The next morning,I received an urgent message from Iroh. He'd just learned that Lu Ten's governess had mistreated him and was rightfully panicked. He requested my presence at the palace, seeing as he was still on campaign, and I was more than happy to watch over two-year-old Lu Ten. Having graduated from the Academy a year early, I was quite free to entertain the young prince until I turned sixteen, the age at which young noblewomen could be introduced to court/essentially begin to find husbands. I left for the Capital City before lunch, but Ozai fled even earlier. Azulon wanted him to tour the islands so that he might meet/intimidate the people, understand the nation better, and get out of his way. For each benefit Ozai's presence offered the Fire Lord, he saw a thousand disadvantages. He found no pleasure in his company, he didn't want his generals and nobles comparing the two princes (especially in Iroh's absence), and he'd always feared his second son's ambition and ability to manipulate both members of court and the military. Azulon had been recommending such a tour for months, but that was the day Ozai agreed to it. I couldn't help but feel as though he did so just to flee from me.

The palace didn't feel like home, at first. Everything about it reminded me of him. His absence was palpable in the very air, in the pathetic-in-comparison firebending of all the other soldiers. They forced me to feel how out of place I was, how much I didn't belong without Ozai, and I found it easier to cope by dressing as a servant. My father would've been mortified if he knew, but he never visited me, and I never visited him.

Lu Sen, however, was a welcome reminder of the Royal Family. I firmly believed him to be the most adorable toddler in history, but, of course, that was before I had toddlers of my own to worship. He was very well-behaved, if you kept him constantly entertained, and I loved to play with him, exhausting as that might be. I wouldn't have enjoyed watching him quite so much if I had to clean up his messes myself. It did have to watch the servants change and clean him so I understood how they felt about the horrible smell-and the horrible screams. After his governess's cruelty, the babe screeched his head off everytime someone changed him, but he finally learned to use the chamber pot a few weeks after my arrival. He also (mostly) learned not to firebend at me, however fun it was for him to watch my assigned protector deflect the flames. It broke my heart to see how much he looked like his mother-her eyes, her porcelein skin, her obsidian hair color-and how much healthier he was. It didn't seem possible for him to have those blue eyes and yet be so strong and energetic. Compared to his mother, he never slept, he was indestructable, and he laughed in the face of illness. My fear over his every bruise and scratch was intense, and my apprehension over the slightest possibility of him becoming injured or sick was even worse. After a while, I'd been mostly reconciled to the reality of his durability, and he'd been mostly reconciled to his father's absence, but only if I lullabied him to sleep each night.

The servants didn't quite know what to make of me, at first. The matriarch of the group was rather appalled by my decision to wear servants' clothing and treat the girls as my equals. There was a deep sense of honor and pride in serving the royal family, and many of those servants felt that the formality established was essential to the self-respect and privacy of both servants and nobles. Formalized selflessness was her life and honor, and my "overly-familiar" selflessness went against all she knew and stood for. Aloud, she would never criticize me; I was her superior. However, I could see her thoughts and disapproval on her face. She made no attempt to hide it, and she would reprimand me-albeit very gently-if I pressed her for an opinion or advice. "Almost improper" was her harshest description of how I played with the young prince on his level. I also understood that she feared how the Fire Lord-who defined authoritarian-would react to my relatively free-spirited, over-indulgent, and overly-familiar upbringing of Lu Ten.

I did discipline him, of course. He had guidelines and routines, but my rules were nothing when compared to most of the Fire Nation, or to what Azulon expected. We'd been raising babies into soldiers for decades, especially the firebenders, and especially the royal family. Azulon had higher standards and demands for his offspring than he did for his entire military, and they were to be made aware of that from their first breath. Fortunately, the Fire Lord wasn't interested in his grandson when Iroh was away. The thought to see him never seemed to enter his mind. I saw him no more than once, and it was completely by accident. We happened to be walking down the same hall as he, but he didn't even glance at me. He wouldn't have recognized me anyway, but most men had started to stare at me by that age. In his eyes, servant garb made any beauty fade into the background, invisible. Then again, he might've been unable to see any beauty at all.

I knew it was wrong to judge our ruler so harshly when he had a nation, countless colonies, and a war to lead, but I couldn't help it.

Even with the warmth Lu Ten filled me with, I couldn't forget Ozai. No matter how much his leaving had irked me, I needed him-and he needed me-so much more. I knew he was too stubborn to write first so, after a month of silence to punish the both of us, I sent him a letter.

Ursa wrote as if nothing had changed, which relieved me for reasons I could not-or would not-explain even to myself. From a technical standpoint, it could've been anyone under those masks; the shadows had covered all but our eyes, our voices had changed over the years, etc. From a technical standpoint, we both had plausible deniability. She acknowledged the dance, of course. My firebending was as distinguishable to her as her dancing was to me.

She made a valiant effort to write about something other than Lu Ten, but even with all the updates she sent to Iroh, the kid occupied too much of her days to not occupy her mind as well. Much to my surprise, I appreciated it. I appreciated the details about my nephew, my replacement as the back-up prince. I should've resented him; his existence guaranteed that I'd never be Fire Lord. However, I couldn't work up the courage to do so-yet. It seemed absurd to resent a babe, a babe whose smile tugged even at my heart strings. Ursa had confessed that she couldn't even picture me holding Lu Ten as a baby, but I had. Time and time again. I even sang to him when Iroh was gone, though I didn't tell him that. I never even told Ursa that. It'd started because we slept in the same building, and his cries were so loud that they pierced through the walls into my room, preventing me from sleeping. I sneaked into his nursery once the servants gave up, and I did the only thing I could think to do. "Leaves from the vine" called him down immediately, and I lulled him to sleep with the song every night.

Why did I never tell her that?

I wrote to her about the towns we visited. When we visited the supposed site of the Painted Lady origin, I described everything about the village and legend. When we came across a fire lily festival, my letters detailed the breathtaking bursts of color and endless fields of beauty. On the longer journeys, I would sketch to stave off the madness of boredom. More often that not, I tried to capture my memory of her, of her flawless face, of those eyes, but I never I sent her those portraits. Instead, she'd receive pictures of the shoreline, mountains, gardens... I illustrated everything, but most of what I wrote about was embellishment. The more towns we went to, the less there was to say, and the more there was to fabricate. There were three kinds of communities in the Fire Nation: the poor fishing and (more rarely) farming villages, factory towns of the middle class, and industrialized cities. We passed mining compounds also, but they were worked by slaving prisoners who had no right to see a prince. Most of our people lived in urban areas, but there were many more towns than cities, and there were barely any villages left. The years of war had only increased our wealth, even for the majority of our commoners, and we received most of our resources from the colonies.

Despite our success, everything and everyone seemed to look the same. Wherever I went, the people threw a celebration for their royal guest of honor, but the feasts blurred together. No variety in fashion, architecture, food, entertainment... Commoners were rarely allowed any form of self-expression or artistic exploits. The boys were trained to be soldiers, benders or not, and the girls were trained to serve the war effort just as fiercely. If they couldn't—or wanted to do more than—raise future soldiers, they might become firebending masters to teach them, factory workers to armor and equip them, scholars to guide them, seamstresses to clothe them, and magistrates to support them and those they loved. These women were often more interesting than the men, but even their courage and determination for the war vanished in the light of that war. The people of the Fire Nation had desire and will, the energy and drive to achieve what they wanted, but none rivaled that of the Fire Lord's. Whatever I might've felt about him as a father, Azulon's reign had to be admired. It took a more-than-remarkable ruler to achieve so much decade after decade; it took a great conqueror and greater administrator. For decades, the people's wills were subserved by, arguably, the strongest the world had ever known, and a nation of individuals disappeared. One personality overcame countless others, and our strict, draconian militarism prevented almost all originality and creativity.

My brief visits and speeches were meant to encourage enlistments. Firebending males were drafted no matter what, but nonbenders weren't forced to serve so much as they were peer-pressured into it. They didn't need much encouragement; even men who were too old or unhealthy seemed desperate to sign up. Why did Azulon ask me to do such a thing? I didn't need to say a word to gain soldiers. Did he want me to learn more about our kingdom? Why? What did he expect of his secondborn son? He'd been perfectly content to hide me in some dark corner of the palace up until then, but why did he want me out among the people? They adored Iroh, but I knew how to turn on the charm also. Our brands of charisma were certainly different, but didn't Azulon think that mine was a threat? Iroh was my inferior in looks, height, and in resemblance to the much loved, feared, and respected Fire Lord. Iroh connected with and motivated his men and his people with strength and warmth, but Azulon knew what I was capable of, he knew how my presence and performance could inflame an audience with both wrath and pride, with loyalty and determination, with a lust for conquering. Iroh's strength lied in being underestimated, but all could see that I was terrifying and inspirational at the same time. Why would he risk putting me in a position where the people could see that, could consider whether they preferred the cunning, lethal prince over their amiable, stable one?

He wouldn't, not unless it was even riskier for me to remain near his war room.

Was he more afraid of me charming the people or the nobles, sages, and advisors?

The mask I put on for the audience was certainly easier than juggling all the masks I wore at the palace, but the new routine was almost worse. Palace life was nothing but variety compared to touring life, and I counted down the days to my eighteenth birthday. At last, I would be able to fight. All my years of training would be worth something, and I would be free from the Fire Lord's burning scrutiny.

Sorry for another summary/lack of dialogue chapter, but it's better than nothing?