Chapter 24
Disclaimer: Drug use.
Azula wakes slowly, eyes still closed as either Hegane or Haojun moves around the room. She hears the soft thumps of bare feet on the wooden floor, the rustling of cloth as bedrolls are folded and packed away. Her blanket is heavy and extreme comfortable, pressing her into the floor. Not just yet. Jirou's soft snores still emanate from the mens' room, separated from the women's room only by a sliding paper wall. At first, Azula found sleeping according to gender an inconvenient and antiquated arrangement—after all, wasn't she pretending to be a newly-married woman? But there is something about the peace of the mornings that she enjoys. Someone is moving around the kitchen, stacking wood in the stove. Temurin? Maybe there will be porridge for breakfast. Azula wriggles further into her blankets with satisfaction. She's never shared a room or lived in a home before, certainly not when-
"Umph!" Azula is jolted from her lazy torpor by a sharp pressure on her arm as someone steps on her forearm. There's a high-pitched squeak, and then a small, warm body falls square on Azula's chest, one hand flying out wildly to clutch at Azula's nose. Immediately, Azula sits bolt upright, and the child rolls onto the floor with a soft thud.
"I'm sorry!" Haojun cries. Azula forces her eyes open to find Haojun spilled out on the floor, her skinny limbs askew like a collapsed pile of matches. Haojun's hair is just as wild and curly as Hegane's and covers half her face.
"I'm sorry but it's morning anyway, and Ba says breakfast is almost ready, so—"
"I'm awake," Azula says, pushing her anger down. Haojun's only a child. Temurin's daughter scampers from the room, perhaps allured by the smell of rooster-pork porridge. Azula dresses quickly in the new set of Colonial clothes she's bought in Qima: loose green pants and a red top that wraps around her torso, tying at the sides and the back. Her sleeves are loose and edged with a pale pink, of all colors. Azula tightens the pink strings to allow for more freedom of movement. It makes her think of Ty Lee and the ridiculous outfits her friend would wear. Ty Lee would probably like living here, Azula thinks. Temurin may think of his family as broken, but living here with Hegane and Haojun and Altan and Jirou…nothing could be less broken. With a pang, Azula thinks of Zuko and Mai and Kazuto. Are they waking up together? Azula allows herself a moment of sadness before pushing this emotion away, too. She'll never see them again. You're no one, she reminds herself harshly. The spirits are silent.
"Good morning," Temurin says politely as Azula plunks herself down at the low dining table. "Would you like some porridge?" For some reason, he addresses her forehead, green eyes boring into the spot between her eyebrows. Azula narrows her eyes. He's hiding something. The head of the Dai Lee in Ba Sing Se had looked just like this when he was plotting behind her back. Azula shakes her head. Temurin's not plotting anything. Well, nothing she doesn't already know about. Dealing with a politically motivated druglord and an unhappy ex-wife is enough to make anyone act odd.
She picks at her porridge, letting the conversation wash over her. Summoning the spirits has really dampened her appetite. The hunger for yapian simmers at the back of her mind, even though she went to the forest last afternoon. She's out of yapian. Which means she'll have to steal some, either from Temurin or from someone else…perhaps the Mayor has a stash somewhere. Azula absently walks to the door and starts pulling on her Fire Nation boots. She saved Zuko from an assassination attempt while wearing these boots. Now they are covered with Colonial mud.
"Your coat!" Altan says as Azula makes to leave. Oh. Azula hadn't really noticed he had been sitting next to her. She flashes him a grateful smile and shrugs on her padded cotton jacket. Her fingers tremble and fumble at the hooks. Damn.
"Fingers cold?" Altan says. He rises from the floor and deftly does up the latches on her coat, so close she can smell the scent of his skin: pine sap and sex. As he does up the last hook near her neck, he leans closer, lips almost brushing her ear, about to speak.
"Don't," Azula says harshly. If he's about to ask her to quit yapian again, she'll scream. Doesn't he understand how crucial it is that she knows her destiny? If he knew how much she needs this, he wouldn't be making such an unreasonable request.
Altan frowns. Then kisses her forehead. "Have a good day teaching," he says.
"Do you want me to walk you to the Mayor's house?" Temurin offers as he clumsily ties a red ribbon around Haojun's braids. "I'm dropping Haojun off at school in a few minutes." He still doesn't meet Azula's eyes.
"I'm fine."
The world outside is dusted with a thin layer of snow, but the air is brittle and sharp in Azula's nostrils. She feels much colder than she ever remembers being before, even in the icy mountains in the Fire Nation archipelago. Maybe the Colonies really are colder.Or maybe I've lost some body fat. But even if that's true, who cares? She is no one.
For the next half hour, Azula slogs through the snow, trudging down the middle of Qima. She lets her mind go blank, seeing nothing but the mesmerizing white flakes of falling ice, hearing nothing but the crunch of snow under her boots. White powder like yapian freckles her nose.
Azula blinks, and she's already outside Mayor Sota's mansion. Servants surround her and usher her inside, gesturing for her to take off her coat. It seems like too much trouble to Azula, so she keeps it on. She's led to a sitting room with a fire, red hangings everywhere, it's more like the Red House than the Imperial Palace, and Azula starts to laugh. But then she sees him. Her father.
Ozai hangs on the wall above the fireplace, painted and flat but life-sized. Father's face shocks Azula like a bolt of her own lightning, and the room's furnishings—which had been fuzzy and unimportant before—suddenly sharpen into exquisite detail. A small table with two chairs sits near a large glass wall of windows, letting in the bright snow light. The glass is speckled with moisture from streaks of melting snow. Scrolls line the walls, and the fire pops warmly. And high up, above the shelves, are red tapestries and paintings of Azula's ancestors. Ozai, Azulon, Sozin…all are staring at her. Adrenaline rushes through Azula's veins. What would Father think of her now? But Father's dead, killed by his overambitious son. Azula feels a sickening guilt, but is awake for the first time today. She should focus. She has a job to do.
"Nekana?" Wakaba, Mayor Sota's granddaughter, skitters into the sitting room. She looks only a year or two younger than Azula: a tall girl, and large—not fat per se, but large boned and broad. If she were a soldier, Azula would put her in the front line of a hand-to-hand combat squadron. But despite her impressive size, Wakaba hunches her shoulders, looking nervous.
"It's good to meet you?" she says, bowing deeply and incorrectly. She straightens, flushing at her ears and the corners of her jaw. "My grandmother wants me to study for the Fire Nation civil service exam?" she says, again tilting her voice upwards at the end so the sentence sounds like a question. Azula finds it immediately annoying.
"Yes, that's why I'm here," Azula says. With her newfound acuity, she finally takes off her coat, draping it over a low sofa. Azula makes her way to the table and sits at a chair; predictably, Wakaba follows her. The girl timidly slides a scroll across the table towards Azula like she's feeding a particularly dangerous animal through the cage bars.
"I've already written a practice essay?" Wakaba says as if she's unsure that she really has. "Perhaps you could…"
It's as good a place to start as any. With an odd pitch of nervousness, Azula realizes she should have prepared for this meeting. Sure, she herself is brilliant, but that doesn't mean she knows how to impart that to others. She never tried to help Zuko with their schoolwork. Azula unfurls the essay to mask her momentary doubt.
Essay Question 1: How did Earth Kingdom citizens benefit from the Fire Nation's presence on the mainland?
Essay Question 2: Why are Fire Nation citizens uniquely able to develop steam technology?
Azula skims Wakaba's essays. Natural superiority of firebenders…dull, 'earth-like' intellect of mainlanders…primitive tribal structures…immense benefits from modern medicine and railroads… The writing isn't bad, but the content…Azula realizes that just a year ago, she would have accepted these arguments as fact. As a child she lived and breathed Fire Nation superiority. But now, the words ring hollow. She doesn't even know when her mind changed, can't pinpoint a specific reason why she no longer believes Earth Kingdom people are inferior. But she can't believe it any more. A series of images flash through her mind: Temurin, sewing up the skin of a burnt woman; Altan, smiling shyly in the caravan firelight; Jirou, rousing a crowd with his story; Mila and Yu-chen, running a business with canny and kindness. They may not be nobles but they are…people.
Colonial citizens are lucky that Firelord Sozin chose to share the Fire Nation's greatness. Azula bites her lip. Her hands tremble traitorously.
"Wakaba," she says. "Do you believe this?" She holds up the essay.
"Yes?" Wakaba lies.
"No," says Azula. "Wakaba, this essay may be what Firelord Ozai wanted his officials to believe. But it's not true." Azula refuses to glance at the painting of her father, certain that he's narrowed his eyes to glare at her.
"But the manual—"
"Forget the manual," Azula says passionately. "Forget the past examinations. Zuko is the Firelord now, and I promise you his examinations won't ask you such ridiculous, biased questions. Zuko doesn't believe any of this…propaganda."
Wakaba just looks confused. "Then what does he believe? Since he's the Firelord?"
Azula thinks for a full minute. What would Zuko want his officials to consider? What does Zuko value?
She grabs a brush and dips it in a pot of ink on the table. Azula writes.
Essay Question #1: What mistakes has the Fire Nation made in the past century?
Essay Question #2: How can we make it right?