wincing.

“Yeah. And there had just been a really bad accident down on the docks, so the waterbending healers were all focused on taking care of wounded workers, and half the nonbender physicians were fresh graduates from the Fire Nation Medical Academy and didn’t have any real experience. It wasn’t a good time for anyone involved, least of all Katara.” His eyes darted over past her head to beyond the trees, toward the house. “I was… shocked when her second was so fast in the North.”

“Being in familiar settings with trusted people helps,” said Ikaiya. “Plus it being her second.”

“Things can still go wrong, though.”

“Yes. They can.” Ikaiya thought of the woman she’d helped two years past. The baby, wrongly positioned. A funeral for two. “I won’t go into detail about that, though.”

“I appreciate it,” said Zuko thinly. “If you ever… I mean, if we… where would you, um, want to— have a baby?”

“Oh.” Ikaiya considered that. “Well, wherever I feel most safe, I guess. But I’d want Katara there. I would have said you, too, but I know how the… whole thing makes you feel.”

“Ikaiya,” he said, sliding closer in the water and taking her hand. “I will go wherever you want me to be.”

She squeezed his fingers. “I appreciate the sentiment,” she told him. “We should get back to the house, or Ty Lee will never let us out by ourselves again.”

“You got that right,” he said, smiling.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight woke Ikaiya where she lay on the bed, swaddled warmly in a thick futon. Well, the morning sunlight… and Ty Lee’s frantic voice. 

“Fire Lady, wake up. Lady Ikaiya, get up, it’s super important.”

“What?” she groaned, squinting and unraveling herself from her cozy bed. “What is it? Did the air bison eat my wardrobe?”

“No, even worse. Look. Here.” The Kyoshi Warrior thrust a sheaf of paper out at her, and Ikaiya stared at it blankly. It was today’s copy of the Elemental Times , and the front page contained two images she had to stare at for a second to grasp fully.

Wait. What?

The headline was thick and dark. Elemental-Only Exclusive!! Hot And Steamy With The Fire Lord! More On Page Seven! 

This isn’t real. I’m dreaming. How could this have happened so fast? We were just— yesterday we— 

She looked at the photos again, and realized in a flash what she was looking at: Zuko, partially disrobed on a balcony, and herself, wrapped in a sheet behind him, fuzzy and out of focus in the white and black image. “What is this?” she gasped, horrified, and opened the paper frantically to page seven, where even more images plastered the page: Zuko, just visible inside a room, his bare back, her half-naked torso— tears welled in her eyes. “He can’t see these,” she said, her hands shaking. “He cannot see these. Ty Lee, did these just get delivered? How many copies of—” Ikaiya’s hands constricted on the paper, crumpling it. “Burn this. Burn it now, if he sees these he’s going to be— he’s going to—” Her head spun: it had taken her so, so long to coax him out of his shell, his fear of being mocked, and now this? Private photographs? She staggered up out of bed: probably by now there was a copy in everyone’s home in Republic City. People would be looking at these, reading this very paper, laughing at him, and she could not— “He’s going to lose it,” she choked, and that was when the door opened and Zuko rushed in.

He was fully dressed. Jaw taut as a harp string. Staring. “Give me that paper,” he said, voice trembling.

Ikaiya clutched it to her chest, already knowing it was hopeless, knowing that destroying this paper wouldn’t fix anything, but still clinging. “No,” she whispered.

“Ikaiya. Give it to me. Please.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stiffly handed him the wad of now wrinkled newsprint and stumbled off to the window to stare blindly out into the riot of beautiful autumn leaves. Tears blurred her vision. The trees became smears of crimson and gold. “Ty Lee.” His voice was measured, controlled. “My secretary is already waiting by the pier. Would you kindly bring him this copy?”

“Yes, of course, I’m so sorry,” said Ty Lee, sounding almost frightened, and scurried out, sliding the door shut behind her. Ikaiya closed her eyes, trying to fight tears as Zuko’s footsteps neared her. 

“Ikaiya,” he said roughly. “Please look at me.”

She did. Her throat was burning, and her eyes ached, but she did, and he looked so resolute and stern that for a moment she thought she saw a fleeting resemblance to Fire Lord Azulon’s statue. “I’m sorry,” she croaked.

“You— what? What are you saying you’re sorry for?”

“I was gonna burn it. I don’t— I didn’t want you to see it.”

“I already saw it at breakfast. Ty Lee was not present at the time, or I wouldn’t have allowed her to show it to you.” He let out an even, controlled breath. “Suki had picked up our copy and already gotten rid of them. Ty Lee got one from the ferryman and didn’t realize we had already had a conversation about— anyway, I never wanted you to see that. I’m so sorry, Ikaiya.”

She forced herself to take a breath. They could have a conversation later about hiding things like this from her eyes. “Why are you— sorry for me? You’re— it’s you. I don’t care if the whole stupid world sees me naked, you —you already— you—”

Zuko’s lips trembled. “Me?”

“I know you, Zuko. Being seen like that hurts you more than it hurts me,” she managed, and Zuko’s face crumpled as he reached for her and folded her into a hug so warm and tight that she started crying again, clinging to him. “Zuko, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he choked out. “It’s mine. I should have been more careful, I should have closed the door—”

“We should have knocked them out of the stupid trees with a rock,” she wept, and that made him snort. “How did they even get those?”

“Someone got really clever with long-range telescope lenses applied to cameras,” he told her. “Suki’s already on it.”

“Can we make them destroy the pictures?” Ikaiya wiped her eyes.

“No. When we created Republic City, we didn’t put any limitations on the freedom of the press. I didn’t want to be like my father and force the press to only write flattery and propaganda about leaders.” He pulled back, holding her at arms’ length and looking ill. “I never thought something like this would ever happen, though. I should have been more careful after that incident at the wedding, when that man forced his way into your room.”

“But there has to be some kind of limit on what people can put in a newspaper,” said Ikaiya, shocked. 

“I know. I’m going to speak to my secretary about it.”

“When he gets back?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I was thinking I’d go to the paper’s office with him, but that would look like press intimidation.” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “But if I don’t do anything, it’ll just happen again. Maybe I’ll send Sokka over to the city council and have him handle it. He’s a good diplomat... Ugh. This is so embarrassing. Yet another shovel of fertilizer on this stupid stinking tour. I wish I’d never agreed to do it.”

Ikaiya clutched her arms to her sides and paced the bedroom. “Hold on,” she said, thinking madly. “Wait, wait. I’m thinking.”

“About wh—”

“Shush! Hold on!” She whirled around, too excited to care about being rude. “Okay. The Earth Kingdom has a very particular culture around pregnant women. A lot of different places in the Colonies have rules like you can’t go outside in the first three months, like the Earth King’s consort in Ba Sing Se, right?”

“What does that—”

“If we— okay. We go back to Republic City, to the paper office, and we can… not exactly lie, but… insinuate that I’m expecting. People will be so put off by the fact that the Times ran pictures like that of the expecting consort to the Fire Lord that they won’t buy the papers. They might actually destroy them for us. Doesn’t the Fire Nation have— some kind of thing about how looking at an expecting mother might bring bad luck?”

“Technically, that’s more of a southern islands thing, but…” Zuko hesitated, chewing at his lip, and paced back and forth. “Yes. I guess you’re right. Putting too much attention on a mother-in-waiting invites attention from evil spirits. But… Ikaiya, this is a modern city. I don’t think this will work.”

“The city is modern, yes. The people living in it still have traditions that are important to them. That they hold on to. When we were on the ground, walking with the people after our mechanical carriage broke down, I saw yellow cords on the women’s wrists. It’s a custom done in the western Earth Kingdom to bring prosperity.” Ikaiya paused, trying to get her thoughts in order. “When someone’s in a new place, their traditions, their culture, customs… they’ll hold tightly to all of that to feel at home again. It’s important to who you are, regardless of where you live.”

His tone was guarded. “And what if it doesn’t work? What if it does work, and then people realize you’re not actually pregnant?”

She shrugged. “In a month, oops, I made a mistake, I’m not really pregnant. It happens a lot, you know.”

Zuko’s shoulders relaxed. “All right. Get dressed. I’ll let Aang know we’re making a trip back to the mainland. Out and back.”

The trip went as smoothly as could be expected. They met Zuko’s secretary and Ty Lee at the pier, explained the plan quickly, and made it to the offices of the Elemental Times on foot once they’d departed off the ferry together. Ikaiya made sure to clutch her abdomen and look as pale, guarded, and serene as she could. A consort, when finding herself in a delicate condition, must always walk with grace and care, said the memory of her lessons in the palace. Grace and care it was. People snapped their heads around to stare at her, realization blooming, and whispered behind hands to others: the Fire Lady? Is she— do you think—?

After a very pleasant conversation with the chief editor of the paper, who almost fell over himself in his rush to apologize, they left again, winding back to the ferry port through the streets they’d come down, and several old women pushed charms at Ikaiya, whispering that they attracted good luck. She took them all gratefully, and felt unexpected tears in her eyes as she looked at them: the little wooden carved shapes of birds (for a swift delivery) and knotted yellow cords. They reminded her of home.

I feel bad for lying, she thought despondently as she mounted the bison and sat next to Zuko. But what else could I have done?

Now that the whole of Republic City, and in short order, probably, the world, believed that Ikaiya, Consort of the Fire Lord, was expecting an heir, her duties immediately changed to keep up the ruse. There had been a precedent set for this kind of thing long before she’d even met him: Zuko attended the school openings and the factory tours and the meetings of the Republic City council, and Ikaiya stayed alone on Air Temple Island.

She felt even worse about the farce because Zuko came home every night of the next week exhausted, too burned out to even say hello before stumbling to the hot spring to bathe and then falling into bed. Besides that, he wasn’t sleeping well: he kept muttering in the mornings about uneasy dreams of dragons. It didn’t seem fair at all that she was suddenly exempt from her duties and he wasn’t. She thought about it: normal, ordinary Earth Kingdom women had to still work all the way through their pregnancies, up till they physically couldn’t anymore, but aristocratic wives and consorts got to lounge around all day doing whatever they liked? It wasn’t fair at all. She wanted to vent to Katara about it, but decided to keep it to herself: both Northern and Southern Water Tribes had very different expectations of pregnant mothers than anywhere else, and Katara had been working publicly up until the day she’d had Kya. Katara wouldn’t understand. 

Even her secretary was no help. “This is having the intended effect,” he told her mildly when she explained her discomfort with the situation, his spectacles gleaming. “The Times has pulled all its copies of the salacious photos. I’m told there are even concerted efforts to boycott the paper by wealthy Earth Kingdom families.”

“So even more people will lose their livelihoods and blame us,” said Ikaiya, annoyed by her own lack of foresight.

He sighed. “My lady, that is the nature of power.”

She closed her eyes. Spirits above, I want to go home. And not the capital city of the Fire Nation, either: home. Back to the old house with the leaky roof, back to the quiet roads rimmed with thick green foliage. She let herself want it, and then she breathed deeply and let it go. 

“When do we leave for the Fire Nation?”

“In two days, my lady. Sayuri has already packed your things.”

“Good. Please see that my itinerary is cleared as well upon arrival. I’m afraid I might have to deal with a mess at court when it is found that I am not, in fact, waiting for an heir.”

“So I want to teach you something,” Ty Lee chirped, walking alongside Ikaiya as she strolled through the courtyard. “It’s super helpful, and I taught it to all the other Kyoshi Warriors a long time ago.”

“What, some kind of fighting technique?” Ikaiya paused and gave the other woman a critical look. “Suki says you’re not supposed to teach me anything.”

“That’s because Suki’s a buzzkill who thinks I might accidentally knock you out,” scoffed Ty Lee. “Have you ever heard of chi-blocking?”

Spirits above, if she never heard about chi again she’d die happy. “I know what the Seven Gates are and I know they get blocked by—”

“No, I mean the concept of purposely blocking them in an opponent. With a couple of well-placed jabs to the chi paths, anyone can temporarily block someone else’s chi.”

Ikaiya blinked, unsure she’d understood her correctly. “You mean… you mean I can stop someone from being able to bend?” 

“Temporarily. And it paralyzes them. Also temporarily.” 

“That's— why isn’t that standard training in the Republic City police force? Or even—” Her head spun. “You can actually do that?”

“I’ll show you. Here.” Ty Lee took Ikaiya’s hands, forming them into fists. “Thumb outside, pressed flat to the bent index. Yes. First two knuckles extended slightly— good— no, keep your fingers bent. Think of a hammer. No, thumb outside the fist, you’ll break your thumb if you keep it inside. Just like that. Spread your feet, center your— good. So, the easiest targets are the heart and the stomach. You jab hard, and fast— you have to be fast. It’s difficult to do accurately, which is why it’s a super specialized training. Suki said you were quick on your feet.”

“I try to be,” said Ikaiya, flexing her hands to get them used to the uncomfortable and odd position they were curled into.

“I’d say try on me, but I don’t want to get throat-punched,” said Ty Lee, grinning. “Let’s go find that sandbag Aang uses for training.”

After Ty Lee had painted the outline of a human body on the sandbag and marked the heart and stomach chakras out in red, she had dipped Ikaiya’s knuckles in white paint and directed her to try it. Ikaiya took out all her frustration from the past week on the sandbag, aiming again and again as fast as she could at the circles on the canvas. I’m lonely! I’m sad! I’m tired! Whap, whap, whap.

“Faster!” Ty Lee would yell from the sidelines, circling around her, or “Now he’s shooting giant ice daggers at you!” or “Use your footwork, spin!” When it was finally over, Ikaiya, covered in sweat and shaking with exertion, sat down on the ground while Ty Lee inspected the white marks on the sandbag. “Good news,” she said brightly. “You hit them sometimes!”

“Great,” panted Ikaiya, wiping her face and remembering too late she still had paint on her fingers. “Sometimes. Just great.”

“It takes a lot of practice. Don’t be upset. Even Zuko hasn’t mastered it!”

“How old were you when you learned it?”

“Um, about nine or ten.” Ty Lee flushed. “But it took me like four years to really get it down,” she hastened to add.

She was fourteen and doing this?? Ikaiya groaned and laid herself out flat on the warm pavement of the courtyard, feeling the sun on her face. “Was everyone who fought in the Hundred Year’s War some kind of child prodigy warrior at everything they did?” she asked.

“No,” said Ty Lee earnestly, sitting down beside her. “Sokka was pretty normal. He just had to grow up too fast. We all did. That’s… I guess that’s just a side effect of being in a war your whole life.”

“It makes me feel like I didn’t do anything with my life,” said Ikaiya, eyes closed. “Like everyone else did all this amazing stuff when they were kids in the war, and I was just sitting in my village going to school and now here I am, haven’t accomplished anything except getting married, age twenty-five. If you can even call marriage an accomplishment. I mean, my mom thinks it is, but…”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re also fooling everyone into thinking you’re pregnant to get the press off your butt,” Ty Lee chirped. 

Ikaiya had to smile at how ridiculous it sounded. “Spirits above, yeah, I am. Okay. Sure.”

“I think you’ll be a really good Fire Lady.”

“Thanks.”

Ty Lee leaned back on her hands and stretched her feet out. “And if you have to stage a really dramatic ‘oh no, I wasn’t pregnant after all’ reveal, I can so help with that. Did you know I can cry on command?”

Ikaiya sat up, laughing. “I might need that if we’re still pretending when I get back to the Fire Nation. All those court ladies are constantly watching me.”

Ty Lee nodded. “I heard Ozira Choi was one of your ladies. I went to school with her at the Royal Academy for Girls, and she was awful. She used to make fun of everyone who wasn’t nobility and she sucked up to Azula like it was her full-time job. It was so bad that even Azula, who was obsessed with being the best and most perfect at everything, started shunning her because it was so overly fawning and weird.”

Ikaiya had forgotten that Ty Lee had known Zuko’s family as a child. “Was she always like that? Azula, I mean.”

Ty Lee considered that for a moment. Her painted face wrinkled up as she thought. “Hmm. Well… like, Azula’s not… we’re not born evil, you know. Or good, either. We’re just born, and it’s what influences us as we grow that makes us the way we are. And Azula was…” Ty Lee folded her hands and looked off into the distance, the gold ornaments on her headdress tinkling softly. “Zuko was the oldest, obviously. But they thought he might not be a bender for the first few years of his life.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Ikaiya, startled. “That would have been…” Unthinkable, really. Fire Lords had to be firebenders. She could not think of a single one who hadn’t been, in all its long history.

“Yeah. Ozai… wanted to get rid of him. His mother begged him to spare their son, got pregnant again really quickly, and then they had Azula. And she was everything Ozai wanted. Total firebending prodigy. I remember how much I admired her… Zuko kind of got shunted to the side while Ozai trained Azula. They were close when they were little, but then Ozai…” Ty Lee swallowed. “He constantly pitted them against each other. Even more after their mother left. They didn’t have any other way to learn to be people than to compete for his attention. Zuko learned to be angry and not to trust anybody. And Azula learned to manipulate and threaten and coerce.” She picked at her gloved hands. “She could be so nice. Really generous, sweet. But it was always because she wanted something. And she thought she was so unpredictable.” 

Ikaiya tried to imagine it, and couldn’t. “That’s sad. I mean, a sad way to live.”

“I was thinking the other day that Zuko was… living like that for sixteen years, and it’s only been thirteen, fourteen years since the war ended. So he hasn’t even been alive long enough to equal out the time he spent being hurt and manipulated.” Ty Lee sighed and leaned forward, elbows on her green-clad knees. “The rest of us haven’t even been living in a free world for as long as we were living in a war. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” said Ikaiya quietly. “Like, when my father died, I was twelve. And when I turned twenty-five last year, I thought it was so weird that I’d been living for longer without him than I ever had with him.”

“Exactly. It takes time. You know.” Ty Lee sighed. “Anyway, on that super positive note, you should go wash up, because you have so much paint everywhere that you look like a ghost. Aang and Katara are leaving tonight to go visit the mainland for that refugee dinner, so we’ll have the whole place to ourselves! That’ll be fun.”

“How was today?” asked Ikaiya softly as Zuko, his face drawn and his shoulders bent, stumbled into their bedroom. The sun had set, and she had lit the lamps and drawn the shutters closed over the window that looked over the bay. The distant lights from the city glittered like stars set in the earth.

“Long,” he croaked, shucking off his outer robe and untying his belt. “One more day of this. Ugh.”

“I left you some shochu,” said Ikaiya, feeling sorry for him as she knelt down and set the ceramic bottle on the table. “An apology gift for making you do all this yourself.”

“I’d rather open twenty schools a day than have those photos being brought up every time I sit down at a conference about crime rates, so I think it’s a fair trade,” he said dryly, sitting down on a cushion as she poured him a cup. “Thank you.”

“Sure. This is the good cherry-blossom stuff, by the way.”

“Oh, really?” he said, eyes lighting up, and sipped at the tiny cup, closing his eyes in appreciation. “Oh, this is good. Thank you.”

“Of course.” She folded her hands in her lap.

“So, what did you do all day?”

“Ty Lee ran me through chi-blocking exercises,” she said. Zuko choked on his shochu and set the cup down, gasping. “What?”

He drew in a breath and coughed again, pounding his chest with his fist. “Ty Lee is teaching you chi blocking?”

“Yes. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Chi blocking can be incredibly dangerous if it’s not done right.”

“I did fine,” she said, slightly stung. “I practiced on a dummy. She says I’m not fast enough.”

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and poured himself another cup of shochu. “Please promise me that you will not attempt chi blocking on a human being until Ty Lee gives you the all-clear. It’s not a foolproof way to stop bending, especially if you do it wrong. The last thing I need right now is for you to get hurt.”

“Well, if I’d known how to do it on Kyoshi Island—”

“You were tied up,” he said shortly, draining his cup and pouring a third. “You can’t chi block without the use of your hands. If you got close enough to anyone trying to hurt you with bending and hit the wrong spot at the wrong time with the wrong speed, you could inadvertently release a rush of chi that would manifest as the element being bent, which would absolutely be able to kill you. There is a reason this art was not taught to people for centuries.”

“Well, Ty Lee didn’t mention that ,” muttered Ikaiya.

Zuko set his full cup down, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Promise me,” he said tightly. “Please.”

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

Golden eyes opened and found hers, stern and uncompromising. “Ikaiya. Promise me like you mean it.”

Well, if he wanted that. Fine. Ikaiya got up, gathered her robe, knelt on the mat, and dramatically bent at the waist forward until her forehead touched the woven reeds and her hands were flat, fingers and thumb touching in the shape of a triangle. “With my mouth I swear to my Fire Lord that I shall not do this thing he has commanded me not to do,” she intoned in the most formal language she could dredge up from her etiquette lessons. “With my heart I pledge my loyalty to him, that if I break this oath he may do with me as he pleases, in his infinite wisdom and mercy and justice—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” he mumbled. “Stop.”

She pulled herself back up and inched closer to him, half-smiling. “I’m serious. I won’t. If it bothers you that much.”

His eyes searched her face. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Ikaiya let her eyes slip shut as his hand came up to brush at her cheek. “I can’t… lose you. Please understand that. If I am being… overbearing, it’s because I am afraid.”

“I know,” she whispered, reaching up to press his palm flat against her face. “Shh. I know.” His thumb brushed her lips, and she parted them on instinct, her tongue just barely flicking across the pad of his thumb. Zuko pushed his thumb in a little further, a soft sound leaving his lips as she sucked gently at his finger, kissing. 

“I wanted to take you to bed for the first time,” he said hoarsely, “on Ember Island.”

Wanted? A chill rippled down her skin. “Tell me about it,” she said, using her hand to slip his hand up further and kissing his palm, every finger.

“It’s the only place I feel at peace. The only place I thought I’d ever want to—” His breath caught in his throat as he used his other hand to cradle her face, touch her neck. “We were always happy there. All of us. I had this idea that if I— took you there, it would somehow— fix everything. But this place— this island—” He cut himself off, swallowing hard. “It is so. So difficult to go through every day with people congratulating me on your fake pregnancy when I haven’t even taken you to bed yet. It drives me up the walls. And I— I know we said we’d wait. I know you said—”

“I’m sick of waiting,” Ikaiya whispered. “I really, really am, Zuko, I’m pretty sure I’ve been ready for weeks and I was just waiting for you—”

“You were. Waiting for me,” he rasped, and his hand slid down, delicately peeled the edge of her robe off her shoulder. “All this time? You felt like this— all this time?”

“Yes.” It was barely a gasp, hardly a word, but Zuko heard her, slid his other hand down, parted the front of her robes, and slid them off her torso. Every whisper of soft silk against her back felt like fire. Heat was boiling deep in her belly, stoked further by the brush of his fingers and palms against her chest. “Please.”

Zuko brought his forehead to hers. Was it her imagination or was he trembling? “I want— I don’t know how to— I—”

“I can help you. Please let me help you.”

He let go of her for a moment, but it was only to grab the full cup and lift it to his mouth swiftly, gulping down the liquor. When it was empty, he clumsily pushed it back to the table and grabbed her again, a look of almost desperation in his eyes. “Tell me. Tell me what to do,” he choked, his hands almost bruisingly tight on her chest. The scent of shochu floated past her: cherry blossoms. “Please.”

“I will. Mmm.” She patted his hand. “Ease up there. I’m not made of stone.”

“Sorry.” He let go of her, and she reached across him to the table, poured herself a cup of shochu one-handed without breaking eye contact, brought the cup to her lips, and tossed it back like a farmer before leaning in and pressing her mouth to his. She had intended it to be a cautious kiss— gentle, probing, not overly passionate— but Zuko’s lips parted and his tongue slipped over her lip as his hands slipped over her shoulders and pressed against her back to pull her close. She flung her arms around his neck and buried her fingers in his hair, tugging softly, and he moaned, breaking away from her mouth with his nose pressed into her cheek. “I’ve missed you every day,” he croaked, one hand wandering up to the back of her neck, thumb brushing her hair, her ear. 

“I’ve missed you too. Please. Tell me about what you wanted to do. On Ember Island.” She pushed his hair back from his face, tucked it behind the folds of scarred skin that had been his left ear. Zuko’s breath left him, shuddering, and he turned his face into hers, kissing the corner of her mouth. 

“I didn’t. Ah. Think about— details. Just— general strokes.”

Ikaiya slipped her hands down his sides, down across his belt, across where the scar on his sternum was hidden below layers of scarlet and gold. “Interesting turn of phrase,” she said lightly, grinning. He snorted lightly, but as she moved to untie the closures on his tunic, he caught her wrist. “Zuko?”

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Not—” His chest rose and fell as he breathed, and he broke eye contact as she froze . “I’m not ready for— that.”

“Okay,” she said simply. Again and again she had been foiled by ghosts of fear. She wished she could open his soul and scour out all the pain for him. But she could be patient. She could force herself to be patient for him. “What are you ready for?”

Golden eyes met hers, and he leaned in and kissed her again, pulling her forward into his lap. Her bare skin pressed into gold ornamentation and leather, dragged over finely-woven wool and silk as she parted her knees and sat kneeling over his thighs, facing him; as he ran his hands down her bare back and gently cupped her backside. One hand circled over the curve of her hip and slid back up her chest, spanning her from breast to breast as he broke the kiss and gasped, “Bed. Please.”

“Okay,” she whispered, and awkwardly disentangled herself from his limbs, taking her robe with her to the bed and setting it aside as he came up behind her, fumbling with his belt. “How do you want me to—”

“I saw a— painting,” he said, voice shaking with barely-suppressed eagerness— or was he about to cry? She turned to look back at him. “Don’t. We can— here. Get on your knees.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised at this sudden command, and started to kneel facing him. 

“No, not like— kneel at the foot of the bed and lie down.”

“Oh, sorry. Like this?” she asked, turning to face the bed and bending at the waist so that she was lying down flat on her belly. The bed was lower than her hips, so her lower back was bent toward the floor, her bottom in the air. He was silent, unmoving behind her. “Zuko?” she prompted.

“Y-yes. Like that. And I’ll—” She felt him moving closer to her, felt his hips press against her bare backside, felt a finger tentatively touch her. “Um,” he said, breathy and trembling.

“Lower,” she informed him, turning her head slightly. “Or, I mean, um, further forward on me. Down.” His clothing was half-falling off him, but still tied at the waist, and she could see nothing but his flushed face and his shoulders from this angle. “Here.” Ikaiya reached back and took his hand, guided him to the right place, and let him slip a finger inside, then a second. “Yes, there,” she whispered. “You got this?”

“Stop moving,” he rasped, pressing his other hand to the small of her back. She went still and closed her eyes as his fingers left her, as everything in her body yearned for something , as he brought himself up against her, thick and hot and blunt. “Just—let me—” His voice broke as he wedged himself in, and Ikaiya sucked in a breath and held it, her head spinning, afraid to move. Was he actually doing this? Were they actually—

Skin caught skin and pinched. He grumbled under his breath, slid back out, fumbled around unseen, and tried again. This time Ikaiya’s eyes flew open as he slid home, his breath shaking and his body trembling. “Oh, shit,” she swore, like a deckhand. 

He bottomed out, shaking, and took a breath. “A-are you okay?” he gasped.

Was she okay? It felt perfect. Why wasn’t he moving? She gripped the blankets in her fingers.“Keep, keep moving —”

“Oh, right—” He withdrew, but slipped out, and choked back a snarled curse as he pushed himself against her thigh instead. “Would the damn—”

“Here,” she panted, desperate to help as she twisted behind and patted his right hip. “Get. Get your right leg up, foot flat.” He obeyed, breathing hard, and she lifted her right knee, hooking her leg over his thigh. “Try it now.”

Zuko’s fever-hot hands tightened on her hips as he slid himself in, hips flush against her backside, and both of them let out soft groans at almost the same time. “Ikaiya,” he gasped, something in his voice almost broken. “Aah—” One hand tightened, almost to the point of pain, then released. “Sorry—”

“Don’t, don’t worry about me, just move —”

He bent over her, planted his arms flat to the bed, and began to move. It felt so good, like nothing she’d ever experienced in her life: he was perfect. Nothing hurt, there was only the sweet lush drag and push and the friction that sent tingling delight radiating into her thighs and her belly and she did not even care if she finished: she wanted this forever, forever. Noise burst from her throat, muffled in the bed. “Aaaah—”

“I-Ikiaya—” Zuko sounded terrified: what was wrong? “I’m—hurting you?”

“Wh-what? No, just—”

He ground his hips deeply against her, then pulled out and away, hands shaking as he gripped her hips. “Sorry, I’m sorry—”

Ikaiya turned her head back, caught between irritation and worry. “I’m fine, Zuko, can you just—”

“Well, you sounded like you were in pain!”

She wrenched herself over to her back and pushed herself back up to sit on the bed and face him as he leaned back to put his weight on his heels, his hands covering his exposed lap. Her face was hot, her hair was a wreck, and she was fighting to keep her composure. “So I make noise! People make noise, Zuko, it’s normal, it’s fine—”

“You didn’t sound fine!” His eyes were searching her face all over, his cheeks flushed. 

“If you were hurting me, I’d make sure you knew it,” she said sharply. “And I wouldn’t be asking you to keep going.”

His chest heaved as he sucked in heavy breaths of air, his eyes closing. “Okay,” he said finally.

Maybe she was pushing him too much. She hesitated. “If you want to stop—”

“I don’t. I don’t want to stop. You feel— you feel—” Zuko’s mouth worked for a moment, like he couldn’t find the words. “I just— you don’t want me to stop?”

“No, so don’t stop,” whispered Ikaiya, and reached for his open tunic, tugging him gently back toward her. “Okay? I’ll be quiet if it helps.”

“Yeah, okay,” he gasped, and lunged up, his mouth crashing into hers as he toppled her back over on her belly to the bed, fumbled her knee up, slid himself back in, and made a broken little sound. His hot mouth, still damp with shochu, pressed open against her neck, forearms planted on the bed, and he started moving again. She clung to him, her hands tangled in his hair: it didn’t matter if she finished or not at this point. Please, please just finish and be happy and be okay, she thought silently, biting her lip to stop herself from crying out.

After what might have been a few more seconds, or maybe a full minute, Zuko jerked his hips against her hard and gasped out a smeared string of sounds that could have been words before shuddering into a limp, damply pliant mass across her torso, his weight pushing her hips to the bed. She closed her eyes, basking in the heat and weight of him, and whispered without thinking about it, “I love you.” There was no answer. Ikaiya swallowed and reached up, stroking his head: his long silken hair was tangled all over her neck and stuck to her lips. “Bluh,” she said, plucking the strands out of her mouth, trying for humor instead. “You’re as heavy as a dragon.”

“All the dragons are dead,” he mumbled, and pushed himself up with an effort, hovering over her torso for a long moment. Half his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and he was still flushed all over. Bleary eyes found hers. “You said so.”

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, reaching up to touch his face. He shut his eyes, letting her touch him for a moment, and then he shuffled off to the side and lay down on his back, facing up at the ceiling with his hand splayed out on his chest. “Zuko?” she ventured again, slightly nervous.

“I— I don’t know,” he said thickly. “I thought this would be like— something terrifying and huge and really important, and— it was, but not in the way I was thinking. And when I’d done it, I’d be… I don’t know. Different. But I don’t feel different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. Like— like—” He hesitated. “I don’t know. It didn’t feel any different than the other times.”

She sat up, slightly annoyed and a little hurt. “It didn’t feel any different than what? Your hand?”

“No, no, that’s not what I— I mean it didn’t feel any different emotionally. Sorry. That wasn’t what I— I didn’t mean—”

“Badger’s bones,” she mumbled, embarrassed.

Zuko sat up. “I shouldn’t have done this. I— I’m sorry, I think I’m a little drunk. This wasn’t—” He pulled his hand over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This wasn’t what I wanted our first real time to be like, and I”m sorry.”

“Well, I liked it,” said Ikaiya, trying to make him feel better.

“You didn’t even— I didn’t even try to make you feel good.” The naked self-loathing in his voice was clear, even with his face turned away. “Don’t lie to me, Ikaiya. Please. Not to… spare my feelings. I— I stopped you from even acting like you were enjoying any of it. I’m— I’m terrible in bed. I’m a bad partner. I don’t— I don’t deserve you, or any of this.”

“Stop it,” said Ikaiya firmly, reaching over and touching his shoulder. “If everyone judged themselves by their first times doing anything we’d all be miserable.”

He turned his gaze on her, eyes damp and red. “Please don’t. I’m not worth it.”

“Is there anything I can say that will make you feel better?”

“No.”

“Okay, fine,” she whispered, throwing back the blankets and getting up. Everything between her legs was pleasantly sore and puffy and she couldn’t even enjoy it. “I’m going to use the commode. We can talk about this in the morning when you’re feeling better.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, and rolled over, facing away from her. By the time Ikaiya came back into the bedroom and crawled in, his back was rising and falling in a steady, slow rhythm, and she blew the lamps out and lay down on her back, staring at the ceiling as tears filled her eyes.

Chapter Text

Zuko dreamed. 

He was climbing a mountain, bare and rocky. He knew it— it was the ancient peak of the Sun Warriors. Mist swirled around his knees, his face; it caught the light and blinded him, but he had to keep climbing. There was something he needed to see, to do, but he did not consciously know what it was, only that he must climb. Up and up, hand over hand, until he stood staring at the yawning black mouth of the ancient tunnel, on the narrow ledge of stone that connected it to its twin on the other side. 

I remember this. I came here. 

Oh. I am dreaming.

Usually, when he knew he was dreaming, he woke. But he did not wake now. He stood and watched, and there, emerging from their tunnels, were two dragons, one blue, one red. He knew them: knew their names, ancient masters of firebending, secret, hidden from the world… 

I dreamed of these dragons before, long before I met them, when I was young, didn’t I? When I had that fever? I have been dreaming of them lately. I haven’t been able to sleep.

As if it had heard his thoughts, the blue dragon turned and looked at him, silent and knowing. Zuko could not move. He stood rooted to the spot, staring into the vast wisdom of those ancient eyes. 

One red. One blue.

The memory of the last Agni Kai he had ever fought darted across his mind’s eye. The flames he had created, crimson-orange-gold, billowing and boiling against a sheet of fire as hot and as blue-white as a summer sky. 

The blue dragon always speaks with Azula’s voice in my dreams. 

Scales in every shade of scarlet danced across his vision. Every shade of fire he had ever seen went spiraling up into the sky, himself at the heart of the storm, looking at the colors: gold and blue, red and green, violet and orange. He reached up to cover his face, shielding his eyes from the blinding light, and felt the roughness of his scarred right cheek. 

That’s not right. In my dreams, my face is always whole. In my dreams, I never have my scar… 

The voice of his history tutor, long ago, came back to him, whispered as if from a ghost’s lips.

Avatar Roku had a dragon as red as blood that he rode across the sky, long ago before all the dragons died…

The fire died. There was a pile of stone where it had been, tenderly arranged in a massive circle, and inside the pile of stone was a ruby bigger than any precious stone he’d ever seen— no, not a ruby, an egg, an egg that was scarlet, dark crimson, shot through with gold, an egg that was waiting , and he thought, with a sudden burst of clarity that made perfect dream-sense:

Am I the red dragon?

An answer came back to him in a voice that reverberated through his head like a gong being run as the faces of the dragons, scarlet and blue, floated in his mind’s eye. 

COME AND SEE. 

Zuko gasped air into his lungs and sat up straight, panting for air. Sweat sheened his chest and his face, chilling his skin in the crisp gray air of the autumn pre-dawn that was seeping through the cracked shutters. At his side, Ikaiya sat up, glassy-eyed, her long hair tangled into knots as she fumbled blindly. “What?” she gasped, feeling around and finding his back. “What, what is it? You’re soaked. Are you okay? You shouted. Was it a bad dream?”

“I— I—” He rubbed his eyes, buried them in the heel of his hands. His head ached. He felt the familiar topography of his face: smooth under the right hand, rippled and rough under the left. “I don’t know, I don’t—” 

“Hey,” she said quietly, rubbing his damp back through his damp clothes. “Shh. You’re fine, you’re here with me, you’re safe. Sun’s not up yet. You want to go get a bath? You want some water?”

Annoyance stabbed through him in a sharp red bolt. Spirits above, could she shut up for a second and stop asking him what he wanted? “No, I—” Zuko took his hands away from his face. “Sorry.” Inhale, exhale. He concentrated on centering himself, on breathing. Last night you went to bed. You drank a little too much shochu. And then… He did not want to think about that right now: he wanted to forget it. Nausea wrenched his stomach. “It was a dream.”

“Oh. Do you want to talk about it?”

Anything was a better topic of conversation than the one from last night he would rather avoid. “I’m not sure. I don’t… think it was just a dream.” He slid out of bed to get away from her hands: usually cool and soothing, they now felt too clammy and uncomfortable. Water was still on the table in a jug. He gulped down a mouthful. “You remember I told you I’ve been having dreams about dragons?”

“You mean—” Ikaia paused, gave him one of those carefully guarded looks she usually deployed when she was about to say something that she thought might not go over well. “Like a… vision about dragons?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I— I think I’m being called. Back to the Fire Nation. For a— a quest.” He felt like an idiot even saying it out loud. Maybe he was still drunk. 

“A… quest,” she repeated.

“I can’t explain it. Okay? I just— I just can’t. But I have to go, now. As soon as possible. Alone. You can’t come.”

That was the wrong way to say it. Ikaiya went very quiet for a moment before folding her hands in her lap. “My lord,” she said, in the flat, even court tone that he was beginning to really dislike, “you don’t have to make up stories about visions if you want a reason to leave me behind, end the tour early, and go home.”

His heart sank into the pit of his stomach. So now he was my lord again. “That’s not— I’m not—”

“I had hoped—” Her voice had verged away from Court Tone and into something brittle, trembling, fragile. “We are both adults, my lord. I had hoped that in the space of a few months of marriage you would learn to communicate openly with me and trust me instead of pushing me away. I see now I was wrong. Whatever I did last night that has—”

“Ikaiya—”

“ — that hurt you or upset you, I really, really wish you would just be honest about whatever it is.” Tears glittered in her pale-tawny eyes. “I have been up all night, replaying everything in my head, trying to— figure out what the problem was, and if it was me—”

For the first time, he noticed how swollen her eyes were; saw the dried salt tracks on her cheeks and her temples. Had she cried herself to sleep last night? “What? No. Ikaiya—”

“Should I have told you no?” Tears were streaming down her cheeks now. She was genuinely, earnestly upset, and he could not do anything to comfort her. No matter what he said, she would not believe him. “I was so annoyed and then in the middle of the night I thought maybe me being irritated upset you. Or was it because I said I loved you? Was—”

“Ikaiya, none of that matters right now. I had a vision— I have to go to the mountains and find a dragon’s egg,” he said desperately, half-cringing at how bizarre it sounded. “I swear by— by the last memory I have of my mother that I am not lying to you.”

“A dragon’s egg. A dragon— ” She almost choked. “The dragons are extinct, Zuko, they’ve all been dead for years.”

He bit his lip, knowing how this would sound before he even said it. “It’s not true. I met two during the war.”

Anger flashed in her eyes as she kicked off the thick silk quilt and went for her robe, wiping tears off her cheeks. “Oh, sure. You met two dragons. And you also had a tea party with a bunch of spirits, I bet, and then you all played Pai Sho and danced in a circle with your shoes on your head. And all that’s more important and matters more than your wife being incredibly concerned about you. I cannot believe you are sitting here, expecting me to believe this— this childish nonsense that you’re coming up with out of the blue instead of actually sitting down and talking about what happened last night.”

Zuko got out of bed, following her up. “No, that’s not— Ikaiya—”

“No. You know what? No. I’m done. This is—” She exhaled hard and buried her face in her hands. “This is it. I’m done. I have been patient. I have been so patient. I have put up with reporters , the press, the court, I’ve let other people decide how I can walk and dress and talk, I’m pretending to everyone that I’m pregnant for you, I’ve given up everything because I wanted to make a difference in the world and I genuinely cared about you and I waited months to consummate my own marriage because I cared more about your needs than my needs, and I have worked with you so hard on this, I keep extending my hand to you over and over and trying my hardest to empathize and be good for you and it’s all still not enough because you still don’t respect me or trust me enough to just be honest with me and I am done . ”

His cheeks felt cold. “What— done, what are you saying?”

Her voice was trembling. Tears dripped off her chin. “I’m saying I’m going home. Back to Ikana. You can go up to the mountains or to the river or to the back end of the North Pole for all I care, Zuko. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I’ll— tell the secretary something.”

His ears rushed with the sound of a distant shore. This could not be happening. She could not be leaving him. I’ve ruined it. I’ve ruined everything. “Aang. Aang was there with me, he’ll tell you about the dragons.”

She gaped at him. “I’m not going back to Republic City to track down the Avatar to ask, oh, by the way, did you ever meet a dragon? Are you joking?”

Zuko couldn’t breathe. “Please. Please. Ikaiya, please. I do trust you. That’s why I told you this— I trust you enough with this, it’s a secret, there are two dragons still alive and their names are Ran and Shaw, they’re masters of firebending. Iroh— Iroh has met them. Iroh knows all about—”

“Your uncle killed the last of the dragons, everyone knows that!”

“You of all people should know that what they teach children in Fire Nation history isn’t true!” he barked, finally losing his temper. “Or are you so stupid that you only believe what you want to hear?” She stared at him in shock, lips trembling with shocked hurt. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately, shaken at the vitriol in his own voice: had that really been him? “I’m so sorry. You’re not stupid, you’re—”

“I’m just a silly girl from the backwater colonies, bumbling my way through the homeland. Yes, you have made yourself very clear.” Ikaiya walked to the door and slid it aside. “Goodbye, my lord. I truly hope your next wife knows what she’s getting into.” Her voice was shaking: she was about to burst into tears, and he wished she would just rage and scream and throw something. He could have handled that— anything but this crushed expression and wobbling voice.

Zuko dropped to his knees in desperation, his hands out on the floor in front as he bowed deeply: he had not knelt in formal supplication to anyone since the last day he had seen his father sit the throne. Fire Lords did not do this, ever: maybe she would be convinced. Maybe he could extend this as one last branch of peace between them: stop her from walking away from him. “Ikaiya. Please. Don’t go. I—”

She slid the door shut without another word, and he was left on the floor, numb and alone.

After Ikaiya had cried in the courtyard so hard that her eyes hurt, she had washed her face, gotten dressed in the most normal clothes she owned, and asked Ty Lee to help her. “I’m going back to my mother’s house,” she explained, counting out the money that her secretary had set aside for emergency use. “I’m going to catch the ferry back to the mainland and then get on a train to go back to Ikana. Would you please let Avatar Aang and Master Katara know when they return that I very much enjoyed my stay and that I hope to meet them again, even if it’s not as Consort to the Fire Lord? And inform my secretary that I’m very sorry to leave him in the lurch like this, but I can’t handle it anymore.” She choked on her tears and wiped her eyes, taking a breath. “Sorry.”

Ty Lee was astonished. “You’re leaving? Did Zuko do something? What happened? Your aura’s all messed up. Oh, Ikaiya, do you need me to come with you?”

“Everything’s fine, Ty Lee. I just need— I—” She took a breath and let it out again. “Zuko is being— completely irrational right now and I— I’m sick to death of all of this, I really am. We can still be friends, though. Come by Ikana Village whenever you want, all right? My mother will make you the best red bean dumplings you’ve ever had.”

The two women embraced, and then Ikaiya put a bag with a change of clothes on her back and some food from the kitchen and set off for the beach where the ferry landed. She did not look back, not even when a bison took off and swept low over her head, circling before heading west. The red and gold blur on the saddle was obviously Zuko. Coward, she thought viciously as tears streamed down her face. Can’t even face me.

She had enjoyed finally sharing a bed with him so much. This was so unfair. Hadn’t she earned a little bit of trust by now? She’d done everything right: asked permission for everything and been patient and tried her hardest to understand, to reach out to him. Hadn’t been demanding, hadn’t been mean or pushy. And this was what she got in return. Another self-loathing spiral. Running away from the real issue, excuses about dragons. She paid the ferryman and sat down on a bench: she was the only passenger going from the island to the city this morning. The engine kicked in, belching smoke into the clear morning air. Tears filled her eyes. She should be still in bed with him on a morning like this. Warm and snug and not caring about anything else in the world. And then he’d had to go and make up some nonsense about visions just to get away from a conversation. And about what? Sex not being the magical, transcendental cure-all experience he apparently thought it would be? Ikaiya wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. If she was grubby enough, maybe nobody would recognize her. 

The ferry landed, and Ikaiya set off toward the train station. Nobody even seemed to see her. It made her feel a lot better about herself: she could still have a normal life like this. They still had the dowry from the wedding; the house had been repaired. She started plotting her course home in her head. A southern train would take her to Omashu, and from there she could probably hire someone to take her to Gao Ling, and then from there, walk to Ikana. It would work out. 

Maybe I’m being too rash, she thought uncomfortably. But Iroh had said that she could go where she pleased, hadn’t he? And there was precedent: plenty of other consorts had abandoned their lords when treated badly. Nobody was going to stop her if she got a head start. And once she was home, they’d have to get past Mother, and nobody in the world could do that.

Zuko stared into the clouds around him as the sun set. He had left a note for Aang apologizing for commandeering one of his young air bison calves (this one’s name was Omma), but it was an emergency, and he would send Omma back as soon as he was able. What Aang would think when he came back to the staff Zuko had left behind in confused shambles and Ikaiya gone he did not want to consider. 

You’re not a private person. You have no right to stop this tour that was so carefully planned by your advisers and go home on a whim, shouted his conscience angrily. 

But I saw a dragon’s egg! said another voice.

It was ridiculous. The further he got from Air Temple Island, the more stupid he felt: what was he doing, running off over a dream? He was almost thirty. This was something children did. He was the Fire Lord. He’d chosen a dream over the feelings of his wife, who was somewhere down there behind him right now, in tears, running back home to her mother…

I should have told her I loved her. She said it and I never...

“I’ll tell her when I get back,” he said thinly to nobody in particular. Omma lowed beneath him, a deep rumble that made him feel like someone was listening. “I’ll come back with the egg. Then she’ll see I was telling the truth.” And then all would be forgiven, hopefully. If he had to walk to Ikana Village on his own two feet, he’d do it. He just had to see. He had to know if there was really a dragon’s egg, waiting for him somewhere. It tugged at him, reeled him in, and he pushed on and on into the sky. 

Was he, maybe, also using the dream as an excuse or a distraction, perhaps, to not confront the emotions that had threatened to drown him after he’d finally bedded his wife? Could two seemingly opposing things be true at the same time? Maybe, but that didn’t matter now. Zuko felt tears streak out of his eyes, and told himself: it’s from the wind, that’s all. 

Ikaiya got off the train in Omashu and headed for the public toilet, first, and then a food stall selling grilled chicken on a stick. “Grandmother,” she politely asked the old woman who was hunched over the grill and the coals, “do you know when the next train to Gao Ling is? My ticket says one-after-noon, but the train was late arriving and I missed it.”

“Oh, dear me,” said the old woman, giving her a pointed look. “Mmm. Two yuan for a skewer, dear.”

Well, she was hungry. She paid two yuan and received a skewer of chicken. “It’s delicious,” she said, and it was— marinated in something sweet and tangy. 

The old woman's face wreathed itself in proud smiles. “Oh, it's nothing. Old recipe. Hm. Mmm. Ah, there is only one train to Gao Ling a day. Every day. You can wait a day, or get on the three-after-noon to Ba Sing Se today and connect to their six-after-noon to Gao Ling.”

Ikaiya groaned inwardly. “Thank you very much,” she said, and moved away to finish her food and silently curse her bad luck. Maybe the lodgings here would work out for the night… but she wanted to be home now. She deliberated as she tossed her skewer into a litter bin. There were two full hours to decide: there was no rush. 

Mother is not going to be pleased when I get home. She hadn’t actually considered her mother’s reaction, and now she could almost envision it: Natsumi’s face, the shock, the tears: how could you do this, ruin your own future! You were Consort to the Fire Lord himself, and now you’ve thrown it all away and over what? A husband not coming to bed often enough? Other wives have the opposite problem! I’ve spoiled you! That was what Mother would say. But she wouldn’t understand. 

Maybe she could buy Mother a gift in the markets to lessen the blow of her deciding to leave her marriage. Yes, that would work. Mother would be far less upset if Ikaiya brought home something beautiful. I can only hope. Maybe a nice scarf. That would be better. Give the neighbors and market ladies something to talk about besides how ungrateful Ikaiya was to have thrown away the title of consort.

She made her way out of the train station and headed to the lower-level markets of Omashu. The city itself rose like a huge peaked hat out of the surrounding low-lying trees and woods, with smoke rising from its multiple buildings, all atop each other in a jumble of beautiful, ancient Earth Kingdom architecture. Ikaiya smiled and headed to the market, where she spent a long time happily haggling over hairpins and a beautiful yellow woven silk shawl with a green fringe. It felt like home again, despite the sheer number of people, and she tucked her gifts into her bag and made off to find a place to sleep for the night. Tomorrow morning, she’d hang around the station and people-watch until her train left, and then she’d be on the way home. 

A sign pointed the way to cheap overnight lodging near the station, and Ikaiya hesitated on the curb to look both ways and make sure she wasn’t about to step into a cart’s path. A voice behind her, smooth and female, suddenly said, “I know you, don’t I?”

“Sorry?” Ikaiya caught herself out of habit and turned around. A woman was leaning against the wall of a building, arms crossed, eyes on her. She wore nondescript clothing that could have once been of any color at all, but something about the way she held herself seemed vaguely, oddly familiar. “Sorry, I don’t… think I know you?” said Ikaiya politely, half a question. She sighed to herself: clearly someone had caught sight of a paper out here in Omashu, and recognized her from the pictures. But she wondered why she felt like she’d seen this woman before. Was she someone from Ikana? No, she was sure that wasn’t it: the only girl her age in Ikana was Jiang Rin, and she was shorter than this woman, with a rounder face and lighter hair. Maybe she was just going crazy.

“Wait, I’m so sorry, hold on. Let me get a closer look.” The woman smiled, nothing but friendliness in her expression, and took a few steps closer. Recognition stilled to something almost like disappointment as her eyes searched Ikaiya’s face. “Oh, you know what? Never mind. I could have sworn you look just like my sister.”

Relief swept her. “Oh! Sorry, no. I don’t have any siblings.” Ikaiya offered an apologetic smile. “Just here for the night. Came from Republic City. Catching a train tomorrow home.”

“All the way from the big city? Sounds like quite a story. Can I treat you to a drink?” The stranger gestured toward a bar, the hand-painted sign swinging softly in the afternoon light. Ikaiya hesitated: she didn’t know this woman, and she’d had certain rules about behavior drilled into her head since she’d agreed to marry Zuko.

But she was so tired of all the rules, and she was free again. She was just Ikaiya, meeting a friendly stranger in the street and having a drink, in a beautiful city. “You know what? Sure,” she said, smiling back at the other woman. “My name’s Iki.”

“I’m Chaeryu,” said the woman, beaming as they walked to the bar together. “I thought there was something Fire Nation-y about you, too.” It was then that Ikaiya noticed the woman’s eyes were bright, warm gold. “Do you like Spice Shots? The bartender makes them just like back home.”

“I’ve never tried them,” confessed Ikaiya, with a little self-deprecating shrug. “I actually grew up in the Colonies. The eyes are from my father.”

“Mine, too,” said Chaeryu, chuckling as she indicated her face. “Okay, Spice Shot on me, and then maybe something from home? Earthy? Earthy. And don’t worry about the tab. It’s on me.”

Zuko dismounted at the base of the massive stone structure he remembered so clearly from the last time he’d been here. The vine-choked ziggurat shone golden in the evening light, casting a long shadow on the thick foliage at the base that spread out in all directions. It seemed to have hardly changed at all. Unlike last time, however, he was alone except for the air bison he’d flown here on. “Good girl, Omma,” he said absently as he stretched, eyes pinned to the two huge peaks above him connected by their thin bridge of stone. Get this over with, just check, go home, find Ikaiya. He was becoming less and less sure of himself the closer he got. Surely there would be no egg. His dream— vision— whatever it had been seemed as remote and distant as the moon. What was he doing here? 

He took a step toward the massive flight of steps leading up to the bridge, and Omma, apparently done with this nonsense, took off with a whap of her mighty tail. “No! Hey, wait!” he shouted, turning back. “I don’t have a ride off this island!” Omma, however, did not seem to care. She sailed off, lowing as if to say figure it out yourself , and vanished into the hot, pale evening sky. “Traitor,” muttered Zuko, turning back around. “First my wife, then you. Can’t a man—”

And there, as if they had been there all along, or perhaps had silently sprang into being at the moment he had turned around, stood the Sun Warriors. He forgot about Omma, about the whole world outside: he stumbled forward with legs still sore from sitting for hours and bowed respectfully. “I am sorry if my presence has disturbed you,” he said, and then realized he had no way to explain why he was here. “I— I’m here to— I—”

“We know. We have been expecting you,” said the chief. Zuko uncomfortably realized he had never caught the man’s name— or if he had as a child, he’d forgotten it, and it didn’t seem polite to ask now. Slowly, the chief of the Sun Warriors stepped forward, flame cupped in his hands, and Zuko remembered this: he took it carefully and bowed again. “The Masters await you. Go, Lord Zuko.”

He turned and began the long climb up the steps. This was a lot easier when I was fifteen. His knees ached, his thighs burned, and still he climbed, higher and higher. Had the air been this thin last time? Zuko wasn’t sure. He plugged away at the steps, focusing on his breathing: the breath was integral to keeping flame alive, bent by the body. One at a time, that was the way to do it. As he got his second wind, the burning ache in his muscles seemed to ease a little, and finally, finally, he was at the top, the wind whipping at his hair and clothing as he clung to the fire in his cupped palms and stared at the tunnel to the right.

That’s the one.  He did not know how he knew, he just did.  Like in my dream. 

The yawning mouth called him, beckoned him. And out of it streamed a hurricane in scarlet, met by a whirlwind of cobalt-blue scales from behind that sent his clothing and hair twisting and tangling. He forced his eyes to stay open as beating air tore moisture from his eyes and the breath from his lungs, and just when he thought he could take no more and his eyes shut of their own accord, the hurricane stopped.

Zuko opened his eyes. Before him, two dragons floated, reared back, staring at him side-by-side. He was kneeling, but he did not remember kneeling, and the flame in his hands remained whole. “You called me here,” he said aloud, and he had never been more sure of almost anything in his life.

WE DID. 

The thunderous voices seemed to come from inside his own body; from the rocks around him, from the very earth and the sun itself. Zuko felt like not only his ears were being battered, but his lungs beaten against, crushed down by the force of those voices. His own sounded small and weak in comparison. “You showed me an… egg.”

WE DID. 

“I have come. What do you require of me, Great Masters?”

WE HAVE TAUGHT YOU THE DANCE. WE HAVE SHOWN YOU THE HEART OF FIRE. Unblinking, the scarlet dragon gazed into Zuko’s eyes. WE HAVE DECIDED TO BESTOW UPON YOU AN HONOR THAT HAS NOT BEEN GIVEN TO ANY HUMAN SINCE THE DAYS OF YOUR FOREFATHER SOZIN. 

“I don’t understand,” Zuko managed, reeling. “An honor?”

A DRAGON IS A DRAGON. A HUMAN IS A HUMAN. THE DRAGON IS FIRE MADE FLESH; THE HUMAN IS ONLY FLESH, EARTH IMBUED WITH FIRE. A DRAGON CHOOSES ALL THINGS. REMEMBER THAT, SON OF EARTH. YOU, TOO, WILL SOON BE THE LAST SCION OF A MIGHTY DYNASTY. 

“I will,” he forced out, still bewildered. “I… I humbly await the honor.”

COME AND SEE. 

The scarlet and sapphire bodies parted, and Zuko’s vision tunneled as he stared past them and into the tunnel. Something moved, coming into the light. Something bright blood-red, and dark crimson, shot through with gold and black, and the only thought in his stunned mind was: 

That… is not… an egg. 

Ikaiya was five Spice Shots into the best night of her life. Chaeryu was telling her an absurd story about badgers and the Dai Li, which seemed way funnier than any other story she’d ever heard, and her head spun pleasantly, all her limbs loose. “Stop!” she cackled, throwing her head back.

“No, seriously! And then the badger— get this— he dug right into the foundation of the office—”

“No!”

“Yes, and then the captain just went, fwoom , straight down. And nobody ever saw him again!”

“Fwoom,” choked Ikaiya, tears in her eyes as she imagined it: that long queue of braided hair flying straight up along with all the heavy robes. “I haven’t laughed this hard in months—”

Chaeryu threw back her own drink, giggling. “Nobody’s ever laughed this hard at my badger story.”

“Well, I am kinda drunk,” Ikiya snorted, wiping tears out of her eyes. “Oh, no. Ah. I have to get back to the… bed… place. For the train.”

“I’ll walk you there. The one by the station?”

“Yeah! Ooh—” Ikiaya got up and slid sideways, off-balance, right into Chaeryu, who caught her, giggling. “Sorry.”

“Can’t hold your liquor, huh? That’s okay. I’ve got you.” A strong arm slid under her back and lifted her, and then cool night air was ghosting over her cheeks as she stumbled alongside the other woman in the dark streets. 

“It’s late. Shit,” said Ikaiya blearily. The road was all over the place: cobbled stone streets that caught at her shoes. Streetlights haloed and blurred.

“That’s okay. You know what, Iki?”

“What?”

“I’m very glad I met you.” 

“Aw, thanks, Chaeryu. I’m glad I meet—met— you too,” said Ikiaya, smiling. Her lips felt numb. Stupid Spice Shots. “I’ve never had a friend like you b’fore. You can come to my village anytime. Promise.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be going south for a while,” said Chaeryu, pulling her along. 

Ikaiya hitched her foot higher and leaned on her. “Mm, okay—” Something sprang to a slow, creeping alert in her mind, something important. “Hey, uh, Chaeryu?”

“Yes?”

Weird. Chaeryu didn’t really sound like herself anymore. More… clipped, almost. “Uh, how’d you know my village was in the south? I didn’t… tell you that.”

“Your accent, silly.”

“Oh.” Ikaiya smiled again. Of course. 

“Yes. They can give you all the etiquette and elocution lessons they like, but the real accent always comes out. Sooner or later. It’s just nature.”

Wait. 

What?

Ikaiya raised herself up and stumbled forward, plunking her foot hard on the street. “What’re you—”

“Oh, please.” Disdain seeped through every syllable, cold and aloof. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Cold fear distantly tingled at the base of her spine. “I told you in th’ bar, I was working… in Republic City and I’m… going home now.” Why did her lips feel tingly?

“Lady Ikaiya Fe Yui,” said Chaeryu, savoring every word, and Ikaiya froze: what was happening? “Consort to the Fire Lord. Carrying his heir. I can’t deny I’m dying to find out why you ran away from him.”

Ikaiya’s face was numb, now: her hands limp and her feet boneless. “Who are you?” she forced out, inches from the woman’s face. The woman whose name could not be Chaeryu. The woman who had given her all her drinks. The woman who had taken her into the streets, alone. 

“Oh, Ikaiya,” she said, smiling a beautiful smile as she gripped her by the arms, amber-gold eyes shining, shining, swallowing up all of Ikaiya’s tunneling vision. “I told you. I knew you from the beginning. Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize my own sister-in-law?”

Chapter Text

Coming back to consciousness felt like being dragged up slowly from the bottom of a well. Ikaiya stirred, her head pounding like a drum, and cracked an eye open. She was lying on her side on a firm woven mat that was pressing into her cheek and shoulder, and all she could see was a blur of red. Blinking helped. Her mouth tasted like metal and was as dry as a desert. Memory came flooding back: the night before, the drinks, the—

Azula. 

Fear coiled in her throat like a physical thing to choke and strangle. Where was she? What did Azula want? Why was— 

Hostage. Maybe? Her head spun. Nausea stirred her stomach. She pushed herself upright— too fast, and gagged, dizzy and sick. Someone touched her, held her hair back, held a clay jug to her mouth, and as she emptied the contents of her sour stomach into the jug, she clung to the rim.

“Ew. You’ll be fine with some water.”

That voice. That— Ikaiya spat, groaned miserably, and leaned back as a cup of water was shoved into her hands. “Azula?” she whispered.

“Obviously. I hope your morning sickness isn’t as bad as this every day. You’ll stink up the house.” Azula was sitting by her, casually cross-legged, and for the first time Ikaiya actually got a good look at her captor. 

Beautiful, undeniably, but with a drawn look to the lines of her face that suggested a lot of stress in the past couple of years, she looked every inch the princess she was. Had been? Was someone still a princess if they got arrested, imprisoned, banished— whatever else had happened? Her long black hair was perfectly combed, and her clothing had been changed— she wore a dark red robe and sandals. A black belt cinched in her slim waist. Outside, there was a distant rushing hiss, rhythmic and soft.

Am I at a beach? How long was I out? How do I approach this? Ikaiya went over everything she knew about Azula in her mind, everything she had been taught about hostage situations— but this was not a normal hostage situation, and her head was still spinning. Kidnapped by her husband’s long-lost sister, his mad sister… she had been taken away to some other mysterious place, like a character in one of the spirit-stories the old women in her village used to tell. And in those places, you had to play by the rules of the spirits to get out alive and unharmed. Ikaiya cleared her throat. Azula had changed her clothing and gotten herself cleaned up: clearly she wanted to be seen as a princess. So Ikaiya would talk to her like a princess. “May I ask where we are?”

Azula blinked and sized her up, amber eyes narrowing like a cat. “Hm. At least you have some manners.” She stretched her legs out in front of her. “We’re on Ember Island. Specifically, an abandoned holiday house. Even more specifically, the abandoned holiday house of Fourth Under-Minister Kaito and his family. He profited immensely from the Hundred Year’s War— iron manufacturing, you know—and lost everything he owned when his land holdings and refineries were ceded back to the Earth Kingdom. Including this house.” She examined her nails. “Very unlucky. But they left everything in the closets, luckily for me."

I’m in the Fire Nation. That might be good. “How did we get from Omashu to here?”

She shrugged. “I stole an unregistered airship. Took a day or so. You were out the whole time.”

“Poison?”

“Not exactly. Derived from the paralytic venom of a shirshu. I had to test it on plenty of people before I found you. I suppose I should have accounted for the fact you have less body mass than an adult man.”

“I see.” Ikaiya pressed a hand to her stomach, thinking she might be sick again, but Azula’s sharp eyes raked over the gesture, and then she remembered: She mentioned morning sickness. She thinks I’m pregnant. Right. Everyone thinks I’m pregnant. “You could have hurt the baby,” she said on a whim, trying to sound convincingly upset.

“Well, it didn’t hurt the other women I tested it on,” Azula said loftily, and Ikaiya chose not to pursue that line of thought. “I can’t help but notice you haven’t made any whiny little threats about how you’ll be rescued any moment by my spineless brother.”

“I don’t make empty threats,” said Ikaiya, and she didn’t miss the gleam of interest in those golden eyes. Spirits, even the way she sits looks like Zuko. It gave her the creeps.

Azula leaned back on one hand, gazing at her. “So. Why did you run away from him?”

Ikaiya simply folded her hands in her lap, court-style, and gazed past Azula’s left ear to the wall. This was a nice room, or had been: gold and red painted pillars, wooden walls, an open chest of clothing against one wall that Azula had likely plundered. Even the furniture remained, dusty and unused. She wondered how many people had lived here.

“I am speaking to you,” said Azula testily. 

Ah. So that was what Azula really wanted to know: what was going to be her bargaining chip. “Yes, I heard you the first time.”

“I am Azula, Crown Princess of the Fire Nation, and I order you—”

“You are not Crown Princess anymore,” interrupted Ikaiya in the calmest tones she could summon. “You are just Princess. I am Lady Ikaiya, Consort to the Fire Lord, and any child I am carrying is Crown Prince or Princess. You will kindly remember that you do not order me.”

There was silence. Azula remained exactly where she was, eyes pinned on her, sharp as golden awls. “You’re my captive. I do order you. We are not in the Fire Nation royal court,” she snapped. 

“No, we are not. Yet you still called yourself Crown Princess.”

Her words were tinged with bitterness. “Well. Aren’t you clever for a backwater colonial.”

“And you’re very imprecise in your wording. For a princess.”

Again, silence. Ikaiya looked into those burning eyes and knew without a doubt that if she had not had the protection of the baby she was pretending to carry, Azula would have hurt her very badly indeed. Her lips curled. “Have you ever seen a parrot-lizard? You can teach them to repeat all kinds of pretty things. That doesn’t mean it can think for itself. It’ll always be a dumb animal. And you’re just colony trash. No matter how they teach you to mimic the right way to talk and sit and eat, you’ll never understand it. It’ll never be natural. You can paint your face and sit for pictures and wear my grandmother’s wedding robes and jewels, but you will never be true Fire Nation royalty.” Azula got up and paced back and forth, hands behind her back. “Consorts are barely even people. They’re just vessels for the Fire Lord to pass his seed through, to be transformed into an heir. Anyone could do your job. Anyone .”

There is something deeper here, thought Ikaiya. “Is that what you think of your mother?” she probed.

Azula’s head whipped around, her face contorted with sudden rage. “Don’t you dare speak a word about my mother!” she screamed, and blue-white lightning crackled at the tips of her fingers. 

Ikaiya froze. 

Don’t show fear. She’ll use it. Don’t move, don’t react. Stay calm. 

The hair stood up on the back of her neck. 

The crash the burning the smoke, ostrich horses screaming, Father with his face blackened, gasping, coughing, trying to save the animals, running back in never coming out again burned wood burned smoking— 

Stop, stop, stop— 

Father’s body burnt black and twisted in the coals and we didn’t find him until the day the smoke stopped rising— 

“Excuse me,” she said politely, and grabbed the jug, throwing up again into it as noisily as she could while Azula lowered her hands and the lightning crackled out to nothing. “Ugh. Sometimes it lasts all day,” she said, and if her voice was trembling, surely Azula would think it was just the sickness. 

The other woman’s lip curled. “If I have to put up with this for nine months, I promise you I will make you regret it once that thing’s finally out of you.”

Nine months? Ikaiya forced herself to shove her fear back into the very smallest, darkest corner of her mind. “Well, at least you have enough time to learn midwifery from here till the birth,” she said.

“Mid— what? Ew. No. That’s your problem. I wouldn’t sully my hands with something as disgusting as that.” Azula sat back down, between Ikaiya and the door. 

“I apologize. You’ll have to explain what you mean, Princess.”

Maybe the use of the title had mollified her a little. Azula lifted her chin. “Simple. You’re carrying my idiot brother’s heir. I’m going to keep you here until you have the baby. Then I’ll have the heir. And then I’ll be able to demand whatever I want from dear little Fire Lord Zuzu in exchange for the safe return of his child.”

Ikaiya forced her tone to remain calm. “I didn’t know you needed things from him.”

“I don’t need anything from him!” snapped Azula. “I want my rightful place in the court. I deserve my true title: High Princess, sister of a ruling Fire Lord and aunt to the next. I deserve to sit on his small councils and run his household as a senior member of the house of Ozai. We are the last of a mighty dynasty that was begun by our grandfather, and he is ruining everything. All this… de-settlement, the colonies being dissolved and handed back … you could never understand. He should be working to gain political power in all four nations, not handing land we won back to the losers. You’ll see. I will make him better. I will make him great.”

Horror snaked through Ikaiya. So this was the plan. Use the baby to twist Zuko to Azula’s will, and return to the war, to the colonies, to erasing the Earth Kingdom bit by bit. Except I’m not pregnant, and it could be months before Zuko finds out I never made it back home. What am I going to do? “You’ve clearly been planning this for some time,” she said.

“Only a week. When I heard you were expecting, of course, I’d planned to leave town and catch you on the way back to the Fire Nation.” Azula leaned on one hand, eyeing her up. “I had no idea you’d just decide to leave. And then there you were in Omashu, wandering around. Just handed to me. It was like…” She smiled, eyes distant. “Like a gift from the universe. A sign. I will be successful. And Zuko will give me what I deserve.”

Night fell on Ember Island. Ikaiya sat with a bowl of rice and nothing else. I have to plan my next move. Escaping seemed futile. She’d watched Azula light a fire with a flick of her fingers, blue-white flames cooling to yellow and red in the kitchen’s stove, before stepping back and jerking her head at the small bag of rice she’d brought from the mainland. The meaning was clear: Ikaiya would be doing all the cooking, and Azula was going to watch her every move.

There isn’t enough food for nine months, Ikaiya had thought dimly as she’d cooked the rice in a pot of water, fluffed it with a cracked old paddle, scooped it into a wooden bowl, and handed the first one politely to her sister-in-law. They didn’t have many supplies. One little three-pound bag of rice, one large cistern of clean water piped into the house for cooking and drinking and washing. A few old utensils, old dinnerware probably used by servants: nobody had ransacked the kitchen for cheap wooden platters and bowls. Azula hadn’t thought any of this through, and it showed. She’s desperate. She has to be. No mastermind would make this kind of slipup. She’d have to go get food somewhere, and she might not run the risk of leaving Ikaiya alone on Ember Island. And what am I going to do when I get my monthlies? Hide them? She’ll be all over me. This is all she has left in her life: this last desperate scrambling for control. And if she finds out her last hope isn't even real...

They sat and ate in silence. When the bowls were empty, Azula drummed her fingers on the table, then got up and paced again. “I hate it here,” she said abruptly.

“You… don’t like the beach?”

“No. I dislike the memories. Wash the dishes.”

Ikaiya got up and took the dishes back to the kitchen, Azula following on her heels. She washed them clean and set them up on edge to dry in the bamboo rack above the sink. “It’s quiet,” she offered.

“It’s off-season. Everyone’s in the Capital.” There was a tone of scorn to her voice. 

“I see. I’ve never been here.”

“Obviously.” Azula followed her back into the main room with its open walls, and they both sat there watching the waves below. This house sat high on a lonely cliff overlooking the sea, with a series of stone steps in the back leading down in a zig-zag pattern to the curve of white-sand beach a hundred feet below. The wind rippled the grass and brought the smell of salt into the house as the rising moon gleamed, golden and luminous in the dark sky.

“Zuko mentioned your family had a house here.”

“You will refer to him as Fire Lord,” said Azula with some acid to her tone. “If you want to mimic court manners, put some effort into it, parrot-lizard.”

Ikaiya wondered if Azula was testing her to see how much she could get away with. Should she push back, or submit? Submit. Safer choice. Build trust. “Apologies, Princess. The Fire Lord mentioned your family had a house here.”

“We do,” said Azula shortly. “Why are you asking?”

“I was just trying to make conversation.”

Golden eyes flashed like fire. “Trying to, what? Find out things about me? A weakness? Use it against me? It won’t work.” She gave Ikaiya a disgusted look and looked back over to the sea. “Why Zuko picked you, I’ll never understand. If he’d picked a Fire Nation girl like he was supposed to, at least she would have been interesting to talk to.”

“I was under the assumption that the Fire Lord was going to choose from a wide selection of—”

Azula scoffed. “Please. Put something that important in the hands of a man who’s so spineless that he can’t even crack down on crime because he’s afraid of being disliked? Don’t make me laugh.”

Wait. This sounds familiar. Didn’t I hear someone say once that it was supposed to be arranged from the inside? Ikaiya couldn’t put her finger on when she’d heard it, or who had said it. And how did Azula know about any of that, anyway? Maybe it was custom. “Oh? Why did they let him marry me?”

“Probably because people are sentimental romantics and they didn’t want to cause a cross-national incident. Imagine how upset the Earth Kingdom would have been if the news had gotten out. Fire Lord Forced to Reject True Love, Earth Kingdom Peasant, By Mean Old-Fashioned Council.” She waved her hand from right to left, as if blocking out a headline. “The Fire Nation government would have been denounced by every citizen from here to Ba Sing Se. Accusations of nationalist sentiment, you name it. Ugh. I miss when peasants weren’t allowed to have opinions on their betters. Don’t worry. If the council really didn’t want you, they would have arranged a quick exit.” Her sharp amber eyes narrowed. “Ooh. Is that why you left him?”

“Nobody arranged anything. I left of my own free will.” Ikaiya met Azula’s eyes. Nothing could hide the desire and greed gleaming in them: she really wanted to know why Ikaiya had left.

“Pregnant consorts don’t normally run from their husbands,” said Azula.

Is she saying that because she’s suspecting I’m not pregnant? “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been a pregnant consort before.”

“You can tell me, you know. I’m not a horrible person.” Ikaiya gave her a look and raised an eyebrow. She sighed dramatically. “Okay, I’m not evil , like a villain in a puppet show. He is my brother, after all.”

And he can barely speak about you without turning white. But this was a finger of normalcy extended, so Ikaiya would return the favor. “We have been… struggling to communicate lately in our marriage.”

“That’s such a load of lizard dung,” scoffed Azula, rolling her eyes. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I would have thought the same thing before I got married. It’s difficult,” said Ikaiya with enough heat to convince Azula she was being truthful— and in a way, she was. “Living with another person, having to figure out their habits and work yours into it, like weaving two different fabrics together. It’s hard. And it’s stressful. And— especially when each of you have your own little quirks, little things that set you off even though they seem innocent to others. And then you have to explain them, and it’s embarrassing if you’re not used to it. And all the while you’re being watched by everyone in the world, and they have their noses in your business, and you owe it to them to let them see your business, because you’re in a position of power over them and that is what you exchange for power. Privacy. And the only private thing you have left is what’s between the two of you, together, and then even that gets taken away.” 

Azula was quiet. “Those pictures,” she said. “Yes. I saw them.”

Ikaiya's face heated with embarassment and she gave her a look. “If you’re about to make a nasty little comment—”

“Oh, shut up. Even I have a moral center. That was cheap sensationalist trash, published to sell papers, and it was a breach of trust. Father would have had the photographer burned alive to ensure it never happened again.” She smiled pleasantly at the thought, yawned, and stretched. “Time for bed, sister. Don’t worry. I’ll tie you up to sleep nice and comfortably. You won’t even feel it in the morning.”

Ikaiya soon fell into a blur of a routine. She was tied to a pillar every night sitting up, barely slept, was untied by Azula in the morning, then cooked rice for both of them for breakfast and washed up before wandering the abandoned house they were staying in, Azula shadowing her every move. Sometimes the princess talked. Sometimes she didn’t. But always those eyes were on her, pinned to her, careful and calculating. Days went by. Then a week. Then another. 

“Did Zuko ever mention Mai?” asked Azula one night, entirely unprompted. Ikaiya blinked, shaken out of her inward frantic thoughts about how she was going to hide the fact she wasn’t pregnant in the next few days. Maybe she’d be able to stuff cloth between her legs and claim morning sickness to escape to the bathroom more frequently. 

“Once. Yes.”

“Once,” said Azula, half-mocking. “I’m sure she’d be flattered.” Ikaiya said nothing. Azula sighed and leaned back. “She’s still in Omashu, you know. I guess the place grew on her. That’s why I was there in the first place.”

“Visiting old friends?”

“You could say that,” she answered, eyes glinting.

More like stalking the woman, if what Ty Lee said was true. “Ty Lee will be sad she missed out.” Her clothes were starting to stink. Azula would not let her out of her sight, not even to bathe: Ikaiya preferred stinking to high heaven than ever relenting and allowing Azula to stare her down naked in a bathtub.

“It’s a shame. Zuko really loved her.”

“Ty Lee?” asked Ikaiya.

“No, idiot. Mai. She was so boring that talking to her was like watching paint dry, and he was a temperamental, spoiled prince with barely any self-control. The perfect couple. A match made in heaven.”

“Sounds like it,” said Ikiya serenely. “Did you ever have a boyfriend?”

Azula made a derisive noise in her throat. “What? No. I was too busy building an empire. Zuko was the one who had time to gallivant around the world like a traitor with that waterbending peasant girl from the South Pole.”

Waterbending peasant girl, indeed. The venom in her voice when she spoke of Katara was interesting. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to bring up an insecurity.” 

Her voice rose. “I’m not insecure!”

Ikaiya cleared her throat. “Of course not.” Azula threw her bowl aside and jumped to her feet, blue fire blazing from her fingertips in erratic flickers. Ikaiya did not move. Maybe if she could goad Azula into burning the house down, she could escape. “Katara told me about you,” said Ikaiya softly. 

“Oh, really. I bet she had many pleasant things to say. Let me guess. I’m crazy.”

“She said you and Mai were friends before the war. At school. With Ty Lee.”

Something flickered in Azula’s eyes. “Oh, and I’m sure Ty Lee told you all about me. How I’m a ruthless monster.”

“No. She said nobody is born evil. That you were capable of kindness, and generosity. That it was your father who made you what you are.” To Ikaiya’s surprise, tears were welling up in Azula’s amber eyes. “Just like how all of us are shaped by our parents, our upbringing—”

“Stop!” screamed Azula, and a gout of sapphire flame burst from her hands. “Shut up! You don’t know anything about it, you don’t!” 

“All right. I don’t,” said Ikaiya, heat baking her face. Do not react. Do not respond. Azula sucked in a breath and stared her down, the flame dying away. 

“I hope you know that thing inside you is the only reason you’re still alive,” she hissed.

Ikaiya put a hand protectively over her flat belly. “I’m aware.”

Azula sat back down, crossing her legs. “Did Zuzu ever tell you how he got that scar?” she asked after a moment, touching her torso just below her sternum. Ikaiya decided to lie: clearly Azula was in a talkative mood. Maybe it would be interesting to hear the story from another point of view. She shook her head silently. “Mm. Interesting. Then I guess I will.” She leaned back against a pillar. “It was the end of the war, although we didn’t know it at the time. He interrupted my coronation in the courtyard of the palace. That Water Tribe peasant was with him. I challenged him to an Agni Kai. Of course, he accepted. I was about to win, too, until he knocked me off my feet. Goaded me to hit him with lightning. And that girl was just standing back there with her stupid little mouth open, watching…” Azula scoffed and crossed her ankles. “I knew he had learned to redirect it. It would be pointless to hit him, he’d just throw it back at me. If I took her out, though, the Avatar would be down a waterbender. So, of course, I aimed at her and let it fly.” She pointed her index and middle fingers together at some invisible target, smiling. “And my fool brother threw himself in front of the blast. It hit him right in the heart. Oh, she yelled for him all right, like a spoiled child whose favorite toy had been taken away. But I wasn’t about to let her anywhere near my brother.”

Ikaiya did her best to keep her face still and quiet. “And how did that end?”

The smile drained from Azula’s face, replaced by a scowl. “Someone taught her firebending techniques, obviously. She would never have gotten the upper hand on me if she hadn’t learned to channel heat through her breath. Zuko, probably, the traitor.” Her gold eyes flashed over Ikaiya’s expression hungrily. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s sneaking off to her every night. Behind the Avatar’s back.”

Master Katara bested this woman in one-on-one combat. Somehow, that made Ikaiya feel a little better about her own chances. She decided to ignore the rest. “I wasn’t aware a waterbender could use firebending techniques, but I suppose it makes sense.”

“Oh, you suppose it makes sense." Azula scoffed. "You’re not a bender. Stop talking as if you know anything about it.”

“Well, bending is just manipulation of the body’s energy, manifested outward in the elements. Everyone can manipulate energy. This is manipulating energy.” Ikaiya lifted her bowl and put it back down as Azula sized her up with a calculating look. “So, yes; it makes sense that elements of certain bending arts can be adapted into the others.”

“Do you always have to make everything a philosophical discussion?”

“What else am I supposed to do for nine months?”

“Anything but that. You sound like my uncle.” Disdain twisted her mouth.

“Iroh? I’m flattered.”

“Are you? How clumsy of me. It was intended as an insult.” Azula got back up. “Do you play Pai Sho?”

Absurdly, the memory of her long-ago conversation with the court ladies about Pai Sho and its double meaning crossed Ikaiya’s mind. She forced her face into stillness. “Yes. Not very well.”

“Always hated the game, especially the way my idiot uncle played it.” She was rummaging in the closet. “But I think I saw a board in here. Ah. Here we go.” Azula came back and set down the painted wood board, tossing a bag of tiles to Ikaiya. “Open it and make sure all the tiles are there.”

Ikaiya loosened the neck of the drawstring bag and poured out the tiles on the board. For a moment there was almost amiable silence as Azula sorted and separated the tiles Ikaiya counted out to her. “We’re missing two White Jade tiles,” said Ikaiya, frowning as she looked around on the floor. 

“We don’t need them. Just take one each. It’s more fun that way.” Azula lined her tiles up into the starting position. “Right. First to capture the enemy port wins. You can make the first move. Oh, and we’ll say Chrysanthemum tiles make Harmony when faced with a Rock to make up for not having enough White Jades.”

“Works for me,” said Ikaiya, and they fell into silence, watching the board. She paid attention to Azula’s strategies: almost nothing was head-on. She plays very strategically. If there was ever a head-on attack, it was to cover for a sneaky one from behind. Ikiaya started modifying her own strategies after Azula had gotten past her defenses, but then just as she had adapted to the pattern, Azula changed it and head-on attacked all of her Boat pieces with a single White Dragon tile. She realized, with faint resignation, she had been duped. From there, Azula easily captured her port with a smug smile.

“I have docked.”

“I concede,” said Ikaiya, musing over the lesson. “Rematch?”

“Certainly.” The pieces were reset, and they began again. She tried to keep an eye on Azula’s strategy and match her movements, but once again, Azula switched it up, and before Ikaiya had captured even a single of Azula’s Knotweed tiles, Azula’s Boats had taken three Roses and one of her White Dragons. She barely had time to regroup her flower tiles for a defensive strategy before, once again, all of Azula’s tiles were secure in her port. Glee flashed in the woman’s eyes. “I have docked.”

“I concede,” said Ikaiya absently, gazing at the board. “Another rematch?”

“You have a thing for punishment or something?” gloated Azula, resetting her tiles. “Sure. Ooh, maybe that was why you walked out on Zuzu. He is pretty boring.”

Ikaiya did not answer. She was thinking. She lays out a strategy and I rise to meet it, then she changes it. The secret isn’t… meeting her moves. The secret is ignoring her moves. Not rising to the bait. She had the first move, so she placed her finger carefully on a Chrysanthemum tile and slid it forward one space. Boat tiles can move your opponent's pieces away one diagonal space… 

Azula played, pushing forward in two piece-by-piece arcs along the East and West sides of the board with her Lily tiles and clearly expecting Ikaiya to use her Boats to defend her port. Very quickly, it became apparent that she was growing irritated: Ikaiya was not moving any of her Boat pieces to capture any of Azula’s Lilies, simply using them to push her pieces back from her port as she built a defense of Chrysanthemums. Ikaiya laid out a pattern with her Boat tiles that ensured none of Azula’s White Dragons could capture them all at once, and pressed forward. Azula scowled and slid her Lily tiles in from the edges of the board as a last resort, but since Ikaiya’s White Jade and Jasmine pieces were all snugly placed out in the middle to shield her Boats, and Lily could not come up against Chrysanthemum, which were the tiles defending Ikaiya’s force of Boats and White Dragons, she was trapped.

Ikaiya laid her own White Dragon firmly in the center of Azula’s port, capturing her Boats, and from there it was a simple matter of moving tiles until she had taken the foreign port. “I have docked,” she said quietly, pulling her hand back.

The once-princess of the Fire Nation stared at the board, then back at her. “You cheated,” she said, voice brimming with fury.

“I didn't cheat. I just didn’t play your game.”

Azula got up, glaring at Ikaiya and at the board. Her lips parted as if she was about to speak, but then her cheeks turned bright red and she overturned the board with one hand, sending tiles flying everywhere, then turned on her heel, storming from the room. 

Is even winning two out of three not good enough for her? Finally being alone was a bizarre experience. Ikaiya got to her feet and took a deep breath, closing her eyes and allowing herself for the first time to think about Zuko. I shouldn’t have left him, she thought despondently. As if that even matters now. Oh, Zuko. Just come find me and I promise I’ll never argue with you again. 

Footsteps stormed back in. “You little sneak-cheat,” seethed Azula, pointing an accusing finger from the doorway. “You’re my prisoner. I don’t leave you alone. Clean up this mess. I’m hungry.”

Meanwhile, the Fire Nation was in a controlled uproar. Behind closed doors of the council, every minister and under-clerk and junior minister was chewing their brush-pens and pulling on their beards and rushing from room to room. It was a double crisis of immense proportions: the pregnant consort was missing, and the Fire Lord had come back from parts unknown with such a thing as to terrify and bewilder the entire populace. It was unthinkable! How would they manage?

At least, they consoled themselves, the second matter was pushed back for now, as Zuko had immediately departed the palace upon hearing that his wife was unaccounted for (apparently he’d known she had meant to go home to her old village, but she had never made it there), and perhaps the first matter would resolve itself if he was successful. He had demanded that the public not be made aware that Ikaiya was missing, in the event that whoever had taken her might hear rumors. The last thing anyone wanted to do was startle a potential kidnapper. He had taken Ty Lee with him to the Earth Kingdom, and there, hopefully, he would find a lead on the missing Fire Lady.

“I’ve got something,” said Ty Lee urgently, grabbing Zuko by the sleeve. “That bartender in that bar over there says that he saw a woman matching Ikaiya’s description a few weeks ago, and she was with someone.” The breezy Omashu weather was whipping her headdress's tassels around her face, but her eyes were wide and serious.

With someone. The two words sank into Zuko’s gut like lead: with someone? Who? What faceless man had snapped up his wife off the street, taken her to a bar— He cleared his throat and swallowed, forcing himself to be calm, patient. After all, he’d been storming through cities and villages on the way to Ikana Village: urgency and harsh words hadn’t produced much in almost two and a half weeks. “Let’s speak to him.”

They did not even need to offer money or bribe: the man in brown was trembling when he spoke to Zuko. “As I breathe, your Highness, I swear I had no idea it was the Fire Lady. She didn’t come in alone, you know— I thought she looked familiar, but I had no idea—”

“You are not on trial for not recognizing my wife. Just tell me who she was with and where they went.”

“So sorry. Ah. Um. She came in with someone else— this other woman. They got drunk. Well, the Fire Lady got drunk, not the other woman. I remember that. She asked me for water all night.”

A… another woman? 

Zuko felt the sharp stab of horror and suspicion rise in his throat, and shoved it back down: he needed to think, not allow unfounded old terrors to rise up and strangle him. “What did this other woman look like?”

“Well— I—” The bartender’s eyes darted back and forth as he leaned over the table. “She was certainly Fire Nation. Dressed like a vagrant, really. I’d seen her on and off in the bar for, oh, say a month or so. The way she held herself… the eyes… and if you’ll forgive my saying so, my lord, she— she looked quite a lot like you.”

Zuko’s vision wavered and his knees almost buckled. It was only because Ty Lee grabbed his arm, chirped something grateful at the bartender, and started asking more questions that he was able to stay on his feet. 

Azula. No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. 

“You said they went toward the airship docks?” she was asking the bartender. “You’re sure?”

Azula is alive, and she has Ikaiya. 

“Yes. Certainly. And what’s more— I heard from one of my regulars that an airship was stolen from the docks that night. He’s a patrol guard. They still haven’t caught who did it…”

She has Ikaiya!

“I see,” said Zuko tightly. “Is there anything else you can remember about them?”

“Just that… oh! The name! Yes! She said her name was Chaeryu.”

Pointless. I already know her name. “Thank you very much for your help. You’ve done both the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation a great service!” exclaimed Ty Lee before half-dragging Zuko out into the street and into the alley behind the bar. It smelled of spilled, sour plum wine and hot trash, but he barely noticed. “Zuko. We have to find them.”

His hands were shaking. “An airship. Ty Lee, they could be anywhere. ”

She whapped him about the head with her fan lightly. “Focus! Your aura’s all over the place right now! Azula took an airship either because she didn’t want to be spotted on the ground, or because she needed to go somewhere really high up, like the Air Temples.”

This was good. Logic, reason: this would help him focus. He swallowed and forced himself to think. “She wouldn’t have gone near the Air Temples. They’re full of Air Acolytes— she would have had to know that someone would have reported a sighting of her to Aang, especially if she had—” The image of Ikaiya, unconscious and bound, darted in front of his eyes, and he pushed it down, fighting his panic and seething anger. “So she can’t be in the Air Temples,” he finished. “Which means she went over land. Or… or water. I doubt she'd be going back to the Republic; she has no allies there. What if she was going back to the Fire Nation?”

Ty Lee chewed her painted lip absently. “If she was going back to the Fire Nation, you know… the coasts are patrolled, and so is the ocean."

“But not the air, we decommissioned our airships and sent them to the United Republic…” Zuko hesitated, trying to think through all this. Why would Azula kidnap Ikaiya? She kidnapped those children before, he thought dimly, and then the answer came to him like a burst of light. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“She thinks Ikaiya’s pregnant. Everyone does. So…”

Ty Lee’s gloved hands flew to her mouth as her warm brown eyes met his. “She’s gonna use the baby as a bargaining chip.”

“One last attempt at getting what she wants, which is definitely why she went back to the Fire Nation somewhere,” said Zuko through his teeth. “And it won’t be long before she realizes Ikaiya’s not pregnant. We don’t have much time.”

“But where would she go, exactly?”

“I don’t know. She… she had supporters for a while in court early on, but I never thought—”

“She can’t have had help. Kidnapping the Consort to the Fire Lord is treasonable, Zuko. Nobody would dare to help her do that.”

“You think she’s been working alone?”

“She’s a convincing liar. I think if anyone helped her, they probably wouldn’t have known what she was really up to unless they hated having an Earth Kingdom woman as Consort, and there’s no way she’s got Ikaiya holed up in some mansion in the Capital. She would have never taken the risk. She would have taken her somewhere away from everyone else. Secluded. Maybe abandoned.”

“If she’s been living in Omashu for as long as that guy said he’d seen her in the area, she would have jumped at the chance to live in a little luxury,” Zuko said, thinking of his sister: how she was never without a comb or a nail file or hair oil no matter what circumstances she fell into. 

“Abandoned, but fancy,” said Ty Lee, and turned to look at him just as he looked at her. 

“Ember Island,” they said together, and Zuko turned on the ball of his foot. “I’ll go ahead of you. You send a messenger hawk to Air Temple Island and another to my uncle. Tell Aang to prepare the North—he’ll know what I mean— and to get to the Fire Nation as fast as he can. Tell Iroh we think Azula has friends at court and we need his help sniffing out a badger-mole. Meet me on Ember Island. With any luck, it’ll be over and done with by the time you both arrive.”

“Zuko, be careful,” said Ty Lee, sounding anguished as she took his hands and squeezed hard enough to bruise. “Please.”

“I will. How’s my aura?”

She tilted her face and frowned, then smiled. “A nice, even red. Just a little bit of white. Good and clear, too. You know, when Ikaiya left, hers was so murky, I could barely even see the purple anymore. It was like indigo mud. She was so upset—”

“I really have to go,” he said, smiling in spite of himself as he squeezed her shoulder. “See you soon.”

“Bye!” shouted Ty Lee, and watched him run back to where his transport waited. At least he’s not expecting me to ride that thing, she thought with some relief.

Every night on Ember Island felt like it was coming faster. Ikaiya guessed that fall was moving right along and into winter, but it wouldn’t be properly winter for some time yet. Azula had started tying her to the outer pillars of the house with the curtain cords when she left to go get rice: apparently there was a local market on this island, but way on the other side of it, and everything was very overpriced. She got to hear all about that every time Azula came back from the market. Sometimes, she didn’t untie Ikaiya, and would expectantly wait until Ikaiya asked her to untie her, a smirk on her face as if it was a game. Her skin began to rub raw and hurt, and then it stopped hurting: she hardly felt the pain anymore.

One night, Ikaiya sat there tied to the pillar calmly and didn’t say a word as Azula complained about the prices at market, kicked the sack into the kitchen, and stomped back into the main room to sit down, glare at her sister-in-law and wait to be asked for freedom. The sun lowered. Orange and gold light streamed into the house. And still Ikaiya didn’t move. Azula shifted, annoyed, but Ikaiya wasn’t paying attention.

She was counting in her head. 

Over two weeks here now. Before that, six days on Air Temple Island. Before that, almost a week down the Su Oku, and I last bled right before we got to the resort. When we were in the North. That last week there, when I was so annoyed that I had to speak to the press. So it has been almost five or six weeks all together since I’ve… 

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. They had only spent the night together once. Could she be wrong? Surely it was the strain of being kidnapped, the stress: the midwives used to say that such things could alter the way a woman’s body worked. Bleeding monthly was caused by the natural workings of Heat and Damp… what was a disruption caused by? She could not remember. Her heartbeat thudded strangely in her ears. Stress surely caused a disruption. Yes. Too much Cold and Dry. Obviously, she was only under strain. And she had been eating only rice, with seaweed flakes, and sometimes sour old boiled vegetables— the swift change in diet would have ill effects on the body. Now that I’ve actually noticed the delay, the bleeding will come. Sometimes she was late… but never this late. By her count, she should have begun her monthlies over a week ago. The latest she could recall ever having blood was perhaps two or three days past the expected time— not almost ten days. 

The room had gone dark. Across the room, Azula changed position loudly, clearing her throat. Ikaiya barely heard her. Nine days. Badger’s bones. If I’m actually pregnant— 

“Don’t you want something to eat?” snapped Azula.

“I’m not hungry,” said Ikaiya, gazing out over the sea. “You are welcome to eat without me, Princess.”

Azula stood up with her feet apart as if she was weighing the combat maneuvers of some enemy. Ikaiya waited. It felt like Pai Sho. Either Azula would have to concede that she didn’t know how to cook and untie Ikaiya, which would mean that she would be admitting defeat— or she would refuse to eat out of spite and wait until Ikaiya was starving and begging to be untied to loose her and shove her into the kitchen. Either that, or humble herself to cook the rice herself, which would set a precedent: Ikaiya could then refuse to play house servant for her. Which will it be? How long do I have to play these games?

“You have to eat,” said Azula sharply. “You’re pregnant. Feed the stupid baby. Or do you hate my brother so much that you’ll starve his child?”

Ikaiya blinked. She hadn’t considered that angle. Interesting. She could counter this, though. “In the early stages, it takes nourishment from a mother’s blood, not her food. If a pregnant mother is not hungry, then she should not eat. If she is hungry, she should eat. Especially if those foods are good for replenishing chi. Like meat. Fish. Red berries and fruits.”

Anger gleamed in Azula’s amber eyes. “Are you trying to imply I’m not feeding you well enough? You spoiled, upjumped little—”

“If you did not think through the needs of someone bearing a child, Princess, that is something I cannot alter or change,” said Ikaiya evenly. 

“I already have to feed myself. I am not wasting more yuan on meat ,” snarled Azula.

“Fine. Then when my child is born with weak chi, a non-bender, and all your plans come to nothing, you will have only yourself to blame.”

The princess of the Fire Nation flew at her from across the room. Ikaiya had just enough time to think I probably overstepped there before a blow split her lip and knocked her head to the side, bashing it against the pillar she was bound to by her wrists. Pain lit up her body in a way she’d almost forgotten about, and she welcomed it: if she could feel this pain, she was still alive and not in some fever dream. One of Azula’s hands grabbed her by her dingy, dirty tunic, severed the wrist bonds with twin blasts of narrowed, hot fire, and yanked her forward to bring her face-to-face with a handful of blue and white flames. “You don’t need a face to give birth to a baby,” she hissed. “I’m sure you’ve seen what my father did to dear little Zuko. If you ever disrespect me again, I’ll do the same to yours.” A grin flashed, white and wide, across her blue-lit face. “Then we’d have a matched set, sitting on the throne. Won’t that be perfect?”

Ikaiya stared into that mad, beautiful face. Show no fear. “As you please, Princess.”

The blue flame dwindled. “You absolutely reek, peasant,” she said with relish as she stepped away. “Get out of my sight. Go cook my dinner.”

“Yes, Princess,” said Ikaiya, bowing politely, and made her way to the kitchen on numb feet as she tested her swelling lip with her tongue. The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth. She thought it might be dripping down her chin, but she was too jumpy to check as she descended the step into the kitchen and started a fire with the provided stones Azula had splurged on last week (apparently lighting the fire every time was beneath her dignity), filled the pot from the cistern, and measured out rice. Her hands were shaking. 

Zuko is not coming. That much was obvious: she had been here for almost three weeks, alone. She wished she’d sent a message to her mother ahead of time. Something like if I don’t show up in a day or two, please tell the Fire Lord that I’ve been kidnapped. But how would she even have known that ahead of time? 

If Zuko isn’t coming… and if I really am pregnant, I have to get out of here. Now. 

And right now, she was alone for the first time in weeks.

Ikaiya sucked at her bleeding lip and eyed up the kitchen implements: pots, baskets, ladles and strainers and a large flat wooden paddle for rice. What was she going to do, whack a prodigy bender over the head with a ladle? Strain her to death? There had to be knives in here somewhere that nobody had filched on the way out. This was a kitchen. She stirred the warming water and poured in the rice, measuring it with a finger.

Did he not come because he doesn’t care? Because of what I said to him? Does he hate me for leaving him? He was on his knees… 

She could not start crying in this kitchen. But she could find some way to defend herself. Ikaiya opened a drawer silently, quietly, listening for any telltale step on the stone threshold of the kitchen. The first drawer had nothing but old pots. No, wait. If the minister had a family, perhaps he kept them up high and out of reach of children… 

The water was steaming. She lifted the lid and stirred it again. Up high. Ikaiya got on her tiptoes and looked into the deep shelves above the sink, finding dried out papery peels of onions and wispy fibers left over from vegetables and garlic bulbs as she pushed her hands in. And then, at the very back, in the dark where the cobwebs were as thick as hair, her fingers closed around— 

“What are you doing?” snapped Azula. Ikaiya turned her head without jumping: the princess was standing in the door, her face alert and her posture on guard. 

“I thought maybe someone left ginger root or something up here. My stomach’s a little upset.” Her lip stung as she spoke. “Just onion peels and old husks, though.”

Amber eyes darted from her to the pot. “You’re looking for something to poison me, aren’t you?” she demanded.

Ikaiya bit back the scathing remark that would almost certainly have gotten her another slap and brushed her cobwebbed hands off on her filthy clothes. “The rice is almost done.”

“You put something in it, didn’t you? Answer me!”

“What? What would I put in it? There’s nothing in this kitchen but dust, old garlic, and onion skins.”

Azula’s face burned with life, contorted with paranoia and suspicion. “You were talking about chi earlier, about nourishment and herbs and food. Like some kind of doctor or herb-woman. I’ll bet you know how to poison anyone you want. Oh, you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” The pot was bubbling. Ikaiya could not back up into the hot stove. “All that stupid, slow staring. Ignoring me, sitting like an empty-headed fool. I thought you were just a doormat. Now I know the truth. You were biding your time. Waiting until you could fool me into letting you into the kitchen alone. I was going to let you bathe. You probably made yourself stink like that on purpose, you disgusting animal, to trick me into leaving you alone. After I fed you and brought you here unharmed. How could you do this to me?”

A frontal, false attack designed to make me react, and when I do, she’ll brutalize me. Just like Pai Sho. I will not react. Ikaiya turned around and began to spoon rice into a bowl.

A gout of blue flame seared past her hand, lighting the room in shades of sapphire, and splashed against the stone wall, guttering out and finding no purchase. “Look at me when I address you!” screamed Azula. 

Ikaiya did not move. The wall was dark and blank, and her eyes were half-blinded with the imprint of that blue flame. A hand snatched her by the hair, another gripping both wrists behind her back, and she cried out as she was yanked to the side and shoved up against the sink with her cheek mashed against the bottom of the high shelf. Pain shot through her. “Let go of me,” she said as evenly as she could force herself to speak.

“You hid poison in that cupboard after you put it in my food!” hissed Azula, her body pressed along Ikaiya’s from shoulder to knee. “I saw you! I knew it, I knew you were trying to poison me, you treasonous little snake, I knew you were all the same. You’re nothing but a commoner, you’re just like my mother.” But her fingers, tight as iron, didn’t let go of Ikaiya’s wrists. “Do you know what she did? Do you?” She wrenched at Ikaiya’s hair hard, and her scalp lit up in a fiery burst of pain.

Is she insane? “No,” Ikaiya gasped, sobbing in fear and pain. “Ow, owww, no, I—”

“Listen carefully, then.” The hand on her wrists twisted, and Ikaiya yelped, pain shooting up her arm as Azula jammed her cheek against her temple, dropping her voice into a low hiss. “After all, you’re in the family now. That old fool Iroh was the heir to the throne, but he lost his spirit when our cousin died in Ba Sing Se. My father, Ozai, took advantage of the distraction to try to tell my grandfather, Fire Lord Azulon, that he should take my uncle Iroh’s birthright and take the throne. Well, Grandfather didn’t like that. He ordered Father to kill Zuko so that Father would understand what Iroh was going through: the pain of losing a firstborn son. And Father was going to do it. Mother pleaded with him, though, to save Zuzu. They made a deal. Mother knew how to make poisons, she knew the science of herbs, just like you… she made a poison that was so subtle that nobody would ever know it had been in my grandfather’s evening shochu.” Azula tightened the fist in Ikaiya’s hair and she whimpered in pain as tears formed in her eyes. “So Mother gave Father the poison and the throne. In exchange for my grandfather’s funeral, my father’s crown, and a banishment for treason, she bought Zuko’s life. She went back to her stupid peasant village for the rest of her life. She’s probably still there with her new family.” Her voice dripped with fury. “A whole new daughter. To replace me, of course. Yes, she bought Zuko’s life with poison and a banishment, but what was there for me? Nothing. She loved him, and hated me.” A laugh left her throat. “I guess it’s true what they say, that all men marry their mothers. Look at you and look at her. Both common, and lowborn… and traitors.” She jerked back and slammed Ikaiya’s face so hard into the inside corner of the shelf that Ikaiya felt a bruise swelling above her eyebrow, felt hot blood drip down her face. Azula's voice rose into a deranged, hysterical pitch. “Get it out! Right now! I command you to get that poison out of the cupboard and show me what you put in my food—”

“Let go of my hand and I will,” whispered Ikaiya, shaking. “Let go of me, and I’ll show you.”

Azula’s iron-tight fingers sprang open, freeing her wrists, and Ikaiya raised her right hand, noting with detached concern the red marks on her wrist as she slid her hand up and into the deep cupboard. “Get it now,” hissed Azula.

“I put it very far back, Princess. Please be patient,” whispered Ikaiya with numb lips as she fumbled, searched blindly. Her fingers touched something smooth and wooden. I don’t even know if this is a knife, she thought, and gingerly touched the wood until she came to cold, smooth metal and ran her finger as cautiously as she could to find an edge. The edge bit her along her fingernail, and her heart lurched as a sting of pain shot up her hand. Yes, this was a knife. How big? She had no idea. Her hand curled around the hilt tightly. “Here it is,” she said.

“Let me see it,” snarled Azula, and yanked her backward, pulling her left shoulder away first and pushing her back against the stone, which gave Ikaiya plenty of room to build speed as she turned, her right hand coming up last, and drove the knife blindly at Azula’s torso. 

Azula choked. Ikaiya bent all her weight into the hilt, a groan of effort leaving her split lip, then twisted it as hard as she could, two and a half weeks of pent up energy leaving her through her arm. Azula’s hands came up blindly slapping, clutching: she might have made more noise, but Ikaiya didn’t care to hear it. “You were wrong about the poison,” she panted. The princess gripped her shoulders, stunned shock all over her face, even unable to bend, it seemed, and for a moment Ikaiya wasn’t sure which of them was holding the other one up. The stench of blood filled her nose. “You were right about one thing, though. I guess I am just like your mother. I love Zuko. And I would buy his life— his happiness— with anything I could.” She jerked the knife back out of Azula’s ribs, her fingers slipping on hot blood.

Azula’s face contorted and Ikaiya shoved her away, tucking the bloody knife into her belt and stumbling up out of the kitchen. “No!” she screeched behind Ikaiya, flinging a hand up that sprayed blue flame everywhere. It caught on the wooden walls, bit in, caught fire and began to burn. “No, no, no—”

Ikaiya did not stop for any parting shots as she cleared the threshold with a leap and started running through the house, out to the main room, chased by Azula’s screams of fury and pain. She had plotted this course in her head a thousand times in daydreams, tied to the pillars and staring at the front garden. She would not try to get down the cliff to the beach from the back of the house, but instead she ran out the front, through the paved courtyard overgrown with vines and greenery. In the dark, lit by the moon, she jumped over the black, gnarled shadows of roots that wanted to trip her, the ones she had memorized from the pillar: so many hours tied to that pillar. Don’t look back, don’t look back. Her body, unused to strong activity and starved of balanced nutrition, was already protesting: a stitch in her side, shaking knees. She got past the gate, under the cover of the thick trees, and bolted down the gravel path that she had seen Azula often take on her way to the market: surely there would be people down there who would help her. In the dark, though, she could barely see a thing, and she tripped on a rock, her heart lurching as she fell hard and picked herself back up. Where was the path? She could not find it.

Behind her, someone was screaming, distant and echoing. “Get back here, you filthy little peasant!” Ikaiya looked back behind her toward the house and saw, to her shock, that the whole back half of the house was in flames. Gold and red fire licked at the night sky, and the house stood out like a black, flat shape before them, as sharp as if it had been cut from paper. In front of it, staggering through the courtyard gate, was a human shape with blue fire bursting from its hands in erratic spurts. “Having a good time in the dark?” screeched Azula’s voice. “I’m sure you took the path to the left, didn’t you? But you don’t know which fork in the path to take… and I do!”

Spirits above. Ikaiya instantly, without thinking, bolted back to the right under cover of shadows before Azula could come out and cut her off. Her path was shielded by several large volcanic rocks, and once she had gotten far enough to the right side of the house and climbed up a steady rise of earth, she found herself on a narrow, winding path that took her right along the edge of the cliff and circled to the back of the house. It was hundreds of feet straight down, and only jungle foliage and sharp black rock were there to hide her. The sound of the crashing sea far below drifted up to her on the wind. She tripped a few times in the dark, scraping her knees and hands on the keen-edged stone as she grabbed at it desperately, afraid she was about to plummet over an unseen edge. Where am I going? What am I going to do now? Azula’s shouts had faded into indistinct yelling. She was probably seeking out Ikaiya in the front of the house, down by the paths. If I’d frozen, I would be dead. 

“Think,” she breathed to herself. “Think. You have a knife.” She withdrew it from her belt and looked at it in the moonlight. It was smaller than she’d thought— more like a fruit knife, curved and sharp, rusted from the damp salt air. Surely she’d done some kind of damage to the woman— she’d stabbed her in the ribs and twisted it for maximum effect. Was Azula some kind of superhuman? Did benders have some kind of healing factor that stopped internal bleeding? How was she going to get help if she couldn’t find her way to the market?

What if there’s no market? What if Azula was lying about that too? Her head throbbed. She huddled into a little niche of rock, out of the moonlight and firelight, and tried not to cry. Sharp edges poked her skin, but she barely felt it. “The blue dragon can only tell lies,” she whispered, the taste of blood in her mouth. “The blue dragon. That’s Azula. Zuko said so…” But what if Azula wanted her to think there was no escape, so she’d be easier to catch? She swallowed her doubt and took a breath, thinking.

There was a third option. Azula had been bleeding badly, even if Ikaiya hadn’t done an enormous amount of damage with her fruit knife. And all living creatures had a certain amount of blood they needed to live. I can wait until she bleeds out. She’s not a bending healer: that’s a Water Tribe specialty. She never would have bothered to learn, either; she doesn't respect any bending but firebending. B enders were human like everyone else. She could still hear Azula faintly wailing for her to come out and fight her, on the other side of the cliff, past the burning house. So: she would wait. She could be patient: she was well-exercised in that art by now. She’d wait all night if she had to.

Hours dragged on through the longest night of Ikaiya’s life. Every sound— the wind rustling the sea-grass, a cricket chirp— brought her to high alert, her heart thudding so loudly she was sure Azula would hear it. Now and again, she heard her name being screeched, but as the night wore on, the shouts were fewer and farther between. The stench of smoke surrounded her. The house was probably gone by now. 

She wondered if the Pai Sho board had survived. She hoped not. Playing Pai Sho was the last thing she ever wanted to do again. Yet here she was, huddled in a rock, waiting for an assault from a piece. What kind of piece was she? Rock, maybe. Once a Rock tile is placed, it may not be moved. Ikaiya bit her bloody lip, willing herself to breathe, to think, to focus. Yes, she was a Rock. She was not moving. White Lotuses, however, formed harmony with any other flower pieces, including opponent pieces. Maybe that was what she had tried to be. Mollifying and placating a madwoman until the last possible moment… harmony… 

The eastern sky was turning gray, pale and soft. Soon, the sun would expose her. And then what? She did not want to consider it. Azula is a Knotweed. Once placed, it drains all other pieces, making them immovable. Stagnant. She just thinks she’s a White Dragon. Dragons capture enemy pieces. They can make six-space moves in a single line. Iroh taught me that. She stifled a sob. Was she ever going to see that kind old man again? I can’t be weak. I can’t, not until this is over. She pressed her hand to her belly, trying to breathe, to feel her core expand and contract slowly. I am alive, and I…

I’m pregnant. And if it was just me, I would have put up with this and carried on for as long as I had to, but I— I can’t sit there now and put myself at her mercy if I’m carrying the future Fire Lord. I have to protect myself. And what I have inside me. I have to. And I should probably get out of this hole and stretch, in case I have to run. 

The air was lightening. She could make out the sea, dim and gray, and the sky, also gray, along with the features of the twenty feet of land in front of her hiding place. Long, waving grass. Smoke in the air, flying by in gusts and billows. It was silent apart from the wind in the grass and trees: the birds and insects had probably fled from the smoke. She crawled out on her hands and knees as quietly as she could, looking around her. Nothing but tufts of windswept grass and vegetation were between her and the smoldering remains of the house behind her. Timbers jutted up like broken bones. Ikaiya shuddered and looked back out over the cliff, toward the pale morning sky. Then she blinked, frowning. Her vision must be going, or maybe she had stood up too fast, because she thought she saw a black dot floating around in— 

Blue fire erupted in a stream past her nose, sending her staggering backward. A cackle filled her ears— Azula was staggering toward her, face white as salt, feet stumbling as fire licked at her hands. She must have been lying down in the grass! “My dear, sweet sister,” she shouted, lips white. “Don’t you know it’s rude to leave early when you’re the guest of a princess?”

Ikaiya scrambled up the rocks, evading blasts of azure fire that scorched her clothing. There was no point in firing back any words: she had to save her energy. Once on level ground, she bolted for the house. If she could get Azula to follow her around the back, she would have a clear line of escape through the forked paths. In the daylight, it would be easier. She chanced a look back, and was glad she did: Azula launched herself into the air with a burst of boiling fire from her feet, shooting herself toward Ikaiya, but falling short a few feet and stumbling, eyes wild as she tried to reach her. She’s bleeding badly. I’m not. That’s an advantage. I can exhaust her. “You burned our breakfast,” she said simply, pointing at the house and backing away as Azula tried to gather enough physical strength to lunge at her.

A wheezing cackle broke from those dry, pale lips. “It’s a shame, really,” she said, forcing her feet to move forward. The dark, black-red stain on her robe that slicked her clothing all the way to her ankles and all over her from the chest down betrayed the amount of blood she’d lost. Maybe she’d been lying in a pool of it all night. “I actually think you’re— capable of a little more— than the pretty words they taught you. What did you— even stab me with?”

“Fruit knife, I think,” said Ikaiya.

“A fruit knife.” A bark of strained laughter left Azula’s lungs. “I don’t— suppose you have— that waterbender— in your pocket.”

“No,” said Ikaiya, backing away again as Azula swiped at her with a flame that burned out and slowed to a dying trickle. 

“Shame. Could— use a healer. About now.” She sucked in a terrible-sounding breath and staggered forward again, hatred in her eyes. “I won’t stop,” she forced out. “Not until I’m dead.”

Ikaiya’s eyes stung. “Where are you going to hold me, Azula? The house is gone. You’re bleeding out.”

“I won’t. Anymore. Plans changed.” She forced herself forward again, every word measured and controlled. “This time. I’m just. Going to kill you. I won’t stop until I do.” Another step, labored and dragging. Ikaiya tried to imagine the sheer amount of pain she must be pushing through to stay on her feet, and couldn’t. “And when poor Zuzu shows up too late, to find us both dead—” She coughed. Blood stained her lips. “It’ll haunt him to the end of his days. His sister and his— pregnant consort. Both dead at the other’s hand. Like a play. Dramatic, isn’t it?”

“And what do you get out of that?” asked Ikaiya, dancing backward as Azula swiped at her again with dying flame, stumbling sideways.

“Stop moving. I get— I get to die with the knowledge— that I will be remembered as the last— powerful Fire Lord— of my nation. He was always so— sensitive. He’ll never take another consort. And he’ll die— an old man, alone and— powerless, while this new republic he built with the Avatar comes crashing down.” Even on her last legs, the gleam of mortal hatred in Azula’s eyes was enough to send a shudder down Ikaiya’s spine. 

“What makes you think I’ll let you kill me?”

“You can’t even finish the job of killing me. You’re too soft. Like him. You just stuck me and ran away like a coward.” Azula brought herself up straight, into almost perfect form, and bowed, hand upright, fist at her side. “Don’t worry. I’m fair. I’ll make your death— just as slow as— you decided mine will be. I—”

A hurricane, a mass, a veritable flood of something huge and crimson rushed up past the edge of the cliff, knocking both women to the grass and sending them huddling for cover as the wind beat down around them in pulses like the air itself had come to life and become a heartbeat. Ikaiya shielded her eyes from flying sand and gravel as the air pressure popped her ears, and prayed: whatever this new thing is, just let me die quickly. The wind died, and she heard Azula shriek something she couldn’t make out, so she opened her eyes to see what had happened.

Zuko was midair, leaping forward in a wide arc of golden-red flame off the back of a— 

A— 

There is no way this is happening. 

Her head swam. She reached out her hand, and she thought she screamed his name, but maybe it was a whisper: he landed, took in the scene, and raced to her instantly. “Ikaiya!” he shouted, and her heart broke to hear his voice, his voice, she’d missed it so much. “Ikaiya—”

“Zuko, no, look out!” she cried, pointing, and he turned just in time to see Azula, spurred into action at the sight of her brother despite her wounds, leaping into the air and kicking a spiral of cobalt fire at his head. He dodged it and dropped to his hands, kicking out in a whirl that sent golden-red flame knocking Azula off her feet, where she lay, gasping and stunned. Ikaiya staggered up to Zuko and grabbed him by the arms as he caught her. “It’s you. It’s you, it’s you,” she gasped, eyes sliding back toward where he’d come from, unable to put any words together, “and you— you were— you—” She could not think of a single thing to say. “I thought you said you were getting an egg!”

“Oh. Right. Yes. Apparently that was a symbol, not a representation of what I was actually— anyway, this is Druk. He’s about six years old.”

She gaped at Druk, whose broad neck alone was ten feet long from his head to his forelegs. His eyes regarded her with an uncanny intelligence, dark gold, and his wings, folded back along his scarlet body, wiggled and settled softly as he snorted. Golden tufts of something like fur framed his whiskered face and rose in a long crested line along his body from head to tail. He was scaled above with red scales shot through with black, and his underbelly scales were a dark crimson. Slowly, he inclined his head toward Ikaiya, and she returned the gesture, as it seemed the right thing to do. “You came home with a dragon?” she choked.

“You can get introduced properly once I handle this. Are you all right? You’re not hurt?”

“No, I’m not— Azula, she, I, I stabbed her, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Don’t, don’t apologize. Ikaiya.” His beautiful eyes, golden and bright, searched her face. “I’m going to finish this. I promise you that.”

“No,” gasped Azula, struggling to rise, malice in her expression as Zuko walked toward her, Ikaiya trailing him. “No, I’m going to finish this. You coward. You’d have your consort do the dirty work.”

The clouds to the east were turning pink. Zuko paused a few feet from Azula, one hand flexing into a fist and splaying out repeatedly. “I offered you life in prison instead of death after the Hundred Year’s War. You broke out. I let you go, thinking you could change. You continued and continue to interfere with and harm my reign, my governance, my decisions, my people, and now my wife. You’ve made the choices to do these things over and over again. I’m done, Azula.”

“You’ll never be done,” she sneered. “You can’t be. Not with me.”

“I am. I am done. No quarter, no fifth or sixth chances. You are not worth it anymore.” Her face went slack, shocked: as if his words were a bolt to the heart. He turned around to face Ikaiya. “Aang is on his way. We’ll be taking Azula to the North Pole. Chief Sokka’s designed a firebending prison. It’s deep in the tundra, so far into the permafrost that no fire can be generated. That’s where she’ll stay for the rest of her life.”

“No,” spat Azula, dragging herself to her feet, eyes locked on Ikaiya. “I won’t stop. I won’t. I told you, I’ll kill you. You’ll kill me. That’s how it’s going to end.” Ikaiya’s eyes slid away from that baleful glare just as Zuko turned to look at her, in confusion about what Azula meant, and in the split second that both their eyes were off her, Azula pointed two fingers and blasted a bolt of crackling lightning between Zuko and Ikaiya. Zuko, whether it was some old instinct or an inability to properly redirect it in time, threw himself away from Ikaiya to dodge the lightning, and Azula lungedand grabbed Ikaiya by the throat, dragging her away from the dragon, away from Zuko, over to the edge of the cliff. Ikaiya choked and scratched at her fingers, trying to pry Azula's grip loose to no avail. Druk snarled, rearing his mighty head back. “Go ahead, you big lizard!” she screeched, holding Ikaiya’s throat at arm’s length and forcing her to face her. “Kill both of us at once!” 

“Azula, no!” screamed Zuko from somewhere outside the range of Ikaiya’s vision, and she had never heard him scream like that before: it sounded like everything in his world was about to go plummeting into the dark forever. Druk roared another warning, shaking out his wings.

Far to the east, where the sea met the sky, the clouds turned blood-red, and the top, smallest sliver of sun breached the horizon. Clear, red light flooded the cliff, illuminating Druk’s scales, the grass, and the blood on Azula’s clothing.

“I told you!” Azula shrieked, blood splattering Ikaiya’s face as she drew back her free hand, setting it alight with blazing blue fire, drawing from the power of the rising sun. “I won’t stop until I kill y—”

Ikaiya’s hands dropped. With perfect clarity, she set aside the animal urge to panic, to scream, to protect her throat. Her hands slid into position: index and middle fingers curled, protruding past her other two fingers. Thumbs outside the fist. The easiest targets are the heart and stomach. She jabbed fast, and she jabbed hard: a quick one-two punch over Azula’s heart and belly. 

Azula made a startled, choked sound. The blue flame died as if it had been blown out like a candle by some giant. The hand grasping Ikaiya’s throat went slack and fell away. “Yeah, I got it the first time,” Ikaiya gasped just before Azula’s knees buckled, and the last High Princess of the Fire Nation went over the edge of the cliff alone like a broken doll, plummeting a hundred feet straight down into the volcanic rocks that made up the base of the cliff.

Ikaiya collapsed to her knees in the waving grass, planting her hands into the dirt and gripping as her head spun. Horrible sounds were filling the air, animal sounds like something was dying, sounds that seemed to be torn up from the grass and bursting out of her throat and ah, those noises were her. She couldn’t stop shaking. She couldn’t stop sobbing. She felt cold all over. 

Something touched her, a hand curled around her shoulder, and she reacted with no conscious process whatsoever. The fruit knife was in her hand, and her hand was at a pale throat, long black hair, golden eyes— oh. No. This face was not flawlessly beautiful, this face had a scar, red ruin marring the left side of his face, and she had never been so happy to see that scar in her life. “Zuko?” she whispered, barely hearing her own voice as her free hand touched his ruined flesh, trembling. “It’s you?”

“It’s me. Ikaiya. Please. Put the knife down.” Yes, probably a good idea. The bloodstained knife fell from numb fingers, into the grass, and she fell forward, sobbing, into his arms as he held her tight and tucked her head under his chin and sat down with her, rocking her in his arms like she was a great big baby. 

Oh! Baby! That reminded her. “Zuko,” she croaked. “I have something important. To—” Her throat ached, and she coughed, then tried again. “Zuko—”

“Shh. You need a physician. Your throat’s bruised, and you’re hurt. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“Okay,” she wept, burying her face in his neck again. He smelled like home: like their bed, like warm arms and a hot bath and everything she had ever loved. “I thought you weren’t coming for me. I thought you weren’t looking. That you just— you— you let her take me because you were angry at me— I thought you weren’t coming, I thought you weren’t coming, I thought you’d left me, let me go, just left me.”

His arms tightened around her and his voice shook. “I looked everywhere, Ikaiya. Everywhere for you. The first thing I did when I returned was look for you. I was looking  for almost three weeks. I would have never stopped looking the whole world over. You— you left and you were so upset and I didn’t even— I never told you I loved you. I told myself I’d say it back when I finally found you again.” He pulled back and cupped her face in his hands, and she could barely see him, blinded by her own tears in the fresh morning sunlight. “How could I ever let you go without saying I loved you?”

She coughed through her swollen throat and her tears, clutching his collar. “I stink so bad,” she sobbed, trembling, “and I’m starving, I’m so hungry, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, I’m sorry—”

“I’m gonna take you home,” he said softly, gathering into his arms and standing up. 

“To the C-Capital?”

“No. To my house here on Ember Island. And if we have to spend the whole winter together while you recover, we will. I promise.”

“Okay,” whispered Ikaiya, and let him carry her up onto Druk’s broad neck, Zuko’s arms holding her tightly as the massive creature gathered himself like a coil and took off, wings flapping, carrying them away from the land below until the smoking ruins of Fourth Under-Minister Kaito’s house looked like matchsticks, small and insignificant.

Chapter Text

Ikaiya woke with a start, every nerve on high alert. She sat straight up and took in her surroundings with confusion: she was in a large, soft bed, low to the floor, with gauzy white curtains veiling her from the rest of the room and diffusing the bright sunlight that seemed to stream in from everywhere. 

Then, she remembered: she had been flown on the back of a dragon to the royal residence on Ember Island, far away from the burning wreck of the house she had been captive in for what felt like months. Zuko had dismounted, taken her inside, and then the rest of the morning— or day— had passed in a blur. She had eaten something, hadn’t she? Her belly growled. Maybe not, then. She looked around the bed: someone had laid a blanket underneath her, and the smell of her unwashed skin and hair permeated the air. Ikaiya twisted her face into a moue of disgust and pain as she slid off the bed (everything hurt), took a deep breath, centered herself, and opened the curtains. 

Zuko was sitting on the floor of the bedroom, wearing a sleeveless red tunic that fell around his hips and a pair of baggy brown trousers gathered just below the knee. Barefoot on the floor, he faced out to the left, toward the open porch that was letting in fresh air and ocean breeze, so the scarred side of his face was the first thing she saw, and she was grateful for it beyond words. “What time is it?” she whispered.

“A few hours past noon, I think.” He turned to look at her, and she closed her eyes for a moment: the right side of his face looked so like his sister. His dead sister, who’s dead, she’s dead, she can’t hurt me anymore. Her mind knew this, but her body seemed to not grasp it. “I’m sure you’re hungry and you want to bathe.”

She nodded and reached up into her hair, running her fingers through the greasy locks. “She didn’t let me out of her sight until the end,” she mumbled, hot all over with humiliation. “I couldn’t… wash.”

Zuko rose up in a fluid movement and went to the door, speaking quietly with someone outside. “You’ll have a meal brought shortly. Do you want to wash first or eat first?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. She felt stupid and slow and unsure of everything. Was this to be how she was for the rest of her life? The shame of it welled into her eyes and dripped down her cheeks in streams of salt, and Zuko approached her slowly, gently, his eyes warm and kind and his hands out. She knew instinctively why he was keeping his distance, and simultaneously was embarrassed by it and glad of it. There was no reason for her to be afraid of him. She had wanted him to find her. And now that he was here, she could barely bring herself to even touch him. What was wrong with her? “Tell me— how did Azula know about the— the…” She could not make the words come out.

“The— oh, about you personally, you mean? The inside information?” He lowered his hands. “Ozira Choi was still in contact with her. She was writing her letters about you the whole time. Her father knew. They were planning to stage a coup while I was looking for you. Don’t worry. Ty Lee’s taken care of that, and you don’t have to worry about it. It’s all handled.”

“Handled,” Ikaiya echoed, and closed her eyes, feeling ill. 

“Nobody's dead. Just banished. I have a capable replacement already in line for his job. Now let’s get you cleaned up,” he said softly. “I’ll show you the bathroom.”

“Thank you.” The words sounded stilted and odd coming out of her mouth. She followed him to the adjoining bathroom, which was half inside the house and half out. Bamboo slats covered the tiled wet-floor. Someone had drawn a steaming bath in a stone tub to soak in after washing, and she untied her belt with shaking hands, setting it aside and peeling off her dirty tunic. 

Everything hurt so much. She shed the rest of her clothing and examined her body with her fingers: she was bruised and cut around her knees, around her shoulders, and her ribs felt too prominent. Her face was still throbbing, and her lip had scabbed over, but still hurt. She turned to look over at Zuko, who was in the doorway, and a stab of fear lit up her heart in a way she could not understand. The instinct was to shove him out of the door, run, hide. 

Why? Ikaiya fought instinct and tried to think through it. Ah. Yes. Because Azula had so often lurked in the doorway, blocking possible exits. That was it. “Zuko,” she said thickly.

“Yes?”

“Would you please— sit on the floor. There. Not in the doorway.” She pointed at a low teak stool, and he immediately went to it and sat down, hands in his lap, without question. Absurdly grateful for his compliance, she swallowed hard and sat down in the shallow wet-floor, using a ladle and bucket to clean every inch of her body with sandalwood and cinnamon scented soap. It felt wonderful, a luxury she’d never appreciated until it was gone. She’d never take it for granted again. There was still blood caked under her fingernails, and she scrubbed at her hands with a brush, her breath coming short as she tried not to think about whose blood it was: whose blood she’d slept with on her skin. She dropped it, picked it back up, tried again. Her hands felt clumsy, as if they were not really hers, as if she was puppeting them from a hundred miles away.

“May I touch you in order to help you wash?” asked Zuko softly, and Ikaiya paused: she had heard those words before. From her own mouth. When he had— when he— 

Oh. Oh, she thought, shaken: this was how he felt. Had felt. Probably still felt. All of his life spent at the mercy of a father and a sister who played these kinds of mind games, conditioned to be on edge, distrustful… she had only undergone it for two and a half weeks and felt shattered. Clarity struck her with astonishing force: of course Zuko would have been frustrated by his own inability to trust her enough to take such incremental steps toward consummating their marriage. A wound on the heart, on the soul, that only time can heal. She realized he had wanted to trust her, to love her so much that he had forced himself to be ready before he was ready. Reason had no place in matters such as this. If she made herself stand up, right now, and go to him and touch him before she was really, truly ready, she would feel sick and shaken afterward, too, no matter how badly she wanted to. “You may,” she whispered, trembling where she sat. 

He rose up and came to her, knelt down by the bamboo-slatted washing floor, and reached for her hands. Taking the brush out of her numb fingers with his warm ones, he gently soaped it up, then began to scrub her palms and knuckles and nails gently, gently, as the soap foam turned brown. “When you’re ready,” he told her quietly, “I’d like to talk about the night before I left. And why I— reacted like that.”

“We don’t have to,” she whispered. “I know. I understand it now. You made yourself do it because you thought— you thought it might heal the wound she left on you. But it only made it worse, and you couldn’t… work out why.”

His hands stilled on hers. “Yes,” he said, sounding surprised. “That’s— yes.”

“And then I acted like— like—”

“Ikaiya,” he said quietly. “You acted exactly as any normal woman would act. I do not place the blame on you.”

“If I hadn’t left, none of this would have happened,” she sobbed. “I mean, maybe it would have. She said she was tracking me because of the baby. She was— she—”

“She wanted to keep you here until you gave birth, the hostage thing, I know. Ty Lee and I worked it out.” Zuko rinsed her hands with a ladle of water. “It’s okay. And by the way, that was the best chi blocking I’ve ever seen. I was wrong to tell you that you shouldn’t learn it. It saved your life.”

“Not just my life,” said Ikaiya. So many  days, now. Oh, Zuko, how am I going to tell you this? 

“All right, mine too,” he said, smiling. “I’ll scrub your back if you want.”

“Please,” she said, grateful for the chance to hide her face. While he scrubbed weeks worth of dirt and dead skin off her back, she stared at the bamboo slats of the floor and thought: if I’m with child, I’ll know for sure in another few weeks, if nothing happens. I should consult a physician. It gave her something to think about that wasn’t how jumpy and tearful and unsettled she felt. She had never even asked what the custom was for births in the Fire Nation. Would they let her keep the child in her own room, or put it on the other side of the palace to be raised by nurses? It seemed a foolish oversight. She resolved to ask once she got back, no matter what.

Hot water coursed down her skin and rinsed her clean. “I can wash your hair if you want,” Zuko murmured.

She couldn’t even muster the strength to stand. “I would appreciate that.” 

Gently, he soaped his hands; gently he scrubbed the oil out of her hair and rinsed her again and again until every strand was squeaky-clean. “Can I have a look at your face? I sent a messenger-hawk to the Capital and asked for a royal physician to come. She’s waiting out in the anteroom. I’d like to report on your condition in full, if that’s all right.”

“I would— yes. Zuko, could—” She took in a breath, shaky and small. “Could you please, um. When. When the physician— I would like to speak to her alone.”

“Ikaiya,” he said, worry clouding his raspy-soft voice. “Is it something I can help with?”

“No. No, it’s not— it’s nothing. I just would like to speak to her in private about something.”

“Oh,” said Zuko. “All right.” She let him lift her by the chin, touch her broken fat lip and her tender eyebrow and the bruise on her cheek where she’d been slammed against the cabinet and the raw marks on her wrist where she’d been tied and the scrapes on her palms and knees and feet that stung like fire in the soap. “Nothing seems to be broken,” he conceded, letting his hands fall away. 

“I want to soak in the tub,” she said suddenly, shivering. “Can you help me stand up—”

“Of course,” he said, and helped her up and into the tub, where she sat down in hot, soft water and let heat seep into her flesh. Zuko tidied the bathroom a little, then got a towel ready and set it within her grasp. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. Being able to control whether or not someone was watching her felt like a new and strange concept. “But would you just, um, turn— turn and face out the window.” He obeyed, and she made herself look at the scar on the left side of his face, the tangible reminder that he was not his sister. “I’ve never been so happy to see your scar before,” she whispered.

A golden, warm eye half-hidden in a slit of scar tissue slid to hers. “Oh. Really?”

“Without it, you’d look too much like her. I couldn’t— I wouldn’t be able to bear that.”

“I see. Then I’m happy, too.” He turned his eyes back to gaze out of the window, and she watched him until her eyes were sore, then shut them, took a deep breath, and dunked herself below the hot water. It felt beautiful. Weightless. She held her breath as long as she could stand it, then came back up, drenched and spluttering. 

“Can I eat now?” she asked. “I really am starving.”

“Of course. Hey, wait, don’t stand up too fast. You’ll—”

She had already dredged herself to her feet. Too late, she watched her vision billow into featureless clouds of gray, and felt Zuko’s arms around her as she slipped senseless from the world. 

Ikaiya woke for the second time in one day to a delicious smell. “Food,” she moaned, pushing herself up blindly, her vision still sparkling. 

“I’ll feed you. Lie back. Shh.” Zuko’s voice was half-worried, hoarse. “You scared me. Here.” Something was pushed gently between her lips, and she ate it: sticky rice, thin-sliced beef and onions cooked in a savory broth, a piece of pickled ginger crunching sharp between her teeth. Her belly cramped with hunger. Meat! Vegetables! “You scared me. Passing out in the bathroom.”

“I can’t see.” That wasn’t strictly true: the world was all flat, shapes and outlines, colored pale and dark, with no detail. But her hands and cheeks were cold.

“You’re coming around. Once we get some food in you, you’ll be all right. Isn’t that right, Doctor Gyu?”

“Very much so, my lord,” said a woman’s voice, older and steadfast. “I will get a wet cloth for her head.”

Gradually, Ikaiya’s vision came back. She was reclining back on a low couch in an airy great room with a high ceiling. The teak floor was worked with the design of a dragon curling around the Fire Nation royal emblem, and gauzy white curtains draped from every pillar. A table had been set out in front of her couch, set with multiple bowls in varying sizes: rice and beef and pork, pickled and cooked vegetables, spices and sauces to dip the food in, soup, dumplings, noodles, rice. She sat up, putting the wet cloth on the back of her neck, and dug into the rest of the meal as Zuko sat back, keeping an eye on her. 

The physician was sitting patiently on a low cushion to the right. She was perhaps in her forties or fifties, with black hair streaked silver at the temples and crown pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her clothing was simple: a robe of dark brown, a girdle of red and gold. A small chest was sitting close by her. Ikaiya felt at ease as her light brown eyes flitted from her hands to her face. “Shall I examine you once you are finished, my lady?” she asked.

“Yes, please, just let me—” Ikaiya popped a pork dumpling in her mouth and chewed, savoring the delicious flavor, then swallowed. “Zuko, could you wait in the bedroom?”

He stood, bowed politely, and left the room, sliding the door shut behind him. Doctor Gyu did not move for a moment. “I would like to assure you, Lady Ikaiya, that this room is guarded by the Kyoshi Warriors and the Royal Guards, who have come all the way from the Capital to protect you. The Avatar is here as well, in the guest house across the courtyard. Nothing will enter this room.”

Does she think I’m stupid? Ikaiya swallowed down her sharp inner commentary. This was information given to her born out of wanting to reassure her, and her anger was really just embarrassment and fear. She was self-aware enough to know that. It’s just like the lightning hitting the barn. The fire. “I appreciate you telling me this, Doctor Gyu.”

“Of course.” She inclined her head. “Please remove your clothing, and I will examine you for wounds. The Fire Lord was insistent you be seen at your earliest convenience.”

I’m sure he was. Ikaiya slowly stood, and when she did not faint again she untied the thin belt holding her white silk under-robe together and set it aside. Gyu got up and came to stand by her, testing the marks on her wrist with a practiced, cool hand, examining the marks on her face, on her ankles. “You were tied,” she said quietly.

“I was.”

“For long periods. This is deep bruising, my lady.” Gyu turned Ikaiya’s hand over to show the inside of the wrist, marked a dark red, hard to the touch. 

“Every night to sleep. And she had to, um. To get rice. She couldn’t trust me to walk free in the house without her, and she couldn’t…” Ikaiya felt her throat choke up. Her cheeks burned. “She couldn’t take me with her. So she tied me up and left me for hours when she had to go.”

“I see.” Gyu probed Ikaiya’s face with her cool fingers, examining the split lip, the bruise on her forehead, the swelling. “Blood has gathered below your skin here. To counterbalance the effects of Heat and Damp in excess, I recommend food and drink that have Cold properties. Cucumber, seaweed, mushrooms, tofu, apples.” She cast a look at the empty dishes. “No beef. Pork, I think, and duck will suffice for now. No onions or garlic, either. Nothing spicy, heavy, fried, or too high in fat.”

“You sound like an Earth Kingdom physician,” said Ikaiya, surprised.

“I trained in Omashu during the war. Wisdom can be found everywhere, if you work to look past your own prejudice.” Gyu turned and opened her chest, pulling a small glass bottle out and wetting a woven pad of gauze with the contents. “The old Imperial Fire Nation School of Physicians would have had us all believe that the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes were ignorant, backwards fools who howled at the moon to soothe sore throats and hung dead birds around their necks to cure toothache. Here. This is witch hazel. An astringent. For your cuts.” 

Ikaiya let her dab at her face and hands, wincing as the sting set in. “I’m sorry I never had the chance to meet you before now.”

“Why would you? You were never ill or needed my assistance.” Humor sparkled in the woman’s brown eyes. “Besides, I was in Republic City at the time of your wedding, trying to advocate for a more balanced approach to healing in that hospital they built.”

“Oh, what an awful place,” said Ikaiya immediately. “So sterile and cold.”

“I’m glad you agree.” Gyu set the soiled gauze down. 

“I want to— I wanted to try to push for that place to change the way they handled medicine. A more traditional way. You wouldn’t catch any Earth Kingdom grandmothers inside those walls, not even if they had rheumatism so bad they couldn't stand.” The smell of camphor, familiar and warm-spice-sharp, filled the air as the doctor rubbed salve into her bruises.

“Perhaps you still can. I know Master Katara was eager to set it right and send waterbending healers there. They can do marvelous things beyond what simple physicians like me can achieve.” Opening a paper packet, Gyu mixed and ground dried leaves of some kind in a little mortar and pestle, then picked up a little cloth bag and put the herbs in them. She then set the bag in a cup and poured hot water from the iron kettle on the table over it. “This is a tincture of chamomile, mint, and valerian. It will help cool your blood and calm your body.”

“I don’t need to calm down,” said Ikaiya. “I’m fine.”

“You may be. Your body still thinks it is in danger. I have seen this before, in many, many people, of all ages and nations. Until your body realizes it is no longer fighting to survive, you will not be able to begin to heal, in body or mind.”

“Well, if it’s calming I need, I could always try shochu, ” said Ikaiya, trying for a smile.

Gyu gave her a look. “Alcohol is a Heat drink, my lady. That is the last thing you need.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“The Fire Lord stated you wished to speak with me about something privately. May I enquire as to what that is?”

She closed her eyes. This was it, then: the moment her fears and worries left her lips, they would no longer be hers, but everyone’s. “I am afraid I— I’m—” Startlingly, tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them away. “I’m sorry. Um. I am ten days late. I’m sure you know what I mean by that.”

Gyu’s left eyebrow raised by a fraction of an inch as she absorbed that. “Ten days? You are sure?”

“Yes.”

“Are you often late?”

“No. Only by three days at the most.”

“When was the first day of your last monthly blood?”

“When we were in Agna Qel’a. About five… and a half weeks ago.”

“When were all the times of your… pillowing?”

At the old-fashioned euphemism, Ikaiya felt her face flush and throb unpleasantly above her eye and at her cheek. “Once. Three weeks ago.”

“I see. Will you allow me to examine you in half a week? I will not be able to tell before then, as it would be too early.”

“Yes. And please— don’t tell the Fire Lord anything. I would hate to— I—”

“Of course,” said the doctor, handing her the tea. She sipped it, grateful to have a distraction. “Before the time of knowing, whether the woman is consort, queen, or beggar, it is her secret and hers alone. If you need anything at all, or have any worries, please send for me. I will be here as long as you are.”

“It’s kind of you to stick around,” said Ikaiya softly. 

“I am honored to be at the service of the consort, my lady.” Her tone dropped into gentle humor. “Besides, I am receiving payment for my services every day I am here, regardless of whether I see you or not. I am in no rush.”

Ikaiya gulped down another sip of tea. “Sorry? I don’t understand.”

“The Fire Lord chose me specifically out of the team of royal physicians to attend to you. He felt that you would feel most comfortable with someone who could speak to you in a way you… valued, in a familiar way. Someone trained in Earth Kingdom medicinal traditions. It was of high importance to him.”

Tears welled up in Ikaiya’s eyes. “He is very generous,” she whispered. “Thank you, Doctor Gyu. Could I— have another cup of tea? And then I’d like to sleep.”

“Of course, my lady.” 

The tea was calming, strangely enough. Ikaiya had crawled into the large soft bed, burrowing herself down in clean sheets while Zuko had taken the list of foods recommended by Doctor Gyu to the kitchens so the cook could prepare the right things for Ikaiya. Being cared for, cared about, looked after like this… it was dizzying. It almost felt wrong, the way everyone was so focused on her, worrying about her, even though it wasn’t wrong, it was just a jarring change to how she’d been treated for the past weeks. Zuko wasn’t allowing any messages from her secretary or the court or anyone to get through, as far as she knew. It was just him, and her, and whoever she decided she wanted to speak to. At the moment, that was a very small list. 

Please tell Ty Lee thank you from me, she had mumbled from under the covers, and Zuko had whispered his assent. That had been a while ago. She drifted into soft dreams, dreams about flying on Druk, sweeping past clouds, under them, scattering flocks of birds, diving through rainbows and through gray sheets of icy rain as the sun set and the sky turned black…

Her eyes opened. It was dark outside: it must be night. The sound of rain continued. A winter storm had blown up. The patter on the tiles was a soothing rhythm that lulled her into a half-doze. Voices spoke quietly outside the door. Wood scraped wood softly, a footstep, a rustle. Her heart jolted into panic, but then she made herself breathe deeply.

You are safe. You are with Zuko. Azula is gone, and she can’t hurt you anymore. 

“Hey. It’s just me,” whispered Zuko. “Are you awake?”

She rolled over and lifted her head, watching him step cautiously into the bedroom and come toward the bed. Rain had wet his shoulders and dampened his long hair. “I dreamed I was flying with Druk,” she whispered.

“You— did? Oh. That’s strange. We just came back from a flight.” He looked slightly taken off his guard. 

“Oh. Do dragons… speak through dreams?”

“Sometimes. They can… sort of relay images to people to communicate. Some are better at it than others, but Druk says most of them can do it. It’s easier to get to people when they’re sleeping. Something about how the mind works. Ran and Shaw spoke, but it wasn’t with their mouths. It was words, but… inside my head,” he finished lamely as he untied his belt and slipped out of his wet clothes. “It’s hard to explain in a way that really… conveys the feeling.”

“Over distances?”

“Yes.”

“I saw Druk sweep right through a whole flock of gulls.” She yawned as he untied his wet hair and finger-combed it out.

Zuko paused, looking at her. “You… so he was speaking to you, then,” he said, sounding surprised. “You didn’t see anything, uh, upsetting?”

“No. It was a nice dream. I’ll be sure to thank him when I can get outside.” Ikaiya sat up and drank in the sight of him with her knees pulled to her chest. She didn’t care much for having clothes on at the moment: it was an uncomfortable reminder of how long she’d been forced to wear the same stinking wrap-shirt and trousers. Zuko set his tunic aside and picked up a towel, rubbing his hair and draping it over his shoulders as he went to the tall chest in the corner for dry clothes. “Don’t,” she said swiftly, watching his fingers brush the handle. Lamplight gleamed off the lacquer. 

He stopped. Looked back at her, dropped his hand. “Don’t?”

“I mean it’s warm in the bed. And dry. I want to— I’d— I’d like it if you joined me. Not for— bedplay. Just—” Zuko stepped out of his wet trousers and dried off, then came to the bed, lifted the blankets, and got in. She eagerly huddled close to him, lying on her left side and facing him as he pulled the blankets up around his shoulders. “See? It’s warm.”

“It is,” he agreed, a small smile playing on his face. “You seem better.”

“I feel better. It was nice to have— the doctor was very kind. Understanding.”

“I…” Zuko swallowed and shut his eyes. “I want you to tell me what Azula did. When you can. When you’re ready. Not before.”

“I know,” said Ikaiya, reaching for his rain-cooled hands. “There’s just so much happening. You have a dragon, and I’m… I’m a mess, and—we’ll probably have to do damage control once we’re back in the Capital, and—”

“I don’t want you to worry about any of that. I want you— you need to focus on yourself, Ikaiya. You’re…” He opened his eyes again and took her hands firmly in his. “When I saw you on that cliff, I was so afraid. You looked like you’d been in prison for a month. Bloody and bruised. A thousand times worse than the time those men grabbed you on Kyoshi Island. And I—” He swallowed hard, breathing deeply. “I should be sad that my sister’s dead, shouldn’t I? She’s my sister. But all I feel is just— relief. And guilt. Because it was you that did it, and not me. I even feel guilty because I’m relieved. Which is stupid.”

“You would have felt guiltier if it had been you,” said Ikaiya. Cocooned in this bed, she felt safe, quiet, like nothing could touch her. “She was dead set on killing me once I escaped. She was convinced I was trying to poison her; said I was like your mother. Told me the whole story. And I told her she was right, I was like your mother. Because I loved you.”

“You said that to her?” he murmured, lifting her hands to his mouth and kissing her bruised knuckles softly. “Really?”

“Yeah. She was dying to know— to know why exactly I’d left you. I wouldn’t tell her. No matter how much she goaded and, and poked and tried to get under my skin. I didn’t give her a thing, and it drove her up the wall.” Somehow talking about it like this was easier, loosened something in her chest. “She— she wanted her title back. High Princess. Sister of the Fire Lord. Wanted to sit on your council and control you in exchange for me and the baby. She wouldn’t leave me alone. Just— she was on me every moment of the day.”

“She would have realized you aren’t pregnant, then,” said Zuko, stroking the back of her knuckles with his thumb. “Is that why you made a run for it?”

Ikaiya shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Before the time of knowing, it’s my secret. “Kind of,” she said weakly. “I— I don’t want to talk about that yet.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t push you.” He sighed deeply as she tightened her fingers around his hand. “You want me to stay here?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, huddling closer. “Will you tell me about the dragons?”

“Sure.” Zuko inched closer until her face was buried in his chest and wrapped one of his arms around her. “Dragons. Right. First of all, the oldest firebending civilization in the world is still around. They’re a big secret. Don’t tell anyone.” Humor leached into his voice.

“Never,” she said, relaxing in the warmth of his arms, the sound of his voice. 

“Good. So, uh, Ran and Shaw are the— the masters. Just like badgers taught people how to earthbend long ago, and how the moon taught people how to waterbend, and the sky bison showed the earliest Air Nomads how to bend air, the dragons were the teachers of my ancestors. They’re ancient. Still alive, up there in the mountains, protected by the Sun Warriors.”

“Is one male and one female? How did they have Druk?”

“Oh. Uh, I don’t actually know. That’s not the kind of question you can really ask a dragon. I think— they just kind of are what they are. But I guess— see, the thing about dragons is that they have to pick their human. We don’t pick them. They choose us. Avatar Roku was the last great dragon-rider, and when he and Fang died, it wasn’t long before my grandfather made sport out of hunting them. That’s why they had to go into hiding. I guess… well, Ran and Shaw thought I was worthy. Druk is… he’s not a gift, he’s not a thing that was just given to me. He’s a great honor. A partner. He wanted to bind himself to me, he chose it. Kind of like— well, kind of like you.”

Ikaiya slipped her hand up and wrapped her arm around his back. “A partner,” she said softly, eyes shut. 

“Yes. He’ll be with me for a long time. Maybe my whole life.”

“How are we gonna feed him?”

Zuko laughed. “He feeds himself. Wild game, mostly.”

“Well, better that than terrorizing livestock.”

“Right? I had to explain that to my councils. Between kidnapping and me bringing a dragon to court, the last thing we need is another economic crisis. Can you imagine?”

Ikaiya imagined his council of ministers sternly chastising him, mustaches bristling, as they solemnly proclaimed they could put up with dragons, Fire Lord, the consort being kidnapped, and murder, probably, but they absolutely, definitely drew the line at the agricultural economy, and then she started laughing. She laughed so hard she shook the bed, rolled away from Zuko, and started gasping for air as tears ran down her face. “Economy,” she shrieked, hysterical with giggles. “Badger’s bones! Oh—”

“Ikaiya, breathe,” said Zuko, smiling, but slightly concerned. “Breathe, it’s okay—”

“Can’t— breathe— ” she choked, and sucked down a gasp of air before bursting into fresh laughter. It was so funny, couldn’t he see that? Tears rolled into her pillow. “I’m sorry,” she choked, and she didn’t know if she was laughing or crying anymore. “I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Shhh. Hey. It’s okay.”

“I know—” She fought herself, gasped, controlled her sobbing laughter, and finally lay flat, heaving for air with her hands over her eyes. “Ah. I—I thought of something in my head and it was funny to me. Sorry. Tell me something serious.”

Zuko lay on his side, a hand on her shoulder, his thumb moving softly over her bare skin. “Okay. Uh, I think the first thing we’ll have to do when we get home is give Azula a state funeral.”

Ikaiya gulped and looked over at him. All the humor drained right out of her body. “Badger’s bones. You sure know how to sober someone up.”

“Sorry. Druk and I retrieved her body and flew back to the Capital while you were sleeping.”

“So she’s really gone.” 

“Yeah. I know what you mean. It felt like— she might pull some trick and be alive after all. But she’s not. I promise you that.”

Ikaiya closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, then let it go. She’s gone. She’ll never hurt either of us or anyone else in the world again. Her heart pounded, firm and hard in her chest. I am alive.  She didn’t win. I am alive, and I am safe. The rain continued to sheet across the roof, dim and beating. “Zuko,” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“I want to go outside.”

“In the rain?”

“Yes. Will you—I want you to come with me. Please.”

“All right.” He sat up. In the dim light from the lamp, his back looked carved from gold, marked by a river of black. 

“I— I just want to feel the rain.” Ikaiya got up and walked to the door, wearing nothing at all. “Everyone’s asleep anyway.” She didn’t wait for him to reply, but slid the door aside and walked out, silent, barefoot on the floor until she reached the pillared porch, which was wet with rain. The courtyard was almost entirely enclosed: three sides formed by the two main buildings of the royal compound and the covered airy walkway that connected them. In the center was a fountain, lit by stone lanterns. Shining pools gleamed golden on the rough stone paving of the courtyard, rippling and dancing as drops struck them. Ikaiya looked straight ahead, out into the rain, and stepped down into the open yard. The paved courtyard was rough under her bare feet. Rain splattered across her face, her hair: it was fresh on her lips, blurred her eyes, drenched her bare skin in a matter of moments. It’s colder than I thought it would be. But it was awake and alive, just like she was alive. Was the rain grateful, too? For life? Was it embracing her? She tilted her head back and shut her eyes, spreading her arms as the chilly gusts whipped her hair to the side, lifted it off her back. She did not care that it was cold. I am alive. I am alive. I made it. Odd. She didn’t remember rain tasting salty on her lips. 

“Ikaiya.”

She lowered her arms and turned back. Without clothes in the golden lamplight, Zuko looked like a statue in some long-forgotten temple, carved of ivory. He stepped down to meet her, dripping as the rain soaked him. “Sorry,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I just wanted to breathe out here. I wanted to feel— something.”

His fingers grazed her wrist, tracing the bruises. “For me, after the war, it was training,” he said, the soft rasp of his voice mixing with the pattering of the rain. “I’d go out into the yard and train for hours when I wasn’t busy with other matters. I’d forget to eat. And sleep. It was like… keeping myself busy would stop me from having to think.”

“Yeah,” she said, opening her eyes and gazing up at him. “That’s it. You try to stop yourself from thinking about it. Yes.”

“Like... you know the war’s over. But your body doesn’t.”

“And it makes you feel stupid.”

“Exactly.” Rain dripped off Zuko’s nose and chin as he smiled. “Yes.”

“And like you should— you should know you’re fine, but you don’t. But you do. And then you get— defensive and upset. But it’s not your fault, not really.”

“Yeah.” 

“Because—” Ikaiya was pretty sure she was crying, but in the rain it was hard to gauge. “Because you have to convince yourself here.” She reached up and pressed her palm against his sternum, over his heart. “And you can’t just think your way into it.”

“No,” he agreed. “No, you can’t.” His hand covered hers, warm palm against the back of her chilly fingers, and she stepped closer, shivering. "You have to live your way into it."

“I’m sorry I didn’t— understand you before. I do now, I think. Or— more than I did, I—”

He slipped his free arm around her back. “I don’t ever want to hear you apologize to me ever again, my lady,” he whispered in the small, quiet space between their mouths. “That’s an imperial order.”

She half-laughed, half-sobbed, thinking about the one secret she was still keeping. “I don’t know, there might be one more thing I might have to apologize for.”

“Well, you can think about it later, then,” he said, and kissed her forehead. He was so warm, even in the cold rain and wind: Ikaiya pulled her body in closer and wrapped her arm around his waist as his mouth lifted, slipped aside, pressed another kiss between her eyes and on both cheeks. “You’re gonna freeze out here.”

“You’ll have to keep me warm, then,” she whispered.

“I can do that.” He lifted the hand over hers to brush wet hair out of her eyes. “I am so— so grateful that you’re alive, Ikaiya. And I never— I never want to lose you.”

Ikaiya slid her hand up to cup his neck, under his jaw: his pulse was rapidly pounding like a drum, and his breathing was coming a little quicker. “I never want you to feel like you have to force yourself to do— anything you don’t want to do. Please. Promise me you won’t, Zuko, and then I’ll never apologize for anything ever again.”

He mumbled something that could have been an agreement; then his lips touched hers and she lost herself in all-encompassing heat that made her forget she was cold, made her forget the rough pavement under her feet and the cold rain; heat that settled deep in her body and made her skin ripple with anticipation. Somewhere above, lightning crackled, and she did not even flinch. He came for me. He loves me. Thunder rumbled, and she barely heard it: he was alive and warm against her, heart beating, little breaths escaping as he moved his mouth against hers, and then he was backing her up slowly, gently, up to the wide edge of the fountain. His hands curled under her thighs: he lifted her and set her on the edge, slipping his fingers up to clutch her waist as he broke the kiss. Both of them were panting for air. “Will you— tell me if this is okay,” he managed, rain plastering his hair to his forehead, dripping off his nose. “I don’t want to push you too soon after—”

“Zuko,” she gasped, reaching up to cup his face in her hands, “when are you gonna learn to stop worrying about me in these kinds of situations?”

He laughed, white teeth flashing. “Okay, you got me there,” he admitted, and she parted her thighs, cold against the wet stone, bracing herself with one hand as he slipped his hips up against her body. “I guess I was kind of— avoiding— it being my problem.”

“You promised. No more forcing yourself to—”

“I promise you right now I have never in my life genuinely, truly wanted to do anything more,” he rasped, and Ikaiya reached between them, opened herself, and let him push himself into her, guiding himself home. This time he did not close his eyes. She flung one arm around his neck, balancing herself and gazing up into his beautiful face: the way the light rippled on his scar, shone through the gold of his eyes, sheened his face with rainwater. He kept his hands on her back, her waist, her thighs: it felt like coming home, being loved by everything in the world. Ikaiya pressed her forehead to his, gasping as his movements slid her against the rough lip of the fountain over and over again: she felt nothing. Rain and thunder and Zuko: all of them mingled together in a smear of sensation until he finished with a moan, breathing like he’d run a race, and then he kissed her again before dropping to his knees and finishing her off with his mouth, wet black head buried between her thighs. 

Ikaiya forgot there were other people in the house sleeping. She held him there with her legs, shouting out inarticulate noise until she dissolved somewhere between her knees and her throat and collapsed backward.

Directly into the fountain.

Cold water doused her, and she spluttered and pushed herself back up, legs splayed and hair sticking to her throat and chest and face and Zuko already had one leg up on the edge, arms outstretched toward her, and he looked so funny naked and still half-hard and it was so stupid that she’d fallen into the fountain after having the best time with Zuko she’d ever had that she scraped water out of her face, pulled her legs back under her, sat up, and started laughing. She couldn’t stop, not even when the lightning crackled overhead again, and Zuko was laughing, too, even as he climbed into the fountain to help her up. “Doctor Gyu’s going to have a great time scolding me for all the new bruises,” she choked, giggling as he picked her up in his arms and carried her out easily. “Ooh. Ah—”

“I think maybe I should ban you from going anywhere without me for a while,” he teased, kissing her as she flung her arms around his neck. “Just to be on the safe side.”

“Well, maybe that’s a good idea.” Ikaiya pulled back and wiped a strand of black hair out of his face. “After all, you have to protect your consort.”

“Absolutely.”

“And, um, your heir.”

There was a beat, a breath. Zuko did not move, did not speak. She remained where she was, cradled in his arms, hands laced together at the back of his neck. After what felt like an eternity, he swallowed, and the expressionless face turned to something soft and trembling, and his eyes found her again; he said, “Sorry, did you just say…”

Ikaiya inhaled deeply, smelling the fresh rain, the sky, the night air and the salt off the sea. “Take me inside, my lord.”

After drying off in linen sheets and throwing on soft, loose robes, Ikaiya and Zuko sat down together in the bedroom, the rain drumming steadily on the roof and a few lamps lit, and Zuko drew the gauzy curtains of the bed to close them off from the world. 

“But you can’t be,” he said thickly, first thing.

“I can, actually. I mean, it’s possible. Doctor Gyu says she won’t be able to tell for a few more days, but she thinks I am. And I think I am.”

“A baby,” he said, closing his eyes. Damp hair marked the white sleeveless robes near his shoulder, turning the thin material transparent. 

She reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I know. I think I know what happened. I lost count of my cycle days— everyone knows you should avoid bed activities if you’re on the eleventh day onward to the sixteenth day—”

“Eleventh day of what ?”

“A— the— badger’s bones, Zuko. All right. Look. I’m like the moon. As the moon goes through phases of new to small to half to full and back down again, so does my body. In my— my—”

“Child-cradle,” said Zuko euphemistically, his nose turning pink.

“Yes— well, anyway, the blood inside the— child-cradle— thickens like the moon from the eleventh to the sixteenth days, then after that it begins to dwindle again, until it… is released from the body and that is my—”

“Oh,” said Zuko, startled. “Your monthly— right, I get it. But what does that have to—”

“Because from the eleventh to sixteenth days, if you do any pillowing, you know bed stuff, you have a higher chance of conceiving. Zuko, the night before I left was either a fifteenth or sixteenth day.”

He was silent. “Oh,” he said, in a different tone.

“Right. I’d given up tracking, because since we weren’t— for so long, it wasn’t— it— anyway.”

Zuko was still sitting motionless across from her. “Did she know?” he whispered. “I know she thought she knew, but did she—”

“No. She never did."

“But you did.” He slid forward on his knees and took her shoulders in his hands. “You did. That’s why you made a run for it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, her eyes stinging. “I could have sat there and pretended for at least three months, you know, if I wasn’t, but what was I gonna do now that I knew I was, and— and— I was so scared.”

“I,” he said quietly, “will never let you feel like that again. Never. Not you, and not—” His right hand slid down and trailed softly, fingertips only, over her still-flat abdomen, below the soft thin robe. “Not ever. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” she answered, nodding as tears dripped from her eyes. “And I don’t want you to worry. I know you said you were afraid of— of having a child because you thought he might turn out like your father, but you don’t— you don’t know for sure, do you? It’s just as likely that he could be like Iroh.”

Zuko smiled and pulled her in for a hug, resting his chin on her head. “Yeah, he could be,” he whispered.

“Or maybe it’s not even a boy, but a little girl. Like your mother.”

“My mother? Oh— right, you mentioned Azula told y—”

“Your mother sounds lovely,” said Ikaiya quickly, anxious to take the conversation away from Azula while her husband was holding her like this, “and I want to know all about her. I know she loved you so, so much, and— and if she was here, she’d be so proud of you.”

Zuko was silent, and it was only because he let out a wet sniff that she realized he was crying. “She would have liked you a lot,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “How about we go to sleep, um, and in the morning we can— we can talk more about this. And— Aang’s still here, by the way.”

“He better not have left Katara alone,” said Ikaiya, eyes closed.

“No, he caved and invited the Air Acolytes to handle the place. They’re very enthusiastic. Katara’s probably wishing someone would let her lift a finger by now.”

“Well, with that handled, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me the Avatar was here. I had to hear it from Doctor Gyu. You're making me a bad host,” she teased.

“You’re not hosting anything until the bruises go away, at minimum.”

“Is that a solemn oath, Fire Lord Zuko?” Ikaiya asked, huddling closer against him.

His arms came up to hold her close, his warm mouth grazing her cheek and jaw with the unspoken promise of more, and more, and more. “It is, my lady.”

Chapter Text

NINE MONTHS LATER

“You have to be patient,” Aang counseled, watching Zuko storm up and down the long hallway that connected the royal living quarters to the rest of the Fire Nation palace. “These things take time, and being in the room won’t help, it’ll just stress everyone out.”

“I don’t care,” snapped Zuko, whirling on his heel and coming back up the carpeted hall. He was sweating, had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was in disarray. “It’s been a full day and a half. It can’t possibly be normal to take this long to—”

“It’s probably because it’s a bender!” chirped Ty Lee from her position at a closed door. “Everyone says bender babies take a long time if the mom isn’t a bender, because it drains so much chi from them.”

Fire spluttered from Zuko’s fingertips. “You are not helping right now, Ty Lee—”

“Sorry, I thought I was being upbeat.”

Iroh sighed patiently from the other wall, where he was sitting with a steaming cup of tea. “You really should eat something, Zuko. Worrying won’t help your wife. You’ll wear a groove in the floor at this rate.”

“I can’t get anything down, Uncle.”

Aang leaned against the wall. “When she wants you in there, you will be.”

“What if she dies,” whispered Zuko, and the way he sounded made Aang go to him immediately. “What if it’s a bender and it takes all her chi and she dies, Aang—”

“I don’t think it works like that,” Aang said softly, taking his friend by the shoulders. “Breathe. You’ve accomplished so much in the past year. You banished Minister Choi and his family for aiding conspiracy, you got the hospital in Republic City re-structured, everyone is so happy for this baby, and Ikaiya is not going to die because energy is balanced when you put out good into the—”

“Move,” said a brusque, cool voice, and Aang danced aside without even looking as Mai swept past the pair of them in her heavy black and deep scarlet robes with a large bowl of water in her hands and towels over her arm. “Zuko, sit down and put something cold on your head. You look worse than Ikaiya right now.”

“Hi, Mai— I mean, um, Interior Minister!” said Ty Lee cheerfully, and opened the door for her, letting out a cacophony of noise: women talking in soothing, low rhythms, and Ikaiya letting out a terrible low, deep groan that sounded like it was coming from the bottom of the earth. “Gosh, it’s taking so long to get used to all these new titles.” Zuko jerked toward the door, pulled himself back as Mai vanished through it, and slid to the carpet with his head in his hands. 

“This is why husbands don’t sit in on births,” Aang said in sympathetic tones.

“Your aura is so dingy,” Ty Lee informed him. “Take calming breaths. Meditate. It sounds like she’s in the third stage, so it won’t be long!”

“I don’t even know what that means!” Zuko yelled, pulling his face out of his hands. “There’s stages?”

“It’s—”

The doors opened from inside. Katara, serious-faced and bare-armed to the shoulder, stood there with a wet, blood-smeared apron on, covering her blue sleeveless robe. Zuko was on his feet before he registered her face. “Before you panic, the blood is normal,” she informed him. “She’s asking for you.”

“Is she dying,” he choked. 

“No. It just feels like that at this part,” she said reassuringly. “Come on. Don’t touch anything unless I tell you to.”

Zuko followed her in, his heart thudding somewhere up in his throat as he took in the scene: the midwives and doctors, the warm room, the towels— and the wooden bed his mother had given birth to him in, stripped of everything except a thick reed mat and more piles of towels, where Ikaiya was kneeling on all fours, draped in a thin sweat-soaked under-robe and red in the face as Mai wiped her forehead with a wet cloth. “Too hot,” she gasped, eyes shut tightly. “Please. Open—” and then some spasm wracked her body and she groaned, deep and rending, hands curled around a wad of thick towel. 

“It’s not the custom for—” one of the midwives started, and Doctor Gyu, aproned up with her hair pulled back, gave her a severe look before marching to the windows and cracking open a wooden panel that let a cool stream of air across the room. 

Katara took Zuko by the hand and led him over to the bed. “Ikaiya,” she said softly, as whatever had his wife in its grip released her. “Zuko’s here. I’m going to check the progress, okay?”

“Okay,” moaned Ikaiya, and her eyes found Zuko’s face, swept past him, shut again. 

“Hey,” said Zuko, cupping her sweaty, red face in his hands. 

“If you— tell me I can do this, I’ll— kill you,” she gritted out. 

“No, I was just going to say I love you,” he said, and she managed a weak smile and a bark of a laugh before another contraction gripped her in an iron vise and Katara came back to the front. 

“She’s nicely progressed and I can see the head. Ikaiya, when this one is done, I want you up on your knees, all right?”

“I can’t,” Ikaiya gasped, shaking her head as the contraction let her go. “Can’t. Try tomorrow. I’m done. I want my mother.”

“Yeah, it’s time to meet this baby,” said Katara knowingly. “Your mother’s on the way, Ikaiya, remember? She’ll be here so soon. Get up on your knees for me. Good. Zuko, can you lift her hem up so I can— perfect, like that.”

“I’ve got it,” said Mai, setting aside the bowl and reaching for Ikaiya’s clothing. Her cool fingers brushed Zuko’s shaking hands. “Seriously, Zuko. Sit down. If you pass out in here, you’ll just get in the way.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, but pulled back anyway to watch as Ikaiya knelt, knees apart, hands gripping a pair of red silk ropes attached to the canopy frame of the bed. Every inch of her body was gleaming with sweat, and blood marked her thighs. Please don’t let her die, he silently prayed to whatever spirits were listening. Wind brushed his hair off his cheeks. Ikaiya took a breath, and under Katara’s instruction, which he barely heard, she bore down hard, shoulders bulging, face turning almost purple. Something round, dark, wet and hairy was protruding from between her legs. Zuko wisely sat down, his heart pounding, as spots danced in front of his eyes. An annoyed midwife shoved a cup at him, and he gulped down the cold melon juice gratefully.

“Well done. Head is out. Pant for me. Little short breaths, don’t push. Good.” Katara was murmuring, soothing, like water pushing and lapping at the shoreline. Mai tugged the shift up higher and wiped Ikaiya’s face with the wet cloth as his wife’s eyes went somewhere he couldn’t see and she focused and Katara said something else and then, with all her might, she let out a noise like an animal, something primal and joyful and terrified all at once, and something purple and white and limp went sliding out of her body and into Katara’s waiting hands.

He thought he had blacked out, maybe, because he had no memory of moving across the room to the bed, but suddenly he was there and Katara was wiping a tiny face clear of some white waxy substance and flicking a tiny purple foot. The purple, wrinkled face moved, it was alive, and the mouth opened and a wailing sound like a tiny kitten filled the room as everyone in it breathed a sigh of deep relief, a collective gasp. Weh! Weh! Weh!  

“Is it okay?” Ikaiya gasped, and he turned, found her lovely pale eyes, darting all over him and the baby and Katara. “What—”

“Let me,” he said to Katara, and she smiled, typing the cord tightly with red silk as was custom, handing him the baby with its froggy bent legs and tiny perfect hands all smeared in blood and white gunk. And between the tiny froglike legs… “It’s—” He gulped down a sob of cosmic relief, pure gratitude to the universe for giving him what it had, and turned back toward Ikaiya. “She’s perfect,” he choked. “She’s perfect, that’s exactly what she is.”

Ikaiya let out an inarticulate sound of joy, shut her eyes, and pushed again: the afterbirth was cleaned away and covered with a towel and then Mai helped her down into a reclining position, wadded soft towels under her, between her legs. “Let me hold her,” Ikaiya whispered, sweaty and red and smiling. 

“Here.” Zuko tucked the screaming infant into Ikaiya’s arms, and Ikaiya brought the baby up to rest on her chest, one hand carefully cradling the little naked back that was swiftly turning red instead of purple.

“Shh,” she whispered, stroking the tiny wet head. “Hello. It’s just me.” The tiny girl quieted, the little bleats of upset at being brought into the world soothed by the sound, maybe, of a heartbeat and voice she recognized. “Hi, baby. Hi, little one. Oh, you’re so small, huh? Really? Can’t believe you were making it that hard to breathe. Kicking me all the time. You little fighter.”

His vision blurred with tears. “We have to— name her,” he whispered, blind to the movement of the midwives all around him. It was as if they had entered a little bubble world, a place nothing outside could touch them, centered entirely around the tiny baby on his wife’s chest. “I know we picked out a boy’s name, but I don’t think that’ll work.”

“No, we can’t name a girl Kozu. Badger’s bones.” She stroked the little head and kissed it. “Hmm. Kaizu— no, too close to— hmm— Zuka? No—”

“Izumi,” said Zuko suddenly, thinking of Kyoshi Island, where he’d first realized how much Ikaiya meant to him: of the fountain on Ember Island, nine long months before: the night he’d realized his life was about to change forever. Izumi: it was an ancient word for spring or fountain on Kyoshi Island. Spring: the place on Air Temple Island he had begun to finally allow his barriers to break down. Fountain, where he’d learned his wife was pregnant, where they’d finally truly known and understood each other: where the wall between them had crumbled for good at long last. And this baby was the cumulation of all of that, all of their love for each other and all they had gone through in one tiny, loud bundle that Katara was rubbing gently with a blanket. 

“Izumi,” repeated Ikaiya, closing her eyes. “Yes, it fits her. She looks like an Izumi.”

“It sounds good with Fire Lord,” he said, stroking Ikaiya’s hair off her forehead as she cradled their daughter. “And it’s respectful of tradition. Like we wanted. Keeps the family character.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” she whispered, smiling. 

“All right, Dad,” said Katara, tapping his shoulder with a good-natured smile. “Ikaiya needs to rest and get some food into her. You’ll have plenty of time later to hold the baby. Trust me.”

Dad, he thought dimly, as if in a dream, Dad, oh, that means me, I’m the dad, I’m a father. I’m a father...  and for the first time in his life, he did not flinch inwardly from the word.

“All our lives,” Ikaiya said, cheek against the tiny head on her chest as she gazed at Zuko.

“All our lives,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her one last time before he had to tear himself away from the little world they had created together to go tell Uncle Iroh— and Aang— and Ty Lee— and the whole court— and the whole world the news.