Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mai wakes to the sound of persistent knocking coming from downstairs. She groans as she twists herself out from under the sheets, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It’s still mostly dark—the gas lights of the new city shine in from her balcony, and the sky beyond is only just beginning to glow with the first of Agni’s rays.

More sharp raps from below—she curses as she shifts up off the futon, stumbling across the room to the divider where her night robe lies crumpled in a heap. She pulls it on and belts it haphazardly, pausing only to pluck one of her knives from the dresser before shuffling down the stairs to the shop.

The banging intensifies as she reaches the curtain at the bottom of the steps. Mai’s mouth thins to a sharp line. Even Azula would never dare wake her before the sun was at least a few degrees into the sky—whoever this fool is, they're going to regret their decision.

She rounds the workbench littered with cuttings from her latest project, a commission for the opening celebration of a new dojo a few blocks uptown. She’d worked late into the night perfecting the arrangement. Her visitor is in luck. Running on precious little rest, Mai is feeling well and truly homicidal.

She stumbles past a bucket of chrysanthemums that are just beginning to wilt and pulls back the screen covering the door. Her plan—to glare pointedly at the small plaque bearing the shop’s opening hours and then walk away—vanishes when she sees the woman waiting on her step.

She's Fire Nation, shorter than Mai by at least a head. She shuffles nervously from side to side, her eyes cast downward in deference, or is it apology? Standing slightly back from the door, she rests one hand nervously over the satchel at her side, the other worrying at her collar. Mai’s heart sinks when she spots the all too familiar insignia of a half flame.

Mai groans audibly. Of course it just had to be a fucking messenger from the embassy. Whatever this is about (and it can’t be anything good, that she’s certain of) it’s clear that she won’t go away until she’s at least had the chance to speak. Resigned to her fate, Mai undoes the lock and slides the door open.

“What?” she barks.

The woman, a girl really, blanches and fumbles again with her bag. (Perhaps Mai could have come across a bit less testy, but what of it?)

“My apologies for the early hour Lady—er, Miss Mai,” she bows, far too deep for Mai’s reduced station. “Ichii, special attaché to the embassy. I’m supposed to deliver a message for you, I’m afraid it’s urgent.”

Mai rolls her eyes. Zuko’s little lackey seems to share his tendency for stating the blindingly obvious. “Well clearly, or they wouldn’t have sent you to come hammer down my door ten degrees before dawn. Get on with it.”

The messenger winces under Mai's sustained glare, glancing down quickly before she pulls a sealed tube from her satchel. She offers it to Mai, who snatches it irritably.

“Is that all?” Mai snaps.

Ichii (or whatever her name was) devolves into yet more awkward shuffling—what will she have to do to get this woman to simply go away?

“My apologies miss, but I’m supposed to wait here for your reply.”

She snorts—as if that was going to happen. Mai turns without a word and slams the screen in the messenger’s face. If the woman wants to wait here and freeze out on her step, that’s her prerogative.

She walks back to the bench and lights a candle, brushing away trimmings to examine the scroll. It’s encased in a tube of tough komodo-rhino leather, the end sealed with wax bearing the insignia of the Fire Lord.

Zuko. She thought she’d been exceedingly clear when she told him in no uncertain terms that she never wanted to see or hear from him again, but apparently he couldn’t even make it a full year before deciding to pester her once more.

She really should just burn it and tell the messenger that His Majesty the Fire Lord can go fuck himself, but if it’s grave enough to justify sending an embassy runner in the dead of night she should probably at least skim whatever it is. (If only to save herself from the inevitable trouble later.)

She breaks the seal with somewhat more force than necessary and pulls out the scroll. The writing is haphazard, even blotchy in places. Zuko had clearly been writing in a panic.

My Dearest Dear Mai,

I know you requested that I not contact you again, especially after how we parted on such poor terms, but something has come up and I don’t know who else to turn to. Uncle is all the way in Ba Sing Se and the others are still at the Southern Temple for the solstice celebration with Aang and Ty Lee, you’re the only person close enough that I can trust.

Azula has escaped. It happened sometime late yesterday evening—the midnight watch arrived to find her guards unconscious and the bars of her cell melted clean through. I didn’t think I had no idea she could even do that, if I had I would've taken more precautions with her. I’m so stupid Perhaps I let myself get lulled into a sense of complacency, but she’s been so quiet these past two years. I just didn’t think, I never think

Anyway, that’s not the worst of it. We found my fath Ozai in the morning, or what was left of him. It was horrible, Mai. He’d been—I’m having a hard time even writing it—he’d been burned, everything below his waist charred and blackened, all the way down to his bones. I knew she was capable of violence, but this... the smell—

I’ve already doubled the palace guard and reassigned every garrison I can to search for her, but she’s disappeared without a trace. I can’t bear to sleep—I feel like I’m going out of my mind. She left nothing behind her, no hint as to where she’s going or what she intends to do. Just thinking of the possibilities… it terrifies me to my core. You know her better than all of us—if anyone can find her and bring her back it’s you. Please Mai, I know we’ve had our differences, but I need you now, more than I’ve ever needed anyone. Please help me.

Yours,
Zuko

The war has been over for three months before Mai can summon the resolve to make her request.

It's a crisp winter morning, and they’re having tea in his mother’s garden. It’s the first time they’ve been alone together since she arrived—ever since her official status as Consort was announced, she’s been inundated with overbearing servants and simpering courtiers.

Mai is, to put it simply, fed up. She can’t even bathe without her bodyservant standing nervously at attention beside her. At least with Azula she was on the periphery—being the center of attention is a thousand times worse than she could have ever imagined. She feels well and truly cloistered, hemmed in on every side by the weight of tradition and expectation. She’s spent so long convincing herself that she can live with this fate, but the reality of it becomes more difficult with each passing day.

Mai picks up her tea, making a point to catch Zuko’s attention through his good eye.

“I want to see her.” She says, far more casually than the feels.

Zuko is silent for a moment, and Mai resists the urge to pull at the loose thread of embroidery on her sleeve. Tailored for the opulence of court, the robes of a Consort are stiff and inflexible, weighing down her shoulders. They’re bright and garish, a tangible reminder of the bargain she’s struck. She dearly misses her old wardrobe of simple black bijia.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Zuko looks at her warily from across his tea. “You didn’t see her on the day of Sozin’s Comet, Mai. She was… she was unhinged.”

‘And I wonder whose fault that could be?’ Mai thinks acidly. She forces down another mouthful of tea—jasmine, always jasmine with him—the flavor masking the bile rising in the back of her throat.

“It’s important, Zuko. Please.”

Zuko gives her an odd look, like he’s watching tea seep into the cracks of a porcelain cup, illuminating its imperfections. She wonders if he can see the unruly tangle of conflicted emotions she’s tried her hardest to box away and forget about ever since her return to Caldera.

[

The first thing she sees when she steps off the ship is Zuko, dressed in full Fire Lord regalia with his guard in tow. He smiles at her, full of hope and newfound surety. Mai doesn’t know whether to sigh in relief or vomit. Seemingly oblivious to her hesitation, Zuko rushes forward and yanks her into his arms.

“I was so worried,” he chokes out. “What happened on the Day of the Black Sun, and then there was no word of you, just nothing. I didn’t know if…”

Mai pats him on the back and attempts to extricate herself from his hold. Zuko winces as he releases her, his hand unconsciously drifting to his chest. So, the rumors were true then.

“I’m fine, Zuko.”

(‘No thanks to you,’ she almost adds.)

It’s probably the wrong time to ask (will there ever be a right time?) but she has to know. She can’t help the name that spills from her mouth a little too quickly.

“And Azula?”

Zuko’s face twists in discomfort. “Locked up, somewhere she won’t ever be able to hurt anyone again.”

Mai wills herself not to react outwardly as relief and anger war in her chest. “It would have haunted you,” is all she can bring herself to say.

Zuko nods and looks away, his gaze suddenly distant. “She had this expression after I redirected her lightning, for a moment it seemed like—“

Zuko seems to pause mid-thought. His face lights up again as he turns back to her. “But you’re here now, and we’re safe. Come! There’s so much we need to talk about.”

He natters for the entire palanquin ride back to the palace. Mai pretends to listen, offering a nod or a ‘hmm’ whenever it seems appropriate.

She tries her best to ignore the doubts that linger in the back of her mind—whether she should have ever returned here. She’s spent the majority of her life in this city, but seeing it now feels wrong somehow, her heart beating to an unfamiliar rhythm.

She reminds herself again that this is for the best. She forces herself to think of Tom-Tom, of her parents. Her relationship with Zuko is all that shields them from the fate that undoubtedly awaits their fellow Ozai loyalists.

Her thoughts betray her, however. They stray to Ba Sing Se, a conversation that now seems like it’s from another lifetime. She can only laugh bitterly at the irony, making the same choice now as she did then.

She cant help but think that in the end she was right—their fate was never theirs to decide.

]

Whatever Zuko is looking for in her gaze, he doesn’t find it. He sighs, returning his cup to its place on the table.

“Fine, I’ll allow it. But only because I know she was your friend.”

‘Friend’ Mai thinks. Such a small word, so entirely inadequate for the mess of powerful and contradictory feelings Azula provokes within her. Feelings that are hers alone—feelings that Zuko need not know.

Mai bows once, deep enough to avoid giving the impression of displeasure but not so deep as to reveal the enormity of what Zuko has just granted her.

As if picking up on the strange tension in the room, Zuko is quick to change the topic, voicing his frustration with the council over his plans to withdraw their troops from the Earth Kingdom. Mai privately thinks it’s a disaster waiting to happen, thousands of demoralized soldiers returning home when they have no jobs to offer and precious little in the way of resources to spare for them, but her mind is elsewhere, already plotting her way to that squat white structure, an invisible presence that looms just beyond the rim of the caldera.

The rest of the day is filled with the petty social obligations of the Consort to the Fire Lord, vapid events and social calls that seem to fester and multiply like lice, relentless in their demands on her time and patience. It’s well into the evening before Mai can finally excuse herself and make her way to the prison.

Upon her arrival, Mai expects to be led to one of the cells on the top ring, those reserved only for prisoners of the highest rank. A cell like where Prince Iroh was held after his return to the Fire Nation following the fall of Ba Sing Se.

Instead, the guard ushers her to a grated door. He pulls the metal screen back and gestures for her to step inside. Mai has to hide her jolt of surprise when the guard pulls a lever and suddenly the entire small chamber shudders and begins to descend. The metal around them groans under the stress and she can hear the rhythmic clanking of chains moving overhead.

All things considered, it’s rather clever. Another one of the Ambassador’s pet projects, perhaps? The man is always finding inspiration in the strangest of places.

She’s struck by a silly image, dumb waiters carrying food up from the kitchens in the palace. What kind of dish is she?

They descend for what feels like an eternity, a strange green glow growing stronger beneath them as the daylight from above fades. Mai steadies herself as the contraption comes to a stop with a lurch. The guard pulls back the screen and she finds herself in front of yet another barred door. It’s the third, by her count.

A grizzled old man stands at attention opposite them. Unlike the guards in the prison above, he’s dressed in full battle armor, the black bone of his shoulder guards taking on a dull sheen in the dim light.

She bites back a sneer. Zuko’s paranoia, no doubt. Not that it would make much difference when the prisoner in question is Azula. Mai has seen her cut sheet iron with her flame, a few thin layers of bone certainly won’t stop her.

The guard’s eyes narrow, he looks at her with open suspicion and grunts.

“The prisoner is not permitted visitors, orders from the Fire Lord himself.”

Mai’s eyebrows pinch in irritation. Hadn’t he been informed of her visit in advance? She draws two slips of black jade from beneath her robe, the first bearing her personal seal and the second marking her as an emissary of the crown. Together they give her blanket authorization to go and do as she pleases, carrying the implicit authority of the Fire Lord himself. The guard inspects both carefully, scanning for even the smallest irregularity. After a long, awkward pause he gives her a stiff nod and inserts a key into one of the two keyholes in the lock. The guard beside her provides the other, and the door creaks open.

He locks it behind them, and the guard she came in with leads her down a long corridor lit not by the braziers she’d come to expect, but instead by crystals glowing an eerie green. More fond memories...

At the far end of the hall lies yet another door, this one of solid iron. Mai’s hands shake, dread sitting heavy with anticipation in her gut. She is not ready, she should not have come.

What is she hoping to accomplish? Is she trying to relieve herself of the regret that chases her every waking moment? To free herself of the golden eyes filled with shock and pain that visit her every night in her dreams, to convince herself that things are as they should be, that there was no choice, that there can be nothing better?

She does not know. All she knows for certain is the gnawing need in her chest, the lack she feels keenly in every gesture, every movement.

The process repeats, she shows her seals, the keys twist and the door creaks open. The guard beside her stops and Mai looks back at her in surprise. The woman shifts uncomfortably, her voice cracking in trepidation.

“We are not permitted to interact with the prisoner, your highness. I’m afraid that from here on, you’re on your own.”

Mai bites back the retort on her tongue. Are her words alone such a threat? (Long Feng still rots beneath Lake Laogai.)

She gives the first guard a stiff nod as the second turns to her. Yuyan, going by his facial tattoos and the bow at his side.

“The door will lock behind you. Tap when you are ready to come out—twice if all is well, three times if you are under duress.”

Mai nods again. “Noted.”

She steps through, and the great block of iron swings shut behind her with a clang of finality. Awash in dim green light, it takes her a moment to register the sight in front of her. Yet another set of bars, and behind them a room, no more than four paces to a side. A bucket sits in one corner, a thin straw mat opposite it. And on the mat, huddled with her back facing Mai, the slight form of a girl.

Zuko had described madness, but here she sees only defeat.

[

Mai creases the letter between her fingers, cursing as she paces back and forth in her apartment in the palace. The battle is over, the Avatar has fled and his forces have either been subdued or sunk beneath the waves. The mood should be joyful, but all Mai can feel is hollow dread.

”Dear Mai, I'm sorry that you have to find out this way, but I'm leaving…”

She crumples the sheet and throws it across the room before slumping against the wall. Her face is uncomfortably wet, she’s unable to hold back the tears as anger and terror strip away the last vestiges of her composure.

How could he? Never mind why—she’s sure Zuko’s reason is good and noble, at least in his own mind—but what about them? Does he have any idea what this will do to Azula, to her? This is undeniable treason. Zuko knows the penalties of that better than anyone, the law of eight degrees…

Somewhere in the back of her mind, it registers that she is almost certainly dead. She should be upset, or at least afraid, but in this moment all she feels is an eerie calm.

Her family… she can only hope they’ll be safe for now in New Ozai. The Fire Lord can afford to make an example of her, but her father is too valuable an ally to waste, and besides, Ukano still has an heir. Now that Zuko’s treason has rendered her betrothal null and void, Mai is no longer of any use to him.

She’s half-expecting the Royal Guard to burst into the room at any moment and haul her off, to throw her in some dark cell in anticipation of the pyre that awaits her.

But degrees pass, and still no one comes. The palace is oddly quiet; even the servants seem to know when to make themselves scarce.

The silence stretches on, and inevitably her thoughts turn to Azula—Mai shivers in dread.

Azula hasn’t spoken to her since her return after the battle. She brushed past Mai in the hall, her eyes empty and her face a perfect mask, brittle and blank. She didn’t so much as spare a glance in Mai’s direction. Still, Mai caught a glimpse of her hands as she passed. They were balled into fists, nails digging deep enough to draw a small trickle of blood from her palms.

Azula had been on her way to the throne room, and that was ninety degrees ago now.

Mai rocks from side to side, unable to calm either her body or her mind. If Zuko succeeded in confronting his father, then the Fire Lord must know that Azula lied to him for Zuko’s sake.

“Father does not tolerate weakness.”

Azula repeated it frequently enough for it to become a mantra, she would mumble it over and over again after her training sessions, staring forward with unfocused eyes while Mai helped her bandage the burns and applied cooling balm to bruises that bloomed like ash-poppies on her skin.

And if there is one thing that Fire Lord Ozai hates more than weakness, it is disloyalty. Azula is guilty of both, and Zuko had just damned them all for it. Mai refuses to imagine what Ozai will do.

She drifts off again, only to start when another ball falls from the water clock atop her vanity. She looks up to find the room bathed in darkness. How long has it been? How long will it be?

The spirits must have heard her, for not a dozen breaths later the screen to her apartment opens with a crash. The sudden burst of light from the hall makes Mai wince, she has to squint as her eyes adjust.

Azula stands in the entryway, her face drained of color in the low light. Her hair is wild and uneven, singed on one side. She’s barefoot, clad in only her under-armor with some sort of sack slung across her shoulder. There are fresh burns on her wrists and a dark ring beginning to form around her neck. She favors her right leg, wincing every time the fabric brushes against her thigh.

Azula stares at Mai and she freezes. The look in her eyes is wild, almost unhinged. There’s something new there, a dark and awful kind of violence.

For the first time in her life, Mai is scared of Azula, of what she might do. The Azula in front of her is not the one she knows.

Azula moves faster than Mai can react, pinning her against the wall with a dagger of blue flame to her throat. Mai’s skin tingles and begins to burn.

Azula's entire body is radiating heat. Barely a finger’s breadth separates their faces now—Mai can taste the smoke on Azula’s breath and sees the streaks in her eyeliner where tears have been hastily wiped away.

“Did you know?” Azula’s tone is unsteady, almost pleading.

Mai looks her in the eyes as she responds, willing her to believe. “Not until this morning, when he left that on my bed.”

With some effort, Mai nods in the direction of the crumpled ball of parchment sitting at the foot of her desk. Azula follows her line of sight, releasing her abruptly. Mai rubs the angry red welt on her neck as Azula snatches the note from the floor, smoothing it out as she scans it. Her face twists in an ugly sneer as the note crumples to ash in her palm.

“Both of us, then. He betrayed us both.”

Azula looks up at Mai, the anger draining from her face only to be replaced by fear.

“You need to go.”

Mai just stares at her for a moment, unwilling to comprehend.

“What?”

Azula retrieves the sack from where it had fallen by the entrance and thrusts it into Mai’s arms.

“I can’t protect you here, you need to leave.” Azula pulls back, turning away from her. Curled in on herself with no makeup and bereft of armor, she suddenly looks very much her age.

Azula won't look at her as she speaks. “Clothing and papers, and enough money to set yourself up somewhere. There’s a boat at the docks, a freighter bound for Cranefish Town in the Colonies. The captain is expecting you, he won’t ask questions.”

Mai sputters for a moment, unwilling to accept Azula’s unspoken command. Disbelief rapidly gives way to outrage. Azula is dismissing her again, just as she had in Ba Sing Se, as if she’s nothing. (As if she doesn’t need Mai the way Mai needs her.)

Mai drops the bag. “No.”

Azula is pacing, eyes darting around the room in panic, focusing anywhere but on Mai’s face.

“Father, he will—"

Something in Mai snaps. She doesn’t care that they might be overheard, no longer cares for the consequences of her actions, for her duty to her family or to her country, for anything outside the two people in this room. She cuts Azula off, seizing her by the wrist.

“I love you more than I fear him.”

Azula’s face goes blank with shock. Something in her expression opens, vanishing just as quickly as her face contorts in anger.

“Then you’re a fool. Go now, or I’ll turn you over to him myself.”

Azula wrenches her hand away, and Mai finds herself suddenly mourning the loss of contact. The Princess’ face is closed off—Mai knows her well enough to know that there will be no getting through to her now. Still she tries one last, desperate gamble.

“Come with me then.”

Azula laughs. It’s high and mirthless, cracking with anguish. “I have my duty. You should have learned by now the consequences of pining over impossibilities.”

She retreats, the room seems to fold in around her as she picks up the bag at her feet. The canvas straps are coarse in her hands.

Abruptly, Azula rounds on her and screams, fire blooming from her hands and mouth in uncontrolled waves.

“I said GO!”

Mai wants to touch her one last time, wants to imprint the curve of her neck and her scent into memory, but all she can smell now is ash. She makes her way to the foot of the bed and slides back the board hiding the entrance to the passage below.

She lowers herself down and closes the board above her, keeping her eyes fixed on the darkness ahead. If she looks back, she knows she will not be able to summon the will to leave.

(In some memories, she lingers just long enough to hear a muffled thump above, followed by the sound of quiet sobs.)

]

“Azula.”

Mai forces down a powerful surge of emotions, shame and regret and others she refuses to name. Her voice is grating to her own ears.

Azula doesn’t respond, doesn’t even move. Mai finally forces herself to look, to really look at her, and she retches so hard that she has to brace herself against the wall.

Azula’s hair has been shorn off entirely, now no more than two fēn at its longest. Not for the first time, Mai finds herself furious at Zuko. Removal of hair was reserved only for the highest of dishonors—a punishment fit for deserters, generals disgraced in battle, traitors to the crown.

Azula once took such pride in her hair, refusing to even allow her servants to touch it. Mai remembers standing behind Azula, watching as she rinsed her hair gently with rice water before working in the oil with slow, deliberate fingers. A hundred strokes of the brush followed, the same routine repeated each morning and night. Once or twice Azula let her guard down enough to hand Mai the brush, eyes piercing into her, seeking reassurance with a desperation that could only be borne of denial. Quiet need, companionable silence and the smell of camellia oil, unguarded glances and the rare smile that Azula reserved only for her.

That hair is now greasy and matted with dust, no longer than Mai's knuckles. Azula sits hunched on the mat with her knees to her chin. From this angle, only the side of her face is visible. Even so, Mai notices the hollowness in her cheeks, deep purple rings around vacant eyes.

“Azula.”

She twitches but still doesn’t respond, curling tighter into herself almost imperceptibly.

Mai doesn’t know what to say, has no idea how to express the feelings she won’t even let herself acknowledge. When Azula finally turns to look at her, Mai has to suppress a flinch at the coldness in her eyes.

“Why are you here?”

Her voice is raspy from disuse, so much so that Mai wonders if she’s the first person Azula has spoken to since that fateful Agni Kai.

Mai could say that she simply wanted to check on an old friend, that she felt guilty for Azula’s fate, that she genuinely missed her, that something in her needed to see Azula again no matter how painful the memories.

She responds only, “I don’t know.”

Azula’s gaze darkens as she spots the hairpiece adorning Mai’s topknot. She’s suddenly acutely aware of the metal digging against her scalp. She fights the sudden urge to rip it out and cast it away—somewhere out of mind, or at least out of sight.

Mai thinks she sees hurt flash momentarily across Azula’s face before she inevitably sneers. “Look at you, Royal Consort to the Fire Lord in all your finery.” Azula lets out an awful, bitter laugh. “I’m sure Lord Ukano and your dear mother are so very proud. Tell me, is it everything you thought it would be?”

Azula raises an eyebrow in cold mockery, the insinuation is not lost on Mai. Words echo in her head—remnants from another continent, a different lifetime. Something twists in Mai’s gut, her jaw tightens in anger. Azula always did know exactly where to cut.

(She will not admit that whatever anger she now feels at Azula is multiplied tenfold against herself.)

“I made my choices.”

It’s a hollow reply, and they both know it. Azula stretches, folding her arms behind her.

“Did you now?”

Mai has had enough. She can’t be here, in the presence of the girl who makes her want to question everything, who strips her bare until her regrets are plain for all to see. She stands and makes her way to the door—she cannot bear to look back.

Mai hears Azula behind her, and she aches at the thinly disguised desperation beneath her jeer.

“Go on then, leave!”

It is dark when Mai finally exits the prison. The full moon looms at the edge of the caldera, stained orange in the twilight.

She passes through the gardens, pausing when she sees movement near the fountain. It’s the waterbender—Katara, she thinks absently. She watches as the woman lunges forward, the water heeding her call effortlessly. The grass below her feet browns as she bends moisture from the earth, feeding it into an arc of ice that swoops out and slices clean through a boulder three paces from where she stands.

The intensity she radiates makes the strange respect with which Azula spoke of her suddenly all too clear. The waterbender is ruthless in her own way, possessed of the same burning drive she knows so painfully well from another.

They’re reflections, each wielding their element with the ghost of its opposite, unassailable power behind so much pain.

[

They make camp fifty li north of Omashu, not far from where the Nan Shan river joins its larger, more turbulent cousin to the south. Mai can’t sleep, the hard earth beneath her bedroll digging into her back. She rises and wanders away from the tents towards the river, following the glow of the full moon overhead.

She stops a dozen paces from the bank, transfixed by the sight in front of her.

Azula stands in the clearing, balancing on her left heel as she sweeps out a great arc of flame from her right. She moves like the river just beyond, her fire surging forth and receding in time with the water lapping at the shore.

Azula is fluid perfection, effortless grace and overwhelming power. She’s almost unearthly in the cool glow of her flame. Azula was barely twelve when the Fire Sages proclaimed her a prodigy blessed by Agni herself, the kind of firebender that comes not once in a generation, but once in a hundred. Looking at her now, Mai can see the truth in those words, understands why even the Fire Lord himself has come to fear her power.

The heat emanating from Azula’s flames is so intense that Mai begins to sweat even as she shivers in the chilly evening breeze. The blue glow of her fire ripples in the moonlight. It’s searing cold and blinding heat—Mai does not know if she would burn or freeze should she reach out to touch it.

Azula’s brow glistens with moisture, her eyes bright and the start of a smile gracing her lips. It’s not an expression Mai is used to on her friend—but seeing it now, she thinks it might be the closest Azula ever comes to feeling true joy—unburdened by crushing expectation or the nervous anxiety of duty.

Staring up at the sky, Mai recalls palace whispers, gossip regarding the strange circumstances surrounding Azula’s birth. Born at midnight on the summer solstice with the full moon high overhead, perhaps it is not just Agni that graces Azula with her blessing.

Azula completes another kata, the flame winding around her in great arcs, flowing out and returning as if greeting an old friend. In its own strange way, it's almost playful.

Mai stands mesmerized, still as a ghost, just one more dark shadow at the treeline. She dares not move, lest she interrupt the scene in front of her and disperse the strange power of this moment.

Even so, she does not go unnoticed.

Azula pauses in her routine and turns to face her. Something flashes behind her eyes, an emotion neither one of them dares name. Gold eyes bright in the moonlight, Azula smiles.

]

Chapter Text

Mai shifts listlessly in her bed. No matter how hard she tries, sleep eludes her. She lights every candle in her chambers and sends the servants for yet more incense and fragrant oils, anything to ward off the smell of a stale body and cold, damp stone.

She’d prepared herself for Azula’s anger, for hurt and burning rage. The last thing she expected was to find Azula dirtied and thin, her hair shorn, eyes sunken and dull with defeat. Seeing her curled in on herself in that cell, she was almost unrecognizable—so very far from the princess she once knew.

It’s only in her absence that Mai realizes just how much she’d come to rely on Azula’s constant presence in her life. She’d been barely six when she was appointed to the princess’ retinue upon her betrothal to Zuko. Even then Azula had been formidable, all cutting wit and fierce confidence. But to see her now, like that… Mai shivers. Every certainty of her life seems so terribly fragile, Mai wonders what else is yet to break.

[

Mai is bored, so desperately, terribly bored.

She stands on the steps of the former Royal Palace of Omashu, squinting through the harsh grey light of the morning sun, bright and choked with dust. Her eyes water, more grit lodging in her throat with every breath.

It’s barely been three weeks, and she already hates it here.

She should be out hunting down the rebels who dared abduct her brother, not standing here waiting for whatever pompous military asshat has decided to grace them with their presence.

But no—as usual, the petty formalities fall to her. Her father is off barking orders at guards who have already proven themselves thoroughly useless, while her mother is overwrought to the point of hysteria. She’s barricaded herself in her chambers, beside herself with worry over her poor baby boy. Mai wonders if Michi would show even half as much emotion were she to disappear.

(A traitorous part of her thinks that her brother might be better off with the rebels—at least then he’d be free from their overbearing parents and a dreary future spent posturing amongst the endless bickering of nobles.)

She never thought she’d actually miss the palace of all places. Even with all its stifling pomp and ceremony, at least life there was never boring. Azula always made sure of that. The princess lurks at the periphery of her mind—Mai feels her absence more keenly that she’d ever admit, even to herself.

What a difference two months can make.

She remembers it vividly—standing at the ship’s stern as they left Caldera behind for the colonies, her mood setting with the sun as a warm breeze whipped at the hem of her bijia. The Great Gates of Azulon faded into the distance, her entire nation shrinking to a mere speck on the horizon.

Her father’s new post is technically a promotion, and an impressive one at that. It’s practically unheard of for such a minor noble to be given something so prestigious as the governorship of a colony. Fire Lord Azulon would never have tolerated such a thing, especially as their family still carries with it the stench of new nobility. Rival courtiers take malicious glee in whispering of their sordid origins—her grandfather was little more than a common merchant, elevated to the nobility not through good breeding or prowess in battle but by wealth and political expediency.

Lord Ukano inherited his father’s canniness in that regard, making himself an indispensable ally of the disfavored second prince long before Ozai came to power. Her betrothal to Prince Zuko was the sort of political coup that comes about once in a generation—yet their family’s good fortune soon turned sour when the prince turned out to be a fool, scarred and banished by his own father. Only her friendship with the (now crown) princess and some deft political maneuvering by her father allowed them to salvage their standing. Even so, it was not long before Mai’s association with the princess became its own sort of liability.

It was an unseasonably warm autumn day, and they were lounging in the gardens after training. Azula lay flat in the grass with Mai reclining beside her, perhaps closer than would be considered proper for a princess and her attendant. Abruptly, Azula jumped to her feet, her whole body stiffening. Mai’s momentary confusion turned to horror when she looked up to see the Fire Lord himself standing not ten paces away.

She shifted into a low bow as Ozai glanced from her to Azula, regarding the scene in front of him with a mix of wariness and distaste. He raised his hand and beckoned sharply at Azula, who stood and followed without another word.

She’ll never forget the way the Fire Lord looked at his daughter in that moment—sharp possessiveness and a carefully concealed emotion that if she didn’t know better, she’d call fear.

In retrospect, Mai thinks, it’s all too obvious. Her father’s new assignment is no mere boon granted to a loyal vassal.

The Fire Lord is frightened by his own daughter’s power, even though she’s still little more than a child. He resents her popularity with the people, the effortless grace and skill with which she firebends reminds him far too much of another disgraced royal. So he seeks to isolate her—Azula is to be his and his alone. In ordering their family to this dusty backwater, Ozai is rewarding his ally while stripping his daughter of her own.

The palanquin finally grinds to a halt at the top of the steps. Mai braces herself to greet their guest—some odious commander here to demand supplies or billeting for his troops, no doubt.

Well, at least this time it can’t be Zhao…

Yet all her sordid thoughts of politics vanish when none other than Crown Princess Azula steps out from the palanquin.

The princess, her Azula, she’s here. But how, and more importantly, why?

It’s been less than two months since she last saw her, but something about Azula has changed. Looking at her now, it’s as if she is seeing her for the first time.

Far removed from the confines of the palace, Azula stands tall, clad in black bone armor and grinning fiercely as if the entire world already kneels at her feet. She exudes confidence and deadly intent, Mai is transfixed by the sheer size of her presence.

She fights to conceal her relief and happiness as she dips into a bow. But when she looks up and sees Azula’s smile (that knowing smirk reserved just for her) she’s unable to stop the corner of her mouth from ticking upward.

“Please tell me you’re here to kill me.”

“It’s great to see you, Mai.” Azula grins and starts to laugh.

Mai joins her, and the weight of the last few months lifts from her shoulders. She jolts when Azula steps forward and embraces her—the princess is not one for displays of physical affection and neither is she. It’s entirely unexpected and against all protocol, but she can’t summon the will to protest.

This close to Azula, she can smell the dirt and sweat accumulated from days spent riding under the Earth Kingdom sun. Azula’s hands are unnaturally warm on her shoulders. She's suddenly very thankful for the thick makeup plastering her face that mother always insists upon.

Mai has no time to consider the unsettling implications of that before another body barrels into her, crushing her in a hug. The loud squeal of delight makes her wince, it takes her a moment to register the large grey eyes and faint whiff of cherry that are so unmistakably Ty Lee.

Mai stiffens, patting the other girl awkwardly on the back. Frankly, she’s even more surprised at Ty Lee’s presence here than Azula’s. After everything she’d gone through to escape, what could possibly have convinced her to return to this nest of vipers?

“I thought you ran off and joined the circus. You said it was your calling.”

“Well, Azula called a little louder.” Ty Lee’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and that’s all Mai needs to understand.

Ty Lee owes Azula a debt, and Azula came to collect.

But what could be grave enough to make Azula seek Ty Lee out, especially after the lengths Azula had gone to in order to help her flee Caldera? Mai dreads the answer.

Ty Lee’s grip tightens on Mai, and she’s overcome with a wave of nostalgia. It’s been far too long since the three of them were together in one place. (Despite the circumstances, she’s grateful for Ty Lee’s presence. The flighty girl has always had a talent for dissipating whatever strange tension exists between her and Azula.)

They both turn to Azula as she interjects, “I have a mission and I need you both.”

Azula wastes no time in telling them of the task her father has given her, to hunt the former crown princes and return them to Caldera for judgement. All three exchange nervous looks, dwelling on just what the Fire Lord’s order implies.

Ty Lee rocks from foot to foot, floating off the ground with nervous energy. She glances from Azula to Mai with a slightly pained look. She’s appraising their auras, and she clearly does not like what she sees.

Mai immediately recognizes the mission for what it is. Ozai needs to know that Azula is his, unequivocally—that she holds no lingering loyalty to either her banished brother or her disgraced uncle. Mai and Azula exchange a glance, the wary set of Azula’s eyes only confirming her suspicions.

“Count me in.” Mai agrees to join them, not hesitating for a moment. All three know what’s at stake—the unspoken threat underlying this mission. Not even his prized daughter is irreplaceable, and the Fire Lord will not show mercy should Azula fail.

]

Mai is the last to arrive at breakfast that morning. To her chagrin, Zuko has already been joined by the Water Tribe siblings and that filthy little earthbender.

As usual, he has chosen to host them in his uncle’s tearoom at the far corner of the residential wing, an airy chamber with an expansive view of the (former) Princess Ursa’s private gardens below. With all the screens pulled back, it’s far too open for Mai’s tastes—as she kneels beside Zuko, she can't help but feel somehow exposed. Mai sits to Zuko's left, the seat immediately to his right remains conspicuously empty.

Iroh left not a week prior, despite Zuko’s constant entreaties. As he said his goodbyes, the old man’s face was lined with deep regret—it was clear to everyone present why he couldn’t stay. Whatever his role in ending the Hundred Year War, in the Fire Nation he will forever be known as the crown prince who abdicated his duty at the very moment their nation was set to triumph, who failed to challenge his usurper of a brother when it was his right and his responsibility to do so.

His presence now would fatally undermine Zuko’s rule—far too many in the court whisper that the young Fire Lord is little more than a puppet of the Avatar, beholden to foreign nations. To take the council of a traitorous prince would eliminate what little credibility Zuko has.

Mai is annoyed but not surprised to find that no one seems to have waited for her, the other four are already eating and deep in conversation. She’s amused to find they’re already arguing over a prisoner, just not the one Mai expects. A waterbender, the one infamous as the Puppetmaster of Xue Wu.

“You can’t honestly expect me to just release her to you.” Zuko grumbles. His face is wan, stray hairs escaping an already messy topknot. Yet another night of little sleep then—Mai wonders just how long Zuko can keep going like this.

The waterbender—Katara—frowns and her jaw tightens. She’s unwavering in her focus on Zuko. Mai shivers, she certainly never wants to find herself on the other side of that glare.

(Mai’s heard the rumors, that it was Katara herself who took down the Puppetmaster. Katara, who managed to subdue Azula at the height of the comet…)

“I’m not denying her crimes, but she’s tribe, Zuko. She deserves to be tried by her own people.” There’s more than a hint of accusation in Katara’s tone, and Zuko shifts uncomfortably. It’s not hard for Mai to guess why.

(She’s seen the old waterbender prisons, the conditions there reminding her far too much of another cell...)

Zuko’s face heats up, predictably. “Her crimes were against Fire Nation citizens!” He snaps.

Katara rises from the table and practically snarls at him, the tea in her cup seems to shiver. “And you think you have the right to judge her, after what your people did to us, did to her?”

There’s a long, tense silence before Zuko’s shoulders sag, his expression defensive yet laced with unmistakable guilt. “You’re right,” he sighs. “I’ll talk to the council and make arrangements for her transfer.”

Katara doesn’t thank him, she merely nods and returns to sit.

Mai picks at the slice of fish on her plate, taking advantage of the pause in conversation to consider her options. She’d come in this morning ready to castigate Zuko over Azula, but now she hesitates. She hadn’t expected the other three to still be here, they were due to leave this morning. The Avatar and Ty Lee are already gone, off north to Taohe to seek out other airbenders still in hiding.

With Zuko’s emotions already running high, bringing up his sister is probably the furthest thing from a good idea. Still, she looks at Katara and thinks of the passion with which she advocated for her fellow tribeswoman, no matter how maligned and twisted she might be, and she sees a potential ally.

“Zuko, we need to talk. It’s about Azula.”

Zuko’s face immediately tightens in discomfort, his right hand drifting to his chest unconsciously. He glances from Mai to the others in the room, clearly vacillating over whether to dismiss them. The awkwardness breaks when the earthbender (Toph, she remembers, a Beifong despite all appearances to the contrary) flicks a pebble at him with her toe.

“Cool it, your Lordliness. If your heart beats any faster, you’re gonna infarct.”

Zuko flushes and shoots her a glare. He shifts anxiously in his robes. “What’s the problem now?”

“The problem, Zuko!?” Mai is livid, the anger she’s been trying to suppress ever since leaving the prison bursting out unrestrained.

“The problem is that she’s sleeping on a mat caked in filth, she’s stuck down in that cell without anything to do, she apparently hasn't had a single visitor and the guards are banned from even speaking to her!”

Mai’s chest heaves as she’s forced to take several deep breaths to regain her self-control. The others are looking at her with varying levels of shock, it’s no doubt the most emotion they’ve ever seen her display.

Mai’s voice lowers, and she has to focus to keep it from cracking. “They cut her hair, Zuko.”

Zuko’s defensiveness vanishes in an instant, replaced with fury. His hands smoke as he slams them on the table. “They WHAT?”

Everyone but Toph jumps at the outburst. Sokka is staring at Zuko with concern, while Katara’s fists are clenched in anger. Zuko looks at Mai with wide eyes and opens his mouth, but she cuts him off before he can speak. “Do you have any idea how they’re treating her down there, or do you just not care?”

“Mai, I swear, I didn’t know.” Zuko deflates, his face sagging. “Whoever is responsible, they will be punished for this, I promise you.”

Mai pulls the scroll from her sleeve and shoves it at his chest. She stares directly into his eyes in a show of brazen impertinence. “You’re going to sign that and have it delivered to the prison before noon.”

Zuko blinks owlishly at her, unrolling the slightly crumpled scroll. By the time he’s finished scanning it, his shoulders are tense and his mouth pinched in discomfort. “Mai, I know things are bad, and I will fix them, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to give her access to—”

“Hello? Bit of context here?” Toph interrupts.

Sokka takes the opportunity to snatch the paper from Zuko’s hands. He scowls as he reads it, narrowing his eyes at Mai. She can’t blame him for his suspicion—the last time he saw her they were trying to kill each other in the catacombs under Ba Sing Se.

Sokka glances at Toph before returning to the paper. “It’s a formal order, stating that Crazy Bl—former princess Azula’s rations are to be doubled, and that she's to receive two baths a week, fresh clothes, and access to reading material.”

“I certainly don’t see a problem.” Katara buts in, crossing her arms. “What she did was awful, but she’s still a person, and she deserves to be treated like one.” There’s a heaviness to her gaze, out of place on someone so young.

(As young as Azula is, as young as they all are.)

Sokka scowls. “This is a bad idea. We all know how dangerous she is, do you really want to give her more opportunities to escape?”

Mai chooses not to correct his misreading of the situation. In truth, Zuko’s security measures mean nothing. Azula is easily the most powerful firebender alive (quite possibly the most powerful firebender to ever live.) She could walk out of that cell today if she wanted to—what scares Mai is that she hasn’t.

“Yeah, because she’s gonna pick a lock with a bath sponge and a few scrolls. I know you’re still smarting ‘cause she got one up on you on the Day of the Black Sun, but sheesh. Ease off the paranoia a bit, Snoozles.” Toph rolls her eyes in Sokka’s general direction and then returns to picking her toes, looking faintly bored with the whole subject.

“Fine.” Sokka grumbles. He pauses for a second before turning his attention back on Mai, his eyes narrowing. “But what I really want to know is why you care so much.”

“She was my friend.” A half-lie. Toph’s brow twitches, and Mai feels a twinge of unease. She ignores it, returning her attention to Zuko instead.

The Fire Lord has remained silent throughout the whole exchange. His face is downcast, fear warring with guilt in a look of pained indecision. Zuko finally, finally meets her eyes. She can’t begin to guess what it is that he sees in them, but after a long moment his face softens and he relents.

“Fine, I’ll sign it. But I want to approve everything that goes into her cell, and it can’t have anything to do with current affairs.” Zuko sighs. It’s clear that he’s at the very end of his patience. “Can we please stop talking about this now?”

Toph seizes the opportunity to launch into a lengthy and highly improbable story involving a komodo rhino, a fruit seller, and three of the palace guards. The others join in, and Mai breathes a sigh of relief, letting herself fade into the background.

She should be happy, or at least content, but all she can feel is low, simmering anger. She wants to ask Zuko what gives him the right to sit here laughing with his friends while his sister rots away in her cell. She wants to rage at him for abandoning them, to ask him how he could betray Azula, betray her. He had to have known what Ozai would do...

Or did he? Mai swallows against the bitterness that coats her tongue. Zuko never did think of consequences. And why would he? He’s here after all, wearing the robes and hairpiece of the Fire Lord, dutiful consort at his side. The father that abused him is powerless and locked away, he has the friendship of the Avatar and the moral certainty of a righteous cause. All it cost him was his sister.

She should hate him (and part of her does) but it’s impossible to look at Zuko and not see the boy who just wants to do right by everyone, who tries and fails and tries again, who wears his emotions on his sleeve in spite of the cruelty of the world around him.

She looks at him, at the splendor that surrounds her, and tries to pretend that it’s everything she’s ever wanted. She knows that any other girl in the Fire Nation would kill to have what she has right now, but all she can do is dread the future that stretches out before her, the remainder of her life spent trading her dignity for small concessions.

After the others finally leave, Zuko gives her an odd look. It’s wary and more than a bit fearful, the kind that precedes a question one already knows the answer to, but nevertheless feels compelled to ask.

“You care that much about her?”

( “Are you still loyal to her?” )

For a fleeting moment, Mai wants to tell him the truth. That every night she dreams of Azula, the sharpness of her smile, her uncharacteristic nervousness right before their lips met for the first and last time.

“She was my princess, just as you are my Fire Lord.”

If Zuko understands her meaning, he doesn’t show it. Face still tinged with discomfort, he excuses himself, saying he’s late for a council meeting. (A meeting Mai knows doesn’t start for another six degrees.)

Head Archivist Ito’s eyes crinkle in a smile as he rises from his bow. “Ah, Lady Mai. How may I be of assistance to the Fire Lord’s consort today?”

She still winces at that title. It makes her sound like Zuko’s possession, which is far closer to the truth than she’s ready to acknowledge.

She covers it with a half-nod, still unsure how to articulate her purpose in coming here. The gossip network among the palace staff is legendary—she knows that despite giving his approval, Zuko will not be pleased if word gets out that his consort is making entreaties on behalf of his deposed sister, no matter how innocuous they may be.

She could claim that she’s here for her own edification, but she knows that Ito of all people will see right through that flimsy excuse. In all her time at the palace, Mai has never once come here of her own volition. She’d accompany the princess sometimes, though more often than not her task was simply to fetch Azula from whatever nest of scrolls she’d buried herself in that day. Azula always was an avid student—of history especially—and Mai wouldn’t be surprised if Azula has read more of this library than the archivists who tend to it.

Mai hedges. “I’m here for a friend. She’s indisposed at the moment, and in need of some reading to take her mind off things.”

Ito gives her a long, knowing look. He beckons her forward, leading her past the stacks she’s familiar with to the back section of the library, separated from the rest by a metal grate.

“I think I know something that might be of interest. Our new Fire Lord has seen fit to revoke his Honored Grandfather’s edict banning the distribution of texts from other nations. It’s fortunate, seeing as we have quite the collection. Come, come!”

Ito shuffles excitedly amongst the stacks, Mai tries not to linger on just how these texts came to be here of all places. She resigns herself to watch, attempting not to smile with amusement as Ito passes scroll after scroll to his assistant until the poor woman’s knees strain under the weight.

She selects a dozen she thinks Azula will enjoy—Fire Sage Ryujin’s thrice-banned history of the Camellia-Peony War, a biography of Avatar Kyoshi from the Sei’naka, and an account of some long-forgotten princess’ journey to the Sun Warriors. Added to those are a handful of scrolls on the history and mythology of the other nations, and even a small book of Air Nomad poetry.

She sets a trio of scrolls on firebending theory aside with vague regret—as much as Azula would enjoy them, Zuko will never approve.

She leaves the library and walks back to her chambers, the small collection of scrolls in a bag at her side. Once Zuko gives his approval, she’ll send it by courier to the prison. She knows she should take it herself, but she fears what would become of another visit, of provoking the emotions she already struggles to contain.

That evening, Mai finds herself on the balcony of their apartment. The warm heat of the sunset is tempered by a gentle breeze, the metal accents adorning the roofs of the noble district glimmer in the fading light below. Mai wears only a simple robe, her face scrubbed of makeup and her hair unbound.

Another city, another sunset and balcony—her elbows leaning on the wood railing, Mai closes her eyes and surrenders.

[

It’s an uncharacteristically muggy evening—the air thick with heat and dust, filled with buzzing insects and distant clatter from the city’s countless streets stretching out to the horizon. She stands at the balcony of the former Earth King’s apartments, watching the glowing line of Fire Nation soldiers snaking its way up through the rings of the Impenetrable City.

Mai can still scarcely believe what they’ve done—three girls breaking the walls that had withstood an assault of seventy thousand, led by the Dragon of the West himself. Despite herself, she’s almost giddy. The rice wine is certainly helping, Mai’s face is flush with heat from the celebration.

Lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t notice Azula until the princess is nearly behind her. Mai starts; Azula gives her an amused look as she joins her at the railing. She leans in with languid grace, dignified even in Earth Kingdom green. In this light and in any other, Azula is a dragon.

They stand together in silence, listening to the drums of marching troops in the distance.

“What happens now?”

Azula’s eyes glow with triumph as she grins at Mai. “I received a letter from Father, he expects us back in Caldera within the month. We’ll return as heroes, conquerors of the Impenetrable City. There will be a triumph waiting for us at the docks, the ceremonial flames atop the Gates of Agni lit in celebration as we pass.”

Azula’s grin is infectious. She arches her back, her elbows resting on the railing. Mai’s eyes linger on Azula for a second too long, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the other girl. Azula gives her that smile, and Mai feels her face grow hot for reasons entirely unrelated to the wine.

“With the Earth Kingdom effectively subdued, I suspect that Father will turn his energies to the Northern Water Tribe, using the power of the comet to do what Zhao could not.” Azula sneers in contempt, idly waving her hand at the city below. “We’ll need to install a suitable administrator here of course, someone local but nonetheless pliant and unlikely to cause trouble. Thankfully, there appear to be no shortage of candidates.”

Mai has to admit, it was rather impressive how the Earth King’s court fell simpering at Azula’s feet the second they realized the Dai Li was hers and hers alone. A rat’s nest of cowardly, craven fools… not that Caldera was much better.

Still, Mai can’t help but wonder. Azula is in a forthcoming mood, and Mai is feeling uncharacteristically bold. “And after that?”

Mai curses her misstep as Azula’s expression immediately darkens. “Well, with no more battles to be fought, I expect Father will finally hand me off.” Azula answers after a moment’s hesitation, clenching her jaw. “I’ll be wed to some idiot noble in order to carry on Sozin’s line and consolidate Father’s hold on the court.”

Azula rolls her eyes and twists her face in distaste, her bravado doing a poor job concealing just how much she dreads that particular prospect. Azula the prodigy, a warrior whose strategic genius is already legend, caged and reduced to a glorified incubator for future princelings.

“What a delight that will be.” Mai drawls, feigning boredom to conceal the ugly, twisting feeling in her gut. The thought of suitors vying for Azula’s hand—she's surprised at her own anger.

“I know elder Chan has already put forth his son to Father,” Azula snorts. “As if I couldn’t do better than a boy who’d lose a battle of wits with an ostrich horse.”

Azula turns away, folding in on herself as she stares out over the city. Like this, she looks small, almost vulnerable.

“Is that what you want?” Mai doesn’t know what prompts her to ask. She already knows the answer Azula is bound by duty and honor to give.

Something like pain flickers across Azula’s face. Her eyes cast down, warring between what she should say and something she shouldn’t. In the end, the former wins out.

“I am loyal to my nation.”

Mai smiles bitterly. “As if there can be any other loyalty.”

Azula stares out over the city for a long time, so long that Mai begins to wonder if she should say something, make some attempt to salvage the mess she’s created with her impertinence. But then Azula’s expression shifts, the mask of her resolve falling away to leave something else, the smallest glimmer of uncertainty.

Azula turns to face Mai. Her voice is quiet, almost hesitant.

“You know, before Sozin’s decrees outlawed it, there existed a society for women who did not wish to marry.”

Mai is taken aback. Speaking of the laws before Sozin is skirting dangerously close to treason, even for the crown princess. Mai has spent enough time around Azula that she’s become accustomed to her strange (and admittedly endearing) tendency to give long, unprompted lectures about history, but something about this one feels different.

(Part of her already knows, but she refuses to even entertain that possibility. It’s the domain of her fantasies late at night, and to have it exposed, out in the open for all to see—)

(—for her to see…)

“Instead, they would bind themselves to each other, upholding their honor and the honor of their families under Agni. Such couples were even permitted to maintain households and adopt children.”

‘couples’

Azula stutters as she says it, her fingers trailing nervously along the edge of her robes. Mai stares at her openly now, gripping the railing as if she might fall off into some unknown abyss.

Azula pauses, searching for something in the way Mai looks at her. She takes a hesitant step forward, close enough that Mai can see the small beads of sweat on her skin, imperfections in the black pigment around her eyes where the brush wavered ever so slightly.

Mai leans in without realizing as Azula continues speaking with the same strange intensity, as if she’s daring Mai to listen not to what she says, but to the implication both of them know better than to speak aloud.

“If a woman wished to swear herself to another, she would present her with a dagger stamped with the society's mon, a blue azalea.”

Their faces are now so close that Mai can feel the soft brush of Azula’s breath on her face. Azula radiates heat. Her pupils dilate and her eyes flick to Mai’s mouth—in question or invitation, Mai does not know.

Azula surges forward.

Mai closes her eyes, her awareness of their surroundings collapsing to nothing as they spend precious moments breathing each other’s air. It takes everything in Mai’s power not to moan as she presses back against Azula’s lips, wrapping a hand behind her neck and deepening the kiss. Azula’s skin is so hot it’s almost painful, her pulse races beneath Mai’s fingertips.

This, this is what she’s been wanting for so long, what she’s been missing, what she’s thought about with every lingering glance and sharp smile for the past three months. (For much, much longer...)

Azula suddenly pulls back, eyes blown wide as if she can scarcely believe what she’s just done.

(What they’ve just done.)

Her face is flushed and open, her normally immaculate makeup smeared. Azula seems to not know how to stand, fingers flitting at her sides. Her eyes dart around the room, looking anywhere but at Mai.

Azula stutters something about business with the court and practically bolts back through the door to the former king’s apartments, leaving Mai standing at the balcony.

Stunned, her fingers brush over the skin of her lips, the lingering taste of yuzu and smoke.

]

When she opens her eyes again the sky is dark, her cheeks damp and her neck stiff with discomfort. As she looks out over Caldera, Mai wonders if Azula can feel the sun, if she still wakes as it rises and retires as it sets.

Can she feel Agni’s pull, even under so much earth?

Four months pass, yet Mai still can’t bring herself to visit Azula again. She knows her avoidance stems not from Azula, but from herself. Every time Mai thinks of her, the feelings she’s worked so hard to repress rise out of the murk in the depths of her mind, each time clearer and with more force. Visiting Azula will shatter the brittle façade of normalcy she’s worked so hard to maintain—it will finally put the lie to the mantra she repeats over and over to herself.

“I can be happy like this.”

Sometimes she thinks that the only person in the palace trying harder to forget Azula is the Fire Lord himself. Perhaps that’s why he catches her so off guard that evening.

“I need you to visit her, Mai.”

They’re taking dinner on their balcony, the cool night air a welcome respite from the stifling heat of the palace. Zuko is unusually withdrawn and nervous, he picks listlessly at the hippo-cow in front of him.

The past weeks have not been kind to him—his unscarred eye is sunk deep in shadow, and there is a new hollowness to his cheeks. Mai knows Zuko barely sleeps. While they maintain separate beds within the Fire Lord’s apartments, she’s lost count of the times she’s woken in the early hours of the morning to the shuffling of guards and the sound of a slider creaking open.

Mai’s entire chest freezes at Zuko’s request. She swallows to keep herself from choking, clenching her fists at her sides without thought.

Across the table, Zuko suppresses a wince. He won’t look at her as he speaks. “I need to find my mother. I’ve questioned everyone I can think of, and nobody seems to know what happened to her.”

He hesitates before continuing, and a sickening feeling of dread descends over Mai. She knows what he’s about to say next. “I’ve even visited fa—Ozai, but he won’t tell me anything.”

Mai sets down her chopsticks, keeping her expression carefully neutral as she wills herself not to snap. Zuko has been visiting Ozai, chatting with the man who banished him and burned half his face off.

She shouldn’t be surprised, with his friends gone and Iroh back in Ba Sing Se, Zuko is left with precious few people to turn to. (Agni forbid he visit his sister.) Visiting his father now stems from desperation, nothing more. Yet even stripped of his bending and locked away, Mai knows all too well the kind of damage Ozai is capable of.

She wants to scream at Zuko for his stupidity, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. She has no antidote to whatever poison Ozai has been trickling into Zuko’s ears.

“I take it he didn’t give you the answers you were looking for.”

Zuko shakes his head and sighs into his food. “No, he wouldn’t tell me anything, just taunts… But if Ozai told anyone, it would’ve been Azula. I’d visit her myself, but—"

“—why me?” Mai cuts him off, even though she already knows (and dreads) the answer.

“You were always the closest to her… she wouldn’t tell me, but she might tell you.”

Mai wants to rage at him, to tell him that he’s a coward, that he’s selfish, that if he wants this so badly he should do it himself, but she’s seen the despondency in his face when he talks about his mother, the way his hopeful smile breaks every time he receives a letter from that bounty hunter who’s so clearly fleecing him. Each new setback just widens the wound in his psyche—it will only get worse until Zuko can find closure, even if it’s not the kind he wants.

And there’s part of her too (the part she keeps so carefully buried) that sees this for what it is, an opportunity, an excuse.

“Fine, Zuko, I’ll go.”

(It’s decidedly not fine, she wants to scream.)

Zuko looks up at her, his expression unguarded and almost hopeful. Mai knows that this is a fool’s errand. The Honored Mother is long dead, her ashes scattered to the winds. But that fantasy is not one Mai has the heart to break.

So here she is, shortly after sunset, making her way up the inner rim of the caldera with no escort in a drab travelling cloak. The walk to the prison from the palace isn’t long, but the distance stretches with the meandering of her thoughts.

She's filled with anticipation and hollow dread as the guard pulls open the innermost door. The months she’s spent avoiding Azula have only caused her anxiety to stagnate and multiply, it festers like moths in her chest.

There is no way Mai could have prepared herself for the relief she feels when she sees Azula, sitting cross legged on the floor, idly scanning a scroll in her lap. She’s surrounded on all sides by tomes stacked in orderly heaps, and Mai has to stifle a laugh—Azula always was a voracious reader.

As she enters, Mai feels a faint flush when Azula stills and turns to look at her over her shoulder. She looks better, so much so that she’s almost recognizable as the Azula Mai remembers. Her cheekbones are less prominent, the waxy sheen gone from her skin. She’s no longer deathly thin—Mai can see renewed definition in her arms and shoulders through the coarse cloth of her tunic.

She almost cracks when she sees Azula’s face open in relief for the briefest of moments before masking it with her usual look of bored indifference. Azula turns back away, eyes focused intently on the large tome resting on her lap. Mai’s slightly surprised to realize it’s the biography of Kyoshi she sent so many months ago.

Azula comments idly, not lifting her gaze from the page. “Did you know that Avatar Kyoshi had a female firebending lover? Rangi, of the Sei’naka. A remarkable fighter by all accounts.”

Mai says nothing, and a long moment passes before Azula breaks the silence again. The levity is gone from her voice, replaced with a too-familiar brittleness.

“Coming all the way out here to visit me, I’m surprised. Don’t you have duties you should be attending to?”

Mai scoffs, holding back a smile. “I’m sure the ladies of the court can survive without me for a few solar degrees.”

“The better question is if they can survive a dozen degrees with you.” Azula replies, arching her brow.

Mai snorts. “Don’t think I haven’t been tempted.”

Their banter comes back so easily, it’s almost enough to make her forget their respective positions, the costumes they wear and the bars that separate them. Azula allows herself a smile. It’s guarded, and it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but it’s still more than Mai had ever hoped for. “Thank you for the books, by the way. I take it the modest improvement in the dreck they serve me is also your doing. If it improves any more, it might even be fit for the palace dogs.”

Mai smiles back, only to see Azula’s face shift abruptly. What little warmth was in her expression is now gone, replaced by cold appraisal. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

Mai shuffles awkwardly, and for a moment she considers leaving. She doesn’t. She knows that stopped being a possibility the second she crossed the threshold into Azula’s cell. “Zuko sent me.”

Azula’s face twists in a sneer, something ugly and hateful crawling beneath her skin. “And what does our most honored Fire Lord want from his dear disgraced sister? Certainly not advice… Zuzu’s far too proud for that.”

Mai knows Azula in this mood, knows that whatever she says, it will be met only with barbed deflections. Better to just be out with it then. “It’s about your mother. He’s trying to find her and he thinks you might have the information he needs.”

A flicker of fear crosses Azula’s face as her eyes dart away, the fabric of her tunic rustling as her shoulders stiffen beneath. She laughs bitterly. “Zuzu always was such a momma’s boy. Sorry to disappoint, but our mother is dead.”

Mai knows in her gut that Azula is right, she’s known ever since Zuko announced his search. Princess Ursa never made it out of Caldera, at least not alive. Still, she presses on. It’s feeble and forced, and they both know it.

“On the Day of the Black Sun, Zuko said Ozai—”

Azula cuts her off abruptly with a laugh. “My dearest brother has always been too credulous for his own good. Father was stalling—he simply told Zuzu what he wanted to hear. Do you really think a man like Father leaves loose ends?”

They share a long look. Azula’s face skitters between emotions—grief one moment, distaste the next. She exhales sharply and turns away. “Fine, if you won’t believe me, confirm it for yourself. You always were a clever one, Mai, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Mai knows what Azula is alluding to—Zuko’s cleanup effort was sloppy, more than a few men from Ozai’s personal guard escaped the noose. With her network of contacts, it shouldn’t be difficult to find one and get them to tell her what she needs to know.

Mai nods. Something in Azula’s face closes off, and she turns so that her back faces Mai. “Now if that’s everything, I’d appreciate it if you left. I’m quite busy, you see.”

Mai can feel the hurt radiating off Azula in waves, and with a lurch she realizes that she’s done exactly what she promised herself she’d never do. She’s confirmed Azula’s every nagging suspicion—every fear that to Mai she's nothing more than a means to an end.

Mai feels sick as the door closes behind her.

It’s far too easy, all things considered. A few discreet inquiries lead her to the gate of a small estate just inside the outer rim of Caldera. She finds him behind the house, bent over, his knees deep in soil with sweat pooling on the back of his neck in the midday sun. He works the soil with quiet determination, his hori hori cutting deep grooves in the earth. Involved as he is, the man doesn’t notice her presence until mere paces separate them.

She’s struck by how much less imposing he is now. Bereft of the ornate armor of Ozai’s personal guard he’s barely recognizable. Greyed and balding, with a thick band of fat around his gut, the man has clearly gone to seed.

“Captain Kitano, it’s been too long.”

Kitano stiffens in shock. He turns slowly but deliberately, his free arm tensing and pulling inward. Mai immediately recognizes it from countless hours spent watching Azula train—the beginning of a one-handed fireball. She casually slips a blade into the palm of her hand, and Kitano stops. She could kill him with little more than a flick of her wrist, and to his credit, the captain seems to know it.

“Lady Mai.”

Kitano drops his hori hori and shifts to face her, palms forward in a gesture of surrender. He bows to her, far too shallow for her present station.

“I must admit, I was wondering how long it would take. I suppose I should be honored that the usurper has at least sent someone of rank to end me, even if she’s only a girl.”

Mai snorts. She has little time and even less patience for this man’s petty insults. “I’m here for information, not to kill you.”

He cocks an eyebrow, the look both challenge and mockery. “Oh?”

“The Fire Lord wishes to know what became of his Lady Mother, and who better to ask than the man in charge of her protection.” She replies, emphasizing the final word with dry sarcasm.

Kitano sneers. “Surely the boy usurper can’t be so naïve as to think his dear mother is still alive. You of all people should know, the Fire Lord does not leave loose ends.”

Mai hears the echo of Azula’s words in his confirmation. “When?”

Kitano replies casually, as if he’s chatting about the weather, not admitting to the murder of royalty.

“We caught her just outside Harbor City, attempting to flee after murdering our Honored Lord. It was a pity—Princess Ursa was a firebender of rare skill. She took six of my best men with her to the spirits.”

Kitano smiles. It’s an ugly thing, almost nostalgic. Mai’s insides roil, and she’s once again glad she had the good sense not to inform Zuko of this little excursion. Were he here, she hates to imagine what he might do.

“Her body?”

“Burned,” he replies simply. “We dumped what little was left of her in the bay.”

Behind her emotionless mask, Mai roils. She’ll admit that she never liked Princess Ursa, the woman’s chilly condescension and blatant favoritism always grated on her. Still, traitor or no, she deserved far better than that end. Kitano will pay for his disrespect.

She allows silence to settle between them as she calculates her next move. She has no doubt Kitano is telling the truth, but Zuko won’t rest in his quest without proof. Men like Kitano, their first allegiance is always to themselves. To kill a member of the royal family… Kitano would never have committed such an act without some kind of insurance should his employer decide that he too was a loose end to be eliminated.

Fingering the blade in her hand, Mai tries to think of what Azula would say if she were here. “That’s quite the story. Yet without proof, what use are you to me?”

She raises the knife casually, relishing in Kitano’s look of pure animal terror. If the man hadn’t already pissed himself, he certainly has now.

He raises shaking hands, pleading, “wait, wait!”

She raises one eyebrow and taps her knife against her thigh. Goading him is so incredibly satisfying—how she missed this kind of work.

“There’s something. It’s inside, let me bring it to you.”

It could be a trap, but Mai doubts it. In any case, it’s not like she can’t handle one out of shape firebender, even in close quarters.

“Lead the way.” She gestures lazily with her knife. If he knew her any better, he might notice her mockery. A pity, that.

Kitano rises to his feet, stumbling. He brushes the dirt from his hakama as he shuffles inside, glancing nervously over his shoulder. Mai follows several paces behind. The interior of the dwelling is sparse, dingy and devoid of decoration save for the regimental banner hung on one wall. It’s faded and threadbare with age, not unlike its owner.

Kitano kneels down and pulls up one of the mats, revealing a small space harboring a battered wooden box. He offers it to her, still watching her hands, his eyes keen for even the smallest movement. Not that it would matter much given his current position, but still, she appreciates the gesture.

She takes the box with one hand, keeping her eyes on him as she pries open the clasp. It contains only a small bundle of scrolls alongside a blade, brittle with rust, that bears an uncanny resemblance to the one currently hanging at her waist. Beneath them, she can see the edge of a gold headpiece buried in a mass of stained and tattered silk.

Mai nods once in acknowledgement, tucking the box beneath her arm. Behind her, Kitano lets out a sigh of relief. Without so much as a second thought, she spins and lodges a knife in his throat.

No loose ends, she thinks to herself.

(Whether she did it to spare Zuko or out of some twisted sense of justice, she doesn’t know.)

When she returns, she locks herself in her study and orders the servants away. One or two give her inquisitive looks, but all know better than to ask. Zuko is away, occupied in a trade meeting. She’ll have at least twenty degrees to herself, free from any interruption.

Kneeling at the low desk, she opens the box again and pulls out the late Princess Ursa’s headpiece, setting it aside. The faint scorch marks on its single gold flame make her reluctant to examine it further. She stows it along with what can only be Ursa’s marriage blade in the hidden compartment beneath her desk.

(Its hilt is still flecked with patches of brown. She wonders what it felt like, running that blade across Azulon’s neck. Her hand drifts to its counterpart at her right hip, thumbing the hilt.)

All that remains now are the scrolls. They’re not much to look at—bound by a single ribbon of red silk singed at one end, their exposed edges marred with the telltale signs of water damage.

The first scroll appears uninteresting at first, Ursa’s tearful regrets to her family in Hira’a. Mai feels a twinge at the back of her neck as she reads it. The dead woman’s words are an uncomfortable reminder that she is not the first to be bound by duty to this family.

(Ursa was taken unwillingly, she reminds herself, whereas she has chosen this path. Yet she can’t help but remember—it was not her own fate she thought of when she stepped off that ship.)

The second letter is to Zuko, rambling and overly sentimental. In it, Ursa confirms the story Azula had once told Mai—that Azulon had ordered Zuko’s death, and in desperation Ursa had struck a bargain with Ozai, forging him a path to the crown in exchange for her son’s safety.

(It appears theatricality runs in the family.)

Mai scoffs. Ursa was a fool to think a man like Ozai would ever honor any agreement he was not made to keep by force.

She sets the first two scrolls aside. There is no letter for Azula.

The third and final letter intrigues her much more than the other two. It is smaller and significantly older, folded and unfolded so many times that the ink has worn away from the characters along the creases.

Mai’s surprised to find that it’s addressed to Iroh, dated mere weeks after Azula’s birth yet clearly never sent.

“My Honored Lord Brother,

I fear I have made a horrible mistake. My daughter was born eight days ago, in the dead of night on the solstice. The sages consider it an ill omen, and I can’t help but agree. She wails day and night, sparks already fly from her tiny fingers. I am beside myself with exhaustion, nothing I say or do can calm her.

Ozai was away for the birth, sent to supervise the construction of new fortifications in Yu Dao at the behest of our Honored Lord Father. A hawk arrived from him two days after the birth, naming her after her Honored Grandfather. I have no doubt that his intentions in choosing such a name are as clear to you as they are to me.

Yet that is not why I write to you now. When I wrote to him, I told him that our daughter had been born weeks early, light of weight and frail. I lied. She was born healthy and heavy, screaming and ruddy from the moment she left me. I don’t need to tell you what this means. There is no doubt in my mind that she cannot be his.

Ozai cares little for our household—he knows nothing, and I doubt he will suspect. I cannot say the same for our Honored Lord Father. He has eyes and ears in every corner of this palace, as you well know. While I have sworn my staff to secrecy, their fear of him is surely greater than their loyalty to me. He honored us with his presence shortly after Azula’s birth, and the way he looked at me… he said nothing, of course, but I know that he knows.

I am at a loss, I write to you now only out of desperation and whatever lingering fondness you may feel for me. My daughter carries your blood in her veins, the outcome of our conduct is your responsibility as much as it is mine.

In shame and regret, your Honored Sister,

Princess Ursa of Caldera

Mai drops the paper in shock. She scans the letter again, unwilling to believe the characters in front of her. Yet the more she considers it, the more obvious the truth. Azula, possessed of a keen mind for strategy and a talent for firebending that far surpassed that of her father and brother. Azula, whose eyes are a warm amber to Zuko’s pale gold, who even now stands far shorter than either of her parents…

She quietly laughs at the irony of it all. The son Ozai so despises is his only child, his precious daughter sired by the man he hates most in the world. For a brief moment she fantasizes about taking the letter to Ozai—watching him break as he reads it, listening to his impotent screams echo throughout his tiny cell.

Reality returns however, and with it the cold dread of the choice she now realizes she must make. She could burn this letter and no one would ever know—the sole remaining witness is a dead man, a knife lodged in his throat to ensure his eternal silence.

She doesn’t even consider taking it to Zuko, or worse still, Iroh. No good can come of telling Zuko this, and Iroh lost whatever right he may have had to be her father when he appealed to the Avatar to reach into her soul and steal what she valued most in the world, and then again when he stood silent as Azula was led in chains out through the palace gates.

But Azula... Mai hesitates, knowing just how much this will hurt. The tattered shreds of her former identity are all Azula has left to cling to, this could destroy her. Would Mai be betraying Azula by telling her, or is keeping the truth from her a betrayal of its own?

Yet she knows what Azula would do in her position. The greater insult will always be the lie, even one told to protect.

Resolved, she stows the scroll in her sleeve and leaves for the prison.

Mai stares out the window of the carriage as they crest the rim of the caldera. The black soil covering the outer slopes is a brilliant green with the new growth of spring—the fire lilies will be in bloom soon. The letter is an uncomfortable weight in her sleeve, she dreads what would happen should the secret within ever become public knowledge.

On one hand, it confirms Azula as the sole living descendant of the former crown prince—were she legitimate, she would be the uncontested heir to the throne. But legitimate she is not, and Iroh’s status in the Fire Nation complicates matters. The once renowned general is as much of a villain to his own people as he is to the inhabitants of the lands he conquered in their name. Betraying his nation both in spirit and in deed, he conspired with the Avatar to overthrow the Fire Lord, then fought alongside the Earth Kingdom to retake the very city he had once sworn to conquer.

(A city claimed for the Fire Nation by his own daughter, taken in a matter of days without so much as a single death… one spirit of the world notwithstanding.)

If Azula’s true parentage were revealed it could go either way, Mai thinks. Her (true) father’s deeds would surely taint her image, yet they are a nation where blood has always been stronger than decree. The people would be as likely to rally behind Azula as turn on her.

Mai’s mind is still far away as she’s led down the narrow corridor—her reverie only breaks when she enters the cell and Azula lets out a suppressed gasp of surprise.

“Well, that was fast. I have to say Mai, you’ve exceeded even my expectations.”

Azula gives her a knowing smirk, and something within Mai crumbles. Whatever conflict she’s feeling must show on her face, because Azula’s expression quickly morphs into a guarded look of concern. “What is it?”

Mai doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how she can even begin to explain this, so she just does the first thing that comes to mind. She reaches into her sleeve and hands Azula the letter.

Azula gives her a curious look as she takes it, scanning the letter once, then twice. Her hands begin to shake and she draws quick, agitated breaths. The hairs on the back of Mai’s neck bristle, her fingers drifting toward the knife strapped to her forearm. She wants to believe that Azula would never hurt her, and yet…

(A faint pink scar still lingers at the base of her throat.)

Leave it to Azula to do the last thing Mai ever expects.

Azula’s shoulder sag as she dissolves in a fit of incredulous laughter. She seems to have forgotten Mai is even present, she laughs and laughs before finally letting out a single, bitter sigh. “Oh, I underestimated grandfather.”

Mai blinks in non-comprehension. Azula, who only now seems to have remembered her presence, rolls her eyes in annoyance. It’s oddly resigned, the way a teacher might look at a student failing to grasp the obvious.

“It’s brilliant, really.” Azula chuckles to herself, shaking her head. She stares out into space as she continues.

“Grandfather clearly did know, and he used it to put Fa—Ozai in an impossible double bind. He could either kill his son, his only child as it turns out, and prove himself unworthy as Honored Grandfather’s heir, or he could deny a direct order from his Fire Lord—proving himself unworthy as heir. Word would get out, and Iroh would be forced to adopt his bastard daughter out of shame. Grandfather secures his succession and disposes of his volatile failure of a second son all in one stroke. It’s masterful.”

Azula begins to pace. She crosses her arms across her chest protectively, the lines of her neck defined in tension. She laughs again, “and to think, if I hadn’t gone running like a scared little girl to Zuzu, it probably would’ve worked…”

She stops, and whatever anger had been building within her seems to dissipate into the stagnant air. Azula’s chuckles again, soft and strangely bitter. Mai is at a total loss. She can’t even begin to guess what Azula must be thinking, let alone feeling at this moment. Azula could've had everything she ever wanted—power, respect, the unconditional love of her country—if only she hadn’t tried to save Zuko. Azula, the princess said to have a heart colder than her flame, undone by her own sentimentality not once, but twice.

Illegitimate or not, Azula is the natural daughter of the crown prince, Azulon’s first son. Her legitimacy will matter little in the face of popular discontent against Zuko. Between the letter and her performance in the Agni Kai, Azula has everything she needs to make a bid for the throne. And yet her reaction now is not one of triumph, it’s not even one of anger. There’s something deeply strange about the way Azula is holding herself now. An awful pit forms in Mai’s stomach as she looks into Azula’s eyes and sees shades of the same frenzy present on the Day of the Black Sun.

Azula faces her and steps closer to the bars, her gaze unwavering, penetrating even in the dull green light of the cell. The tone she uses now is sharp, not a query but an order. “Who else knows about this? Ozai certainly never did, or I would have been dead long ago.”

Mai swallows. This whole endeavor is beginning to look like a very foolish idea. “No one. I haven’t told anyone yet.”

Azula’s nostrils flare, her mouth thinning to a line. “Good.”

What Azula does next shocks Mai to her core. Later, she’ll remember it as the moment that she began to reevaluate everything she thought she knew about the former princess.

With a look of grim satisfaction, Azula burns the letter.

Mai lets out a strangled cry of shock as the white ashes flutter to the cell floor. “What! Why...”

Azula ignores Mai’s distress, her tone disconcertingly casual as she speaks. “I trust you won’t tell dear Zuzu. Iroh either.” Azula’s face twists into something vicious and bitter. “I think I’ve had quite enough of fathers.”

Mai just gapes at her, trying and failing to understand. She just handed Azula the perfect weapon against Zuko and Iroh, and she destroyed it.

Azula looks directly at Mai and smiles. The expression on her face is so incongruous that for a moment, Mai feels as though she’s looking into the face of a stranger. Azula’s gaze is no less intense, but the tightness around her eyes is gone. It’s only in its absence that Mai notices what had once lived there, and it’s then that Mai understands.

“You don’t want it.”

Azula doesn’t respond immediately. Her focus darts away as if to some point far off in the distance. The corner of her mouth twitches up, laughing at a joke only she hears.

”Duty is to take another’s desire, and through fear, make it one's own.”

Just as Mai is beginning to think Azula has finally lost it, Azula turns to look at her. She raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“A verse from Laghima, a monk of the Northern Temple who lived long before our four nations. He was considered something of a heretic, though Avatar Yangchen is said to have been influenced by his teachings.”

Azula sits in the center of her cell, her face the picture of serenity. She raises her hands, gesturing at the walls that surround them.

“Tell me Mai, what do I have left to fear?”