Zuko is five now, yet I still cannot let him out of my sight.
There is a difference between boys and girls. It does not matter what race, color, creed, or nation you belong to—regal or peasant, water-nation or fire-nation—every little child in the world drives you past that crucial point where your brain is still whole. For girls, it is when they open their mouths and sound comes out. They spend hours gabbing nonsense, giggling like a dolphin for days on end. Not only do their shrill voices offer salvation only with a hammer and your skull, they are so easily startled! You drop something heavy—they start to cry. You make a sudden movement—they start to scream.
Screaming, however, never got anybody killed. When little boys start to walk, a week later they start to run. I still do not know how Zuko does it. One minute, he is next to me. The next, he is halfway across the kingdom, about to walk headlong into a fireball's path! My voice has become hoarse, my shoulder stiff after screaming and pulling Zuko, sometimes whip lashing him into my arms. Not only does he resent to with such force, he bites! He hits! He blows fire into my face!
He first discovered he could manipulate fire at age three. The candle flames he made dance across the kingdom made me lock my meditative quarters. At age four, he discovered he could create fire. What joy he had in that. Every time I asked him to do something—get something from the pantry, for instance—he would negatively shriek and hurl a glowing orange bomb!
The servants that were supposed to care for Zuko, and me, now that I reflect on it, gave up long ago. Ever since the day he was born, after I awoke from my drugged haze and snatched Zuko from the cradle, no servant, nurse, or nanny would come near me. Every time they approached, steam would start to rise from my sweaty head, my eyes alight, and my free hand began to gather the destructive element from my blood.
I do not mind walking the twenty feet from my room to the kitchen. As long as I can keep an eye on Zuko at all times, I miss not the queen's treatment.
My hair, once so black and glossy, has streaks of grey. Permanent wrinkles have furrowed themselves into my brow. I alone could approach him as he squealed in glee, setting the kingdoms best orchids on fire and some of the unfortunate birds. Though he is older, I still wear leather gloves for handling him after a tantrum. Very young fire benders have not yet mastered controlling the fire within, so it blows from every pore when they are angry. It is no wonder almost everything is made of metal.
Iroh, my brother in law, visits every day. Zuko acts as if it is a landmark occasion and is instantly an angel.
"Uncie Iroh!" cries Zuko excitedly. Small children are so amused! It is that naïve ecstasy that causes yellow sparks to fly from the tips of his fingers. I recoil, waving my unfortunate hand that was holding his. He has not, as of yet, mastered control. That only makes him more frightening. Premonitions of Zuko sadistically giggling while various public buildings burn cloud my thoughts.
He runs to Iroh who had stooped down, his arms outstretched.
The first time I saw Iroh, his beauty struck me dumb. His face is hairless, something I have always admired about him. Despite the popularity of those god-awful sideburns, Iroh exhibits his bare face with pride that makes it glow. His silky black hair is most often put into a braid (another admirable quality… he is not afraid to look feminine. That takes courage in a misogynistic nation) that trails to the middle of his back. His cheekbones are sharp and breathtaking, his eyebrows just thick enough to show that he is in fact a man.
I have a feeling people—particularly his younger brother—teased him as a child. Ozai always was the rugged one.
"Zuko! You've gotten bigger!"
"I have!"
As much as I want that baby in my arms again, Zuko has grown. Where once was flesh soft as bread dough, now cords and sinews. His limbs are long and ropy. Hair like Iroh's, it is down to his shoulders and waves freely in the warm breeze. His eyes are bright amber, almost orange. I cannot see my husband physically in him at all. All I see is a little, male version of me.
I notice Zuko has developed a bit of a lisp. I hope it does not stick. As much as I hate the bureaucracy of this kingdom, the future Lord High Master of the Fire Nation should not have a speech impediment. "And I learned a new trick! Look!"
From Iroh's arms, Zuko points, palm outstretched, to a spindle of ivy that grows from the eaves. He pulls his arm back and throws the newly materialized fireball. It hits the plant with a hiss and he giggles shrilly as it shrivels and blackens in the crackling flame. I gait to the plant and wave it out with the sleeves of my kimono.
Iroh smiles. "Very good, Zuko! Only if I were you, I would practice somewhere meant for practicing! I am sure your mother is tired of putting out your fires!"
He glances at me, a knowing smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. I hate those kinds of people, those who smile and think they know everything about children and how to raise them, who click their tongues when a child screams, staring daggers at the poor soul who has to care. It is a simple thing to think you could be a better guardian when you have had a proper nights sleep! Yet, I cannot hold a grudge against Iroh.
"Thank you, Iroh." I say. The cheeriness of my welcome is artificial, stretched. "What brings you here so early in the day?"
Iroh puts Zuko down. Zuko stands beside me. I squeeze his hand. It is still hot.
"Would you mind if Zuko was off with his nurses?"
The veins of my left arm heat, the pores of my hand starting to steam.
"Yes, I would. Why does he need to go?"
"I'm here to speak of Zuko's education."
Zuko looks up at me. I nod at him, smiling. My blood cools, and I rub the condensed sweat from my hand. "You had me worried for a minute, from the look on your face." I say nonchalantly. "I thought somebody had died."
"Oh, no." says Iroh, smiling. "Only Zuko is five now, and needs to start learning the ways of his people."
My heart thrums against my chest. "Will he receive education from tutors?"
"Yes."
I grab Zuko's hand again. He whimpers. I let out a cry and quickly let go, kneeling down to Zuko and blowing on his hand. I have been told holding hands with me when I am in a bad mood is like grabbing a molten skillet. I look at the burn. It is not bad at all. His palm is pink, true, but that will easily clear in time. I give it another blow, and a kiss, for good measure. "I'm sorry, honey. Go find some cold water and dip your hand in it. It will feel better, I promise."
Zuko looks warily at me and toddles off, holding his own hand and looking as if he has never seen it before. I watch him round a corner, and, once he is gone, I look furiously at Iroh. "Look what you made me do!" I whisper angrily. Iroh looks bewildered.
"I'm sorry, Akito," said Iroh, "I did not know you felt so strongly about Zuko's tutelage!"
"I don't." I tuck my hands in the sleeves of my kimono. "I lost control. Raising a child is so stressful on the ability…"
"I know you don't want to see Zuko leave you." Iroh touches my shoulder. I look at his hand coldly. "Only it is time for him to start growing his wings. You have already held onto him five years longer than is normal! You cannot hold on to him forever."
"Iroh, do you know why I kept Zuko close to me all these years?" I move my shoulder from his grip, and relax my arms to my sides. Iroh does not answer. "Do you know what is happening nowadays? Do you know what the military is doing?"
"I do not see how the military's actions can have an affect on Prince Zuko." Iroh says flatly. "He is five years old."
I snort. I think steam came out of my nostrils. "You do not understand. This very war is a mistake. The Fire Nation has no right to take over other kingdoms! Just because the Avatar disappeared does not make it acceptable to start killing civilians! The Fire Nation tutors will corrupt my child with lies and hatred!" my voice has risen to a shout, "I will not allow this to happen!"
"Do not speak of things you do not understand!" Iroh snaps. I feel like he slapped me. He has never spoken to me that way. He continues. I can feel the heat wafting from his hands like noxious fumes. "The Fire Nation planned this war centuries ago!"
I regain my composure and strike back. "I do not want Zuko to be affected by your nation's sick ideas! You know better than to support the war! Because you wanted to end it is the reason you are not the Fire Lord!"
That hit somewhere sensitive within Iroh. Suddenly, he young again—eighteen years old and afraid of his father. I look into his eyes and see not the strapping young man I met, but a vulnerable little boy, fearful of death and of suffering. Fearful of not his reign, but of the lives the world would lose in order to assure it. "Lady Akito," he speaks again, but his voice shakes. "You know better than I that Lord Ozai is more competent at leading a nation."
"No, he isn't." I stride up to him. We are equal in height. "Why do you call him Lord? Are you that afraid?"
Iroh does not answer. He instead turns and begins to walk away. "You may hire the tutors for Zuko's lessons." He says back to me. "That is all I can promise you."
"Zuko is not your child." I say flatly. Iroh stops. "He likes destruction too much."