"He's infuriating. I don't know how you like him."
"I don't like anyone. But he's a good ally to have. It's a part of the game and he's essential."
He sits up and stretches himself out, clambering off of the elevated platform Azula is on to step across the floor onto the table the generals and nobles had just been occupying. Azula stares calculatedly at him, twisting her hair around her finger. Kazou takes cruel satisfaction in sitting down and placing his feet across the map on the slightly raised platform in front of him.
"You're stepping on Ba Sing Se," Azula drawls, and he smirks. He's always confident when he walks into this room; the impeccable way he's groomed and his seat next to his aunt cement his power. When he walks the halls with these men and women they can act like they're on his level. But when he's sitting above them he's calm, collected, and it rushes to his head, a heady feeling.
"Yeah," he blinks and doesn't move. "Why can't you just get rid of Nen?"
The man has rubbed him the wrong way since he arrived and he's been trying to figure out why he told him about Iroh. It was obvious that he was trying to get to Kaz's head — and he did — but he's having trouble seeing the bigger picture. He can't tell this to Azula so his argument against the man isn't strong at all.
"Kazou. If you want to go back to the Earth Kingdom you will need the political backing of the man who manufactures our tanks —"
He looks at the villages under his feet, two-dimensional and flat under the bright lighting. He does want to go back to the Earth Kingdom. He's still bitter about his parents and their imprisonment and the King's guard — the Earth King doesn't deserve to rule after what he's done. Invading sounds like a rather dark and deep step to take but he doesn't see another way to take back the city.
Sometimes he is rather terrified about his own thought process — he shouldn't want to take over the city, shouldn't want to start a war. But at the same time he knows that Azula once took the city and did fine. If she'd been able to keep it, if it hadn't been liberated, then he would have grown up in a different place. He and his parents wouldn't have had to hide integral parts of themselves and they could have been free. And whenever he thinks about starting a war and what that means he disregards all the negatives and clutches onto that understanding.
"We're never going to actually invade the Earth Kingdom," he interrupts. They aren't — most of the nobles seem wary of starting a war, even if the generals and governors don't. "Nobody wants to. And even if you do, you still need their support." He's learnt this; they might have a right to rule but they're still held in place by these small rules. His strange shoe scuffs the ocean and he stares at the board morosely.
"We'll break the others eventually. They're just benefitting —"
"You should withdraw your . . . subsidization," he deliberates. When he turns around she has a puzzled look on her face, though it still looks purposeful.
"That would hurt the people."
"I'm very certain that they don't use our money to lessen their profits," he snorts back, staring at the ceiling.
"That wouldn't change their point of view, Prince Kazou," she uses, and warmth settles into his stomach. "They'll increase the costs for the people and we'll lose even more support with them."
"So limit how high they can price their items. And do it yourself or use one of your ministers, without their input," he reaches.
"You're being awfully presumptuous."
"They're hurting the people of the Fire Nation and that's building resentment. If you give the gold to them instead you'll gain their support instead."
"They'll still object to the war."
"Why do they object to the war?" she looks at him pointedly. He sighs. "Fire Lord."
She shrugs. "They dislike sending food to our soldiers at reduced prices. They prefer . . . I suppose you're right. They prefer selling to the people," she sounds almost disgusted.
"And they're profiting now and then others will profit during the war," he realizes. "Like Nen."
"You should have learnt this."
"This isn't the sort of learning we're outright told, you know . . ." she's glaring a bit. "Uh, Fire Lord. But anyway it's not like they can object to your rule. Just use our own gold and buy the soldier's food at the same price as the civilians. It's not like we do anything with it anyway."
Once upon a time the palace had a theater and constant celebrations, and the royal family used to walk the streets proudly. He doesn't think Azula's done something of the sort since she's started to rule. He's unsure if she's even walked amongst her people. It doesn't matter, anyway — at the end of the day the lack of overwhelming excess (his robes are still heavy and expensive, he's sure) has left them with quite a bit of tax revenue over the past ten years, after they started increasing the numbers a decade after the end of the war.
"They won't be happy with us," Azula notes even though she sounds devilish. "But they cannot say no. You are most definitely not your father's child, Prince Kazou," the title is cold on her tongue. "It is a solid plan that I will think over. These merchants are corrupt, anyway. It's not as if they have anywhere else to trade . . . without conquered territories."
He thinks about the mask hidden underneath the ground outside of his room. He might still be his father's child, just not the way she's expecting. But right now the formality is up. She's picking up her robes and stepping off the throne.
"Where are you going?"
"I have a meeting and then a meal with the Governor of . . ."
He tunes out and stares listlessly at Kyoshi Island. "Oh, okay."
"Kazou! Don't ignore me."
"Sorry, yeah?" she's standing next to him with her hands on her hips, her heavy robes swinging around her. He can see the clear shift from the Prince and the Fire Lord to the two of them, the student and the master and whatever else.
"Come to this dinner. I'll introduce you to Shen. You can come up with some legislation and present it to him."
He starts. "I'm not doing anything."
She frowns. "You will need to know how to do this and it's important to take responsibility for your decisions in order to create positive impressions. Remember how impressed everyone was after you arrested that —"
"That man was innocent."
"Well," she smiles blithely. "These ones aren't. Shen is an ally but you must ensure that the phrasing is adequate."
"I can't come to dinner tonight," he blurts out. And he's not lying. He'd planned to run out and try wearing the mask tonight. He's not sure exactly what he was planning on doing but he was going to figure something out. Something to defend the Fire Nation.
He thinks about that more. These merchants, the grain and rice ones extort the people . . . the rice ship they'd intercepted. Something comes to the forefront of his mind. Here is something he can do — something to cement his place and also do right. Something the Painted Lady did, in her story. Get rid of the corrupt people in the town and give them food, his mother had once told him. The Painted Lady is a spirit who gives villagers food and helps them.
Kaz is no hero but he has a disguise. And he does have something to do tonight.
"What could you possibly be doing that's more important than this?"
"Um. I'm feeling sort of sick, actually. I think I'm going to go to bed," he winces out. That was definitely not a convincing story.
Azula opens her mouth before closing it, like for once she doesn't have a sharp response to him. "You are going to sleep . . . in the afternoon."
"Yup." Yeah, this is definitely not going to work —
"Must not be good, then," she adds. "Fine, take your rest. I expect you to have it done when you're feeling alright."
He takes in a deep breath after she leaves the hall, astounded by his luck before realizing that Azula probably hasn't been around anyone long enough to truly understand the signs of sickness. And that's sort of sad.
For a second he debates getting up and leaving the empty hall but then decides he has time now that he's going to spend the rest of his day in his rooms, so he stretches out again until he's sprawled across the map and tosses off his outer robe. The heat of the flames in the back don't reach this part of the War Room. It's almost comfortable. He's thinking about dozing off when he hears a heavy footstep sound behind one of the pillars to his side, still wrapped in darkness.
"Hey!" He shouts, reaching his hand out to thrust and send a fireball in that direction. When someone squeals he readies another. "Show yourself!"
If one of the advisors stayed behind and overheard that conversation — who knows what they would do? Nothing good. He doesn't know what he would do in that case either. Tell Azula? She'd probably force him to murder whoever this is.
And then a girl steps out and he frowns. "You."
Rini hasn't talked to him since their chilly exchange a few days ago. That was his intention, after all, so he shouldn't mind. He really shouldn't. He's preparing to chastise her and tell her off for listening in — she surely won't report him, he thinks, and he is definitely not going to tell Azula — but she points at him first, feet stuck to the ground in her regular clothing. He extinguishes the ball in his palm and can barely make her out as she stalks forward until she's standing over him where he's casually laying.
This is not where he wants to be and he should get up but she almost looks scary. "You —" she starts, "you're — despicable."
"I — what?" he recoils back as far as he can manage. "You need to leave. I could have your head for eavesdropping!" He finds words from somewhere after a second of recuperation.
"Stepping on Ba Sing Se," she turns to his feet, where they're pointedly over the city, and then stomps next to him again. Her hair is flying and he should really move out of the way or blast her. But he's stuck in place and he can't quite do that either. "Fine. Have my head, Prince. You'll have it anyway," she whispers.
"What? Attacking Ba Sing Se?" he frowns. "I wouldn't be doing anything wrong, you know. The people there are evil. They're terrible," he wants to elaborate but then settles back down. "Not that I have to explain anything to you," he huffs.
But even if his words are clear hers aren't. She doesn't look like she's about to cry, exactly, just like she's profoundly disappointed. "I thought you weren't . . ."
Then she freezes and he wants to scratch the back of his neck but is afraid to move. "I wasn't what?" he goads.
With a hateful last look she doesn't finish the sentence, just turns on her heel and sprints out to the side of the room. He stares at her back and shifts uncomfortably. The last time he'd seen eyes like those was in Ba Sing Se.