Archive of Our Own ^beta

Firelord, they told him. You must prepare for the worst. The healers may only be able to save one.

Smoke rose in curls from where Zuko's hands were pressed to the low garden wall.

Too quiet. Everything was too quiet.

The baby wasn't supposed to come for another month. That's what everyone had said. Another month, and it wasn't really expected for an entire week after that. They hadn't been prepared for this, even though the last eight months had been harder on Mai than all the healers said they should have been. They hadn't been ready. She hadn't been in any danger, everyone was so sure of that...

He lashed out in a sudden fit of impotent rage, striking the nearest column with a clenched fist.

“Katara should have been here!” he growled at the empty garden.

Prince Zuko, his inner Uncle replied, right on schedule. Anger will not help, and it will not make this easier. It also tried to offer him some tea.

He took a deep breath and leaned on the wall, letting his head hang. The cold edges of the Firelord headpiece pressed against his scalp.

“I know,” he said out loud.

His inner Uncle hummed unhappily. Iroh would be worried about Mai too, if he wasn't still in the Earth Kingdom. Ba Sing Se couldn’t function without the Jasmine Dragon, after all. Well then, Prince Zuko. Why are you so angry?

It was always 'Prince,' when he held these mental conversations with his uncle. Prince Zuko. In moments like this, just a hotheaded kid again.

“I'm not angry,” he said finally, The words stuck in his throat as he tried to hold his voice steady. “I'm upset. I'm scared. And I'm frustrated that I can't help.”

Are you upset with Katara for not being here?

"What? No." Zuko was almost surprised he'd had the thought. "It's not her fault. She's coming in two weeks with everyone else. She'd be here if she'd known." They had a young woman from the Northern Water Tribe here, a gesture of forgiveness and hope for the future that Zuko was honored by. But there had never been a question of who they'd wanted to deliver their baby.

Zuko had wanted to be there, too. He’d never even considered anything different. But the healers had started looking worried and then started looking scared, and he'd been shoved out of the room almost at knifepoint because they said he was getting in the way.

The memory made him cringe. They'd had a point. And threatening to have them all banished hadn't been his proudest moment.

You should apologize to them, Inner Uncle informed him calmly, sipping a cup of imaginary tea.

“I know that,” muttered Zuko.

He looked up at movement on the other side of the garden, and had to smile.

Mama Turtleduck was back. And all four of the hatchlings, including the one Tom-Tom had named 'Whacky' when he visited a month ago. Whacky had been born with something twisted in its legs that made them stubby and the toes of one foot turn in. They'd had to catch it, with Mai fending its irate mother off with a stick, to splint the leg so that Whacky would be able to walk normally someday. He'd changed the splint twice now as the hatchlings grew, and they'd gotten used to it. It was crude, but waterbending wasn't magic. The visiting Water Tribe healer had told them she couldn't change the way a creature was born, if that was how nature intended...

His grip on the wall tightened and he squeezed his eyes shut.

This wasn't supposed to happen, he'd been so stupid, he'd never been careful enough with Mai—

“F-Firelord?”

He whipped around suddenly enough that the young messenger who'd called him cringed back against the wall.

“What is it?” Zuko tried to keep his voice steady, but he was already tense with the need to do something. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to center. Even now, his father's influence clung to parts of the Fire Nation like a disease. With time, hopefully, this little boy wouldn't be afraid anymore of a man in ornate robes.“What happened?”

The boy stood a little straighter. “The healers, Firelord,” he said, bowing. “They sent me to say you can come in now.”

Zuko's pulse thundered in his ears. “Is Mai all right? What happened to—”

The boy winced. “I don't know, Firelord. They just said, go find Firelord Zuko, so I came out here, and—”

“I get it.” Inner Uncle cleared his throat, and Zuko hastily added, “Thank you. You can go home now.”

“I live here, Firelord,” the boy said in confusion. Zuko, who was already around the corner, didn't hear him.

There were no healers in the room when he arrived, and that seemed very wrong somehow. Incense burned in a corner and the window was open, but everything still smelled faintly of blood and Mai was very still and very pale. He was at her side before he had time to register anything else.

“No.” The word was small, broken, made him sound fifteen again and for a moment all he could think was how Azula would have laughed to hear it. “No, Mai, I....”

She didn't move. He squeezed his eyes closed, clutching her wrist. This is all my fault, I should have...I could have...

There was a familiar sigh, exasperation only mildly diluted by exhaustion.

“If you're gonna keep me waiting for the rest of it you could at least get me a book or something.”

Zuko's head snapped up so quickly the ancestral headpiece fell partially out of its topknot and hit him in the side of the face, very nearly poking out his good eye. He barely noticed.

“Mai!”

She waved her fingers. “Hey.”

Zuko realized he was grinning like an idiot but couldn't stop. “I thought you were dead!”

She shrugged tiredly and closed her eyes again. “Well, it's not my fault you don't know how to check a pulse.”

Given the circumstances, Zuko decided to just let that one go in favor of hugging her.

“Ow.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He pushed himself up so that he was perching awkwardly on the side of the bed. “How...how do you feel?”

Her eyebrows went up. “Like I just had a baby.”

“Oh. Right.” There was a pause while Zuko tried to think of something to say. Eventually Mai reached up and flicked his dangling headpiece, which clattered to the ground. “Um. What...”

He was too scared to ask. Having Mai here, alive and snarking, was already more than he'd dared hope five minutes ago.

“The healers took him.” Mai said it with a shrug, turning away like the ugly landscape on a wall hanging fascinated her. “One of them said he was alive, but I don't know.”

“Oh,” Zuko said again.

“Yeah,” said Mai.

After a long pause, she moved over so that Zuko could climb onto the bed and lay down next to her. She rested her head against his shoulder.

“If I wasn't so worried about the baby I'd stab you,” she said finally.

Zuko's lips twitched. “I know.”

“I mean it. Being pregnant was bad enough.”

“Sorry.”

“Good.”

Zuko stiffened. Part of him wanted to be angry, defensive—but it was the part of him that already thought this was his fault, the part furious with itself for something out of its control and lashing out at the slightest provocation because it was easier to be angry than scared. He put an arm around Mai's shoulders and squeezed gently, and when she immediately reached out to hold his hand he did the smart thing and assumed that if he ever mentioned it to anyone, she would murder him.

“I guess they think he might not make it,” Zuko said after a while.

“I know that.” Mai's voice had the kind of flat disinterest that meant she wanted to charge around the palace doing something as badly as he did.

He swallowed. “It's not our fault. We didn't do anything wrong.”

“I know that.”

Some kind of bird sang outside.

“I'm scared,” he said quietly, and for a moment expected Mai, hiding her worry with sarcasm as usual, to inform him that she knew that, too.

Her grip tightened a little on his hand.

“Yeah.”

After what felt like hours, there was a knock on the door. It opened a few seconds later without waiting for permission.

The Water Tribe healer wasn't there—just the older, Fire Nation medic, holding a bundle of towel, and Mai's hand in his clenched so hard her fingernails drew blood.

A few seconds later, the bundle started to cry.

Firelord, they told him. You have a son.

“Almost...there,” Zuko panted.

Izumon's grip tightened around his throat as climbed over a fallen log. Resisting the urge to gag, the Firelord gingerly reached up and pried the tiny fists away from his windpipe as carefully as possible. Did all five-year-olds have this kind of iron grip, or was Izumon just special? Lucky me.

“It's hot,” his son griped.

Zuko rolled his eyes only because the kid was riding on his back and couldn't see. Out loud, he said, “Yeah, buddy, I know.” He'd thought about asking Mai to come, but...she wasn't a bender, and this wasn't something a non-bender could share. If Izumon was anyone but the crown prince, he wouldn't be here either, not until he was old enough to bend. But this was his history. The history of their people, and the heritage he would someday be charged with protecting. It was important that he be exposed to it.

Besides, Mai hadn't wanted to come anyway and she'd told him so before he could even start to apologize. As he wiped a long, heavy sleeve across his sweaty forehead, it wasn't exactly hard to follow her logic. Oh no, she'd said flatly. Poor me. I guess I'll just have to stay here, inside, with a cold drink, being fanned by servants, while you and the kid run around a tropical jungle. My life is so hard.

He smiled. Mai was great.

“Daddy,” Izumon complained, poking him in the back of the neck. “You're making your dumb mama face again.”

“You can't even see my face,” Zuko protested as he adjusted his grip on Izumon's legs, hefted the kid, and started the long, hot climb up the Sun Temple stairs. It'd be a lot easier without a five-year-old on his back; but Izumon's lungs had never been as strong as they should have been, and it was better not to take chances. He hoped the humidity wouldn't set off one of his son's awful, wheezing attacks, but all he could do was make sure the little guy didn't exert himself too much.

“I can tell,” Izumon muttered.

Zuko couldn't help laughing at that. “Oh, you can, huh?” He let go without warning, catching Izumon safely under the arms as the kid slipped off his back with a shriek, and set him down carefully, grinning. He reached out to ruffle his son's hair until the pout turned into giggles. “All right, buddy. That's enough. Come on, they're waiting.”

This time, there was no need for clever tricks with a sword; on the Summer Solstice, the temple's firestone blazed proudly over doors flung open to the world. Flames burned inside the temple, and Zuko winced in sympathy at the thought of how hot it must be in there as acolytes traveled back and forth maintaining the temple and making offerings. Thankfully, he and the kid weren't going inside.

They stopped at the top of the stairs, and Zuko let go of his son's hand to bow deeply to the Sun Warrior chieftain before clasping his arm.

“Thank you for having us,” he said, placing a hand back on Izumon's shoulder. “I want him to grow up with the knowledge of true firebending.”

The chieftain smiled, dropping to one knee to place himself on Izumon's level. “Hello, little prince,” he said, laughing quietly when Izumon pressed into his father. “Has the Firelord told you about his first meeting with the Masters?”

Hesitant, Izumon shook his head. “I know Uncle Aang was there. They said I'd understand when I met them.”

The chieftain caught Zuko's eye and nodded, once, before turning back to the kid. “Only some of it, little one! You'll face the Masters too, someday. But not for a long time yet, I think.”

Zuko gave another, shallower bow. “That's what I thought. He's too young.”

The chieftain pushed himself back onto his feet and gestured for them to follow. “A child cannot be judged,” he agreed. “Even the Avatar, when he arrived here, would normally have been too young for such a trial; but that was different. Still,” he said with a smile. “You will be part of our solstice celebrations.” He gave an expansive gesture as they reached their destination; the same secondary courtyard Zuko remembered, with the Eternal Flame burning, but this time with the full Sun Warrior tribe milling about. There was food, drink, children running around; he recognized firebending forms in some of the group dances being performed by all age groups in the shade.

“For now,” the chieftain said, watching as Izumon's eyes lit up at the sight of things to eat, “enjoy yourselves as our guests. The ritual will begin in an hour.” Exchanging a polite bow between equals with Zuko, the chieftain returned to his duties in the temple. Izumon ran off without a backwards glance and was immediately folded into a small family group sitting down on the grass to eat.

“Izumon,” Zuko called after him fruitlessly. “You need to...ask...permission.” He sighed. “Or not.”

He looked around, realized nobody here cared whether he was the Firelord or not, and decided that actually, a drink of water sounded really great.

The Sun Chieftain found Zuko an hour later, relaxing in the shade of a tree and watching the solstice festival. This was nice; he didn't get much chance to just sit down on the ground and watch things happen anymore. Kinda reminded him of the good old days with the gang; but it was time to get back to work.

“Izumon!” he called over the crowd as he stood. “Come over here!”

Izumon bid a reluctant farewell to his new group of friends and trudged over. Zuko frowned.

“I've told you to be more careful about your clothes,” he said. “You have a reputation to keep up.”

Izumon looked guilty. “Sorry. I didn't mean to fall.”

Zuko sighed and smiled. “Just...be more careful, buddy. It's fine. We're gonna get started in a minute, right?”

The chieftain nodded, and Izumon perked up. “It will be a normal solstice celebration,” he explained. “After proper venerations to the sun, we will hold a procession to the caves of the masters. This will not be like your own journey.” He indicated the many children surrounding them. “Today is not about testing the hearts and souls of warriors or wisdom-seekers, but rather the simple celebration of the flame of life.”

“Remember what I've told you about firebending?” Zuko asked the kid.

“Fire is life, not just burning stuff,” Izumon recited. “What do I have to do?”

The chieftain's lips twitched. “When we arrive, all of the children born to the Sun Warriors since the last solstice will be presented to the Masters to receive their blessing and to have the fire of courage and compassion breathed into them. You, Izumon, will be presented as well, as the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation should always be.”

Unexpectedly, Izumon's face fell. “Oh,” he said. “Okay. I mean, thank you, sir,” he corrected himself. “I'm honored.”

Zuko frowned again, and bowed to the chieftain so that he could begin the ceremony before crouching next to his son.

“What's wrong, buddy?” he asked in an undertone. “I thought you were excited.”

“I am!” Izumon said anxiously. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

He glanced around before whispering, “Aren't the Masters sacred?”

Zuko smiled. “Yeah. You'll see.”

Izumon was not comforted. “They can see your soul, right?”

“Well, I don't know...sure, yeah, kind of. But you'll be fine. This isn't a judgment anyway, and if it was, you'd have nothing to worry about.” He ruffled the kid's hair. “Okay?”

Izumon hugged himself. “What if...it's bad to lie, right? Especially if it's something important?”

“Usually, yeah.” Zuko tilted his head. “You okay, kid?”

Izumon thought about it. Finally, he gave a firm nod.

“I'm okay,” he decided. “But I wanna do the speech.”

Zuko was confused. Still, if it was important to Izumon, he didn't see the harm in letting him announce himself. It wasn't like it was a complicated speech.

“All right,” he said. Izumon instantly relaxed, and Zuko knew he'd made the right decision. He squeezed the kid's shoulder with a grin. “We'll practice it on the walk over. Don't worry. Now shh. The ceremony's gonna start soon.”

Zuko was never going to forget the look on his son's face.

The sun was starting a slow descent by the time the procession arrived at the second ritual site. There had been more dancing, several feats of incredible fine-motor fire control that Zuko didn't think he could have come close to matching, and a formal firebending competition among some of the teenage warriors.

He itched to join them, but adults weren't allowed. If only he'd known about this when he was younger! It looked like fun.

Of course, the celebration was just to pass the time. When the sun was positioned exactly over the bridge, sitting at the top of the long stairs, there was an earth-shaking roar, a rush of scarlet and blue, and Izumon saw dragons for the first time.

The Masters, the true Firebenders of the world, were celebrating their element today just as much as the humans. Looping and rolling through the sky, flying into the sun only to twist around and dive, pulling up so late that if Zuko had jumped he could have touched one of those long underbellies. And then, finally, the explosion of joy and energy as the dragons wove through one another and breathed flame for the sheer thrill of it died down into the dancing pattern he recognized, and then that calmed as well, and the dragons perched on either side of the valley and lowered their massive heads.

There were only three children being presented this year, and the first parent stepped forward. He was a young father, nervous as he stepped toward the dragons with a fussy bundle in his arms.

“Masters,” he said, voice cracking. “I present my firstborn daughter, Zana.”

The next, a woman a few years older than Zuko, moved up beside him with practiced ease. “Masters,” she said, voice still quiet with awe but surer than the young man's. “I present my son, Let, named for his father.”

Izumon was the last, and Zuko gave him an encouraging nod as he gestured into the center of the circle. Izumon's hands were trembling, but he gulped, drew himself up like a Firelord's son, and took a handful of shaky steps into the dragons' sight.

“Masters,” he said, voice cracking. “I present myself, Izumon, heir to the Fire Nation and...” He wavered, then plowed forward firmly, “And daughter of Firelord Zuko!”

If there was shock at the announcement, Zuko made up most of it. A few of the Sun Warrior crowd shifted and murmured in surprise, several of them appearing to take a second look at Izumon as if they were chagrined at assuming the young Heir was male; but it took more than something so small to surprise a dragon. The Masters lowered their heads as one, breathed long and slow over the children lined up before them in a gust of hot air that smelled of dry grass and smoke and wild hope, and then lifted their heads again as the chieftain raised his hands.

“May these children grow in strength and courage under the sun...”

Zuko didn't listen to the rest of the short blessing, and as the chieftain lowered his arms to his side and the dragons spread their wings for one last dive and returned to the hearts of their great mountains, he was able to recover from his confusion enough to be irritated. Why did the kid have to spring something like that on me at the last moment? Izumon knew better than that! He was ready to lecture the ear off his firstborn, until the newly-presented children returned to the crowd and he saw how nervous Izumon looked.

It took guts to say something like that. Especially in front of your father. Zuko should know.

He sighed, smiled, and squatted down to Izumon's level.

“Well,” he said, resting a hand on his daughter's shoulder. “We'll have to get the plaques changed on your portraits, won't we, Princess?”

Zuko fretted for a month over how to make the announcement to the kingdom. It had to be done right, he said, over and over again, pacing across the room. They owed it to Izumon— Izumi, now, they owed it to Izumi—to make sure they presented this to the Fire Nation in a way that would make certain they accepted her.

He knew, they both knew, what it was like to grow up in a world that demanded you be something you weren't. He couldn't let that happen to his little girl. Growing up as the heir to the Fire Nation was going to be hard enough without having to fight her own people tooth and nail just to be called by her name.

Mai was the one who came up with a solution, of course.

“The more you make a big deal out of it, the more people are gonna treat it like a big deal,” she pointed out from the sofa. She waved one elegant hand carelessly. “Just act like it's not that important. Trust me, I know these people. They all want the Firelord to approve of them. If you're calm and unconcerned, they'll all act the same way because they don't want to look like idiots.”

Zuko's lips twitched as he glanced over and waited.

Mai smirked.

“Too late for most of them, obviously,” she said, and then rolled her eyes. “Will you calm down? You're burning a hole in the carpet.”

Zuko looked down and made a face.

“I can replace that,” he said.

Mai twitched her fingers to summon him to the couch. “I wouldn't bother,” she drawled. “You're just gonna do it again next week. Might as well just replace the carpet in here with volcanic stone and save the taxpayer money.”

Zuko, sitting down obediently so she could put her head in his lap, cocked his head.

“You know, that's actually a really good idea.”

Mai closed her eyes. “Obviously,” she said. Then, “Pet my hair. You gave me a headache with the pacing. It's the least you can do.”

Amazingly, over the course of the next year, it worked.

Not that he would ever admit to being surprised, of course. Not where Mai could hear him, anyway. But the change, as sudden as it was, washed over the Fire Nation like a ripple on the turtleduck pond and then faded away almost as quietly. If people were confused and gossipped the first time the royal palanquin was preceded by a command to make way for the Princess Izumi, by the tenth time they were used to it. Official references were quietly altered without fanfare, and nobody adjusted faster than clerks who didn't want to have to write any given page more than once.

Traditional Fire Nation robes had always been relatively gender-neutral, which helped; but there were still differences between what was considered more masculine or feminine styles. Izumi had already preferred stylings as close to feminine as protocol allowed for a prince, and Zuko suspected that wasn't quite enough; the kid was beaming as they took her new measurements, so he was pretty sure his guess had been right.

Of course the tailors didn't bat an eye. He'd already fired the ones who had, when he first gave them the instructions. Zuko'd grown up in the palace, he knew what these sticklers were like. He definitely knew enough not to give them a chance to protest in front of his daughter. 

Then he'd have had to challenge them to an Agni Kai, which would have ruined the whole afternoon. And wouldn’t set a great example, considering he was trying to have them outlawed.

The status of the heir to the throne was honestly one of the least of their worries at the moment. Zuko was trying to rebuild a nation as well as doing his part to help three others rebuild themselves. Katara's healing was needed too badly for her to visit very often, but they did see Sokka sometimes, as representative of his tribe. He needed a little bit of explanation about who Izumi was and what had happened to Zuko's son, but his confusion vanished miraculously when Mai began casually sharpening her knives.

Mai and Zuko had both dreaded the inevitable conversation with Ty Lee. She was...you know, fine, Zuko didn't have anything against Ty Lee, she was...sweet? He supposed? Confusing. Ty Lee was confusing. And kind of existed in her own little world, and the problem was she said whatever was on her mind, and they hadn't been able to intercept her before she'd pole-vaulted over a wall and swooped up a happily shrieking Izumi.

“Hi princess!” she exclaimed without preamble, swinging the little girl around before depositing her astride a banister. “How's your chest doing? You feel a little off. Oh hey! Mai!”

Mai had never been able to keep up the ice-queen act around Ty Lee; she actually smiled, and softened enough to hug her friend back. Ty Lee then threw her arms around Zuko, who didn't actually know how to respond. Mai smirked at his discomfort, because Mai smirked at everything.

“I was just talking to Izumi!” Ty Lee chattered. “Haven't you gotten her vision checked yet? She was squinting so hard at that book I couldn't even see her eyes! And I mean, without the Fire Nation gold, she could be anybody, right?”

“Her eyes?” Mai demanded. “What's wrong with her eyes?”

Ty Lee rolled her own eyes. “Nothing's wrong with her eyes,” she explained with exaggerated patience. “I said there's something wrong with her vision. Get this girl some glasses, Zuko, honestly.”

He glanced at Mai, and was relieved to find that she looked as bewildered as he was. Finally, she gave a one-shoulder shrug that clearly communicated that they might as well get the royal physician in to see what this was about.

“I, uh.” Zuko cleared his throat and straightened his robes, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I see you heard the news, then.”

Ty Lee cocked her head. “What news?”

“Izumi changed her name,” Mai pointed out.

Ty Lee clapped her hands over her mouth. “Really? I didn't know! What did she change it to? I thought it was Izumi!”

“It is— what?”

“Oh.” Ty Lee rolled her eyes. “Is that what you meant? Well, I didn't need to hear news from anybody for that. Izumi. Duh. I mean, her aura's obviously female, I was wondering when you guys were gonna figure it out already. This is like the glasses thing all over again! You can't do anything without me.”

She'd stayed for a week and then left again with the other Kyoshi warriors. As it turned out, Izumi did actually need glasses. The royal physician had no comment on the status of the princess' aura.

Zuko was grateful for that. One Ty Lee was enough.

Aang showed up unexpectedly. Well, Aang always showed up unexpectedly; apparently airbenders didn't believe in writing ahead. Not that Zuko wasn't always happy to see him, of course.

The Avatar didn't say he'd come because he'd heard about Izumi. Actually, he had a laundry list of legitimate things they ought to talk about while he was here; Zuko just happened to notice that none of them were urgent, most of them were already being taken care of by someone. Aang spent a lot of time asking casual questions about Mai, and how are things with you, and oh, yeah, how's the princess doing? Katara was wondering the other day if she has any of those protective carvings the Southern Water Tribe give to little girls.

She didn't, of course, and there was no way Katara didn't know that. Aang just winked at him over Izumi's head as the princess sat on the floor unwrapping a series of little stone sigils and the friendly note in Katara's loopy handwriting, addressed to Princess Izumi. She was practically glowing with happiness, so excited she could barely sit still despite all her royal training.

“Good,” Mai murmured in his ear. Zuko could swear this woman read minds. “Let her. She missed out on five years of being a little girl.”

Zuko smiled and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “You say that like I was planning on stopping her.”

Mai looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. Zuko didn't hold her closer; forcing a little kid to stay still and silent because she was a girl was a sensitive subject and Mai wouldn't like him highlighting her vulnerability. But she relaxed and leaned into him, and that was permission to put an arm around her.

Aang juggled the little pieces of stone between his fingers as Izumi clutched Katara’s letter and eagerly explained the significance of each one, and Firelord Zuko had never been more happy to have blocked a night off of work.

Firelord, they told him. You love your daughter. But surely you must realize—she will never be a firebender.

Fire was life. Fire was breath; it came from the chest, not the muscles.

Iroh's words rang over and over in Zuko's head as his daughter braced herself against a wall, gagging and sobbing as she tried and failed to pull air into her lungs. The little flame in her palm stuttered and went out.

It wasn't her fault. She'd been born so early, and just like her eyes her breathing had never been right. Most of the time she was fine; but it was so hot here, so humid, and the activity around the palace threw dust into the air no matter what precautions they took. Izumi was a bright, happy girl; but she couldn't run far or fast without risking one of these horrible episodes of deathly wheezing. And there was nothing Zuko could do to help, except loosen the ties on her robes to make sure there was nothing restricting her chest.

She was a firebender; it was in her blood and her soul, she couldn't choose not to be one if she tried. But if she couldn't breathe, she couldn't bend. That was all there was to it.

Zuko didn't accept that.

Mai's views on royal succession were pretty clear; the law said the Firelord had to be a firebender, fine. Izumi was a firebender. So what if she couldn't torch half the continent? Hadn't the Fire Nation had enough of powerful macho warlords? A good leader was a good leader, and the conservatives could deal with it.

It wasn't that Zuko disagreed with her, obviously. But they both knew politics didn't work like that.

Izumi was going to be Firelord. If she couldn't bend her reputation would take a beating, her influence among her nobles would be lessened. Her reign would suffer. And...it was painful, for a bender not to be able to learn their element. It broke them inside. Izumi tried so hard, she was so happy when she managed to firebend. It was what she was born to do.

If there was a way to let her train, he was going to find it.

Katara had come through for them. She'd found some old mix of herbs and spices that the Air Nation had used when their own children were born with Izumi's condition. Ground up and burned, the smoke didn't make the attacks any shorter; but they seemed to relax the tight muscles in her chest, making the heaving gasps for air less severe and easing her pain. Izumi kept some of the blend in a pouch around her waist.

But that wasn't enough.

Zuko had tried for a few weeks to take Izumi's training on himself. It had been...well, a disaster, actually. He was stressed and scared and Izumi was frustrated and scared and after three weeks it ended in a shouting match and his daughter running away in tears.

He'd found her a few hours later hiding in a hayloft. A stable girl about her age scowled and held him off with a pitchfork until he explained that he'd come to apologize.

So, Zuko: clearly not the best option to teach Izumi firebending. He was too easily frustrated, and she was too insecure in front of her father. She needed a private teacher.

But how was he going to find the right person? They'd need to be patient and calm, they couldn't be uncomfortable around people who were different from them. And they had to be willing to try new things, accommodate Izumi's needs without being condescending. He didn't know anyone like that! How was Zuko supposed to find anyone who was an expert in training a young girl and building her confidence, all while teaching her a set of unique skills designed to compensate for a biological disadvantage?

Mai waved from the couch without sitting up. “Hey, Suki.”

The Kyoshi Warrior waved back, settling comfortably into an armchair. “Nice to see you again, Mai. You know, while we're not trying to kill each other.”

Mai rolled her eyes. “If I'd been really trying to kill you, you'd be dead.”

Zuko cleared his throat.

Ignoring him, Suki set her tea aside ominously. “You sound awfully confident,” she said with a bright, sharp grin. “We should test that out sometime.”

“Whenever you want,” Mai replied, sounding bored.

Zuko cleared his throat again.

“Sometime soon,” Suki insisted, and then finally sat back and picked her tea up again. “Hey, Zuko. What's up? You should see someone about that cough.”

Zuko looked around for somewhere to sit, realized everywhere was taken, and folded his hands behind his back. Mai laughed and sat up, and he edged over to the couch and sat down next to her.

“I need your help,” he told her. “Uh—we need your help.”

Suki seemed intrigued as he walked her through Izumi's struggles with firebending and his own thoughts on the kind of teacher she would benefit from. Mai commented every so often, but Suki just listened, nodded, and frowned until Zuko was done.

“Hmm.” Suki's thumb tapped idly against her cup. “Well, I don't know many firebenders, but I bet I can find some. I'll let the girls know to keep an eye out. But Izumi's going to need a non-bending master first, obviously.”

“What?” said Zuko.

Suki fluttered her hand carelessly. “Well, I'm not a bender,” she said. “But I know how physically demanding it is. This will be a lot easier for her if she can get the basics down before bringing firebending into it. I mean breathing techniques, knowing her own limits, some physical conditioning so that bending forms don't put so much strain on her body...plus, it's always good to know how to use a weapon,” she added with a cocky grin. “Right, Mai?”

“We're not friends,” Mai informed her, but the conspiratorial smirk they shared said otherwise. Mai was weird like that.

“So...a weapons master?” Zuko rubbed his chin. “I might be able to find someone. I guess you probably can't...”

Suki gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, Zuko. I could let you borrow one of my warriors for a few months, but this would need to be a permanent position. We need the Kyoshi Warriors on Kyoshi.”

“I understand.”

Suki snapped her fingers. “I'll tell you what,” she said. “One of the girls has an older brother in the Earth Kingdom. He's trained a lot of kids, and I trust him. He doesn't look like much, but he's creative and really sweet. I think he'd be a good fit. I could send him over and you could talk to him yourself, if you want.”

A massive weight lifted from Zuko's shoulders.

“That would be great,” he said.

Izumi hung up her towel, adjusted her glasses, and took a deep breath before she stepped out of the training salle.

Ugh. It was hot.

It could be worse, though. At least there was a nice breeze today, and it wasn't humid. And more important: she'd had her first firebending lesson today!

Master Hasrin had been working with her for almost a year and a half now, and he'd finally decided she was ready to start training with a firebending master. Not that Izumi didn't like working with Master Hasrin. He was funny and patient and really good at knowing when she was having a bad breathing day so he could adjust their training regimen. It was helping a lot.

He was definitely a lot more help than Uncle Aang. Aang had tried to show Izumi some breathing techniques to help her, and she was using some of them, but, seriously. If the solution to not being able to breathe was “breathe more,” she could've figured it out by herself! Aunt Toph's advice had been way more helpful. She'd kicked the ground in a few places in the courtyard and then pushed Izumi's dad around yelling about sand. They'd switched the soft sawdust in the training grounds for a courser, heavier kind and replaced the surrounding packed dirt with gravel. It wasn't nearly as dusty out there any more, and Izumi could train without having any attacks most days now!

Master Yemi had decided that today's firebending lesson would just be a warmup, but she hadn't seemed unhappy with what Izumi had done, and she'd even complimented her form.

Izumi was gonna be the best firebender ever. It would make all the fussy doctors so mad.

Her dad had been worried about Izumi overexerting herself, like she didn't run around all the time, so he'd given her the rest of the day off after firebending just in case she needed to rest. She didn't want to rest. She wished firebending class could have gone on twice as long, but she knew why they were being careful. It wasn't exactly fun when she suddenly couldn't breathe, even if her dad worried a little too much.

Still, she couldn't resist planting her feet and kicking as she walked toward the stables. The puff of flame was small, but not tiny. Master Yemi had called it a good start.

Izumi had to stop practicing as she got closer to the stables, though. The stablemaster might respect the crown princess of the Fire Nation too much to yell at her for bringing flames near the building, but Izumi's best friend Tasa worked there too. And she had never been shy about telling Izumi what was what.

Izumi grinned. She hoped Tasa wasn't too busy today, or at least that she wouldn't be working in the hayloft. It was too dusty up there for Izumi to help her. And she really wanted to tell her about firebending.

Tasa wasn't a bender, but that was a good thing. If she was, she probably would have been pressured into a career that used bending, and she'd be miserable if she couldn't work with animals. Tasa was brilliant. She knew the names of all the animals in the stables—that was almost fifty ostrich horses and dragonmoose and eelhounds, not even counting the war-lizards. And she told Izumi all about their personalities and the special requirements each of them had. It was really cool to listen to. And now it was Izumi's turn to tell her something cool.

She was distracted from her quest when she took a shortcut through the garden and saw a butt sticking out of a hedge.

It was, you know, a clothed butt, but still. No one who worked in the palace wore rough undyed clothes like those, or shoes slashed around the edges to make room for feet too big for them. The fact that the mysterious butt was buried in a hedge was especially weird because there was an opening in the hedge, like, ten feet away. 

After a moment’s contemplation, Izumi dropped down flat on the gravel path and wiggled forward the way Aunt Suki had shown her.

The hedge poked her in the face and scratched her arms, but Izumi was an entire seven years old and had been trained by Kyoshi Warriors and Uncle Sokka and Aunt Toph, so it would take more than a plant for her to make noise while sneaking.

“Pepper!” hissed the owner of the butt, a messy-haired boy about Izumi’s age, as she crawled up next to him. “Pepper, come! Heel! Pepper, heel!”

Since that was a weird thing for a hedge-butt-boy to say for no reason, Izumi squinted into the garden. There really wasn’t much to see. Lots of boring flowers, a topiary in the shape of two intertwined dragons, a fountain that ran with golden oil instead of water because Izumi’s dad had lost an argument about decorations befitting the Firelord’s residence and symbolism or whatever. She could tell why Hudge Butt was whispering, though; there were a pair of guards standing about fifty feet down the path. They were facing the other direction, but they’d definitely see anyone who came in through the actual gateway.

Then she heard a series of clucking peeps, and finally noticed the puppy sniffing eagerly around the base of the fountain.

She almost gave herself away before she remembered not to coo out loud.

“Pepper” was probably the name of the baby roosterdog. It didn’t have many feathers yet, just poofy baby down, but it was black and white and the few feathers that had grown in already were speckled.

“Come on, boy,” begged Hedge Butt. “You’re gonna get us in so much trouble, Uncle’s gonna—no no no, don’t—put your leg down please don’t—oh, no.”

While Pepper peed on the edge of the statue, Izumi leaned closer to Hedge Butt.

“How’d he even get in there?” she whispered.

Hedge Butt’s forehead was wrinkly and worried. “He wasn’t supposed to,” he whispered back. “He’s supposed to be learning how to herd the koalasheep from Red, but he ran away while we were bringing them in and—”

All of a sudden, he seemed to remember that he was hiding under a hedge on the palace grounds.

He turned to look at her. After a moment, a gold-and-red-furred head popped up over Hedge Butt’s shoulder.

“Woof,” said the roosterdog glumly. 

Izumi wiggled her fingers and said, “Hi, Red. I’m Izumi.”

Hedge Butt, still whispering, said something Uncle Sokka had once shouted when he dropped Boomerang on his toes.

“...and then I do this!”

The guards smiled indulgently as Izumi demonstrated a fire punch. They liked her, and she was definitely not above exploiting that.

Hey, it was for a good cause!

“I have this really cool idea,” she said, trying not to watch what was going on behind them too obviously. “I think—are you watching? If I spin like this…” 

Further along the garden path, with the guards distracted, Hedge Butt army-crawled across the open area and lunged toward the puppy. He tackled it, and was then faced with the prospect of having to army-crawl back with a handful of wiggly roosterdog.

The puppy squawked. The boy’s eyes widened and he rolled behind the fountain just as one of the guards turned around.

“Did you hear something?” she asked.

“I didn’t hear—oof!” said Izumi, sacrificing her dignity for the greater good by pretending to fall. Predictably, the guards spun back around to fuss over her, and Hedge Butt sprinted back across the open space and dove headfirst back into the shrubbery. 

Mission accomplished, Izumi let the guards get her back on her feet and thanked them politely. Then she waved one last time before walking back out of the garden, along the path, like a normal person.

Hedge Butt was out from under the hedge, with his back against a big stupid ornamental brass pot, wrestling a wiggly Pepper into a harness and lecturing the puppy in a furious whisper.

“...gonna us all executed,” he told the tiny roosterdog. “You hear me? They’re gonna cut off my head, and Red’s, and yours! Don’t look at me like that, they are too! And that’s good, because it means Uncle won’t get his hands on you. Don’t scare me like that, boy—”

Izumi flopped down on the ground, criss-cross, in front of them. Red sniffed her, then looked away, not all that interested. 

“Hi,” she greeted Hedge Butt. “We don’t cut heads off anymore, actually. And I’m pretty sure nobody sentences puppychicks to death, but I think my dad’s sister tried once, so it’s an easy mistake to make. I’m Izumi, by the way.”

“Rahe,” said Hedge Butt. “You’re not...you know, that Izumi, right? There’s another one, right? You...work in the kitchen or something? Right?”

Izumi wiggled her hand.

“Oh no,” said Rahe. 

“I mean.” Izumi felt kind of bad for him. “I do technically work in the palace. I have homework and stuff.”

“Oh no,” said Rahe, again.

“It’s okay though,” she said, as fast as she could. “This is good. People can’t hurt you if I tell them not to. They won’t argue with the Firelord’s daughter!”

Rahe looked at her. Rahe looked at Red. Rahe looked back at Pepper.

“Oh no,” he said. Then, before Izumi could roll her eyes, he said, “I think he’s hurt.”

Izumi sat forward, and Rahe pointed to Pepper’s right front paw. He did look hurt; there was blood staining the feathers.

“I can’t take him back to my uncle like this,” said Rahe, voice starting to rise as he panicked. “I can’t, he’s hurt, he can’t work. I have to—do something, Red, we gotta do something, I’m not a doctor. Dad could have helped but I can’t—”

“Well,” said Izumi. “Why don’t we take him to the kennel master? I bet she could help.”

Rahe grabbed her arm. “No! We’re not supposed to be here, we’ll get in trouble—I know you’re a princess and whatever but—no, they don’t help people like me. They’ll tell you they are and then once you’re gone they’ll just get rid of us. I have to figure this out myself. No guards!”

“She’s a kennelmaster, not a guard,” Izumi grumbled. But she knew Rahe was right; lots of important nobles wouldn’t really help a shepherd boy she found in a bush. 

But Pepper’s foot looked really bad, and Rahe was scared. Obviously someone had to help.

“Okay,” she said. “Come on. I have a friend who knows all about animals. And she’s really good at keeping secrets. I bet you a week of desserts she’ll know what to do.”

“Sorry,” whispered Rahe into Izumi’s ear. “I don’t have a week of desserts to give you.”

Izumi bounced happily. “That’s okay,” she whispered back. “I’m just glad Pepper’s safe.”

She and Rahe were sitting together on Tasa’s bed, back behind the carriage house. Back before Izumi was born, apparently the stablehands slept in the hayloft like the barn cats; but her dad had gone through the whole palace from the ground up when he took over, and made sure everyone had a safe place to sleep, especially the “least important” servants that he said were more important than the Firelord at the end of the day.

It wasn’t much, but it was warm and dry and private and well-ventilated—Izumi was a really good judge of that last thing—and it had a deadbolt on the inside, which meant Rahe could relax a little while Tasa looked his puppychick over.

“Oh, poor baby boy,” she murmured. She’d used lots of treats and patience to get Pepper to let her roll him over in her lap; now he was happily waving his paws in the air, trying to grab her finger with his little birdy back legs in the hope of making more treats happen. “That looks like a roselily thorn. That’s good,” she added quickly, looking up at Rahe. “It came out clean, so it’ll bleed for a little while but it looks worse than it is. I’m gonna put some herbs for the pain in the bandage.”

“Okay.” Rahe’s fingers tightened in Red’s thick mane. She lifted her head off Tasa’s bed to lick Rahe’s ear, but he just clung tighter.

Izumi nudged him.

“Hey,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “It’s fine. It’s just hard to see him hurt, that’s all.”

Tasa looked up and smiled. “Hey,” she said, reaching out to gently punch his knee. “He really is gonna be fine. Promise.”

Rahe laughed, but he didn’t seem to mean it. “Just worried,” he muttered.

Izumi and Tasa exchanged a look. Tasa jerked her head toward Rahe and then bent over to finish tying up Pepper’s paw.

“What’re you worried about?” Izumi asked.

Or, well, that’s what Izumi was going to ask.

Really! She was! But at right about the time she opened her mouth, Tasa finished testing Pepper’s bandage and let him roll back onto his feet.

A lot of things happened, like, really fast.

Rahe, relieved that his puppychick was okay, stood up to see better. Pepper, whose foot didn’t hurt anymore, gave the most adorable baby crow any roosterdog puppy had ever made ever (probably) and pounced on the first thing he saw. The first thing he saw was a leaf impaled on the tines of Tasa’s rake, where she’d set it aside once they were all in her room.

The handle of the rake flew up and smacked Rahe on the side of the head. He yelled, tripped, and—trying not to fall right on top of Tasa—spun on one foot and flailed as he fell against the opposite wall instead. This knocked an unlit hooded lantern off its hook on the wall; Tasa, who was way too smart to try to catch falling glass, dove across the small room and onto the bed, startling Pepper into leaping into the air, flapping his tiny fluff-covered wings.

Tasa wasn’t big and neither was her bed; her awkward dive meant she crashed into Red’s hindquarters. Red, who was really obviously getting sick of Pepper causing trouble on market day and had been glaring at him too hard to notice the incoming stable girl, yelped and jumped away. She flared her wings, lunged into Izumi and almost knocked her off the bed and straight into the broken glass; luckily Tasa stuck out a leg, and Izumi managed to grab her ankle at the last minute, dangling out over the floor as the lantern shattered. Glass flew all over the floor, but none of it exploded high enough to cut her.

Almost in slow motion, Izumi watched little baby Pepper—whose wings weren’t feathered yet and who, as a roosterdog, couldn’t have flown very well for very far anyway—start to fall back toward the floor. She leaned out just a little further, stretching her fingers. It was just enough to catch him under his fuzzy chest, but not enough to grab him properly; trying to buy time she flung him up into the air, hoping someone else would manage to save him before he hit the ground again—

She couldn’t see behind her very well; she heard frantic flapping noises, a scrape of metal, and a vaguely wooden sound, but no yelps of pain. She wasn’t able to tell why everyone had suddenly gone so quiet until she hauled herself back up onto Tasa’s bed and turned around.

Firelord Zuko, arms full of a puppychick that was licking his scarred cheek, blinked three separate times.

“Right,” he said finally. “Hello. I just, uh...Dinner’s in...fifteen minutes.”

Pepper climbed onto his shoulder and started to gnaw on his crown.

The Firelord tried to look up to the top of his own head.

“You, um,” he said. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Honestly, at this point Zuko was pretty used to weird kids randomly popping up in his life. He didn’t bother hiding his smile as he served Rahe some rice.

If there was one thing he’d learned during his time with Aang and the others, it was how unbelievably awful it was to have servants waiting on every meal. He hadn’t noticed until he left; even in exile, he’d still been the crown prince onboard a military vessel. Outside of actual formal events, the Royal Family served themselves now.

It was such a relief Mai had even admitted she liked it.

The poor kid was still basically hyperventilating. Zuko could only imagine—he’d just been trying to get his dog back, he hadn’t planned on dining with the Firelord. Zuko had even changed into his casual house robes to try to make Rahe feel more comfortable, but it didn’t seem to have helped.

Mai, face in her hand, had informed him that his idea of casual clothing was “not actually relatable”.

“So,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. She gave Rahe a friendly smile that...Zuko was never going to get used to, probably. Those smiles came easier and easier, but they would never become less precious. “Your family are shepherds.”

Zuko shifted. Mai had never spent much time with commoners; coming from the wife of the Firelord, that question might offend the boy. She shot him a warning look while Rahe, who’d fumbled his spoon so badly on being addressed that he’d been forced to half dive under the table, was distracted.

Zuko, who knew that look, shut up.

Rahe peeked back over the edge of the table. “Yes, ma’am,” he squeaked. “Your majesty. Ma’am. Um. I mean, it’s—just me. My uncle, ma’am. He’s...the one who owns the koalasheep. I live with him now.”

Zuko’s heart twisted as he glanced down into his soup. 

“A lot of people have lost their parents,” he said quietly.

Rahe swallowed and nodded.

“My mom was a bender,” he said. “They made her join the army. I never met her. And then three years ago my dad…”

Zuko exchanged a long look with Mai. They’d done everything they could, when the floods hit. With Fire Nation technology, and Air Nomad weather forecasting techniques beginning to spread once more across the world, they’d been able to plan for the monsoon season ahead of time—but there were too few waterbenders in the world, and it would take longer than this for most of them to be willing to risk their lives helping the Fire Nation.

They’d tried. They’d saved countless lives—but in the most rural areas, sometimes there simply weren’t enough of them.

“He probably tried to save the flock,” said Mai, neutral. Rahe nodded wordlessly.

“My uncle raised me as well,” said Zuko. Rahe’s shoulders tightened.

“Yeah,” he said. His voice was as emotionless as Mai’s, and that was starting to ring some alarm bells. Judging by the look on Mai’s face, he wasn’t the only one noticing them. “I’m lucky, Firelord. Sir. I wasn’t old enough to do any real work when the soldiers took me to my uncle and he let me stay anyway. He didn’t have to. I owe my uncle everything.”

Mai’s eyes were hard. Jaw clenched, she shot Zuko a sharp look that clearly communicated she wasn’t capable of talking normally right now.

He’d noticed the same things she had—and a few things she probably hadn’t, this time. It was the dog that had gotten his attention. Not the puppy—well, okay, the puppychick they’d left in the care of Izumi’s stablehand friend had definitely gotten his attention, but—it was the adult he’d made a note of. He’d met too many shepherds during his time alone not to have learned something. She was currently in a silent downstay at Rahe’s side; he was so anxious at the idea of being separated from her that they hadn’t even suggested it. 

A well-trained sheepdog of any breed was incredibly valuable; roosterdogs were the best for their intelligence and hardiness, and this was an incredibly well-bred specimen of the breed. She was a full-coated colliehen, a bright gold-red with a thick mane and generous splashes of white, and her shiny buff tail feathers were long and elegant for a rooster, let alone a female.

The dog, Red, was worth a small fortune—as, frankly, were koalasheep in this area. Still. Jumping to conclusions didn’t usually end well for Zuko personally.

“Being poor’s not a crime,” he murmured under his breath, while Izumi had the kid distracted by whispering to him. Out loud, he said, “Your uncle’s farm must be suffering right now. You know, the Fire Nation has programs to help small farms during hard seasons.”

“Thank you, Firelord. I’ll tell him.”

“Is he in the city?” asked Mai. “He must be worried about you.”

“No, ma’am.” Rahe shifted, avoiding her eyes. “It’s not his job. He manages everything, all I do is watch the koalasheep, so it’s not fair to expect him to walk all the way to the Palace too. I’m not supposed to go back anyway until the job’s done. He won’t worry.”

“You’ve had trouble selling recently?”

Rahe looked up, startled. “Oh,” he said. “I don’t need to take the flock to market, sir. My dad had some contracts with the city and the palace, my uncle inherited those. That’s why I was, um.” He flushed. “That’s why we were so close to the gardens, Firelord. Forgive me. It’s just—I really need to train Pepper, my uncle gets angry.”

“About what?” Mai casually wound noodles around her chopsticks and managed to sound like she didn’t really care either way.

“Nothing, ma’am.” Rahe was definitely avoiding eye contact. “Just when I’m stupid. I know roosterdogs are expensive to keep. It’s just—we used to  have two, I was used to working with a pair. We had Red and Blue. And we’ve been doing so well the past few years, I thought, since my uncle could afford to...and—our neighbor had a runt he was going to cull, so I just, I said I’d take him. Because I just, I could really use the help, it’s a big flock and…Dad taught me everything I know, but I was just small and—it’s not Uncle’s fault, he isn’t a shepherd, it’s my—but if Pepper doesn’t start earning his keep he’ll—”

“Breathe, kid,” said Mai, softer than Zuko’d ever heard her talk to anyone but Tom-Tom or Izumi.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “That’s just why I was so scared, when Pepper got hurt, because—I just don’t know what’ll happen if I can’t take him into the field with me, if I leave him with my uncle. It’s different than having Uncle be angry with me, he can be mad at me, but Pepper’s just a baby and I promised him he’d be safe.”

Mai didn’t outwardly react, but her chopsticks made a worrying creaking noise in her grip.

Zuko made himself smile, tried to make himself look smaller and softer and less threatening.

“That’s a very noble promise to make,” he told the boy. Then, “Those dumplings look delicious. Could you pass them to me?”

Rahe, with great care, picked up the ceramic bowl. It was far too big and heavy for him; Zuko stood and reached out to help, taking hold of the bowl in one hand and gently bracing Rahe’s arm with the other. Purely by accident—obviously—the movement pushed the sleeve of the kid’s robe up his arm, just enough to expose the yellowing bruises.

“Thank you,” he said, and didn’t say anything more for several minutes, until his anger was under control.

Eventually he excused himself, cheerfully and calmly, by saying he’d forgotten some paperwork and to continue the meal without him. Mai, because he didn’t deserve her, covered the anger that leaked through his voice by teasing that he’d probably magically be back in time for dessert; for Izumi’s benefit, he stuck his tongue out at Mai and ducked outside the door.

“Firelord?” said the first administrator he passed in the hall, as Zuko waved the man down.

“Whatever you’re doing,” he told him, “This is more important. I need all of the supply contracts for meat to the Palace.”

He knew what he paid their contractors. It was generous, and he made sure there were channels of communication in case anything went wrong. Mutton would never make you rich; but there should be more than enough money available to buy your seven-year-old nephew shoes that fit, and feed your own working dogs.

And there was no money problem in the world that would justify those kinds of bruises. Nothing could justify that. 

“Of course, Firelord. May I ask why?”

For just a moment, the side of Zuko’s face burned.

“There’s a visit I need to make.”

Firelord, they told him. The people love your daughter; but the pregnancy did terrible things to the Queen’s body, and the birth did worse. There cannot be another. You must accept that your family will remain small.

“You and me both, kid,” Mai muttered under her breath.

Rahe, squirming in his stiff collar and trying in vain to hide it, glanced up and shared a look of grateful commiseration. 

Look, Zuko wasn’t any happier about this than they were; but they couldn’t exactly visit Iroh in Ba Sing Se without stopping in Yu Dao on the way home.

A low, soft flame flickered in his chest; for a moment the boredom of the trip was less crushing. Iroh had met Rahe before, of course; the process of adopting an orphaned peasant into the Firelord’s direct line of succession was...complicated, to put it lightly, and Uncle wasn’t the kind of man to wait until it was official. Katara said he was proud of Zuko, which didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Rahe was the special one, here.

But Rahe had never left the Fire Nation, which meant he’d never been to the Jasmine Dragon. Or the rest of Ba Sing Se, but Zuko was realistic about his priorities. And this time he’d interacted with Uncle officially—as Zuko’s son, as a child of the Firelord. It had been different, for both of them. Uncle didn’t show favorites—he was as delighted with Izumi as ever, and made special time for each of them individually as well as together.

It was good. It had been good.  

Unfortunately it did mean they were travelling back across the Earth Kingdom, and while they could get away with making Ba Sing Se a private family vacation, the Royal Family of the Fire Nation really couldn’t “swing through” Yu Dao without making a formal appearance. It would be an insult; and, while the coalition government had stabilized over the years, a public snub by the Firelord could cause irreparable harm. 

The politics weren’t the only reason, either. Yu Dao was important; Zuko wanted them to know that they had his full support as they continued the long and painful process of decolonizing the city.

And, unfortunately for Mai and the kids, that did mean having to pretend to enjoy this stuff.

“Remind me,” Mai drawled, waving idly as they were carried through the city. “You haven’t outlawed palanquins yet because…?”

Zuko rolled his eyes. “Because I don’t dictate the law in Yu Dao, remember?”

“Right.” There was a short pause. “Zuko, I think we need to reconquer Yu Dao, because I’m losing my mind.”

“We’re not doing that.”

“Fine. Spoilsport.” She flashed him a wicked smirk. Zuko, who absolutely should not be encouraging her to make jokes like that within earshot of...uh, anyone...couldn’t quite suppress his twitching lips, and turned away quickly.

“You’re making that stupid face again, Dad,” muttered Izumi.

Mai gave a low laugh. “He better be.”

After what felt like another hundred years, they finally arrived at the mayor’s house. At least that meant there was shade.

“Still time to run away,” Mai told Rahe. “A few years going rogue in the Earth Kingdom is good for a Fire Nation prince. Make sure to write. Actually...I take that back. Take me with you.”

Red, her scarlet collar and its bright copper Fire sigil flashing in the sun, whuffed in response.

“We’re thinking about it,” translated Rahe. “These robes suck.”

“The girl ones are better,” Izumi assured him. “You can steal some of mine.”

Rahe sent his sister a flat look. “Thanks.”

The royal train followed the palanquin under the shade trees of the mayor’s house, and Zuko suppressed a groan at the upcoming hours of formal meetings. Oh, well. The price of his restored honor, or something.

Mai pressed her heel down on his toes.

“Hey,” she said. “Stay awake. You are not abandoning me to do this on my own.”

“Of course I’m not,” said Zuko. He smirked. “Izumi’s here too.”

“Ha,” said Rahe, who was not the crown princess of the Fire Nation. “I win.”

“Shut up, Hedge Butt.”

The palanquin came to a stop. Rahe, with a hand signal to his dog that even after two years Zuko could barely detect, hopped down immediately. Red leapt to the ground barely half a step behind him.

Zuko stepped down with a little more dignity and offered a hand to Mai. Being Mai, she ignored it.

“I’m serious,” she insisted. “We can still torch the place and go on the run.”

Izumi grinned from the palanquin. “You’re a really good influence, Mom.”

“Oh, I know.”

Zuko gave a gallant bow to his daughter, but she was already being politely handed down by a young royal groom. It actually took a minute to recognize the girl—wearing a proper palace uniform, two years taller and with her short, wild hair neatly trimmed and shaved close at the sides. He probably wouldn’t have if not for the shaggy salt-and-pepper roosterdog sitting attentively at her feet. He hadn’t realized Izumi’s friend Tasa had been promoted.

Should he feel guilty about that? Maybe? No, he decided after a minute of debate. He’d been careful not to let too much nepotism into the way he ran the Palace, and he didn’t want to intrude on his stablemaster’s authority. 

Oh, man. If there was one thing he’d learned in exile with the military, it was how much the rank-and-file hated high-up micromanagers. The best commanders he’d ever seen were the ones who put good people in positions of authority and cracked down hard on any cruelty or abuse; but who otherwise stood back, trusted them, and let the officers do their jobs.

The regrettable flip side of that coin was that it required him to focus on doing his own job.

“We’ll get through this together,” he promised Mai dryly.

“Ugh,” she said, smiling in a way that was visibly against her will. “I want a divorce.”

They did not end up getting a divorce.

What they ended up getting was a tour of Yu Dao, some excellent street food (at Zuko’s insistence, to the delight of his family and the muted horror of the local aristocrats), and according to Mai, a stroke.

That last one was Toph’s fault.

Well, obviously the tour had to include a stop at the premier metalbending academy in the world. Zuko had idly hoped to surprise Toph, which he realized only after Mai pointed it out was really stupid; she would have heard about his impending visit ages ago. Still.

She’d been facing away from the door when their tour filed in; Zuko couldn’t help but smile. Obviously, Toph wouldn’t interrupt her very important training session for anything as unimportant as her entire city government and the actual Firelord.

“Ten more times!” she yelled. “You call that metalbending?! Hi, Zuko. Keep! Up! Your form! You really thought I didn’t notice that! Do it again!”

“Hey,” he said. “You, uh...you know Mai and Izumi.”

Toph waved a hand carelessly behind her shoulder. “Knife girl. You feel way happier, kid. Not carrying so much tension anymore.”

“Thanks, Aunt Toph,” said Izumi, blushing faintly. “This is Rahe.”

“And Red,” said Rahe.

“Nice. Come on in, you might learn something! Not your dad, though. He’s hopeless. I ever tell you about the time he burned my feet?”

Zuko opened his mouth to protest, and immediately had to drop to the ground to dodge the disk of compressed stone she sent flying toward his head with a casual twist of her foot.

“...I said sorry for that,” he pointed out.

“Eh. Water under the bridge, Zuko. Hey! Pick up the pace! Worms! Pathetic! These guys are great, honestly. They’re gonna be amazing metalbenders. If I don’t destroy them first!”

“See,” said Mai. “You, I missed.”

“Aww! Thanks! The feeling was not mutual.”

Yemi—Izumi’s firebending master, the daughter of Zuko’s own master from a lifetime ago—stepped forward and bowed deeply.

“Master Beifong,” she said. “It’s an honor to finally meet you in person.”

“Huh,” said Toph. “Sure. What are you so nervous about?”

Zuko smiled. “You make people nervous, Toph. This is Izumi’s firebending teacher. Master Kunyo, let me introduce—”

“Kunyo?!” Toph spun around, cracking her knuckles and planting her feet deep in the training-room floor. “Hey! How many times do I have to teach you this lesson, old man —oh.” She actually seemed disappointed, when the echoes of that shockwave finally registered to her earthsense. “You’re the other one. Fine. Your butt can stay unkicked.”

Zuko coughed. “His daughter.”

“Estranged,” Yemi clarified as fast as humanly possible.

“Uh,” said Mai.

“Yeah, yeah.” Toph waved the explanation off. “Join the club. How’s Izumi’s lungs? I’ve been wondering if there’s a way to use earthbending to help. It’s particles in the air or something, right? Dust is earth! I talked to Aang about it, but it’d be a really delicate operation. I don’t do delicate very well.”

“Um,” said Mai.

Zuko grinned. “Who, you? That’s hard to believe.”

Toph twitched one toe. A pillar of bedrock reared up and punched him in the shoulder, sending him staggering against Swordmaster Hasrin.

“Uh,” said Mai a third time. “Is no one gonna mention this?”

Zuko frowned and thought about it for several minutes.

“...So, uh,” he said finally. “Toph? Were you gonna tell us you were pregnant? How, uh...did that...happen?”

Somehow, Toph managed to make eye contact with Mai while she shook her head silently.

Zuko flushed. “That’s not what I meant. I know how it—does Katara—”

“Obviously Katara knows. It’s not that big a deal, Zuko.”

“I mean,” he said weakly. “It kind of is, a bit— who…?”

Mai, morbidly curious, leaned closer. “Is he still alive?”

Toph, unimpressed, crossed her arms. 

“Let’s see,” she said, in the bright, cheerful tone that heralded an impending Patented Toph Beifong Verbal Humiliation. Zuko was good at recognizing that tone. He’d heard it a lot. She began counting options out on her fingers. “None of your business; my business, not yours; look it up in a book, Zuko; wouldn’t you like to know; and none of your business! Come on. I’ll show you something really cool we’re doing with meteorite metal.”

Izumi had already been hauled off at her aunt’s side; Rahe, glancing up at Zuko, gave an expansive shrug of the shoulders, then he and Red trotted off to see real metalbending in action.

“Right,” said Zuko.

“Okay,” said Mai.

“Great,” said Zuko. “Can we leave now?”

“Finally you speak my language.”

When Toph finally let them leave—while pretending she’d never wanted them there to begin with and was in fact kicking them out of her house—it was already late in the afternoon.

This thankfully let them cut several stops out of the tour, but there was one that Zuko didn’t want to skip.

“Mistress Lin,” he said with a deep bow. “Thank you for having us. If there’s anything we can do for your work here…”

The woman dipped her head, polite but not subservient, as was fitting; Zuko was not her ruler. “Thank you, Firelord. The orphanage gets good support from the coalition government. The best thing you can do for us is invest in children who need it more than we do.”

“I will,” he said, quiet.

She inclined her head and gestured them into the building. “Well! Come in then.”

It was a large building; it had to be, there were too many orphans even over a decade after the war. It was clean, open, and well-maintained. When Zuko glanced through a few doors left open he found rooms that were small, but bright and airy; a pair of bunk beds per bedroom, warm blankets, a few with worn stuffed animals tangled in the sheets or tucked in near pillows. It wasn’t an elegant or well-ornamented building, but it was solid.

At this time of day most of the children were in school, playing outside, or otherwise busy. Still, the handful of older kids who were around seemed happy. They waved and called out to the administrator and other other caretakers without hesitation or fear; most were energetic and enthusiastic, and that was no small accomplishment.

Izumi comported herself...so much better than Zuko could have, at that age. She was sweet and polite, deferring to the orphans whenever she could draw them into conversation. Rahe was a little more awkward; but Red was a big hit with kids both older and younger than him, and Rahe could always be counted on to wax eloquent about his dog.

That left the adults free to linger on the edges, murmuring to one another about funding and safeguards and community support. Zuko had given up on trusting his memory and was taking hurried notes in an attempt to implement some of the programs and practices that were so clearly helping these children, back in the Fire Nation.

“We also have a nursery, Firelord,” said Mistress Lin. She’d warmed up to him considerably once she realized his determination to learn from her was genuine. “Thankfully, there are very few infants. When such a tragedy occurs, it’s often easiest to place a very young baby with a couple who wants the child. The infant never knows anything else. Older children—a child who already has likes and dislikes, wants, a personality…”

“You have to find the right family for the person they already are,” Zuko agreed. “Not give them a new identity. They both have to choose.”

 Lin inclined her head.

Zuko gestured through to the room she’d indicated. “Would you mind…?”

“Not at all.”

The nursery wasn’t all that different from the rest of the facility, except that there were six cribs instead of a pair of bunkbeds—three along each wall. The room was also a bit bigger, to make room for playpens set up on the floor. There were only three kids in here; one was tiny, maybe three months, sleeping on its back in one of the cribs. The other two were just barely old enough that every so often one would get up and walk a few steps across the playpen before falling heavily on its diapered butt.

“The little one is going home in three days,” Lin said with a soft smile. “As soon as his new parents can get here from Omashu.”

Zuko pointed toward the pair in the playpen, who had quickly lost interest in their stacks of blocks and were staring at the new adults with great interest.

Lin, for some reason, looked sad.

“The girls will be harder, Firelord,” she admitted. “They’re twins, you see.”

He did see, now. All babies kind of looked the same, not that he was stupid enough to have said that in front of Mai more than once; but those two were even more identical than most. He could only tell them apart at the moment because one wore pale green socks and the other pale yellow.

Izumi peered past them, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “Why do twins make it harder?”

“Not everyone who wants a child can afford to take in two at the same time,” Zuko explained to her.

Lin inclined her head. “And, as much as I hate to admit it? Politics.”

“Hate those,” Mai agreed.

Zuko frowned. “What do politics have to do with…”

Before he could finish the sentence, one of the babies sneezed. Twin tiny bursts of flame appeared in her nostrils.

“Firebenders,” acknowledged Zuko. “But why would that…”

“One firebender,” Lin corrected him. “Her sister is an earthbender.”

Zuko looked back at the babies. “That’s incredible.”

“But a...complication.” Lin sighed and rubbed her eyes. “There are a limited number of parents willing or able to take on identical bender twins. Of those...plenty of them have no love for firebenders. The others are…”

Mai completed the thought. “Fire Nation snobs. They don’t want an earthbender. Or they don’t want her enough.”

“Of course.” Zuko felt his shoulders tense at the thought. “You can’t send either of them to a home where one of them will always be the...favorite.”

Maybe Lin knew the signs too well after all her years caring for hurt children. Maybe everyone knew, because this was Zuko and Azula. Or maybe it was just that obvious. Either way, the woman briefly squeezed his shoulder, then had the grace to pretend it hadn’t happened.

“And I won’t separate them,” she concluded. “Better to be safe and cared for here, with us, where we can do our best for them, and they have each other.”

Zuko was having an idea. He looked over at Mai, who was usually the first to tell him when his ideas were maybe the kind of idea that was a bad one.

To his shock, she was already looking back. After a long pause, she quirked an eyebrow and lifted one shoulder before letting it fall again.

“I mean,” she said.

“There’s a precedent now,” Zuko pointed out.

“Exactly.” Mai’s eyes wandered back to the twin girls. “It’s a big palace. How much trouble could they be?”

“FLAMING BLADES OF DEATH!”

Izumi hit the dirt before her brain had time to catch up to the rest of her. From around the corner in the training salle she heard Master Hasrin swear, then a clatter of wood as he presumably dropped whatever he was carrying to follow suit, and then a very loud CRUNCH.

Kirri, whirling twin blades at her sides and sliding along the paved stone paths like a waterbender on ice, gave a maniacal cackle.

Kala, perched on her shoulders and wreathing her sister’s blades in liquid fire, pointed one finger dramatically at their fallen sister.

Izumi said something unbecoming of the Crown Princess.

“Hands up, Princess!” Kala shouted. “This is a coop!”

“It’s pronounced coup,” Izumi called back. “And you’ll never take me alive!”

“We except those terminologies!”

Master Yemi gave a deep sigh. “Well,” she acknowledged. “This wasn’t exactly the lesson I had planned for today, but by all means. This will be a good opportunity to practice fine control.”

“Control?” said Izumi, glancing over her shoulder with a grin. “They’re threatening my kingdom!”

“They’re five, Princess Izumi. I have every confidence in you.”

“Death to traitors,” Izumi retorted, then dropped into a backwards roll without looking as Kala flung a weak ball of flame in her direction. It wouldn’t have hit, but Izumi sold the ‘last second’ dodge for all she was worth. “For the Fire Nation!”

“Chaaaaaarge!”

Kirri skated forward, blades high as if they would have cut anything even if they connected. Master Hasrin knew how to train little kids; Izumi knew that from personal experience. He kept those special tin weighted ‘swords’ to let his youngest students feel the exhilaration and validation of getting to practice with ‘real metal’ weapons instead of sticks, but the palace butter knives were probably sharper.

If the twins were real opponents Izumi would stand her ground, but she wasn’t about to fireblast her baby sisters in the face. She made a grand show of summoning a fire whip to brandish over their heads; Kala punched little puffs of flame to break it up and Izumi let her. 

She still had a reputation to keep up in their tiny five-year-old heads, however—where a thirteen-year-old big sister was the most impressive person in the world, probably. In what was more of an airbender move than any kind of traditional Fire Nation form, she leapt up into an elaborate—if deliberately slow—spinning kick that threw a wave of flame into their faces.

Obviously, she pulled it at the last second. That wasn’t the point. If she did this right, they’d be grown up before they realized these weren’t real sparring matches.

Kala dismounted, letting Kirri move freely and dropping into a firebending stance that was actually very good for a five-year-old. She glanced over her shoulder, and Master Yemi gave her a subtle nod of approval.

“Oh, I see how it is,” said Izumi. “You’re involved in this too!”

Yemi braced her hands in front of her and bowed over them. “I swear to loyally serve whoever is victorious, Princess Izumi. I don’t dare involve myself in a duel between such powerful benders.”

Izumi acknowledged this as fair before Kirri waved one sword, gave a war cry, and slammed her foot into the ground. The flameproof ceramic tiles of the firebending salle cracked and uprooted themselves, ‘trapping’ Izumi’s feet.

“Oh!” she yelled. “Is that fair? Master Kunyo, they’ve got me outnumbered!”

“Excellent tactics!” called Master Hasrin from around the corner. Yemi agreed.

Kala crowed, “Get her!”

Izumi fended off tiny firebending attacks and blocked swings of Kirri’s butter knife for about half a minute before a quick burst of power from one foot broke her free to move. It was easier to make sure no one got hurt once she created distance; Kirri sent ceramic tiles flying with a distinctly Beifong flair, covering her twin as Izumi tried very hard to channel Master Yemi’s approach.

She used a lot of acrobatics, leaping and rolling to keep herself a moving target; and restricted herself to wide, sweeping displays that made a lot of noise and heat while in reality wasting most of their energy before they got anywhere near the twins. That encouraged Kala to compensate; conserve her energy, wait, and focus her strikes to be quick and powerful.

It wasn’t the lesson she’d planned on having today, but that was just fine.

Until it wasn’t.

She’d been having too much fun to pay attention; the constant rolling and leaping, the air filling with smoke, the dust thrown up from Kirri smashing fine ceramic into powder in midair...it combined with the midday heat and the humidity from the harbor all at once, and hit her lungs like a steam engine.

The flame around her hand stuttered once and then vanished with horrible suddenness; she never collapsed when her breath turned against her like this but she sank to the ground slowly, clutching her chest as lightning burned through her too-tight ribs. She gagged around nothing, trying to suck thin air through a pinhole, trying desperately to ignore the sound of her own broken wheezing.

Kala and Kirri hovered over her, apologizing in increasingly frantic voices as Master Yemi tried to calm them down; Izumi mostly couldn’t process their words, but she picked up on Kala, voice an octave and a half higher than usual, saying “...didn’t mean to actually kill her!” and nearly managed to laugh through her constricting lungs.

She managed to fumble Aang’s herb pouch from her belt, crushing a fistful and breathing in the scent before summoning a tiny spark between her palms. It seemed counterintuitive during an attack like this to breathe in more smoke; but it had always worked before. Izumi figured that since the damage was already done, whatever was in the herbs helped more than the smoke hurt. The heat and her own violent heaving for breath fogged up the inside of her glasses, but she didn’t exactly care about that right now.

The herb blend had an unpleasantly sweet taste as she breathed it in, sucking the smoke to the back of her throat and holding her breath for as long as she could, to let the medicine percolate into her lungs. When she couldn’t hold it any longer she let it out in a huff, then took another long, wheezing gulp of air and held it.

Eventually, like always, it helped.

“Zumi?” whispered Kala as Izumi started to take full, natural breaths again. “I’m really sorry, it was just a joke—”

“Hey,” Izumi breathed. “It’s not your fault, Kala. I’m okay.”

The twins looked reassured now that she was breathing again, but they huddled close and clung to her arms tight enough that they were really obviously not going to let go any time soon.

Mentally apologizing to Tasa, because she was not gonna be able to meet up and help her clean tack today after all, Izumi ruffled Kirri’s hair.

“Hey,” she said. “Do you guys know how to play three-way Pai Sho?”

Kirri was hooked. “No!”

Izumi winked. “Neither do I. If you go find the board, I’ll meet you in my room and we can try to figure it out.”

Cheered by this prospect, the twins dragged each other out the door in pursuit of chaos and hopefully, eventually, the Pai Sho board. Yemi came over and knelt by Izumi’s side as she carefully cleaned her glasses off with a bit of soft rag in one pocket. Without saying anything, she braced Izumi under one arm and helped her back to her feet.

“Thanks.”

Yemi looked worried, brushing a bit of sweat-soaked hair back off Izumi’s face; but all she said, calm, was, “Seventy-two hours, Princess Izumi. Then we’ll meet again.”

Izumi didn’t bow, not with her chest so sensitive right now; Yemi had always understood those limitations. She wouldn’t take offense. “Yes, Master Yemi. If you see Tasa will you tell her I’m okay? And I’m really sorry, I just need to look after the twins right now. And I’ll see her tomorrow if that’s okay with her.”

Yemi quirked an eyebrow, which was weird. Izumi knew she wasn’t the kind of person who disapproved of the Crown Princess being friends with a groom.

Izumi was too tired to ask. Anyway, she was probably imagining it; Yemi just said, “I’ll tell her,” and let Izumi go.

Firelord, they told him. The people love your daughter; but the Fire Nation requires the hope of a strong future. A reliable future. An heir. Firelord, your daughter is a fine woman—but she cannot bear children.

Late fall in the Fire Nation capital was breathtaking.

Not literally, thankfully. It was actually the exact opposite. As autumn finally took hold in earnest, the awful humidity that made Izumi’s lungs give up and roll over had finally lifted. It was cool enough that the heavier robes were comfortable instead of stifling and summer thunderclouds were a distant memory. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky; just clear, jewel-toned blue, dizzying and wild when you tilted your head toward the heavens and breathed the clean, clear air.

Everything was perfect. The seasons were changing, the wind was at her back...everything was coming up Izumi.

Izumi scuffed the toe of one lacquered boot against the path. It turned up a rock, which she nudged carefully back into place. She looked up at the cloudless sky, closed her eyes, and gave a long, quiet sigh.

A sharp whistle nearly made her jump out of her skin.

“Hey,” said a young woman in a scarlet-edged tunic, leaning against the frame of the nearest stable door. “How many times do I have to tell you? No firebenders in my stables!”

Izumi felt herself relax, just a little. “Hey, Tasa. Pepper.”

Every so often, she was struck all over again by how perfect Pepper and Tasa were for each other; it was like fate or the spirits had brought them together that day Izumi found Rahe’s butt in a shrub. Rahe and Red were two pieces of a puzzle, but he’d never trained a puppy before and Pepper had always been a source of intense stress. Tasa, on the other hand, had the kind of steady, cheerful confidence and stillness necessary to work with an active young dog too smart for his own good. 

She depended on him now, really. He gathered and moved the yearlings and foals easier in fifteen minutes than three stablehands could manage in an hour; he herded turtleducks and barn cats safely out of the way of oncoming riders without being asked; and Tasa had taught him a thousand other little tricks to make her life easier. Izumi’s favorite was sending him to “make tea” by filling the teapot at Tasa’s sink and placing it on the stove for them.

At the moment he was padding along behind her; but his feathery tail started wiggling from side to side when he saw Izumi, and he bounded up and planted his butt firmly in the gravel to be petted. Izumi dropped to her knees to indulge him.

Obviously.

He’d never be as beautiful as Red with her golden undertones and sweeping tail feathers; he was a shaggy, leggy black-and-white collie mutt with dinky wings and a messy upright tail. The kind that was bred for being smart and good at the job, not for looks. But his scarlet Palace collar matched the detailing on Tasa’s robe exactly; and she was also pale with dark hair and clothes and eyes, and there was beauty in the way the two of them oriented around each other.

Not that Tasa was shaggy and sharp at the edges anymore. Not like when they were little. The dark Palace tunics were flattering—she pulled male-cut tunics but wore them in a feminine style, which seemed like a lot of extra work but worked for her—and her scrawny-kid energy had turned into lean but impressive muscle as she got older. She’d grown her hair out over the last few years; she kept it shaved close at the sides now, drawn up into a tight masculine topknot.

To keep it out of the way, she claimed, but it’d be much easier to do that if she just kept it cut short like she used to. She liked the way it made her look, and with good reason. But it was mostly the confidence. Responsibility suited her.

And she was not immune to the Crown Princess of the Fire Nation wrestling her farm mutt in the middle of a pathway. Tasa’s faux stern expression dropped; she hadn’t put much effort into it to begin with. “Hey,” she said, pushing off the doorframe. “What’s wrong?”

Izumi managed to smile at her. “Nothing,” she said, which was technically the truth. “I’m okay.”

“Sure.” Tasa didn’t even bother with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t have to be an earthbender to tell when you’re lying, you know.”

Izumi groaned. “I swear she’s faking.”

She had to be. There was no way Kirri had actually learned Aunt Toph’s lie-detector trick. Right? The universe would never be that cruel. Izumi had done nothing to deserve that. What crimes could you even commit in a previous life to deserve an eight-year-old baby sister with an identical twin who could read minds?

Tasa’s lips twitched, but she hadn’t been distracted. Of course she hadn’t.

“Come on. Don’t lie to me.” She took Izumi’s arm gently under the elbow, pulling her out of the sun. “What took the spark out of my favorite fire hazard? I was just about to take a break, I’ve got time.”

“Now you’re lying,” protested Izumi. Tasa was carrying a pitchfork, when she hadn’t actually been responsible for mucking out stalls since she was nine. That meant either they were really short-staffed without warning, or there was either a new arrival who was causing enough trouble that the stablemaster’s apprentice had to deal with it herself. Either way, she wasn’t likely to have much free time.

Rather than argue, Tasa made a face.

“Fine, truce,” she agreed. “But we can still talk. C’mon.”

Izumi stepped gratefully into the shade, blinking sunspots out of her eyes. She had to nudge Pepper out of the way to do it; but she did manage to fall into step beside Tasa as she made her rounds. She recognized the nearly-invisible tension crease in Tasa’s forehead, and reached out to link their arms gently.

“Your dragonmoose isn’t settling in very well,” she guessed.

Tasa sighed and admitted, “It’s about what I expected. I hoped I might be wrong, but I was prepared for this to be a long game.”

The new dragonmoose was a pet project, a charity case—their stablemaster hadn’t been impressed when his apprentice showed up trailing a scarred, aggressive, underweight dragonmoose doe, but he eventually gruffy admitted that she’d done the right thing in buying it off its previous owner; the marks of abuse were clear, and they had the stall space.

But she was directly responsible for gentling the creature, which was still too aggressive to justify risking the stablehands’ safety over; dragonmoose had long memories. Izumi had already promised that in a worst-case scenario, she’d “buy” the poor thing from Tasa and make sure it wasn’t sold again, to keep it safe; but Tasa wasn’t even sure that would be the best option. If the dragonmoose couldn’t calm down enough to feel safe even here, with all the time and resources in the world and a whole staff of the best and safest animal handlers in the Fire Nation—then she might never be able to live a happy life. Keeping her for years when she was miserable wasn’t an act of mercy.

There was no way for Izumi to express—at least not without it being weird—how in awe she was of Tasa’s ability to make that kind of call. Izumi was the one being trained in international politics, land management, rhetoric, and a million other things; but Tasa’s ability to step back from something she was emotional about, look at the facts, and make a calm, compassionate decision...that was all her.

But it wasn’t time for that yet. Izumi squeezed Tasa’s arm with her own, looped lightly at the elbows, and reached out to grip her shoulder for good measure.

“Hey,” she encouraged her. “It’s only been a month, and she’s made so much progress already. You’ll get there. I believe in you both.”

Tasa looked over, dark eyes softening, and gave a small quiet smile, and a phoenix sang between Izumi’s ribs.

“Your turn, Princess.”

Izumi, who’d been pretending to doze off, pretended to stir. “Mmm?”

It wasn’t a hard act to sell. Even Tasa with her packed schedule had an hour lunch break; as usual when Izumi had managed to coordinate their schedules she’d asked politely for a cold lunch from the kitchens, thanked them for indulging her, and then spent most of the hour under a wide-branching shade tree in a private corner of the garden, tossing crumbs to the turtleducks with her head in Tasa’s lap.

Pepper had worn himself out putting the turtleducks in little circles and moving them from arbitrary location to arbitrary location, until finally Grandfather Whacky the Elder Turtleduck, undisputed iron-fisted despot of the pond, got fed up and chased the roosterdog off. Pepper’s wounded pride had been appeased by a beef bone from the kitchens, and he was curled up now with his back firmly to the pond, sleeping in a patch of mottled sunlight.

It was a completely believable place to take a nap.

“You still can’t lie to me.” Tasa tweaked her nose gently, smiling when Izumi made an exaggerated face at her. “You were not sleeping. I mean it. What’s wrong?”

“Do I have to?” Izumi asked. She’d intended it as a joke, but something flickered deep in Tasa’s eyes at the plaintive note she wasn’t able to keep out of her voice. 

Cool fingers, calloused but unspeakably gentle, the rough hands and soft touch of a girl who’d been working with hoofstock since the age of five, ran through Izumi’s hair.

“Of course not.” Tasa’s voice was less than a murmur. “Hey. Izumi. Of course you don’t.”

Izumi let her eyes drift closed for real this time, feeling something in her chest loosen just a bit.

Tasa carded slow, deliberate fingers through her hair, and let her be.

When she was ready, Izumi sighed.

“It was my sixteenth birthday the other day,” she said.

“I was there.” The wry note in Tasa’s voice drew out a small, weak laugh that Izumi had badly needed. It would have been a little bit hard to miss Izumi’s birthday any year, but especially such an auspicious one; the heir presumptive turning sixteen meant that if she inherited, there would be no regency period. There’d been a lot of confetti and dragon-shaped lanterns, was the point here. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“My dad did.”

Tasa’s fingers paused, for just a moment. “Should I challenge him to an Agni Kai? I’ll do it.”

“You’re not a firebender, Tasa.”

“Hey,” she protested. “I never said I’d win.”

“And they’re illegal.”

“So’s openly plotting to challenge the Firelord, so you’re a conspirator now anyway. Might as well go all the way.” This time Izumi’s reaction was barely a twitch of the lips, and Tasa dropped the lighthearted act. “I’m done. Talk to me.”

Rather than answer, Izumi reached into one deep pocket and drew out the simple gold-and-enamel headpiece that had kept her up the past three nights.

She expected a comment or a question about the unfamiliar design; but she should have known better. Tasa had more patience than that.

“It’s an heirloom,” Izumi finally said. “Pre-Sozin. It belonged to Avatar Roku, actually. It’s an incredibly powerful symbol.”

She turned the beautiful lacquered hair-stick between her fingers, feeling the ache in her shoulders from days of suppressed tension.

Finally, she said, “It marks the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation.”

She thanked every spirit who might be listening that Tasa didn’t need her to explain.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered. Izumi looked up in shock; Tasa had never bothered with formality, only ever called her ‘princess’ when she was being sarcastic. Sometimes when Izumi was having a bad day Tasa would tell her she was pretty. But sweetheart was new. “He didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know.”

Izumi did know. In reality there had never been a gendered component to inheritance in the Fire Nation; her father had said ‘Crown Prince’ because it was how the piece had been described to him, years ago when he received it from Uncle Iroh. It marked the Firelord’s heir, nothing more than that.

But it still…

“Shh.” Tasa nudged her until she sat up, just slightly; strong arms snaked under her own, holding her close. Izumi clung tightly to Tasa’s forearm; she hadn’t noticed she was crying until Tasa reacted to the unshed tears. “Easy. Easy, beautiful.”

“I’ve heard you talk to horses, dumbass,” Izumi managed, thickly. She pushed her glasses out of the way, trying and failing to rub her face dry. “I know what you’re doing. Some people would get offended.”

Tasa wrapped her hands around Izumi’s fingers, folding the headpiece loosely between them.

“Easy,” she said again, softer, and for the first time in days Izumi felt her shoulders relax.

By the time Tasa spoke again, Izumi was on the verge of dozing off for real. It had definitely been longer than the hour she officially had off for lunch.

“Do you want to wear it?”

After a long pause Izumi nodded—barely, just once.

“Could you…?” she asked, and felt Tasa smile faintly against the back of her neck. With a horsewoman’s grace and experience, she gathered a single plait of Izumi’s loose mane into a high, feminine topknot, leaving most of it to fall free.

“You look beautiful,” she whispered, and slid the hairpin home.

Firelord, they told him. Your daughter is a fine woman; but you have a young, strong, healthy firebending heir in the younger princess. You have a wise and steady son. You must consider...that making the Princess Izumi your heir may not create the normalcy our people need.

“I was on time for my coronation,” muttered Zuko.

Mai, lounging on a chaise in the shade, didn’t look up from her nails. “You were on fire for your coronation.”

“She’ll be here,” said Rahe.

Zuko glared at Mai. “Look. I’m not saying we should recreate everything about my ascension to Firelord—”

“Zuko,” Mai said sharply. “We are recreating zero things about your ascension to Firelord.”

“There are important traditions—”

“You throw lightning at my daughter and see what happens!”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Mai—Oh.” Zuko flushed as Mai stopped fanning herself with a Kyoshi blade and glanced over the top wearing a familiar expression. “You were joking.”

“Oh, no,” she promised. “I know where you sleep and I have way more knives than you think I do. Leave her alone, Zuko. You’re asking a lot.”

“I know.” Guilt twisted in Zuko’s stomach. “Believe me. I know exactly what I’m asking of her.”

Being Firelord was...like nothing else on the planet. There was incredible capacity to do good with a word or a gesture—and infinite capacity to do harm that would take a hundred years to undo.

Izumi had been born to it. Everything else in her life, she’d been forced to build for herself—her very name, her title; her siblings, one by one; her bending, which had always warred against her. The very air in her lungs was something she’d had to fight for. But merely by being born, she had been given the heaviest burden on the planet—the fate of an entire nation, both its lives and its honor.

“It’s wrong,” Zuko muttered. “Doing this to her. She never had a choice.”

“Well, hey,” said one of the twins brightly. “It’s not too late! You can coronate me instead if she doesn’t show up, I’d make a great Firelord.”

The majority of the palace staff had given up on being able to tell the girls apart by the time they turned four. Mai and Zuko, exhausted, had given in and ordered their clothes personalized. Kala’s were trimmed in scarlet, Kirri’s in bright gold; and with every eleven-year-old’s confidence in their own cleverness, they really thought they’d fooled their parents today by switching robes.

“I’m sure you would, Kirri,” he told her, and her face fell. “Anyway, it’s not actually a coronation. I plan to remain Firelord for a long time.”

Izumi was only eighteen, after all. They’d talked about this after her birthday, a few months ago; that it was time, as heir apparent, for her to begin taking a more active role in assisting in the rule of the Fire Nation.

Zuko wasn’t planning to abdicate until he needed to—but, well. Anything could happen. There were still dozens of groups around the world who didn’t trust anyone in Ozai’s lineage on the throne; or, conversely, who still believed Azula to be the rightful heir and wanted to restore her to power. If Izumi was placed in that position…

He hadn’t been ready. Even with all his Uncle’s guidance and training to shape him into a worthy ruler, even with the ability to call on Aang, Katara and Sokka, the Kyoshi Warriors, for advice...he hadn’t been ready. He had been far too young. And he couldn’t do that to his daughter.

When the day came, she would not have to waste precious years earning trust and respect from the people she relied on to facilitate her kingdom. He would make sure of that. When the day came, the Fire Nation would already be accustomed to her presence—and they would have faith in her judgement, her wisdom and honor. They would believe in her.

That started today. Today, with her first formal address to the Fire Nation, on the anniversary of the fall of the Phoenix King—the speech that was usually Zuko’s. But this year the symbolism would belong to Izumi.

A new life, a better life, a brighter and purer future, rising from the ashes of Ozai’s treachery. A young ruler untouched by that evil, who had never known the rot of hate that had once consumed the Fire Nation. 

A hand on his shoulder. Zuko looked up, expecting Mai; but she was still over in the shade, smiling blandly as the twins tried to fix each other’s stolen robes and ended up making them significantly worse. She’d offer to help if they asked; but only if they cared enough about their appearance to ask. If not—there were more important things in the world. Much more important that their girls know they were valued as people more than symbols, than worrying about whether someone in the crowd might judge them.

The massive, milling crowd, consisting of most of the city, awaiting an address from the Crown Princess who had apparently vanished off the face of the planet— 

To his surprise it was Rahe, calmer than anyone else, who squeezed his shoulder and then retreated.

“Calm down,” he said. “She’ll be here.”

“She’s got five minutes,” said Mai, who was much less helpful.

Before Zuko could work himself up again, there was a quick knock at the door to their little staging courtyard and Izumi slipped in.

“Hi,” she whispered, looking apologetic enough that Zuko managed to control his instinctive flare of relieved anger. “I’m so sorry. I had to change.”

“It was my fault, Firelord.” Tasa, who actually had no business being here but had never cared about propriety before and wasn’t about to start now, followed Izumi through the door and closed it carefully behind her. She didn’t bow, which Zuko didn’t care about and made Mai visibly smile behind her stolen fan. “I didn’t realize the grass was wet.”

“I don’t wanna know,” said Mai.

Izumi blanched. “Mom—! We were eating lunch!”

“She knows,” Zuko assured Tasa, who was used to Mai’s sense of humor but edging away from the knives regardless. Izumi’s wardrobe change was honestly for the better; she’d been intended to wear formal robes in a bright, attention-grabbing gold and scarlet, cut in as close a style to the Firelord’s as was allowed; and had exchanged them for equally fine but much less ostentatious silks in deep maroon. 

It suited her much better; she looked more natural and less stiff, more a capable young woman with no pretention than a picture from a storybook. Zuko had a strong suspicion that Tasa hadn’t forgotten anything when she convinced his daughter into getting grass stains on her first option.

Forcing his own anxieties down—very badly, judging by the way Mai covered her face—Zuko smiled at her.

“You look good,” he promised. “You’ll do great.”

Trumpets began to blow out in the main courtyard.

The staging area exploded in a sudden flurry of silent motion. The twins rushed forward to hug Izumi, managing at the last minute to restrain themselves to squeezing her hands as they remembered the importance of the occasion and how easily silk was damaged. Rahe gravitated toward his younger sisters, silently and subtly helping them get their robes straightened without embarrassing them; Mai, whispering something in her daughter’s ear before kissing her on the cheek, used the motion to disguise a quick adjustment to a brooch as she pulled away. Red, grey starting to take over the fur around her muzzle as she lay in the shade under Mai’s couch, lifted her head but put it down again after a moment.

Pepper didn’t quite manage that.

“No!” Tasa hissed, but it was too late. Izumi caught the dog’s feet before his claws could tear anything and Pepper responded instantly to his mistress’ whistle, but Tasa still looked mortified.

“It’s fine,” Izumi assured her. She brushed herself down, and Zuko gave a sigh of relief. No damage.

“Five years,” Tasa moaned. “It’s been five years since he jumped up without permission and he chooses now. You’ve got dog fur on your robes—he’s white!”

 “I know.” Grinning, Izumi caught Tasa’s hands and pressed a quick, earnest kiss to her lips. “It’s perfect now. Wish me luck.”

Your daughter is a fine woman, they told him. But the people will never accept her as Firelord.

Izumi stepped into the sun, and the crowd roared like dragonfire.