Chapter 42
Out here in the country, Zuko can see the stars.
He stands at the window of his airship, gazing out into the night sky. The stars stretch from horizon to horizon, like holes poked in a dark tent hanging overhead. They shimmer in tune with the quiver of Zuko's heart. A dark cloud floats in from western sea, flickering with contained lightning. Kazuto is asleep. All is still.
"My Lord." Zuko hears Commander Ong enters the room but doesn't turn.
"Two people have appeared at the bottom of the airship and are asking to be let up."
"Two?" Zuko asks, surprised. It seems Azula has an ally. The tall, glum woman? The thin, dark-skinned man?
"Shall I allow them to pass?"
"Yes," Zuko orders. "And Commander—no one is to speak of this. These people were never here."
"Of course, my Lord." Ong departs, leaving Zuko with only his nerves.
Three years. Three years she's been gone. In the back of Zuko's mind lurks a traitorous suspicion. Except for at Bahasa three years ago, Azula hasn't tried to contact him. It's possible that she's up to her old ways, that she's lying in wait to hatch some scheme. Yet as soon as this fear bubbles up, Zuko quashes it. He feels ashamed under the open starlight.
Zuko has watched Azula all day and it seems that his sister has reinvented herself completely. She is respected by her colleagues and excellent at her work. She is safe from the murderous whims of General Xia and the Earth King and protected from the intrigues of the Fire Nation palace. She is no longer cruel or malicious, but thoughtful and decisive. She is alive. She is healthy.
Is she happy?
The western cloud emits a dagger of lightning. It branches brightly like a spiderweb before it vanishes. Zuko's heart clenches. Azula is like lightning, bursting into his life with brilliant, dangerous energy, and just as quickly disappearing. Zuko places a hand on his chest, where he still bears the mark of Azula's power. If she is the lightning, what is he? The thunder that follows, always a step behind? Or the ground that is scorched in her wake?
Zuko lets his hand fall. Thunder, lightning, fire, earth…all these elemental forces won't give him the words to reach Azula. With all the pieces of his life finally fitting together, she is the last thing that feels unresolved.
If he knows that she is happy, that is enough.
When Azula enters the Firelord's chambers, Zuko is staring at the stars, scar facing her. He doesn't see her at first, and only glances over when Azula shuts the door.
Their eyes meet, gold on gold.
"You said that you'd come back to me," Zuko finally says. "And yet I'm the one who had to come to you." He steps forward.
The careful speech that Azula has prepared evaporates like water boiling instantly to steam. She trembles.
"You look good," Zuko says awkwardly. "The hair. It suits you."
Still, Azula can't say anything. She's pinned in place by the weight of everything she's done, by the treacherous feelings of mistrust that still whisper when she looks at Zuko. She's decided not to mention the older Zuko's spirit visits; this Zuko will probably think she's still insane.
As the silence stretches, Zuko seems to get more uncomfortable.
"I didn't expect to find you here," he says. "I mean, how could I have? But I'm not having you followed, I just—"
"I knew you were coming," Azula says hoarsely. She wants to erect barriers, protect herself from the emotions that run too strong.
"And chose to stay," Zuko finishes.
"I had to stay. I had to say—I'm sorry," Azula blurts out. Clumsily, and even though it burns her pride to do, she lowers to her knees.
"I'm sorry for trying to kill you, Zuko. I'm sorry for everything. I was selfish and cruel, and I don't deserve—"
"How many times do I have to tell you, Azula?" Zuko says faintly. He sinks to the floor in a billow of red robes and lifts her chin. "I forgive you. You're my family."
Zuko looks so much like their father—long dark hair, sharp chin, arching eyebrows. But Ozai never would have forgiven a fault. Never.
Azula wraps her arms around Zuko and holds him tightly. At first, he tenses with shock, and then returns her embrace. Azula's face is wet with tears, and she dampens the padded shoulder of Zuko's robes as she cries. She cries with the pain of the past three years, and the past twenty. She cries for the future she's lost and for the hope she's gained.
"Azula," Zuko says roughly. "Azula, I'm so proud of you. Of what you've done. And of who I know you've become."
"I guess we both had to be banished," Azula sniffs.
"Maybe everyone does," Zuko laughs, rubbing her back. "When we're stripped of everything…then we realize who we really are."
"That actually makes sense," Azula admits.
"Don't sounds so shocked."
They split apart.
"Now, Azula…tell me everything."
For the next half hour, Azula tells Zuko of her life since she left: the visions, the running, even the yapian. She tells the truth, for the most part. Still, she glosses over Temurin's involvement with Crooked Zhao, obscures what Temurin sold, and excises the precise nature of her relationships with Altan and Temurin. She also leaves out who, exactly, her spirit-guide was. No need to worry Zuko over such things.
Remarkably, Zuko remains calm and silent throughout her tale, only moving to cover her hand when she relates how Altan was killed. Altan's name still sticks painfully in Azula's throat. By the time Azula finishes explaining to Zuko how she and Wakaba realized the Qima River could be redirected, Azula's voice and heart are exhausted.
"And now the project is finished," Zuko says. "Your work is incredible, Azula."
"All I had to do was focus on keeping people alive instead of killing them," Azula deadpans. "A harder task by far."
"I know it," Zuko agrees grimly.
Azula laughs. Here they sit: the two legitimate children of a bloody conqueror, trying to heal the wounds their family inflicted. The future Zuko said that the world needed both of them. Was building the dam what Zuko meant? Or does she have some greater destiny before her?
As if he can read her mind, the Zuko in front of her speaks.
"Your work here is done, Azula," he says. "I don't know what you've planned next, but I could use you in the Fire Nation. Come home with me."
Azula swallows thickly. "Are you asking me as the Firelord or as my brother?"
"As Firelord, I recognize talent when I see it," Zuko says. "Both you and Wakaba are brilliant engineers. As your brother, I want you by my side. But more importantly…I want you to be safe. And happy."
He leans forward. "Are you happy, Azula? You've told me all about the things that have happened to you. You've had it rough. Is living here really what you want?"
Azula looks down at her folded hands. Hands that have killed, hands that now draw, and build, and comfort. Her empty hands have been filled many times over. She imagines picking up the golden crown of Princess, feeling its weight on her skull, and walking out onto the Royal Balcony to the cheer of crowds.
Azula shakes her head. "It's not me, Zuko. Not anymore. I belong here."
"Does your choice have something to do with whoever is waiting in the next room?" Zuko asks shrewdly.
Azula flushes.
"Partly," she admits. "But also, the United Republic is the place for people like me. People who need a second chance. I'd like to stay and help in small ways. You know better than anyone I don't do well with too much power." It hurts to say, even now, but it's true. She can tell Zuko agrees with the last part.
"I understand," Zuko says. "But know that you are always welcome in the Fire Nation. Always."
They embrace again.
"Now, are you going to introduce me to your friend?" Zuko asks pointedly.
"Temurin," Azula says, her heart beating fast.
"Yes, Temurin." Zuko picks up his crown from a side table and plants it firmly in his hair.