Chapter 40

In my first draft, I titled this chapter "Should I stay or should I go now?" ...

Nekana seems off all evening. Rice wine is flowing, the food is adequate, and a woman belts out a victorious ballad, but when Wakaba leans forward she sees Nekana sitting quiet and pale to Mayor Hegane's right. Not even Haojun's suggested "improvements" to the dam can elicit more than a weak smile from Nekana—a sure sign that something is wrong. Usually Nekana regards Temurin's daughter with an amused respect. About halfway through the dinner, Nekana slips away. Wakaba immediately flicks her eyes to Temurin, who also tracks Nekana's departure. But he stays in his seat and turns to chat with Hegane's new scribe.

Wakaba excuses herself. Exiting through a side door, she shivers when she leaves the warmth of the dining hall, but feels relieved. She has always hated large crowds. When she was the mayor's beloved granddaughter, Wakaba was the center of sycophantic attention; even now, Wakaba would still prefer to read, ponder how to design a longer suspension bridge, or even review the laborers' salaries and make sure everything is in order. There is still so much work to be done. But instead of returning to her own room, Wakaba walks briskly to Nekana's quarters. She knocks on the wooden door.

"Nekana, are you in there?" Wakaba asks.

The door cracks open, and Nekana appears: unsteady, uneasy, and slightly green.

"Nekana, what's wrong?" Wakaba pleads. It's not that Nekana never cries; to the contrast, her friend tends to burst out in tears of anger when things don't go her way. But this pale, nauseated weakness…it takes Wakaba back to the days when she first met Nekana. Back when Nekana was still taking yapian.

"I can't tell you," Nekana says. But she opens the door wide. "Come in. I could use some company."

"It has something to do with the Republic Dialogue, doesn't it?" Wakaba asks. She rifles through Nekana's store of high-quality tea leaves and selects a Fire Nation sencha. For a poor Republic engineer, Nekana has expensive tastes.

"I said I don't want to talk about it," Nekana snaps, sitting on the bed. Then she sighs. "Sorry."

Wakaba wordlessly hands Nekana the full teapot, and Nekana obligingly places her hands on either side of the ceramic to boil the water. After a few minutes of slow, consistent heat, steam curls from the spout and Wakaba adds the dried sencha leaves.

"So, when should I expect your wedding announcement?" Wakaba asks. She sips her tea demurely.

"What?" Nekana says with alarm.

"I can't talk about what's bothering you. So I changed the topic. When are you and Temurin going to make it official?"

To Wakaba's horror, Nekana's eyes well with tears.

"Oh no…" Wakaba says feebly. "Nekana, I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," Nekana waves her off. "I'm just being sentimental. I know what I have to do. I just don't want to do it."

Wakaba's mind spins rapidly. Nekana's upset about the Republic Dialogues, and it has something to do with Temurin. Why would the Dialogues bother her? The dam will gain more publicity, and Nekana will meet high-level people from across the world. Unless meeting people is the problem…

"I know you said you don't want to discuss what's bothering you," Wakaba says slowly. "But if you don't want to be here for the Dialogues, you can always…take a vacation. And then come back."

Nekana sniffs and gulps down some tea. "That's true. It would look suspicious, but it's possible."

Not for the first time, Wakaba wonders what Nekana did in her past that led her to flee all the way to Qima. Is someone still searching for her?

"Can I ask…are you in danger?" Wakaba probes gently.

"Not in the way you think," Nekana replies. She settles cross-legged on the bed.

"Essentially, Wakaba…let's imagine, hypothetically, that you once tried to steal something from someone."

"Let's call this person Li," Wakaba cuts in helpfully. Nekana scowls with deadly force.

"Fine. So say that once I tried to steal Li's most valuable possession. And for a while I succeeded, but eventually Li got it back. I tried again and again to steal what he loved, even to the point where I hurt Li, but he kept forgiving me. Eventually, I realized that Li actually cared for me. Even though I tried to ruin his life. And so I decided to leave Li alone, even though he wanted me to stay with him. I've never apologized to him properly for hating him for years, and I've never told him I care about him, and he still has every reason to hate me. If I confront Li, it might mean I have to leave Qima. So if I had the opportunity to talk to Li…should I?"

"This is an insane scenario," Wakaba says. "So you hated Li and you loved him? At the same time?"

"Yes," Nekana nods vigorously.

"But you say he forgave you?"

"Yes."

"If Li forgave you once, he'll probably do it again," Wakaba says reasonably. "So yes…you should talk to him. " Who is Li? Wakaba wants to scream. But she holds her tongue.

"I know. But the thought of seeing him again…it makes me nauseous. It's so risky."

"I don't think that's it," Wakaba corrects her. "You're smart, Nekana. You know 'Li' won't harm you. There's no physical risk. So what are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid!" Nekana trembles.

"You are." Wakaba rises and pours more tea. "And you should ask yourself why."

Temurin's half-finished shopfront is flooded with rainwater. Grimacing, he pokes the waxcloth that covers part of the roof like a tent. The tarp hangs low with collected water. At his touch the cloth folds and dumps rainwater onto the floor, neatly missing the bucket Temurin placed under the waxcloth. Temurin sighs. But even slightly waterlogged, his home-to-be is far more comfortable than the communal tents he lived in with Jirou outside of Yu Dao. It's also more convenient than the old family home; his shop is nearer to the center of town, and it brings Haojun's two homes closer together. The shack also is devoid of the sour memories Temurin associates with the house he shared with Jinlian.

This house is somewhere he can make new memories.

Giving up on the wet front room, Temurin heads to the full-constructed back bedroom and settles on a pallet to meditate. The intimate clamor of life in Qima is still disconcerting. He wonders how Jirou is doing. With nothing else to do, Jirou had finally applied himself to studying every night in the bunkhouse, taught by Temurin in the candlelight. After two and a half years in a desolate labor camp, it took a lot of courage for Jirou to choose to attend medical school in a crowded city like Yu Dao. Temurin prays that his nephew is still doing well.

Undoing his topknot, Temurin lets his hair fall around his shoulders, releasing the tension in his scalp. Temurin breathes in and out. With each exhalation, Temurin envisions letting go of the things he cannot control. The torrential rain. Jirou's medical studies in Yu Dao. How his mother still looks at him with disappointment. The Republic Dialogues. Instead, Temurin calls forth what he can influence.

Temurin has been given a second chance to make a life here in Qima: to be a father, a son, and a doctor. And perhaps…a second chance at being a husband.

Inhale. Exhale. Even though he tries to keep his mind blank, a smile comes to his lips when Temurin remembers the night he returned to Qima.

"The wayward son returns," Azula quipped, stepping onto the main road. She blocked his path, stronger and more beautiful than he remembered, no longer wasted away by yapian but muscular and healthy.

"I have," Temurin said cautiously, trying to conceal his delight. He couldn't assume she still felt the same way she did more than two years ago; their letters have been warm and friendly but nothing more. And his priority had to be being a father to Haojun.

"Aren't you going to kiss me hello?" Azula asked imperiously.

"I wouldn't dare presume," Temurin said, flushing. "Besides—"

And then she was in his arms, her mouth on his, and his bag fell to the dirt as they held each other and the years collapsed.

"Temurin?"

Temurin's eyes fly open as Azula pushes aside the curtain into the back room.

"Kana," he rises and kisses her lips softly. "I was expecting you earlier."

"I had tea with Wakaba," Azula says tensely. "She thinks that I should leave town during the Republic Dialogues."

"Did you tell her?" Temurin asks, shocked.

"Of course not. I made up a ridiculous scenario and she advised me based on that." Azula crosses her arms and paces the tiny room.

"Well, leaving is a reasonable suggestion," Temurin starts. Although not one he'd recommend.

"She thinks I'm scared of Zuko!" Azula bursts out. "Have you ever heard anything more absurd?"

Temurin grabs his hairpin off the sleeping mat and shapes his hair in a bun.

"What?" Azula asks. "You only do that when things are serious."

"Really?" Temurin pushes the pin through his hair. "Well, things are serious. I think you are afraid of your brother. Not afraid of Zuko, precisely. But of how you feel about him. Or how he might perceive you."

"What does that mean?" Azula demands, looking guilty.

Temurin's stomach turns. Her complex about Zuko is so strong she can't even see it. As far as Temurin can tell, Azula's feelings for and about her brother are so twisted that Zuko is barely even a person in her mind. He's a symbol of her greatest failure, her most profound forgiveness, her deepest envy, and her first experience of love. Apparently, a future Zuko crossed time and space to reach her in the Spirit World. Zuko is the door to her darkest past and her most hopeful future.

"How do you feel when you think of seeing him again?" Temurin asks.

"Sick."

"Why?"

"I've done some pretty terrible things to him," Azula says bitterly. "And I can't help but think of all those things when I see him."

"And?"

"And I'm not that person anymore, and I don't want to…regress. I want him to see what I've tried to do here."

"You want him to be proud of you," Temurin says gently.

"I—yes." Tears stream quietly down Azula's face. She clenches her fists. "I want to apologize properly to his face. I don't want to go back the way I came. And yes. I want—I want Zuko to be proud of me.

"I used to hate Zuko. But then, for a while, before I met you and Altan and Jirou, he was the only thing—he was the only person who—who I knew loved me. The only person I actually cared about. He was my guiding star."

"That's a lot of feelings wrapped around one person." Temurin takes Azula's hand. "No wonder you're nervous to see him."

"I feel like I'm explaining this badly," Azula sniffs. "Zuko is not the only person I care about anymore. I have Wakaba and Hegane and my coworkers." She touches his cheek.

"I have you, Temurin."

"I know, beloved." Temurin catches her fingers and kisses them, crushing the stubborn bud of jealousy that blooms in his chest. "I know you love me.

"Maybe it's better to let your past relationship with Zuko go," Temurin suggests. "What do you want now?"

"Now?" Azula bites her lip. "I want to apologize. I want us-to be siblings. As if we grew up in a normal family. I want him to be proud of how I've changed."

"If I had to guess, Kana, I think that's what Zuko wants too." Temurin tucks a strand of hair behind Azula's ear, hair she's kept deliberately short. "So stay. Face your fears. Talk to your brother."

Azula shivers in his arms.

"All right." Azula pulls his hairpin out again and runs her fingers lightly through his hair.

"You know, I tease you about being stupid, but you're actually very smart," Azula remarks softly. "At least when it comes to feelings."

Temurin laughs and pulls her into a sturdy embrace. Her head fits perfectly against his neck.

Azula may be less afraid, but a bubble of terror rises in Temurin's heart. When Zuko comes, it's fully possible that Azula will realize her destiny still lies in the Fire Nation. Someone as brilliant as Azula shouldn't languish here in Qima. Even if she loves him, she should be free to go.

Marry me, Temurin wishes he could say. He tightens his grip around the woman he loves. Marry me and stay here. He could trap her here, trap her with his honest promises of love and fidelity.

But Azula is like the phoenix of legend: she's risen from the ashes. It's time for her to fly free.