Chapter Thirty-Five

"—and then I shoved the cooler into the Boiling Lake, changed out of my armor, and ran back to my cell before the guards realized I'd left." Suki grinned, popping another piece of fish into her mouth.

"That's quite a story," Katara said. If only we knew where Sokka was now, it would be even better.

Across the campfire from her, her father nodded, subdued. He was clearly wishing the same thing. But he must've heard Suki's story already, because instead of asking questions about Sokka's location, he shoveled a mound of rice into his mouth and stared at the fire.

"So we really have no idea where he is, then," Ty Lee murmured. Everyone's eyes flickered in her direction for a moment. If Katara hadn't known her better, the acrobat's words would've sounded almost normal. But because she knew Ty Lee, the words sounded lifeless, hollow, and while Katara couldn't expect much given the condition they'd found her in, the emptiness in Ty Lee's voice was disconcerting.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Suki said. "Sokka's smart, and cunning. He'll make it back to us soon."

"Of course he will," Katara said, still looking at Ty Lee. The acrobat gave no indication she'd heard any of the reassurances, no indication that there existed anyone outside of herself. Her gray eyes were a thousand miles away, her pupils reflecting the dancing flames.

They could not reach her.

Katara stood. "I'm going to look for something for breakfast tomorrow."

Zuko rose with her. "I'll come with you."

"Can't you just bend some fish out of the water tomorrow morning?" Toph asked, staring emptily to the side of the fire.

"Yes, but . . . There might be something else to eat on the island. We can't live on meat alone, you know."

Her father smiled. "Try convincing your brother of that."

Katara tried to smile back. Failed. Turned toward the jungle and started walking.

Once they were out of earshot, Zuko spoke. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

Zuko watched her for a long moment, evidently trying to decide whether it was best to press the issue, or if he should leave it alone. Katara hoped for both outcomes, wanting to hear his voice, but unwilling to share her worries about Ty Lee when it was really none of her business.

In the end, Zuko stayed silent, merely taking her hand. His fingers were warm, softer than she'd expected. It seemed strange that, for all they had touched, the softness of his skin still had the power to surprise her.

His fingers massaged the palm of her hand as he spoke. "I'm sorry things didn't turn out like you were hoping. I know you wanted to find your brother."

She shrugged. "It's all right. We found two people we weren't expecting to find. And I'm sure Sokka will show up soon. He always does." Hopefully he'll bring Aang and Appa with him.

"You always rely on your brother that much?" Zuko asked.

Katara was about to say: Of course. He's my brother. But the words stuck on her tongue when she realized the same logic didn't hold true for Zuko's family. "Well . . . yeah. I mean, he's never failed me before, at least never on anything important." She hesitated, then added, "Wasn't it ever like that with you and your sister?"

"No. Never."

"Not even when you were younger?"

Zuko shook his head. His dark hair flopped around, much messier than the stiff topknot he'd worn during their first encounter. "Azula was always Father's favorite. She was a firebending prodigy, a natural-born leader. She was everything our father had ever wanted in an heir, except she wasn't the firstborn. So all through our childhood, she was racing ahead to convince Father to label her the next heir to the throne, against tradition, and I was struggling to keep up with her so he wouldn't. There was . . . There was never any joy in our rivalry. She mocked me ruthlessly, tried to distract me. And when threw it back at her, it only ever hit me in the face." He lifted a hand to his scar.

"But I think I'm better off now," he went on, tracing the uneven skin of his long-healed burn. "I think being banished was the best thing my father could've done for me, whether he meant it to be or not. After all, I might've turned out like Azula if I'd stayed there."

"No." Katara took hold of his arm. "You could never be like Azula."

His golden eyes darted down to meet hers, overflowing with some unfathomable emotion. After a tense moment, he pressed his lips against her forehead. "Thanks Katara."

She planted a kiss on his lips. "Don't mention it."

The boat listed sharply to the side as it collided with the dock. Iroh braced his hand against the wall, as if that would keep him steady.

The ride had taken several days, the boat stopping at three different ports to load and unload cargo. Some of what the crew was transporting was mundane—furniture and carpets and things. Some of the cargo was rather . . . unsavory.

Yet part of him was glad of that. An elephant mouse trying to avoid the talons of a hawk knew to stay off the path, and for him, this was the best way to remain unnoticed.

He waited as crewmembers moved about the cargo hold, waited for them to bring him to the surface. Tazia had claimed they knew what they were doing, advised him to obey them until he was safely ashore, and Iroh had known the handmaid since before he'd become a General. So he waited.

Minutes passed, and a black-haired man peered around the corner. "It's time."

Iroh rose, joints cracking as he straightened out. The young man winced, as if he could feel the aches of age himself. "Thank you," Iroh said, stepping forward.

The man led him through a labyrinth of crates, glancing around as if he expected someone to jump out at him. When an elephant rat skittered by, his hand flew to the machete at his hip.

"I do not think you should be so nervous," Iroh said, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "If there were anything dangerous down here, I am sure I would have encountered it by now."

The man frowned and nodded, continuing up to the main level. When he opened a steel door, sunlight flooded in through the opening. Iroh closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "There is nothing more invigorating than a breath of fresh air after so long in confinement."

"Yeah, I guess . . ." The boy looked back down the steps, then through the doorway again. "It's daytime, so . . . um . . . Try not to look too suspicious, okay?"

Iroh smiled. "Of course."

The door opened wide, and for a moment, the brilliant circle of the sun pierced his eyes with its invigorating glow. He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the afterimages as the young man led him across the deck. Once his vision had cleared a little bit, he saw people moving all around him, stacking crates onto pallets, to be wheeled onto shore. Some were already unloading the cargo, eyes darting around for potential watchers. Iroh could tell from their body language alone which boxes were full of legal cargo, and which were full of contraband.

"Your contact is just up that path, in the house at the top of the hill. She's expecting you."

Iroh bowed. "You are a good man."

A bit awkwardly, the man said, "Thanks."

Iroh smiled. The young man's reluctance to speak reminded him of his nephew. Perhaps I will see him soon, once I am done here.

They parted. Iroh started up the hill, walking leisurely so as not to draw attention to himself. The gravel crunched under his feet, a welcome sound after days on the groaning ship.

The house stood on the top of the hill, just where the young man had said it would be. Iroh approached and knocked on the door. A few moments later, it opened, and a girl of fifteen peered out. Her black eyes rested on him for a moment before she opened the door wider. "You are the Dragon of the West?"

"I have been called that."

The girl bowed. "It is an honor to meet you. Please, come in."

He stepped inside. The interior of the house was fairly simple—a tea table, a few chairs, a shelf devoted to scrolls. One figure stood at the opposite side of the room, looking out the window. "So you've come at last, Iroh. I was beginning to think my letter didn't make it."

His lips stretched into a smile. "It has been a long time, Ursa."