Chapter 35
Hello all! So, if I get enough reviews, I'll post one chapter a day, every day this week. The end of the story is near!
Hegane has only been Mayor of Qima for a week, but she has already transformed Mayor Sota's study into her office. She's removed the Fire Nation knick-knacks from the shelves and desk, leaving the wood-paneled room darkly austere. She's left the red curtains framing the window; the cloth glows scarlet in the snow's reflected light. A United Republic flag hanging on the wall dominates the room. Temurin frowns. How did his mother get a flag so quickly?
Could Hegane have anticipated this bloody turn of events?
Temurin stands near the door. Behind the desk, his mother reads a scroll, her brow furrowed. Since becoming mayor Hegane has transformed herself, too. Her wild, curly black hair, which she usually ties up in a Fire Nation topknot, is instead twisted into an elegant and neutral braided bun; instead of the casual shirt and pants she wears at home, she's dressed in a set of grey robes. Grey cloth bordered with forest green wraps over her collared shirt, the geometric patterns drawing attention up to Hegane's stern face. The outer robe, cut from a thicker fabric, has wide sleeves covered in swirling black embroidery in the shapes of curled flowers and flames. Her sash is a red so dark it could be brown. Even though Temurin still has reservations about declaring so boldly for one of the three groups battling over Qima—especially while dozens of injured soldiers still recuperate in the mayor's mansion—Temurin can't help but approve of how his mother has committed to her new role with style.
Hegane looks up, face grim.
"What is the status of the injured?" she asks.
"At this point, no one is critically injured," Temurin says. Except Nekana. "I'd say of the thirty Fire Nation troops, twenty could go home right now. The Earth Kingdom loyalists from Taiyang suffered greater casualties, but most of the injured twelve suffer only from broken bones. Our own people suffered least, and everyone who was injured has already gone home. I can check on them later this week. "
"And the two Fire Nation soldiers who died yesterday?"
"Burned," Temurin reports. "We made a pyre just like you said."
"Good." Hegane walks around the desk.
"We're in a difficult position, Temurin," she says. "Somehow, we have to return the injured Fire Nation troops to their homes without being blamed for the deaths of twenty of their comrades."
"At least the Earth Kingdom loyalists are from cities now under the United Republic's jurisdiction," Temurin volunteers. "The Yu Dao representative can sentence them when she arrives next week. And I'm sure the Earth King will deny he knew anything about the attack, so he can't punish us."
"Yes. But speaking of Earth Kingdom loyalists—"
"Jirou."
"He's going to be tried as an adult," Hegane says bitterly. "The Yu Dao minister sent a letter warning me." She throws the scroll on the desk.
Temurin's stomach sinks. This is all his fault.
"I'll think of something, Mother," Temurin promises. "Jirou was under my watch. I'll fix this."
Hegane purses her lips and raises one eyebrow. "Do I want to know how you'll fix it?"
Temurin smiles grimly. "Perhaps not."
"Well, I'm sure my son would never doing anything of which I disapprove," Hegane says darkly.
Someone raps on the door. Relieved, Temurin opens it to find Wakaba looming over him, cheeks flushed.
"She's awake!" the girl says. "She's asking for you."
By the time Temurin reaches the sliding door outside Nekana's bedroom, his heart is pounding wildly. He needs to be careful, cautious, conceal from Nekana that he knows her identity. Otherwise, she'll probably kill herself trying to flee. He would never get to thank her properly.
He slides the door open.
Nekana leans against her pillows, examining herself in a handheld mirror. When she notices Temurin, she drops the mirror onto her lap, golden eyes wide.
They stare at each other for a long second, neither quite sure what to say. Temurin's heart beats even faster in a thrill of nerves. Terror? Relief? Excitement? All of the words he planned to say if she woke swell in his throat. To mask his torrent of conflicting emotions, he adopts a businesslike smile.
"I knew you'd survive," Temurin says. Kneeling beside her bed, he takes her wrist and checks her pulse.
"How do you feel?" he asks, studiously counting her heartbeats and avoiding her eyes.
"Better than I look, probably," Nekana answers. She sounds disappointed by his cold welcome. Temurin glances up and promptly loses count of how many times her vein has pulsed in the past minute. Nekana's looking at him appraisingly.
"Take off my bandages," she orders. "I want to see…how bad it is."
Temurin assents; it's about time to change the dressing anyway.
"You'll need to sit up," Temurin says. Nekana tries, but only makes it a few inches before she begins to tremble. Temurin places a hand on her back, supporting her, and quickly stuffs more pillows behind her so she's vertical. Then, carefully, he begins to unwrap the white cloths around her head. He can feel Nekana's breath against his cheek as he works. Even though she's been unconscious for days, her breath smells somehow sweet. Neither of them speak. Temurin tries to fight the flush that's spreading from his ears to his jaw.
As Temurin reaches the bottom layer of bandages, the white is stained with sticky red. Keeping his face neutral, he peels the bandage off, revealing the red slash that cuts horizontally across her temple just above her hairline. Nekana hisses in pain. Temurin's black stiches look grotesque against her milky skin, a poor replacement for the hair he had to shave off to clean the wound. The front part of Nekana's head is covered in dark stubble.
Yet Nekana's hand is steady when she lifts the mirror again. With her other hand, she lightly runs her hand over the stubble; one finger brushes the stitches.
"Why didn't you shave off the rest of my hair?" Nekana asks quietly.
"You have beautiful hair," Temurin says without thinking.
A faint smile curves Nekana's lips. "When my brother received a head injury, he made the mistake of only shaving off part of his hair, and he was stuck with a ridiculous hairstyle for years," she quips. "You should shave the rest off. I'll start over."
"Your wish is my command," Temurin jokes, sitting on the side of her bed. He meant to make her laugh, but instead she grows quiet and pensive. She searches his face and seems to reach a decision.
"No one's said that to me since I was a Princess," Nekana says.
Temurin freezes.
"Your past is your own, Nekana," he finally says clumsily. "You don't have to-if you don't want—"
"I want you to know who I am," says Nekana quietly. "Or rather, who I was." She looks terrified but resolved, and, against his better judgment, Temurin enfolds her left hand in his own, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.
"Then tell me, Kana," he says softly. "I'm listening."
For the next hour, Temurin listens to Nekana's story. How she was born a princess, granddaughter of the Firelord. How she grew up along Firelord Zuko, becoming her brother's rival and her father's favorite. How she fought during the war with cruel decision, and how she went mad after her friends abandoned her. And finally, how slowly, slowly, she realized that her brother was not her enemy, and that the world was a far different place than she imagined.
"And so I chose to live," Nekana finishes. A tear drips down her thin cheek. "I want to live. But I don't really know how."
Temurin leans forward, cupping Nekana's jaw with one hand and brushing her tear aside.
"You saved everyone in Jirou's home village from bandits. You did your best to save lives in Bahasa. And just a week ago, you saved Jinlian, Jirou, and my daughter. Without you, Nekana…without you, the world would be a darker place."
To his dismay, Nekana's tears fall faster.
"I failed, though," she says. "Altan. He's dead."
"That was not your fault," Temurin says angrily. "He did that to himself."
Nekana shakes her head, then whimpers in pain.
Immediately, Temurin lets her go and quickly rewraps her head wound. Pulling out his pouch of yapian, he taps some into a teacup and fills the cup to the brim with the clay teapot Wakaba left in the room.
"What are you doing?" Nekana winces. "I don't want that."
"You're not strong enough to quit immediately," Temurin explains. He lifts the cup to her lips. "I'm weaning you off."
"Don't tell me what I'm strong enough to do," Nekana mutters. But she drinks the tea without further protest. Her eyelids flutter as the yapian hits her system, and she exhales with a half-moan that makes Temurin turn around and busy himself with cleaning the teacup.
"I'm glad you don't hate me, Temurin," Nekana sighs.
"Of course I don't."
"Temurin." She tugs weakly on his sleeve, forcing him to turn around.
"What?"
"I have to tell you one more thing," she whispers faintly, clearly on the edge of dreaming. He leans closer to hear her, and she runs her hand up his arm to his shoulder as if to hold him there.
"Temurin," Nekana starts.
But then, instead of finishing her sentence, she leans forward. And before Temurin can move or think, her lips meet his. She kisses him slowly, inhaling deeply.
She tastes like jasmine.
And then Nekana falls away. Temurin catches the back of her head and lowers her to her pillow. Her hair is thick, filling his hands, and her eyes are closed. Temurin wants to stay, to breathe her in, to process what just happened. And what she meant by it.
But he has dozens of other patients, a daughter who's waiting for him to make dinner, a nephew relying on Temurin for his freedom, and a mother trying to avoid the town's destruction. So instead he leans forward so his lips just barely brush Nekana's ear.
"Sleep well. Azula."