The morning was pleasant and sunny, the veranda sweet with the scent of fresh air and flowers.

Ozai had paid for the room while Katara reluctantly dragged herself out of bed. Smoothing her dress as best she could, she had swept her hair half up and secured it with the brooch before plodding downstairs to find the large innkeeper giving him directions to the Villeroux. They had wandered the sleepy city on their way when they'd come upon a charming little café boasting a cheerful terrace. They were both getting hungry, so it didn't take much convincing for him to agree to stop.

The round wrought iron table was cool where Katara sat across from Ozai, two steaming mugs of black before them and a bowl of bright flowers in the center.

Breakfasting, that was what they called it here. Not eating breakfast – that was dull and plebeian – they were breakfasting. These people seemed to have a funny way of turning the ordinary into something flowery, and they didn't stop when it came to turning nouns into verbs. Verbing. It made Katara want to laugh, but she doubted they would appreciate her finding humor in it.

Ozai sniffed at the steam rising from the cup before him, taking a small sip of the hot black liquid. Coffee, it was called. He grimaced.

"This tastes… bitter."

Katara drank long from her own mug and tipped her head as if pondering. "No," she smirked. "It's just you."

Leaning forward, he placed it down on the table with flinty eyes. "Has anyone ever told you how funny you are? No? I wonder why."

"Here you are, my friends. One almond croissant for the monsieur, and a black raspberry cream strudel for the mademoiselle." Their server set two plates down before them then stood back primly, hands clasped with a curt bow. "Enjoy."

The strudel was every bit as delicious as she'd hoped, flaky and soft and gooey-sweet. They sat at their little table for two, enjoying their pastries, and Katara stole a glance at Ozai over a sip of her coffee.

Something felt different about him this morning. She couldn't place it entirely. It wasn't that he was quieter than normal, that alone wasn't so unusual. But where normally his borders were cut smooth and hard as steel, today they seemed drawn and starting to fray, like a seam pulled too tight. Ozai had hardly looked at her since she'd woken this morning to find him sitting there on the edge of the bed, his back turned.

She licked a glob of raspberry cream off her thumb, studying him furtively. Was it about last night? The kiss on her hand? Maybe he regretted it now. It had felt like more than just a cold, little brush, and in that moment she'd dared to wonder if his feelings were growing beyond the mere necessity of her. But now in the daylight, it was starting to look like she may have read into it on the unmentionable hope of…

Stupid, she chided, tossing the thought away.

Was it having to share a bed? He'd certainly seemed eager enough to get out of it this morning. Was it the mortifying fact that he knew now about her little crush? The thought made her stomach clench all over again, and at long last calling it for what it was, by name.

Crush.

Her mind scrambled to rationalize it. Harmless, no big deal, not like it meant anything, it wouldn't go anywhere. It was just a little crush…

On Fire Lord Ozai, a harsh voice chastised. Katara tipped the coffee cup higher to hide her face, taking an awkwardly long sip.

A little over a month ago, she would have been horrified at the prospect of feelings for this man. And he was a man, roughly twice her age. Spirits, what would her father think? What would Sokka think? Toph? Aang?

Zuko?

A burst of bubbly laughter severed the thought and her head turned. A young family walked by. The father held a toddler on his shoulders, the mother the hand of a bright-eyed little girl. All four of them were smiling. Happy.

Katara looked down and shoved the barrage of thoughts away like a bowl of soggy gruel. What did it matter anyway? She could never go back.

They finished eating and the server cleared their plates. Ozai sat back in his seat, staring out past the lacy, manicured shrubs lining the veranda to the shops and streets fanning out around them. The man was a master of the pensive, brooding visage. It wouldn't kill him to smile once in a while, she thought. But then again, maybe it would. It occurred to Katara that she had never actually seen Ozai smile, not sincerely anyway. She couldn't decide whether that was peculiar or… just sad.

"We have some time to waste before noon," she said, daring to break the silence. "That is, if you're still sure about meeting Brondolf."

At last, his eyes were drawn to her. "I'm sure."

"I still think this is a mistake."

"Which you have made sufficiently clear."

"You admitted yourself you don't trust him, but you're going through with it anyway." She studied him, arching a brow in mock suspicion. "Do you know something that I don't?"

He tipped his head. "The things I know that you don't could just about fill the Si Wong Desert."

"Rude," she scoffed.

"I told you, it's a risk worth taking for now."

Katara looked away and gazed out for a while beyond the terrace, watching the city wake up. A young couple strolled past, arm in arm and sharing a pastry, a small animal prancing before them on a leash.

With a sigh, she stood up, the metal chair scraping the patio floor.

"In that case, I say we walk around. We can check out the Villeroux while we wait. I'm sure there'll be plenty to keep us busy until then. Lunamass day two," she smirked down at him.

Ozai rolled his eyes but the faintest tinge of amusement passed beneath the disdain as he stood up after her.

"I can scarcely contain my enthusiasm."

"Well, you agreed we would stay until tonight, remember?"

"Actually, you said that," he sneered, echoing her own words from the day before. "And then we were conveniently interrupted, so I promised you nothing."

Her mouth hung open as she went to object, realizing he was right with a pouting little huff. The duchess had entered the room at just that moment.

"Therefore, after we meet Brondolf and restock our supplies," he continued, "I see no reason to linger. I would think last night was quite enough."

Her face felt warm. Which part of last night did he mean? The assault by Gaspard? Wild partying surrounding them on all sides? Pressured to kiss beneath the Celandine? Sleeping togeth– sharing the bed, she corrected quickly. All of the above?

"Fine," she relented, crossing her arms. "But if we see something interesting, I'm not rushing to leave."

:.: :.: :.:

The Villeroux was already alive with the sounds and smells of a festival when they arrived. What looked to be an enormous marketplace on an ordinary day, now the plaza was filled to the brim with colorful tents and booths and stalls. The buildings were tall with arched windows and brightly painted shutters. Music filled the air. There was wine and cheese tasting, plenty of food vendors, street performers everywhere. Jugglers. Swordplay. Theater shows. Balloon artists handing out creations to delighted children. Gambling and contests. They passed a knife-thrower hurling blades at a man standing against a wall, the tips thunking dead-on into targets perilously close to his body.

"These people certainly don't squander any chance to party," Ozai murmured.

"They like to have fun, what's wrong with that?"

It was pretty evident, even to her, that Lunamass was more an excuse to let loose and be silly than it was about any goddess or the birth of humanity. Extraordinary was the norm in this place and just being alive was a riot. Everything was colorful and grand, feathers and shimmer, smiles and laughter and it brought such life to her soul. Children wore garish costumes of fantastical creatures, painted faces smiling as they hopped and skipped and dragged their parents behind them.

Katara beamed, running her hands up her arms as a breeze swept through. The weather in Arclais was milder than the Earth Kingdom, and with the breeze, the morning was even a little cool. Everything they'd had, their cloaks, their normal clothes, their gear, were on the other side with Lu Da. All except for the small satchel with the stones and the tablet and the scroll. With any luck, maybe they could find something with a little more substance to change into here.

A troupe of Arclesian jugglers were tossing flaming pins high into the air, then at each other, and even through the outspread legs of another standing on his head, occasionally stopping to blow flame from their mouths. Others tossed hats or sticks with streamers so close to the crowds, they could have landed on their heads. And just then, an auburn-haired juggler plucked a little boy from the audience, using the giddy child's head as a target for a spinning hat to land on.

Another crowd was forming around an octet of women from Barros dancing to an exotic song, drums pounding out a complex rhythm as they shimmied and swayed. Katara watched with delight. Their movements were hypnotizing, at times fluid and at others staccato, hips rocking and turning in time with the music, punctuating the beat. She had never seen such rich, vibrant clothing, billowy pants flowing out with every step, coins flashing from their scant, fitted tops, exposing olive-toned midriffs from ribs to bellybutton.

Nearby, more people were gathering beneath a woman of the same complexion, slim and agile, walking a tightrope stretched high between two poles. One foot in front of the other, arms out at her sides, perfectly poised. It made Katara's stomach roll just watching her.

It was all more than anyone could see or do in a single day. There were artisans at every turn from near and far. Weavers with their rugs and tapestries. Woodcarvers, glassblowers, potters. Tanners with their leather goods. Traveling gear for tourists. Merchants were selling all manner of goods from spices and herbs, to perfumes, to clothing and jewelry and cigars.

Katara breathed deep of the festive air. Something smelled delicious and she spotted a food stand, people walking away with soup in bread bowls, savory hand pies, oversized sausages, roasted turkey legs. Her stomach rumbled. The pastries had been delicious but not very filling.

"Let's try some of the food. I'm getting hungry."

"We ate an hour ago," replied Ozai, short, as though that was somehow reason not to partake of scrumptious festival fare.

"And? Come on, you're a man, don't act like you consider a pastry an actual meal. Even I know they're basically just edible pockets of air made to look pretty. Besides," she said, pointing at a couple tearing off a bite of the roasted meat, "don't you want to devour a roasted leg of meat with your bare hands like some savage beast?"

At that he cocked a brow with a look of resigned amusement. She cocked a playful brow back. With a small tug on his arm, from which she expected him to draw back but he didn't, she lured him over to the stand and waited in line until it was their turn. Everything on the menu looked tempting, but Katara had already made up her mind.

"Here you are, tea cup, one roasted turkey leg," the handsome merchant said in his florid accent, handing it to her in mildly flamboyant fashion, then looked at Ozai. "And how about for you, thundercloud? I've got ten inches of meat that ought to put a smile on your face." He flashed a wink.

Ozai blinked, slipping from surprised to indignant in the span of a breath. "What did you–?"

"Sausage, that is. Mine's the most mouthwatering around, or so they say. You're welcome to try it."

It was a thin recovery at best, his eyes still twinkling as he sized him up in a way that implied more than one type of sausage. With open-mouthed amusement, she glanced at Ozai who simply stood there, staring hard beneath furrowed brows.

"Turkey leg, if you don't mind," he grumbled tightly.

"Less of a sausage man, I take it then. More a taste for… clam? Shame." Katara spluttered at the crude innuendo as Ozai scowled in disbelief. "Well, if you happen to be feeling adventurous later…" His eyebrows waggled with one last wink and Ozai swiped the turkey leg from his hand.

As they turned their backs, Katara brought her own to her mouth, taking a bite to suppress the chuckle that was bubbling up. Even without looking, she could feel the vexation he turned on her.

"Stop laughing."

She pursed her lips tight. "I'm not laughing."

"You're snickering."

"I'm not snickering," she blurted, the grin escaping onto her face and rousing his chagrin.

"Stop whatever the hell it is you're doing with your face then."

"What?" she said through a bubble of laughter. "This is just me smiling. It's my smiling face. I'm definitely not laughing at you getting hit on by that sausage merchant."

His displeasure deepened and she met it with halo-worthy innocence, the smirk bleeding through as she looked away and tore off another bite.

They meandered the streets lazily as they ate, passing by an outdoor theater show and a contortionist in a sparkling costume, bending her body into impossible shapes. When the turkey legs were reduced to bony bludgeoning tools, they tossed them into a waste bin within sight of a jeweler's booth. With a skip, Katara started toward it.

Arrayed on the tables were priceless gems that glittered in the sunlight, like the eyes of mystical serpents – green, pomegranate, water-blue.

"Oh, look at this." Picking up a lavish necklace with gleaming sapphire stones, she held it around her neck, admiring her reflection in the mirror.

"Don't get any ideas. We don't have money for this."

"I know," she sighed. "But it's so pretty."

"And impractical," added Ozai. "It looks so heavy it might make you fall over."

It was heavy, all of them were. She didn't even want to know how much they cost. A clothier's booth adjoined the jeweler's and Katara trailed her fingers along displays of garments as she went.

"These clothes. The style is so neat."

Ozai ambled on silently. A pretty lavender dress caught her eye and she took it off the display, holding it up to herself in a mirror. The embroidered bodice was trimmed in scalloped lace, long billowy white sleeves offsetting the dusky purple, and a gently flowing skirt cascading from the flattering waistline. Smoothing it flush to her curves, she turned to him.

"What do you think?"

At the question, he turned. Ozai stilled, his eyes floating down her figure only to glide away, perhaps a measure too quickly. Her expression faded, a thought tugging at the corner of her mind. She waved it off like smoke.

"Come on, you have to admit we need something to wear besides these thin silky things. They're not exactly traveling clothes and the weather's cooler here." She ran the sleeve of a man's shirt through her fingers and glanced at him expectantly.

A corner of his mouth pinched in thought and, finally, he gave a relenting nod.

"We do need better clothes."

Katara smiled.

:.: :.: :.:

It turned out getting dressed, for the women of Arclais, was a bit more complicated than simply choosing a dress to put on. As Ozai had set their chosen garments and shiny new boots before the merchant, Katara had been informed, with no lack of snobbery, that she needed a corset and a chemise and pantaloons as well. The woman had shown her the underlayers, which were frilly and elegant but seemed a little unnecessary, pretentious. Ultimately, she decided to pass on the corset, much to the disapproval of the merchant. It wouldn't be practical for the task they had cut out for them and she preferred being able to breathe.

At their request, the merchant pointed them to stalls where they could change and after stripping off her dress, the tarnishing jade in need of a wash, and trying to figure out how the layers went on and in what order, Katara combed her fingers through her hair to tame it and met Ozai back outside. Her eyes widened slightly.

He stood there imposingly, his arms crossed over a charcoal and silver doublet, buttoned up the front and detailed with embroidery, loose black pants tucked into black leather high boots. His raven hair, still swept half back in the green and gold topknot clasp, had been smoothed and fixed up.

"Wow, you look–" so handsome. She caught herself, heat rising to her cheeks. "It suits you."

This time, when Ozai looked at her, he didn't look away. It was the first time that day she felt like he was really looking at her instead of the way his eyes kept sliding off, like water off wax. His eyes warmed her face, gliding slowly down the length of her lavender dress and back up, and her butterflies fluttered as he found her gaze again.

He cracked his lips like he might speak but seemed to think better of it, forgetting that eyes had a language of their own. Katara turned a small blushing smile on her feet.

Their old clothes were jammed into the satchel and the two of them moseyed on through the streets. A stout man in a cornflower blue jerkin was barking out brightly, waving a sword as he paced before a fenced-in ring.

"Come test your skills with your fellow swordsmen! Monsieur or madam, beginner or expert, friend and foe alike, come take a stab at swordplay and show us what you're made of!"

His eyes landed on Ozai as they passed and his grin broadened.

"You there!" he pointed, marching into their path. "You look like a man who knows his way around a blade. And you look like an adventurous young lass. Care to have a go?"

"Sorry," Katara smiled, holding up her hands. "I don't know how to use one of those."

"Well, surely this strapping gentleman wouldn't mind giving you a lesson. What do you say?" He looked expectantly at Ozai. Ozai blinked hard in return.

"You're advocating that I cross swords with a girl half my size? That's senseless, I could hurt her."

"Not to worry, monsieur, there's no risk of serious harm with these blades. All in good fun."

Ozai was afraid he'd hurt her. The words were subtle but they found her heart like an arrow. Why did such a seemingly small thing make her feel so warm and fuzzy?

"It could be kinda fun," she admitted with a hopeful glance. "I've never tried it before, and now I'm kinda curious. You could teach me."

Exhaling long, he hesitated. "I don't think–"

"Not worried the lass'll whip you, are you?"

Ozai breathed an arrogant half laugh, blinking down at the ground, but finally relented with a shake of his head.

"Fine."

"That's the spirit!" the man cheered.

They entered the ring and stood opposite each other as the man handed them each a sword. They were made of metal with a leather hilt, but the blades themselves were blunt, much like an oversized butter knife. Katara considered her weapon, studying Ozai's pose, attempting to mirror it.

"This thing's heavy," she said, gripping it with both hands. "Is your real sword this heavy?"

"No. It's heavier."

Oh. No wonder the man was ripped. It would take a lot of strength and training to wield one of these in a fight with the ease and force that he did.

Hefting his blade with one powerful arm, Ozai slid his feet apart and shifted his weight. "All right, you take the defensive stance. You know how to do that, don't you?"

Holding the hilt with both hands, Katara held the sword straight out in front of her. "You mean like this?"

Ozai grimaced slightly, assessing her. "Here, widen your stance." He crossed the ring and stepped before her, lightly holding her shoulders steady as he nudged her feet further apart with his foot. "Bend your knees a little. Locking them makes it harder to dodge and easier to knock you over."

Katara loosened her knees as he guided her down a fraction and into place, his hands slipping to her hips then. Her face heated with a skip of her pulse.

"Keep your hips aligned with your shoulders. Like this," he said softer, his voice suddenly low as he angled her hips. One of his hands slid to splay over the small of her back, a tingling warmth fanning out from his touch. She glanced up, breathless, and in the closeness their eyes snagged and held there, the heat coursing all the way down to her toes. Pupils dilating, his smoldering gaze dropped to her posture. "Don't overarch your back, try to stay loose. Holding too much tension before you need it isn't helpful."

Too soon, he stepped back and Katara realized she had forgotten to breathe.

"Now, I'm going to attack and you're going to try to block me."

She gave a nod, tightening her grip on the hilt as Ozai shifted and then came at her. Metal clashed as she brought her sword up against his, effectively blocking the strike, but the force of it knocked her back several steps. Ozai retreated with a smirk and nodded.

"Not bad. Now we'll try the reverse. You attack me and I'll block."

Taking a determined breath, she charged at him with her sword but at the last minute Ozai sidestepped, his blade sliding easily under her arm. She gasped in surprise and he… did he just smile a little?

"Try to keep your elbows in. If your arms go out, you expose your ribs and vital organs," he said, stepping close again to adjust her bearing, his strong hands surprisingly gentle. "Instinct wants you to keep your body as far from your opponent as possible, but that forces you to reach with your arms. Don't. It's best to get closer, elbows in, so the sword can protect you and find its mark. Now try again."

He stepped back, resuming the defensive. Katara hoisted her weapon and came at him again, trying to do what he said. This time, she got close enough to swing her blade at his chest before Ozai hit it away with a shrill clang. She stumbled before regaining her footing.

"Better. But remember not to lock your knees or you'll be thrown back." Then striding closer, he nodded to the hilt. "And you need to broaden your grip for more control."

Wrapping a large hand over hers, he guided one into place first on the leather hilt, and then the other. His touch was electrifying, the hand around hers strong and warm, and for a moment she lost all train of thought.

"Ready to try again?" he asked, his fingers grazing hers as he let go.

Try what again?

Katara was blushing like a rose on fire as he stepped back and there was no sense even trying to hide it anymore. She was hopelessly smitten. A lost cause. Gulping down a breath, she tightened her grip, and her focus, and shifted into stance, rushing him again. Her blade hissed through the air and Ozai blocked the strike again, but this time only her sword was repelled, her footing secure.

He nodded approval. "Very good. Now you try blocking again."

"Okay."

Stepping back, they assumed positions and then Ozai charged again. This time, he came at her quicker and in a jolt of nerves Katara scuttled back on instinct, managing to block the strike at the last second and then swinging her sword in an arc, casting his arm aside and tapping the tip of her blade to his chest.

Ozai expelled a short, surprised breath, his eyes glinting with amused curiosity. "Where did you learn that?"

"From watching some of the warriors in my tribe. They sparred with jaw blades and not swords, but the idea's the same."

He simpered, cocking his head. "Perhaps I was a little too gentle on you. Care to go again and find out?"

"I think I'll just quit while I'm ahead." Katara shrugged lightly, playing casual, and he gave back a smug nod.

"Good choice."

"I mean, I already beat you once, I really doubt your ego could handle a second time."

Ozai actually laughed then. It was a small thing, ephemeral, but it possessed a levity that lightened his face for that fleeting instant, and the effect was so startling it caught her off guard… and squeezed her heart. She smiled as they exited the sparring ring.

It was still an hour till noon, so with nothing better to do they wandered on through the enormous, bustling plaza, passing a potter molding lumps of clay into elaborate shapes over a kiln. A glassblower holding a hollow metal rod with a raging hot blob on the end. He blew air into the rod as he rotated it, and in no time, the blob took the shape of a vase with bands of color running from top to bottom. Katara slowed as she passed by, watching in amazement.

"…Chiaro's Menagerie!" a voice was calling out somewhere in a chirping baritone. "Come feast your eyes upon beasts most rare and fantastical! Some mysterious, others frightening, all guaranteed to overwhelm you with wonder!"

The voice belonged to a brawny man in a rich red doublet, standing before a large structure on wheels and gesturing robustly to anyone within earshot. He was a skilled orator, stoking curiosity like an iron did coals. Katara felt herself gravitating toward it along with a herd of other passersby.

"Wanna check it out?" she asked, to which he gave a resigned nod.

"It could be interesting."

Ozai walked after her up the slipshod stairs and inside, her eyes taking a second to adjust to the dimmer lighting. The walls were lit with shabby sconces and the room filled with numerous crates and cages, each labeled with a small sign attached to the bars. They walked toward the first enclosure and Katara peered warily at the creature inside, her eyes widening.

It was a monstrous thing, the head and body of a woman, the powerful clawed legs and wings of giant bird. The sign on its cage proudly boasted that it was a harpy, ensnared off the coast of Barros.

The harpy's piercing eyes flashed but there was a dejected aspect to her stance. She glared mournfully at them through skeins of matted hair, one dark brown wing visibly broken, her skin and breasts covered with oozing red scratches, long neglected talons scraping against the steel floor. Katara stared wide-eyed for several moments, pity slowly taking the place of fright, but a moment later they were pushed along by an incoming crowd.

In the next paddock was a cave troll, with an incongruously small head and a clumpy green-grey body that looked like a sack of large rocks. In a doltish, bassy voice, the troll kept repeating versions of the same phrase, over and over. "Trollses not monsters. Humanses monsters. This true, no lying face make." Its hard, pebbly skin grinded as it moved, heavy footfalls shuddering through the floor and beneath Katara's feet.

Next was a giant frost scorpion, from the icy barrens of Myrr, the sign proclaimed. Its chalky armor-plating lent it an almost mechanical look. The giant scorpion reared its pincers as they drew near, its menacing tail stabbing the air, and then scuttled across the bare metal floor with alarming speed as though looking for a place to hide.

Onlookers nudged them along. In a meshed enclosure flitted several small… flowers. No, not flowers, she realized, just before reading the sign. Fairies. Their wings were soft as petals and colored just as fair, long limbs lithe and graceful, some pale as winter snow, others dark as twilight. They alighted in their airborne way upon the limbs of a carelessly tossed tree branch.

Every sound they made as they fluttered about was entrancing, soft airy notes looping over and under each other, weaving into a song that was hauntingly beautiful. But there was an undertone just out a reach, something darker and deeply distressing in the melody, their mouths open in anguish, such lovely faces tormented. Katara's heart pinched.

There was an odd little creature next, stout and reedy and half the size of a human, with dusky blue-violet skin, a round belly, and lidless eyes. A goblin, indicated the sign. Long, knobby fingers pulled at a shock of lank black hair atop its head as it twitched and paced, muttering churlishly to itself without end, and Katara didn't need to know the peculiar tongue to sense the vulgarity of the words.

A separate closed off area housed a glass tank of water, iron bars sealing the top. Inside was a mermaid. A creature Katara had thought, until this very moment, to only exist in stories. Her upper half was steely grey, her nose small and flattened, with two wide rows of razor-sharp teeth behind her pinkish-grey lips. The mermaid's hair, though, was a mane of striking gold, and her powerful tail, too, was covered in shimmering golden scales. It should have felt exhilarating to see one here in real life, right before her eyes, but the mermaid just looked so forlorn, webbed hands pressed to the glass, eyes glowing like jellyfish in a winter storm as she watched them, pleading. Katara swallowed thick and broke her gaze.

Last, a huge beast marked only as a fiend sat hunched inside another paddock too small for it to fully stand. Its dark, matted coat was patchy and riddled with scars, fangs at least six inches to the tip protruding from powerful jowls, and thick horns twisting from its head. It sat on knotted hind haunches and growled as they passed, the deep pitch rumbling in her chest, and Katara inched back on instinct, bumping into Ozai. There was pure hatred in its unfathomable black eyes, its face wrinkling as it glared at them, and despite it, she couldn't help feeling sorry for the beast. For all of them. Why wouldn't they hate her? She was just like the man who did this.

From the boastful way this Chiaro had crowed, she had expected something marvelous and splendid. Not the callous, dejected sight before her.

"This isn't right," said Katara, shaking her head as she stared. "These creatures, they shouldn't be in a cage."

"You'd rather have them on the other side of the bars?"

"Well, not right in front of me, no. But, it's not where they belong, and to excuse the cruelty of it just because of their nature… they can't help what they are. Look at them. That harpy is obviously in pain, her wing is broken, and some can hardly stand up much less move. It's inhumane."

Katara became aware of Ozai staring at her in the corner of her eye and she turned, taken aback by the intense, weighted look she found there. "What?"

He stared at her a moment longer and then spoke, his voice the low, mellow thrum of distant thunder.

"How do you afford every aspect of life this sort of passion? Don't you find it wearying?"

With a soft huff, she blushed and teased gently, "Only around you." It wasn't entirely untrue. "Caring about something beyond yourself is the only thing that gives life real meaning and purpose. One act of compassion can make the world a better place for someone. It's not wearying, it's fulfilling." And before she could think better of it, she added, "You should try it sometime."

A scoff. "You're so sure I never have," he said, flat.

"I'm not sure of anything. But it's not like you've offered up a lot of examples, you tend to keep a pretty tight lid on… certain matters."

Like Ursa, she thought, and risked a long, meaningful look. He grasped it at once, his bearing going rigid, a frown clouding his strikingly handsome face. Ozai turned away and just like that, she killed it, the fragile rapport they had gained in the past twenty-four hours diminished like a wisp of steam.

If the Villeroux had been busy before, the place was swarming now, throngs of people flocking to be entertained, the plaza loud and vivacious. But the gulf between them was a well of silence, gazing at his back as she walked a pace behind him. A poet was weaving his way about, engaging with the crowds, spouting limericks at the drop of a hat. Inside a corral, gleeful children were being led around on strange animals as their parents waved.

A little distance ahead, Katara spotted a tent. It was deep and stood out easily from most of the rest, bohemian and exotic, a hodgepodge of dark and patterned fabrics adoring its frame. Stained glass oil lamps hung on either side of a pair of drapes which served as a door, dark purple with gold tassels fluttering in the breeze. A weatherworn sign hung above the entrance.

The Marvelous Marvels of Dona Miselda

No one seemed terribly interested, paying it little heed among the onslaught of bigger and better attractions. But Katara felt a strange pull toward the tent.

"Wait, I want to go in."

"It's likely nothing more than junk and cheap parlor tricks," he said without stopping. "Besides, it's almost noon."

But Katara was already parting the draperies, stepping inside. A muffled grumble, and a second later Ozai slipped in after her.

An olive-skinned woman sat over a table strewn with mysterious cards and a clouded glass ball. The highbacked chair on which she sat was unique, its upholstery pluming with jet black feathers. Billows of thick dark hair tumbled around her bare shoulders, pulled off her face with a headscarf.

The air was thick with incense, rising in lazy trails of smoke, and Katara coughed. The woman looked up, large crescent moon earrings swaying from her dusky lobes.

"Welcome," she said warmly, rising to greet them. The dress she wore was vibrant and pleated, layers of different colors and textures.

"Are you Miselda?" Katara asked.

"I am. Please, have a look around." She swept an arm elegantly. "See what calls to you."

The woman's smile was attractive, her posture poised, with upturned hazel eyes that glinted with a secret. On her table, opposite the murky glass ball, stood a porcelain hand, black lines painted where the creases would be, and next to it, a human skull, some sort of emblem rendered atop its crown with words she didn't recognize.

Katara wandered around the tent. Candles flickered, the light catching in gems and crystals that peppered the motley assortment of tables, and three more candles encircled a round wooden board that was etched with dark, coiling letters. Beside it slumped a haggard, stitched-up doll. Its face was sewn into a cruel rictus, sinister glyphs on its body pierced with needles. Something about its beady black eyes and crooked, sutured grin sent a chill down her spine and she turned away.

There were shelves full of odd-shaped leaves and roots, a mortar and pestle, the talons of some creature, various glass phials sealed with stoppers of dark wax. A collection of runestones and charms and pendulums.

A few sculptures and figurines of different sizes and mediums spread out on display. A dove carved of bone with a fractured wing, falling out of the sky. A small copper statue of a woman giving birth to a terrible-faced demon. A leaden angel, her face distraught and bleeding from her eyes. A carving of teak in poor condition, depicting two lovers in an intimate pose.

Maybe she missing something. Katara could admit there were some eye-catching and bizarre trinkets and the lot of it was mildly intriguing, but she had yet to spot anything she would describe as "marvelous." The thought was a little deflating. It seemed Ozai may have been right.

Atop an old chest draped with a tapestry was a book, its binding loose and torn in places. On its cover was pressed a single word, its script curling at sharp angles. At one time, she could see it had been gold but now the embossed lettering was dulled with age. Despite its fairly unremarkable cover, there was something about the book that beckoned her. Katara stared and skimmed her fingers across the word.

"V'elarem," conveyed Miselda in her appealing voice as she strolled up beside her. "It is an ancient Barrosi word. It has no translation in any other language, but the closest that I've heard is the ache. A longing, deep and most painful. The yearning for something so strongly you ache for it, down to your bones." In the corner of her eye, Ozai stilled and Katara looked to see him slipping quietly in the other direction. "Ancient lovers believed that a kiss would unite their souls because the spirit was said to be carried in one's breath. This is an anthology of such tales."

"That's beautiful."

She nodded graciously. "My people are nothing if not passionate."

"You're from Barros, then? What are you doing here?"

"I carry my motherland deep in my heart, but my home is wherever the wind guides me."

On the other side of the tent, Ozai had stopped before a sculpture carved of ebony and ivory, wrought in an abstract style. He studied it as Miselda drifted slowly up beside him.

"What about this piece calls to you?"

"It doesn't. I was only looking."

She surveyed him with her glinting eyes, the corners creasing softly, but after a moment she dropped her gaze to the sculpture.

"It is a rendering of the Wolf and the Moon. An old legend in Barros, are you familiar?"

"No," he responded as Katara came to stand on her other side, peering at the abstract work of art.

"The legend tells of a wrathful god named Xidris, cursed for his crimes to take the form of a common beast. A lone wolf with fur black as night, darkness made manifest, for Xidris was filled with only hatred. For centuries, he wandered the endless shadows of the Dire World until he went so mad with spite and solitude that he tore through the veil with his fangs… and that was where he first beheld the moon. Her light was unlike anything he had seen or felt, and at her soft first touches he was mesmerized, and the malice within him sighed. She was a kiss of light on his darkness, and the wolf would spend an eternity thereafter in longing for her soul, howling at the moon."

Ozai fixed her with an impenetrable look before roaming on silently.

The depth of emotion radiating from this woman as she told it gave Katara goosebumps. "Your people must love stories."

"They are our heartbeat, our blood and breath."

Katara gave a wistful nod as she ambled her way to a mahogany table. On it sat an old box of sorts and she trailed her fingers over the painting on top, distressed and faded with age. A naked woman with horns, her face hidden by a tangle of mauve hair.

On the far end of the table lied a pane of clouded glass inside a striking oval frame, a handle attached to its base. Katara picked it up, turning it over in her hand, inspecting it.

"What's this?"

"Ah. That is a mirror," Miselda replied, gliding over to her.

"A mirror? But, there's no reflection."

"It is no ordinary mirror, true. It does not reflect back what the eye may see, but rather reflects v'elarem. The deepest whispers of your heart. What you truly want."

"A mirror that shows you what you want? Wouldn't that just be obvious?"

The woman made a soft amused sound. "Some desires are rooted much deeper, not so easily touched by the shallow reaches of the mind." Katara raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You do not believe. Try it for yourself and see. Look into the glass. Bid the mirror read deep into the well of your soul."

Katara cast the Barrosi woman an incredulous look, but she closed her eyes anyway, content to play along. She breathed deep with intention, the silent question in her mind, and finally opened her eyes again.

She felt an odd thrum through her fingers and then, to her surprise, grey fog began swirling inside the glass, a toneless image, hazy at first, taking shape in the billows. It looked like Zuko's chambers in the palace. A man, sitting shirtless, chest heavy with muscle. A slender young woman, straddling his hips. Color and contrast began filling in the scene as it sharpened, blurred lines coming into focus. Skin of porcelain and mocha, long dark hair and wavy brown tresses, lips and hands and bodies fervent with need, and Katara's mouth dropped open. She was straddling the shirtless man, and that man was Ozai, pulling her dress up and off–

Every hair on her body stood on end, her stomach a hard knot.

"This must be broken," Katara spluttered, quickly turning the mirror down, shoving it back on the table just as Ozai stepped up beside her.

Miselda's mouth tipped in an eloquent smirk.

"These mirrors cannot break, my sweet, as they are crafted by ancient magic. They have existed for centuries and will exist for centuries to come. And they do not lie, as they have no consciousness. They simply are, and in them we simply see truth. Though often, it takes time for the mind to accept what the heart already knows."

Ozai turned his head to her. "What did you see?"

"Nothing," she hissed, too quickly.

His eyes narrowed at her for a beat, a glimmer of amused intrigue in the arch of a brow. Katara followed his prying gaze as it slipped to the mirror, the tight grip of horror squeezing as she sucked in a breath.

No…

Ozai reached for it.

In an instant, she was a riot of bristled lines. "No! Ozai, pleaseno, you can't, please!"

Her frenzy only piqued his curiosity and Ozai grasped the handle just as she sprang to catch his forearm, fingers digging in manically.

"Don't, please," she begged, realizing anything she said or didn't say now would only make this worse.

He paused a moment then before looking at her, amusement fading into something else, his eyes tracking slowly back to the downturned mirror in his hand. She shook her head, pleading silently as though she might somehow force his hand open to release it. Another moment when she thought maybe he was going to, and then he turned it over.

Katara's soul fled right out of her body, her death grip on his arm constricting in abject horror as the scene in the glass picked up in merciless detail where she'd left it.

But Ozai only stared at the mirror vacantly before glancing up at the woman.

"There's nothing here."

Relief took her like a wave and Katara had to grasp the table to keep from sinking to the floor.

"It wasn't for you." Again, Miselda's lips curled. "Perhaps you would like to try it for yourself?"

"I don't need a mirror to show me what I want."

"Spoken like a man fearful of what he might see."

Ozai's gaze hardened as he stared back at her, but with one final glance at Katara he replaced the mirror face down on the table and skulked toward a shelf of old books.

The woman seated herself elegantly upon her black feather-plumed chair, splaying her olive hands above a spread of cards on the table before her, beautiful and macabre. Exotic rings adorned her fingers, silver and moonstone and onyx. She looked at Katara.

"Would you like me to read your palms?"

Swallowing, Katara glanced down at her sweaty hands, still a little shaky, and back up. At her hesitation, Miselda went on.

"Just as our ancestors gazed into the night sky, observing the stars and planets that hold sway over destiny, a skilled palm reader can see one's life, one's character, and a glimpse of how one's future will unfold, subjectively of course. We are, after all, a microcosm of the universe. As above, so below."

"You can see all that just by looking at my hands?"

"Just a glimpse, but yes."

Curiosity got the better of her and so Katara stepped forward.

"Okay."

Miselda took both her hands in hers, thumbs brushing over her knuckles.

"Such pretty hands," she said softly, letting one fall and taking the other in both her own, turning it over to caress her palm.

Her fingertips grazed the healing cut on Katara's palm, where she'd sliced it during the ritual, and the woman stopped short. Head still tipped toward her palm, only her hazel eyes rose to Katara's, slipping to Ozai transiently and back. Katara felt her palms growing sweaty again. But if she sensed anything at all, the woman didn't say it.

Taking Katara's other hand in both of hers, she traced along her unscathed palm with one slender fingertip, following one crease across slowly, then another.

"You have a strong spirit. Brave. Passionate. Adaptable and resourceful." She traced another long, curving crease down. "You are deeply empathetic, a natural healer. Drawn to broken people, and they to you."

For a stretch, she fell silent, drawing slow, deliberate patterns between each crease and sending a shiver up Katara's arm as she studied it with deepening intent for what seemed an eternity.

"You are a moon," she said at last in a husky voice, so low Katara had to lean closer to catch it. "Light and healing. And he…" eyes flicking up for a breath, "a wolf. Fangs and shadow. Darkness drawn with longing to your light."

Miselda looked down again, holding her palm in one hand and drew a single card from the table with the other. She studied it long and then found Katara's eyes again. "Should you fail to veer from this path before long, you will become that to which his soul sings."

Her gaze flitted past her once and then back, heavy with something that made Katara's skin prickle.

"I…" Katara faltered. "I don't think–"

She pulled her closer and Katara's breath caught.

"The dark needn't be feared, my dear, so long as you hold the moon steady within you. Even the deepest, darkest shadows can be overcome by the healing power of light."

Shrewd hazel eyes seemed to reach deep into her soul, unwavering, and Katara blinked, quickly drawing her hand back.

She kneaded a thumb across her palm, looking at the floor. It was a moment before she dared to look up again. "Thank you for the reading," Katara said quietly. "It was nice meeting you, but… Sorry, we have to go now."

The draperies fluttered as she swept out of the tent, Ozai in close pursuit.

"What was that woman saying to you?" he commanded at her back.

"Nothing," she replied without stopping. "Just a crazy lady high on incense."

"What did you see in that mirror?"

"Nothing."

Ozai stopped her with a strong hand on her shoulder, turning her to him. A merchant carted by, two children with balloons darting past.

"You are a terrible liar."

"It was nothing, okay?"

"Yes, you recycled that lie already."

Katara crossed her arms tight to hide her nerves, her eyes darting away briefly. "Fine, then how about I just don't want to tell you."

"I'd say that much was slightly obvious. So I can't help but be curious." Ozai's incisive gaze scoured her face. "Whatever it was had you flustered, to say the very least."

She choked on a nervous laugh, grasping for some way to defuse the tension. "I wasn't that flust–"

A piercing look cut her off. He took an inching step closer, his gaze a hot stone pinning her in place.

"Why didn't you want me to see it, Katara?"

Tingling panic was rising in her chest, those golden eyes holding her captive.

"Well, what clever timing!" A jaunty voice pulled their focus apart and turned their heads.

Brondolf waved as he sauntered up to them, droll as ever, leading a large saddled animal by the reins. Katara was so overcome with relief she might have hugged him, if the man didn't give her such a weird case of the creeps. She kept her distance.

"Ozai," he nodded greeting, turning to her. "Ozai's lady friend."

Ozai's mouth pursed.

"My name is Katara."

"Pleasure." Looking about, his chest swelled with a deep, long breath and blew it out with a grin. "My, what a glorious day, isn't it?"

"The glib act is growing wearisome, Brondolf. Are you here to discuss the weather or can we move this along?"

"A man of business, cutting right to the quick. I like that. Well then, allow me to recapitulate. Three separate locations, three separate items which you will bring to me in return for the Sunstone. A wedge of Alderlock bark, seven slaughterslug scales, and two sandkraken teeth. And as I mentioned last night, this rendezvous will require a bit of travel so you'll need a mode of transportation."

Brondolf pulled on the reins, leading the creature to his side. "I just so happen to know a certain vicomte who's no longer in need of his."

The beast was equal parts strange and majestic. It had the tawny head and forelegs of a gazelle with the body and hind of a fox, though many times larger, its horned head surpassing Brondolf's by several inches.

He held out the reins to Ozai and the animal twitched on its feet as it was urged forward, its forelegs raising off the ground as though it might rear up. Ozai hesitated, sizing it up warily.

"Is it… friendly?"

"Oh, Fern is docile as a lamb. Practically just an oversized lapdog. Once you get acquainted, I'm sure she'll be no trouble."

Brondolf handed the reins to Ozai, who took them reluctantly. The animal gave an agitated snort and jerked her head, snapping the them taut as he tightened grip on the straps. Ozai scowled.

"Right then, let's start with the Alderlock bark, shall we?" He dug into a pouch, unrolling a map, and circled a finger over a forested section. "This is a tree which only grows in the heart of the Carraberto Wilds, also known as the Whisperwoods, a large region in northeast Arclais, here," he said. "You will know this tree by its bark, not only in the uniquely swirling pattern but by its distinctive aromatic scent as well. Be warned, parts of the Wilds are home to a species of mushroom that release toxic spores which cause one to hallucinate voices, generally hear things that aren't there, thus how it earned the name Whisperwoods. Just ignore them and you'll be peachy." He flicked a hand in the air as though banishing smoke. "Oh, and you'll want to watch out for the spridjins."

Ozai gave him a hard look. "What's a spridjin?"

"A tree spirit, a guardian of sorts. Little is known about them, save that they revere Arclais's forested regions, and are fiercely protective of those areas. They will defend them with their lives if necessary."

"Wonderful," Ozai grumbled.

"Now, moving on to Myrr. There is something you need to know. The Myrran people are not fond of outsiders, to put it lightly, but particularly those of the more gifted variety." He raised a blond eyebrow at Katara. "They view magic as evil and have honed their senses to such a degree that they can sense it. Make no mistake, they will kill anyone on sight who so much as possesses it, and yes, that includes you, mon cherie."

Katara's eyes widened scornfully and she crossed her arms. "So, how do you expect this to work? We can't bring you what you want if we're dead."

"Precisely why I'm giving you this." From an inner coat pocket, Brondolf drew out a necklace. An engraved silver trinket with what looked like a stopper at the top, hanging from a slender chain. "It's an ancient Myrran amulet filled with a concoction I've brewed that, when consumed, will suppress your abilities for three days."

Ozai narrowed his eyes for a long moment. "For such an unwelcoming people, you seem to know an awful lot about them."

Katara had been thinking the same. There was a sort of idiosyncrasy to the man, traits and quirks that seemed at odds with each other. His manner was polished and refined in the way of these people, but his build was robust and strong with a ruggedness that made him stand out. The realization hit Katara at the same moment it crossed Ozai's face.

"You're from Myrr, aren't you?" he said.

Brondolf rocked back on his heels coolly. "You miss nothing, do you, pretty boy."

"But… I saw what you did to Gaspard," Katara cut in. "If you have that sort of power, how are you alive if your people are as hostile as you say?"

"We all have our secrets," he smirked. The man dropped the amulet into her hand, the chain falling against it with a metallic whisper. "Only drink this if you absolutely must, as once it wears off, there are no second chances. But if needed, it will hopefully buy you enough time to reach the Ice Marsh, here–" he pointed to a northern point on the map, "–where the slaughterslugs dwell, get the eggs, and get out. And I suppose it bears mentioning here that the 'slug' part is a bit of a misnomer. The beasts are not very slug-like and are, in fact, quite swift, with most of its body protected by hard chitinous scales."

The crowds hummed on blithely around them, laughter ringing out, a tent flapping the breeze. Katara exchanged a long look with Ozai. He shook his head at Brondolf, glowering.

"What a wonder that no one has managed to complete your little quest."

"And finally, Barros," he said lightheartedly. "The land of passion and love. And blood mages, black magic, necromancy, but who doesn't dabble in the dark arts from time to time, true?" he chuckled affably, then ran a finger over a barren area lower on the map. "The sandkrakens dwell beneath the dunes of the Zaradrid Desert. I think this one's fairly self-explanatory. Lure the kraken out, slay said kraken, cut out two teeth, done."

"Easy peasy," Katara frowned, mocking the man's words from last night.

"Precisely. Oh, and, steer clear of the sting rays."

"The sting–?" Ozai shook his head, cursing under his breath.

"The saddlebags are full of supplies. Sleeping bags, cute little travel pillows, cloaks, food to last you a good bit, a compass, a map. Some of Fern's food and treats, courtesy of our dearly departed vicomte. Lighter attire for Barros and some heavy clothes and boots for your wintry excursion to Myrr. Oh, and I threw in a sack of coin I won gambling earlier. Yours for the taking. I think that about covers it. Any questions?"

Ozai fixed him with a long, sinister look. "Where will we find you after we get them?"

"I often frequent The Brass Centipede, in the lower square. When you are ready, you can ask after me there." He started to back away, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Good luck, all the best, Yrsine guide you, something or other, and so on."

With a grin, he turned on his heel and was lost to the crowds.

For several moments they stood in silence, staring.

"Have I mentioned I have a bad feeling about this?" Katara frowned up at him.

Ozai looked at her and heaved a sigh as they began walking, leading Fern by the reins. With the mood of the day sufficiently dampened, they turned their backs to Lunamass and followed the sloping streets down until they reached the towering gates once again, the lively echoes all but extinguished.

Once they passed through the gates, Ozai stopped and halted the creature by its reins. It snorted, hooves stamping the grass anxiously. A muscle clenched in his jaw as he reached up to grip the horn of the saddle. Before he could even rest his foot in the stirrup, Fern bucked with a snort and sent Ozai stumbling back. He shot forward to catch her reins before she could bolt away, jerking them hard. Her nostrils flared.

"Docile as a lamb," he growled.

"Maybe she just needs a little love and reassurance, you know, considering who owned her before."

His mouth pinched. Holding the reins tight, Ozai glowered at the animals and gripped the saddle again, securing his foot in the stirrup.

"We're doing this whether you like it or not. Now hold still, you bastard."

"Ever thought of maybe asking nicely?"

A muscle clenched in his jaw.

"Hold still, you bastard, please."

"That's no way to speak to her if you want her to trust you. That animal could trample you to death if she wanted to."

Ignoring her, he hoisted himself up, swinging his leg over the saddle when Fern reared up and brayed angrily, throwing him off her back to the ground. She bounded a few paces before Katara caught the reins. Ozai stalked slowly up beside her and the restless animal.

Katara eyed him sidelong and flattened her lips against a smirk. His brow was a dark scowl, his lips a thin line, those powerful, royal-smooth fists clenched as he assessed the creature. And then, seizing the straps from her hand, Ozai started off, grass hissing against his legs as he tugged Fern behind.

"Fine," he grumbled. "We'll just walk."