Chapter 6
Temurin thrusts the rope attached to the ostrich-horse into Azula's hands and jogs forward a few paces to meet the dust-covered boy. Azula eyes the ostrich-horse distrustfully. She's ridden swimming lizards and Komodo-rhinos, but ostrich-horses are practically farm animals, untrained and filthy. Ahead of her, Temurin pulls down his bandana and sweeps his nephew into a hug, causing a small cloud of dust to puff up from the impact.
"Hey Jirou!" Temurin grins.
"You're more than three weeks late!" Jirou says indignantly.
"I know," replies Temurin. Something flickers across his face. "I was delayed."
He claps his nephew on the back. "But I told you I'd come before winter to train you, right? And I kept my word."
Jirou nods, eyes bright.
Azula clears her throat loudly.
"Oh. Yes. Jirou, this is Nekana. She's travelling south and decided to ride with me for safety," explains Temurin smoothly. He lies easily.
"It's nice to meet you," says Jirou politely. Belatedly, Azula tugs down the kerchief and reveals the rest of her face. The boy is lean and is and the end of childhood. Although his face is smudged with dirt, his gaze is as intelligent as Temurin's. Neither of them would ever be mistaken for nobles, of course, but they have a spark of common cleverness.
"Temurin!"
A woman stands on front steps of a small clay house to their right. She's holding a basket of brightly-colored yarn, but quickly sets it down and runs down the steps toward the road. Behind her, several small children appear in the door. For some reason, they are all spattered with various shades of blue and purple.
"Aliya," Temurin smiles. The woman stops a few paces in front of him and frowns. Her face is slightly lined and her thick black hair is flecked with white and pulled up into a ponytail. Just like the children at the door, her hands are dyed a deep blue-purple.
"You've lost weight," pronounces Aliya. "And you're late this season." She frowns and brushes a stray hair out of her eyes. Then, without warning she pulls Temurin forcefully into a hug.
"Come on, jie, it's not that bad," says Temurin, voice is muffled. His shoulders relax into the hug and he holds Aliya tightly, neck bowing to bury his face in her hair. Aliya's brows furrow as the embrace lasts several seconds.
Azula shifts uncomfortably, a lump in her throat. The ostrich-horse turns its head to glare at her with one beady eye.
"What are you looking at?" Azula mutters darkly at the creature. She jerks the lead rope harder than she needs to and ties the ostrich-horse to a nearby fencepost.
A few steps ahead, Temurin and his sister finally break apart.
"This is Nekana. She's traveling with me for safety," Temurin preempts as Aliya moves to greet Azula. He shoots Azula an oddly pleading look.
What? Is he afraid Azula will blow their cover? Or tell his sister and her son what's hidden at the bottom of the wagon?
"You are welcome in my home," Aliya says, looking slightly confused. She takes Azula's hand, and Azula flinches. Aliya's hands are rough, calloused, and stained a blotchy indigo. The edges of her nails bright blue.
"You must be relieved to see other people, if you've travelled with my brother all the way from Taiyang!" Aliya teases. She lets Azula go and heads back to the house.
"Temurin's always been such a know-it-all," Aliya continues as they cross the threshold. "I bet he's been boring you and chattering on about science and dirt and healing and who knows what else. Honestly, it was a relief when he finally went away to Yu Dao!"
The inside of the house is cool and sheltered from the sun. As they move towards the back, Azula notices a room full of vast vats of purple dye, small channels like irrigation furrows cut into the floor. But before Azula can ask about it, they've moved into the kitchen. Blue fabric hangs from clotheslines in the back courtyard, visible through a large open window. The indigo cloth ripples and dance in the wind, oddly hypnotic. Azula exhales deeply as she watches them twist gracefully and unpredictably.
"You should have sent a letter, Temurin," scolds Aliya, setting out a bowl of rice and some hard-boiled eggs. "If you had, I would have bought you some quail eggs!"
"I'm sorry," Temurin apologizes. He sits on a short chair at the table. Another child, presumably one of Aliya's, toddles up to Temurin. He picks her up and settles her in his lap. The gesture reminds Azula of Zuko and Kazuto. She grips the chair tightly.
Aliya lights a fire under the stove before Azula can volunteer to help.
"Speaking of letters," the older woman says, fanning the spark lightly with her hand. "I have one for you."
"Oh?" asks Temurin, looking up from peeling an egg. The shells are scattered across the tabletop, and the toddler in Temurin's lap picks up a piece and taps it happily on her own arm.
"It came just yesterday from Qima," says Aliya. "It's from Jinlian."
Temurin freezes. His egg is half-peeled.
"Can I see the letter?" He sets the baby on the floor and rises expectantly.
"You should eat first," says Aliya, her back towards them as she sets a pan on the stovetop.
"I'd like to read the letter from my wife, please," says Temurin, his voice chilly. Azula winces as tension fills the air. Aliya turns, wiping her hands on her skirt.
"Of course." Aliya's voice is measured. She pulls a thick grey envelope from her apron pocket and hands it to Temurin.
Without a word, Temurin takes the letter and roughly rips open the back flap. He pulls out two pieces of paper: a small note and a tight, official-looking roll of yellow parchment. Temurin's eyes dart from left to right as he reads the note, face darkening. He briefly unscrolls the parchment and glances at the heading.
"Ahh…" Temurin exhales as if someone had punched him sharply in the gut. His hands tremble.
"What's wrong, Temurin?" Aliya asks anxiously.
"Don't, jie. Just—I need—" Temurin swears and throws the letter down, storming out the back door into the courtyard full of dancing clothes.
"Temurin, wait!" Aliya follows him out.
Azula waits for the two of them to leave before she pulls the two papers towards her. The scroll is just open enough that she can see the title: Certificate of Divorce.
Well, I could have guessed that, thinks Azula. She picks up the note.
Temurin—
I signed the papers like you said. It's done.
But my business with you is not done. You cannot take our daughter from me. I raised her—me. You can't expect your mother to love Haojun as I can. I want her back. Don't punish Haojun for what I've done.
I'm getting married next month and I want my daughter to live with me. Write Mayor Sota and tell her you've changed your mind.
If you ever loved me at all, have some pity.
-Jinlian
The paper blurs. Azula sees her mother, gripping her arm tightly that last night: We need to have a talk, young lady. Ursa's eyes wide with fear as Azula laughed and told her Grandfather Azulon ordered Father to kill Zuko-punishment for Father's apathy following the death of Iroh's son. Grandfather dead. Her mother gone. And the lonely mornings at the breakfast table, and Zuko crying, and Father ordering him to be quiet…
The note flutters from Azula's fingers to the floor. I want her back, the letter said. Azula's mother left her, but here is a mother who wants her daughter back, and Temurin is stopping her. I want her back.
"Your mother didn't even bother to say goodbye to you," says Ozai. Azula whips her head around and sees her father standing near the still-burning stove. His arms are crossed, and he's dressed in the scarlet robes of the Phoenix King.
"She said goodbye to Zuko, you know," Ozai continues. He leans forward conspiratorially. "It's because you're a monster. Like me."
"Stop it," says Azula shakily. "This isn't about you." She backs towards the door.
"You're right," sneers Ozai. "This is about a different father. And he's tearing his family apart." Father straightens to his full height, looking just as he had looked the last time she saw him alive.
"You're dead," whispers Azula. "I know you're dead."
Ozai laughs softly. "As long as you're still breathing, Azula, I'm not dead. You know what we have to do."
Azula stumbles out the door into the courtyard, nearly ramming into Aliya.
"Nekana, he wants to be alone—" Aliya starts. But Azula passes her without a word, making for a figure standing alone amongst the streaming banners of blue and purple.
"Temurin!" Azula yells. He doesn't react. She pushes through the moving forest of fabric to reach him, finally grabbing his arm and turning him forcibly to face her.
"Temurin, you can't take a daughter away from her mother!" she says fiercely.
Temurin wrenches his arm away.
"You don't know anything, Nekana!" His cool is broken, she can see edges of pain through the cracks, but she doesn't care. Ozai is right. She knows what she has to do. She grabs the front of Temurin's shirt.
"Hear him out, Azula," says Ursa. She's standing behind Temurin, her long hair flowing in the wind like the indigo pennants around her. Her eyes are wide.
"What do you know? You left me!" Azula shouts, voice cracking.
"What?" Temurin yells. "Nekana, what are you talking about?" He struggles to escape her grip on his shirt.
"Azula, I'm sorry," says Ursa softly, her voice barely carrying across the courtyard.
"Get out of my head!"
Azula lets Temurin go, but now he catches her wrists and pulls her closer to him. His eyes are very green.
"Nekana, what—"
The back wall of the courtyard explodes. Chunks of brick and clay fly and Azula and Temurin are knocked backwards. Someone screams. And through the haze of dust and debris, five armored men appear at the gap in the wall. Their swords are drawn.
