Chapter 12 – Red

The moonstone charm hung from the ribbon by a gold fastening. Zuko toyed with it, tracing a fingertip over the carving, while staking out the train platform half a block away. Partially hidden behind a building's porch, he could hear and feel the train's approach as stone ground against stone and sent vibrations through the immediate area. Some of the more shoddy structures quavered and shutters clattered. It stopped and the passengers deboarded into a crowd which spilled into the streets. This was the third arrival of the morning. He searched for the blue dress in the crowd, he searched for that dark hair bound in a foreign style, a braid, a waterskin, but saw none of them. She wasn't there and it was the second day of not having found her.

Zuko slid the charm off the necklace and pocketed it, then slipped the notepaper out. Tidy writing was folded inside it. He read it over once more then added the blue ribbon, bare of its stone, and took the package up. Outside the civil center were the usual crowd of people with nothing better to do, having no hope and no prospects. He walked up to an old man pushing broken paisho tiles around the dirt in lieu of a board, who looked up vacantly, and said to him, "There's a young woman who works here, a Water Tribe girl who started coming a few weeks ago. Give her this. Don't open it." He handed over the slip of paper containing the ribbon. "Don't tell her who gave it to you. You don't know, and you never saw my face." He tossed a silver coin after it, which landed next to a game tile so ragged he couldn't tell what piece it was supposed to be.

He went for lunch to the Middle Ring and sat a long while with a pot of tea after he'd finished the meal, ordering two more pots after. The staff were beginning to grow irate that he was occupying a seat so long, but if they wanted their payment they couldn't say a word to him, and Zuko focused on the tea to keep his mind collected until evening. It was bitter. They'd used water too hot for the tea type and it had overbrewed. There was a pungent sting on his tongue that put him in the right mood for the business. He ordered an appetizer of spring rolls to snack on to keep the owners off his back and did some people-watching at the little cafe, marveling that not one of them realized a firebender was sitting a few tables away, like a tiger sitting between the edge of a forest and a roadside. In evening he paid and left back to the Lower Ring by train, then went to his position.

Light slanted in golden hues through the broken windowframes around the upper story of the paper mill, huge vertical windows designed for ventilation from the fumes and steam, empty and open to the sky. The interior was built like a large warehouse with an open floorspace. At the wall were a series of water tanks and channels with filter sections. Powder-coated sacks were piled in another area from the chemicals they had used to treat the paper, which had seeped out over time causing white rings of mineral deposits to crust across the cement floor. Two large dumpster bins were against a wall near a broken square hatch which the loaders had used to dump in rags, and scrappy bits of fabric were strewn around the area from rats and birds nesting in them and picking through.

Rag-sorting tables were adjacent to the bins, covered over in two inches of dust and filth. In the middle of the floor were arranged a dozen stamper machines, resembling small wooden ballistas, all connected with a cog wheel which looked like a long, round log with prongs extending radially. Along this ran a beam over the length which channeled water from the tanks into the presser frames. Above the main workfloor ran a partial loft where drying racks were hung with thick spiderwebs and remnants of birdnests. Among the forest of equipment Zuko could choose where to conceal himself, and the lower floor was entirely bordered with windowless brick outer walls excepting the doorway, where broken hinges left the door resting ajar.

The building had become outdated a few decades ago, succeeded by a new factory built elsewhere, and subsequently been abandoned. The air was thick and stale, and residue from the minerals and acid-washes left a chemical odor with undertones of pest infestation and woodchips.

He'd taken a position dug into the entrails of the workfloor, hidden from sight by machinery, and had counted off almost an hour waiting before someone approached. He strained his ears. It wasn't the waterbender—the footsteps were a man's weight, confident to the point of aggression. His friend was back. "I know you're in here! Show yourself!" Zuko didn't know if the waterbender had asked her fiancé to come in her stead or if he'd pilfered the note from the old paisho man and invited himself, but his tone said he wanted a rematch. I never get anything the easy way.

He listened as the young man surveyed the area, slowly approaching where Zuko was concealed. He rested a foot against the vat and waited. When Messy-hair was in position he pushed over the vat, about six feet tall and seated atop four large cinderblocks. It was empty but of dust and corrosion and groaned disturbingly as it toppled. The young man wheeled back out of its way and it crashed to the ground. Zuko vaulted over a supply stand. Messy-hair pulled out of having his shin scraped raw by rusted metal in time for Zuko to land on his chest and take him to the floor under his feet. His head cracked off the cement. The young man twisted and threw him off. Zuko took a few strides back and unsheathed his newly purchased dao swords. Wheat-chewer had supplemented his remaining hook sword, which was lashed across his back in a leather sling, with a qiang spear. The leaf-shaped metal blade at its end stabbed towards Zuko, who had only inadvertently taken enough distance. It was a leap in style from his previous weapon.

The qiang was army leftovers, rusted in patches and obviously dinged and scratched from field use. Part of the waxwood shaft had a prominent scorch black across it. Loverboy leapt to his feet and began his assault with the spear. Its length of about seven feet made it heavy, and parrying carelessly risked the dao to shatter or chip if caught at a poor angle. Zuko kept his feet light and wove around the thrusts. He parried, both swords on the same side to double his support, and tried to throw the spear off enough to loosen his grip. Wheat-sucker zipped the weapon back and clacked its tip past the dao, leaving Zuko off balance, and the spear sliced back again towards his unprotected shoulder. He leapt against the metal vat and launched off it into a roll. The spear slammed metal to metal against the vat as it was on its way tipping backwards. Zuko tried to close the gap between them as the vat impacted the ground with a sound similar to the ship hull tearing apart in the explosion's aftermath.

Messy-hair brought the shaft down protectively in front of his chest, barring the twin blades, and all Zuko got was a scrape against his arm too shallow to hinder him before he had to dodge the qiang's tip aiming for his scarred eye, with its blurred vision and more limited range. He dipped under the reach of the qiang to strike forward, turned the momentum into stepping behind the opponent, and as the spear came around he ducked again. It impacted against the third vat and rebounded with a whistle, angled down, and sliced him across the chest, equally as shallow as his own previous hit. He fell back and dashed to the side, burying himself deeper into the equipment. Messy-hair flew around the corner in pursuit.

Zuko leapt atop the crossbeam of the presser row and turned back to face him. The spear was a foot from slicing his throat at the moment his dao met the shaft to throw it aside. The opponent was pulled forward and Zuko leapt down into his arm's reach, letting the dao blades scrape along the qiang shaft, and dashed them at a diagonal. The tips caught his clothing but nothing else—he was wearing some kind of leather cuirass under his loose shirt.

Loverboy reared back to get his weight behind the spear, preparing a thrust that would skewer him, and Zuko dodged out of range and circled the pressers. With the vats tipped, that side of the floor was too open for his liking, saddled with the shorter weapon yet again. He stepped onto the edge of the presser mechanism, leapt across the wooden beam like a stepping stone over a river, and landed at the other side. The opponent vaulted it with the spear's shaft. Zuko backed towards a stand, dipped, and the wood above his head cracked apart with the spear's swipe. Thinking it was his chance, he whipped the dao at his outer elbow, but threw himself aside as the spear, which had not embedded in the wood as he hoped, instead rebounded towards his ear. He collapsed on the ground at his shoulder and the dao in his right hand clacked against he cement floor. Without missing a beat Zuko leapt up and forward, trying to get behind him, and scraped his left-side dao against the opponent's shoulderblade. He was awarded the scent of blood, but the cut wasn't deep enough to leave him one handed. The butt of the spear jammed toward him and drove its ballhammer tip against his stomach.

He grunted and backstepped. The spear whirled around and cracked against a support post, missing his head by an inch. Zuko scraped the blades forward and took a slice across the opponent's wrist before getting out of the way of the riposte. The air was thick in churned up dust swirling on the current generated by the pair engaged in a tight whirling fight. With the densely packed machinery the spear's range was put into a limit, but each step was blind, close-calls, close-trips for both of them. Zuko glanced the qiang off with one dao and slashed with the other. Messy-hair stepped into it and took a second handhold high up the shaft near the tip, using it as a staff, and pushed Zuko with it. His forearms took the flat as he was shoved against a rag bin, pinning the dao close to either side of his own face. The young man's face curled in fury. He didn't like that closeness—as he glanced at the deep brown of the fiancé's eyes, he knew he had seen his own pale gold, though what they would look like in the dim factory lighting he couldn't say.

Zuko pushed one leg off the bin and the other into the man's chest, shoving him back hard enough to trip him over a presser arm. His shoulders were hung over the crossbeam, but as Zuko hit downwards with the dao he'd just gotten the polearm in position to block them. The blades each cut a notch into the waxwood. He kicked Zuko back and pushed off the presser frame, then skid into the open flooring and regained his footing.

If I could just firebend I would have this rat roasted in a second. The factory surrounds felt protective, but he didn't want to risk it, not trapped in the middle of the great fortress-city of his enemy.

"Katara doesn't need someone like you around, some shady creep with half a face," he shouted. "Why don't you get out of this city or I'll give you a scar across your other eye to even you out."

That's her name? "She should tell me that herself. Where is she?"

"No point in telling you. You aren't making it out of this factory."

"She doesn't need some over-protective Mister Hero to save her. All I want is a nice chat about old times she might have fond memories of."

"You're not getting that chance. Why are you trying to bait her into this factory alone with you after dark? Give me whatever you stole from her."

"Come get it."

He drove back into it and conversation resided to grunts, panting breath, and the crack of weapons against each other. By the weight of the shaft he had the idea it was cored in iron, so that if he tried slicing the dao through it would snap the blade. Zuko leapt atop the sorting table, stumbled back, and toed-up an old rag caked in dust, then flung it across the idiot's face. It batted across his hair and plumed out dust. Just as his eyes flinched shut, Zuko drew the first clean hit in a line across his abdomen, but his reflex swept the qiang across and threw Zuko aside prematurely. If not for that block at the last moment he'd have lost a chunk of jaw and his nose. He hit the floor and skid across.

#

The old man who played paisho outside the civil center pulled her hand and stopped her after shift. "Sorry, I don't have time to play a round with you," Katara told him.

He shook his head, then pulled a silver coin from his pocket and held it out to her. "Your friend took the packet I had for you, so you should take this back. There was something inside that must have been of great value. The gentleman who tasked me with it handed it to me with such care. The man who had been escorting you took it from me and ran off."

"What?"

He pointed. "He went that way and said something about a paper mill."

"Then who brought the package to you originally? What did he look like?"

"I don't know, I didn't see his face."

"Keep the coin." She turned and jogged off in the direction he'd indicated, knowing the person who took the package, whatever it could have been, must have been Jet, but wondering who the person delivering it was. If it was Sokka or her father they would have come inside to drop it off with the front desk, which left the impression that the person in question didn't want to be seen.

Her father handed the report to her, which had been compiled by the regional defense force lieutenant. The flood had burst from the dam and swept through the village in the valley. Between the red leaves the water itself ran red. The casualties were near total of both the population and the Fire Nation garrison. Immediately it had been clear it wasn't the Fire Nation's doing. A traveler said he saw youths fleeing, among them a young man who was known as the leader of a band of orphans who had been causing trouble in the area for several years. There were too many bodies to recover, the water had been too rapid and couldn't be drained before the corpses decomposed too far to recognize. The Fire Nation, seeing so many of the residents among the dead, were ready to believe it had been a structural failure instead of sabotage. Who would detonate the dam with the residents sleeping helpless below? Neither nation could blame the other—it was unthinkable. And yet, given that the group of youths had never returned, the defense force eventually named their leader as the primary suspect.

Katara couldn't even guess what the situation might be. Jet, untrustworthy, and the man delivering the package with the unknown note equally so. She searched for the industrial district. It was behind the residential apartment blocks, across a wide street where utility carts and wagons dragged materials back and forth, gouging out deep grooves into the street which tended to fill with water and yellow mud. Unable to guess what a paper mill looked like from the outside, she had to waste time asking around when even finding someone out in that district at that hour was difficult. Finally she got directions not from a resident but her ears. There was dreadful turmoil within one of the buildings, a tall, dilapidated structure with an upper story in splintered old wood. She approached quietly and kept along the wall. There were no windows at the ground level to see into, neither did she find any door—she must have arrived at the wrong side. A square opening stood plenty tall enough to enter by, and a chute led up to it. Katara climbed atop and crept up the hatch. There must have been a flap attached there once, but the hinges had long ago rusted off, and now the entrance appeared frequented by birds with dirty feathers littered at the thick ledge.

Two people were inside engaged in a fierce fight with weapons. She dipped in, took a look around, and dropped down to the ground floor. The sound of her landing was more than covered by the fight. Nearby her were large rectangular bins that kept her concealed. On the far side of the warehouse the two were slamming weapons together. It seemed like it might have been someone Jet knew in the past—it could have been a relative of the villagers he annihilated seeking revenge—but as it was stated there had been a package for her specifically she didn't know how to interpret this. The sunset was nearly finished and the factory remained lit only by scraps of light and what of the moon had shown out of partial overcast.

Katara slipped down between the bins and the wall to the other end, trying to get close enough to see the face of the other person. Jet she recognized by voice and silhouette as he shouted something. The other man had short, dark hair and twin swords. Where the roof was partially worn through and bare to the sky it left patches of moonlight across the factory floor. Jet, using a polearm, was fighting against the other with an intensity that scared her. Of course. Anyone who could ruthlessly wipe out an entire allied village must be comfortable with killing. She'd been avoiding him since finding out, taking the long way around to the other station and walking from there, and seeing him again was unnerving.

The man with twin swords stepped backwards as he threw aside the polearm. In the pool of moonlight his face, turned left-side to her, was lit with silver. She put a hand over her mouth to stifle herself.

But he's dead! That prince! Jet stumbled, then stabbed the butt of the spear onto the ground and leaned on it with one hand for support. His other hand grasped his own chest pained by injuries.

The prince moved forwards with the blades and Jet was forced to put his defence up. They were both struggling as if the fight had been dragging on a long while before she arrived. Why isn't he firebending?

Katara watched, unwilling to help the man who had flooded out that village and killed nearly a hundred people, but she also felt reluctant to leave him while the fight was still inconclusive. They were both immensely skilled, even through the fatigue and injuries. Sokka could have appreciated it more, could have understood the details of their weapons mastery and strategies, but she only had apprehension of both. It was vicious, close, grudge-laden fighting. The two knocked each other around in the labyrinth of machinery and blades rang off the other's in rapid exchanges.

The prince was thrown off balance and tripped backwards. He fell, and Jet stood above him with the speartip readied to slam down.

A burst of blue coursed through the workfloor with stunning intensity. Jet was hit in the shoulder and taken off his feet. The force took him several yards back. He was thrown into a pile of sacks and a cloud of chemical-white powder billowed up. From the doorway a smaller figure stepped out. "Well, Zuzu, that was certainly a close one. I suppose that's your friend from the other day, or are we out enraging new dirtpeasants?" Her voice was silky but cold, and the accent upper-class. Katara was so stunned by the color that it took her a moment to realize that had been firebending.

"Don't call me that. I don't need your help."

Jet had not moved. The prince struggled to his feet and looked over at the woman, who he seemed to despise. As she saw his unscarred side in profile adjacent to the woman's, she thought there was resemblance between them. They were both in Earth Kingdom clothing. The powder around Jet had begun to settle, and he made no sound, though she didn't know if he was dead or unconscious.

The woman took a stance, and the prince looked behind him, towards where Jet had been thrown, but he was still lying prostrate over the sacks of powdered minerals. Sparks lit the air. Even from Katara's distance her skin prickled with static electricity. The prince, standing with his swords relaxed down to either side, continued to stare at where Jet lied, but at the last moment looked back towards the woman. The air split apart in blue-white. Like a thunderstorm rampaging, lightning struck the prince directly in the chest. He yelled and was thrown back, slammed into a structural support pole, and collapsed face-down. He twitched and writhed like the lightning was still alive inside him.

"I didn't think I needed to explain something so obvious," said the woman. Katara was frozen in place unsure if she was even breathing. "The reason father gave you that scar, the reason he banished you, the reason he never called you back, the reason he approved Gao Ling and the assassination of you and your pathetic, traitorous crew, is because he didn't want you back. He never wanted you. For someone in Sozin's line to be such a weak failure was humiliating. Every day grandfather raged that the heir couldn't produce so much as a cinder. Do you know what that was like for him? What it was like for Mother? One day Father threw her against a wall and demanded to know who she had cheated on him with to produce a miserable bastard like you. And then, that day in the war meeting, you gave Father the excuse he'd always sought. It was the happiest day of Father's life, the chance to finally correct his mistake."

The prince tried to get on his hands and knees but could not coordinate himself. He tried to say something, perhaps a curse, but his voice was broken by a moan of pain.

"I only came back here to tie up a loose end. I never needed you and it disgusted me having to pretend I did. The Avatar is already secured and on his way to the Fire Nation. Your last door has closed. If you were smart you would lie there quietly. Even if anyone comes, it will only be to throw you in prison. I've tipped the city guard off about your identity. I'm the only child Father needs. So, why don't you just die here? Then, one day, Uncle can come dig a grave for you next to Lu Ten."

She turned to leave. Katara was torn between listening to her footsteps as they retreated in the distance and listening to the prince dying. His legs kicked against the ground and he arched his back in agony. Her heart was in her throat as she checked how full her waterskin was. Enough. The footsteps were gone and the prince wasn't getting up anytime soon. She stepped out from behind the equipment. The prince's eyes shot up to her. He looked desperate, afraid, humiliated, furious, and heartbroken all at once. Katara ran across the floor past him towards Jet, who was struggling to open his eyes. He murmured her name as she took out the water and pressed it on the large, deep burn at his shoulder. Injuries healed more easily the more recent they were; it was like his body was pulling the water and her consciousness along. The burn reversed and the layers of tissue and skin mended. He reached up and put a hand on her wrist, pushing her back. "That's enough, I'll be fine."

"Jet, you're injured."

"That woman was a firebender." He struggled to his feet and grabbed the spear, then addressed the prince, who had been watching them, still on the floor contorted and clutching his shirt. "You're lucky. I'll spare a nonbender, but there is no way I'm letting a firebender run loose in this city. I'm going to kill her. Give Katara back whatever it is you stole and I'll let you off the hook."

"Jet, wait," she called as he rushed off. Katara knelt in the settled powder watching him go, not fully willing to run after him, not while knowing what he had done and who he really was. She'd been rehearsing what she wanted to say to him, if she ever had the opportunity to confront him, and every word died unspoken on her lips. She'd seen firebenders before, but had only heard in passing that a true master could direct lightning itself, and had an idea of how strong that made the woman. She hoped the police and dai li found her first. Katara stood and looked to the prince, who was still inflicted with the lingering effects of the lightning. "Well, I see you survived that explosion after all, but you won't survive whatever she did to you. For some reason Jet doesn't think you're a firebender." She looked at him. Even disregarding the lightning, he was battered. Blood caked his jawline and one of his arms had sustained a deep gash. Even as he writhed he still couldn't put any weight on his injured arm, indicating it was worse than it looked. Why would he sustain so much injury and still not resort to firebending?

Katara turned to leave. The prince called out, "Wait, I can help you." She paused. "I know where she's going."

"I have no reason to trust you."

"I can prove it." When she looked back, he was trying to find something at an interior pocket of his shirt. His hand was shaking when he held it out, and the moonstone face was smeared in his blood. "I found this in the saddle of that bison. I have him nearby—I can take you there."

"Why would you?"

"I want to stop Azula. I have enough reason to hate her, don't I? This is the second time she's tried to kill me."

Thick bands of smoke wound upwards, black and rippling in flames, as the ship lurched to the side and began to sink into the harbor.

Her body told her to run, but her mother's necklace shone in his palm, brilliant even in the dim light. Red smeared across the stone. Katara inched closer to him, not trusting he wouldn't leap up, but he was barely retaining consciousness by that point. She bent down and reached toward the charm, hesitating. He stayed still, offering it towards her. His expression hurt to look at. Her fingertips were wet in his blood and the stone was warm with his bodyheat. Reverently, she took it back, stood up, and wiped off the blood with her skirt. She hadn't thought to ever see it again. Katara put it away securely inside her dress and examined him. He was curled on his side and trembling. She knelt beside him and took out the water from her skin, the same she'd just used with Jet. He flinched, perhaps wondering if she would finish him off, so she held back a moment. He resettled. "Turn to your back," she whispered. He did so. It cost him. After the effort he was breathless and looked like he wouldn't be able to move again.

Katara pressed her hands over his chest. His eyes watched her as she worked. It might have been the first time he'd seen healing up close, and she knew the sensation he would be feeling of gentle warmth, comfort, and exposure. He was vulnerable. Someone he'd known as his enemy was touching his fresh wound and she could see him struggle to accept it. She pushed through, trying to imagine him as any of the injured refugees. As it worked, the water took up the pulse of his heartbeat, almost tidal, and she felt the lingering heat burning through his body from the attack, an unfamiliar sensation. It must have been agonizing. He didn't whimper.

Aang was in danger. She had no idea where to look, but he did. Sokka wouldn't have allowed it. Katara had heard the woman's words clear as day and didn't need to know their context to understand it was a death sentence he'd been handed by not her but their entire nation. When the injury was workable, she opened her eyes and looked to his face, thinking of her father. How could anyone do that to their own son?

He struggled to sit up. They'd struck a strange truce, but his expression was honest. She trusted him in a way she hadn't been able to trust Jet. Jet's speech was flawless. When the prince spoke, his voice was rough and he struggled to find the right words. "The Avatar will be unconscious right now, and he'll be on a train heading towards the harbor. It's the only path out that Azula has access to. She has helpers here. I know their faces. We can make it to your airbender if we take the bison."

"Is the bison far?"

"No. Just a few blocks."

She offered to help him up. He was reluctant but had no choice. He limped beside her, leaning on her for support, and they made for the door. He directed her towards a warehouse. There was no one around, and she didn't know where Jet had gone, or where the dai li were going. Katara left him to lean against the wall and she slid the heavy door open. A familiar grunt sounded from inside.

Appa greeted her excitedly and thumped his tail against the ground, scattering hay around. The prince followed her inside, and the bison gave him a fond lick. She helped him up into the saddle where he collapsed with exhaustion. "Yip yip," she said, and felt the kick of the animal lifting off the ground.

"What's your name, by the way?"

"Zuko."

#

On his back in the saddle he felt the air flow around them as they gained altitude and sailed above the city. Katara was at the front of the animal with the reins. They made an S-turn and he figured they were following the rail line. He felt drunk, dizzy, and kept replaying Azula's words. His enemy treated him better than his own family.

Behind them, a comet of blue fire shot into the sky. He wanted to get up and look but couldn't move even that much. Katara turned warily to watch. That wheat-chewing idiot must have found her before she'd made her getaway, and he said a prayer to Agni that he wasn't alone, that maybe the police had arrived to back him up.

They didn't know what train line he would be on, except one headed towards the harbor, of which there were two possible lines. Katara asked, "How did she capture Aang?"

"I don't know exactly. She's smart—she has ways. Azula's always been good at manipulating people. Earlier, she said if she would do it she would have him unconscious. She has contacts who own a mercantile ship."

They had flown a good distance and must have been over the agricultural ring by that time. She said, "The train ahead is only freight, not passengers."

"That's it. Check that one."

She flicked the reins and they lowered until the train roared beside the bison. Katara turned and shouted towards the conductors, "Stop the train! It's an emergency!" Deep grinding reverberated as the earthbenders slowed the train. They kept pace with it, slowing, and she landed the bison on the track just behind the halted endcar. "Search the train, someone is being smuggled out of the city. He's unconscious, so he might be hidden in something. A rug, or a crate. Search all the baggage." They tried to argue, and she pulled out a passcard and shoved it towards them. "I'm with the Avatar. Firebenders are trying to abduct him out of the city. Hurry up!"

They ran off. She turned to Zuko and said, "Wait here, I'm going to help," and leapt down from the bison onto the traincar. Deep fatigue lay heavily through his limbs and his chest was as sore as cracked ribs. He listened to the breathing of the bison while they waited. Above there was only the night sky to look at, constellations his mother had taught him.

Commotion erupted in the traincar. The bison grunted and shifted his head, but stayed in place. The traincar rocked and a tremor echoed through the track. "Aang, Aang!" she called in the distance, to which there was no reply. A few minutes later the earthbender accompanied her back to the saddle, speaking with her. Zuko turned his face to the side, hiding his scar, as the earthbender stepped up to deposit the recovered Avatar. "Who is this?" he asked.

"My friend. Set him down there next to him." The warm, unconscious teenager was laid beside him. "Make sure the man gets into custody."

"There's a guard station ahead. We'll take care of it."

He left, and Katara knelt next to the airbender with her hand on his cheek. "Aang, wake up."

Zuko turned back. "He'll be alright, she didn't want him dead. Whatever she used will wear off soon. You should get him somewhere safe. A few police officers aren't a match for my sister. I don't know if your fiancé is going to make it."

"I'm not engaged to anyone."

"Your necklace?"

"It was my mother's. I'm from the South Pole, not the North."

"I see." His heartbeats were heavy and painful. She retook the reins and directed them somewhere to the north. Zuko looked beside him to the arrow tattoo cresting the bald head of the monk. The tip came down almost to his eyebrows, directing to the point referred to in old spiritualism as the third eye. He never realized before the exact details of how the Air Nomads ornamented themselves. The boy's face was smooth and soft, without even a trace of facial hair yet. Zuko couldn't even lift his arm. If not for the healing water he would have already been dead. "Where are we going?"

"To my father."

He didn't like that answer.