Three miscarriages, a stillborn, and a baby dead at two are what deserved me this boy. When I bore him unto this earth, the spirit of death was near. I could smell it in the air. It nearly stole my child, but the midwives swiped his nostrils with a river reed and he breathed his first, bellowing like an ox and chasing the malignant spirit away. Once thwarted, death does not linger.
There is much joy in the tent. Each midwife is cooing over my boy, passing him around, marveling at his toes, his fingers, his tiny ears like butterfly wings. I wait patiently, my fingers beginning to twitch, my eyes locked on the little creature that took residence inside me. He is a little thing, the size of the crook of my arm, but that does not change the fact that it felt like passing a cannonball. I believe I clipped several nurses with outbursts of roaring flame, causing them to shriek and scamper, but the memories are hazy. Sweat stung my eyes most of the delivery, blurring my vision.
His little frame fits perfectly in my arms. A shimmer of black curls itches my breast. "Zuko." I state. My voice is hoarse. "His name is Zuko."
"But Mistress, the Fire Lord is given the responsibility of naming a boy."
"I care not." I look up. The nurses cringe as though my eyes are glowing. I think they are. "His name will be Zuko. Tell Ozai."
"Yes, ma'am." A midwife bows as she exits the tent, a panel of light illuminating half my body. I can see my husband's silhouette for that split second before I am enveloped again in reddish light. The midwives have closed in, as if I am a dangerous animal, and they the cage. I look warily at each of them. I hold Zuko closer.
"What are you doing?" I ask slowly.
"We are here to take the baby." One of them says, stretching out her arms. "It needs to be with its nurses."
Perhaps it is the delirium of childbirth, but the pores of my free hand spontaneously combusts. A flame dances in my left palm. "You will not touch him." I snap. "You remember what happened to my last child who I was foolish enough to leave in your care."
"Surely you are not blaming us for the accident." says a voice. I cannot tell which. They have amalgamated into a throbbing mass, ripe with malcontent and misgivings.
"Get back." The flame grows larger. I can see alarm in its face. "Get away from my son!"
"Akito." Whispers my husband. He has appeared suddenly by my bedside. I turn my head and look at him, my eyes beginning to glaze over. He is looking at Zuko. "Give the child to the midwives."
"His name is Zuko!" I whisper dangerously. "And I will be rotten in my grave before they take him from me!"
"Akito…trust me." Ozai stretches out his arms. "If you cannot give Zuko to the nurses, give him to me."
I cannot see his features clearly, but a sense of peace instills in me somehow. Perhaps the midwives drugged me. I relax my grip on Zuko and my husband takes him from my arms. The absence of his warm weight is alarming. I whimper, but something has placed a cup to my lips. I taste poppy seeds and something sour I cannot place. The pillows are softer suddenly, the linens warmer. Before this potion wafts me to sleep, I see Ozai holding my son with the awkward determination of a man who has no idea what he is doing.