Princess Azula scowled at Long Feng when he entered her cell. He offered a courteous nod in reply. Once his aide set down the stool and left, the Grand Secretariat seated himself. "Good afternoon, Your Highness."
The familiar unattractive frown crossed her face. He hadn't revealed the source of his information about Azula's identity. She remained sullen about the matter. "These cells are disgusting."
"Bleak, perhaps," he replied, spreading his hands as if to encompass its meager space. "They are, however, clean and well ventilated. More depressing than disgusting, I'd venture to say."
Certainly better than the cold cell she'd been placed in at the beginning. He'd been relieved when the Dai Li healer found few ill effects from using the bending suppressing drug on the adolescent. Long Feng still had concerns about giving it to her long term, but believed it was safer than keeping the girl constantly on the verge of hypothermia. The child glared at him without a hint of gratitude. "I hate you."
"An honest statement," he said, making it clear that he felt neither irritation nor fear. "I believe our relationship is improving."
"Then you're an idiot. I will make you pay for every insult inflicted upon my person!"
He sighed. "And the threats return. Your guards should be treating you with every courtesy."
"I am being kept prisoner in this oubliette! I've had no contact with my servants!" There was a minute hesitation before she described the other girls, Long Feng observed. Did she, in her rather warped way, consider them friends?
"I am royalty," she ranted on. "I should be receiving the courtesy and respect due my rank! I should have been given rooms in the palace itself!"
"You are a foreign agent who dared to infiltrate my city," he replied. "I could have ordered your and the others' deaths as soon as you were discovered, but chose to offer mercy. Removed from Dai Li custody, you would be prisoners of the military. As a daughter of the enemy's royal house, they'd kill you immediately. Your servants," he added, mimicking her almost nonexistent hesitation before using the word, "would be tortured for whatever information they might have before they, too, were killed. Spies get no pity, child, has no one explained that to you? Even your corpses would be hung up on the walls or tossed over them to rot in the dirt."
Her gold eyes widened, whether in shock or dismay he could only surmise. Either no one had dared sully her royal ears with how the real world worked or she'd never even suspected that those rules could apply to her as well. He stifled a surge of pity.
She bowed her head in thought, eyes never shifting from her bound hands. When she finally spoke, the girl actually surprised him. "You called Be Sing Se "your city". A Grand Secretariat is no king."
"Indeed," he replied. "I do the things my king cannot."
Her head snapped up. She stared as if he'd revealed some bizarre secret. "You're a peasant! You can't possibly do anything that a king can't!"
This, he thought, is why nobles need so much supervision. They're given so much entitlement and propaganda and so little real knowledge. "I am," he replied, "common-born, a creature of the poorest, least influential ring of Ba Sing Se. Yet here I sit, where my city needs me most."
He rose, tapped a rhythmic pattern on the cell door, and offered a very slight bow. Then he left her, young, proud and very confused, to ponder how the world outside her charmed circle actually worked.
#############
"I'm so sorry!" Yung wailed again, loud enough for Zuko to hear her clearly in the back. Uncle sighed, turning away from the water he was heating for their customers' tea.
"I'll get it," Zuko said, drying his hands and leaving the sink full of cups and soapy water. He grabbed a basin and towel and hurried out to where the server was still apologizing, wringing her hands over the tray she'd dropped. She hadn't begun to wipe up the mess and the well-dressed men at the table beside her were looking increasingly annoyed. He sighed inwardly. At least she hadn't splashed any customers this time. With a bow, he apologized and ordered Yung to go get a fresh pot for them while he squatted to clean up the spilled tea and broken crockery.
He felt their eyes on his scar and kept his own lowered as he worked. People in this ring just weren't used to such sights and felt no compunctions about staring. He was determined not to let Uncle Iroh see how much being viewed like some freak upset him.
"Um," he heard, followed by a hurried whisper in a scolding tone. When he risked a glance, it was just a little kid with a much older woman, probably his grandmother, seated nearby. When they saw him looking, the woman looked mortified but the boy brightened. "Hi!"
"Hello," Zuko replied, "Did Yung take your order yet?"
"I don't like tea," the boy said. "It's hot."
"Tea can be an acquired taste," Zuko said, "some people need time to learn to like it." He didn't add that he had yet to learn, this being a tea shop, after all. The grandmother looked approving. Maybe she'd expected the scarred barbarian to yell?
"We ordered the peach infusion," the woman said, "but I'm not sure she'll remember. The young lady seemed so distressed."
"I'll take care of it," he assured her.
"She's clumsy," the boy said.
"She's still learning," Zuko said. "She usually does fine."
"You're not clumsy."
"I've waited tables a lot," Zuko replied, surprised to realize he was smiling at the kid. With a last check for wet spots or bits of crockery, he rose, picking up the basin and adding, "I'll just check on your orders," to both tables before turning away.
Yung was carrying a fresh tray, looking a bit calmer after the reassurance Iroh was bound to have offered. She hesitated when he traded it for the basin. "Do you remember asking for a pot of the peach infusion?" he asked.
"I don't know if I did or not," she whispered, eyes going to the pair at the table.
"That's all right. Put that in back and ask Uncle. He'll know if you already placed the order."
He treated the men with an extra hint of formal respect as he served them, which seemed to ease their previous irritation. The boy at the table next to them said, "You're nice. She talked a lot."
"I'll speak to her about that," Zuko said, though he had to wonder if the girl had only been listing the variety of teas they offered. It was part of the job, but a small kid probably would be bored listening. He glanced at the boy's guardian, who offered him a smile. She hadn't seemed displeased with Yung, and was sympathetic, so he decided there probably wasn't a real problem. "Yung should be right out with your tea."
Zuko felt pretty good when he returned to his dishes. Maybe he could handle the curious looks until people got used to him. Nobody had actually refused to stay in the Jasmine Dragon because of his appearance, after all. And if Smellerbee wasn't here, they really needed a confident person on the floor. Uncle's tea snobs were nice kids, but they still needed supervision. He decided he should head out front more often. The dishes wouldn't pile up too badly.
Once he cleaned the cups he'd left earlier, (He cheated a little by reheating the water with his bending. Uncle gave him an amused smirk since Zuko was usually the one to nag him about being cautious.) Zuko went out front to help serve and give Yung guidance as needed. She did know her tea, but tended to tell some customers more than they cared to hear. There were many who came looking to try the variety of unusual or rare teas the Jasmine Dragon had to offer, but others just wanted to order their favorite and drink it. Zuko coached her in reading the customers so there'd be less of that glazed look on people's faces. She began to relax around him, too. He supposed he had been a bit of a tyrant during the servers' training.
Another group of men came in, apparently to do business over a pot of tea. They were all finely dressed and treated one another with a kind of friendly formality. Yung approached and seated them with excellent poise. One, seated facing him, had storm cloud colored eyes in a seemingly expressive face. Zuko turned away fast, but walked to the back with false calm, hiding his horror. Shen was in Ba Sing Se.
Uncle won't know, he told himself. Shen won't say anything even if I do go out there. Why would he? It's fine. His breathing was all wrong so he wrested back control by taking strong, meditative breaths. His hands were trembling. He couldn't pour with his hands doing that, but they wouldn't let up, hard as he willed them to.
"Nephew?" Iroh asked, voice sounding far away. "Are you unwell?"
"I don't like being looked at," he said. His voice was shaking, too.
"Li," his uncle said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder that made him twitch, "please accept my apology. I had not noticed that you were uncomfortable."
"I'm fine," Zuko said, "mostly fine. I just need a break for now. I'm so sorry." His eyes were tearing pathetically. He turned away so they wouldn't actually fall. "I'll wash the cups."
"As you wish, nephew."
He went out front, ostensibly to check how smoothly things were going and to charm some new customers who hadn't met him yet. Zuko felt pathetically grateful for the solitude as he immersed his shaking hands until the hot water soothed the tremors. He stayed in back until the tea shop closed, but couldn't bring himself to leave until he'd washed the floor twice.