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When Mai was twelve, Azula burned a thick strip of hair off her head with a lightning strike.
She laughed so hard her shoulders shook afterwards. Mai stood still, the tang of ozone and the sharp smell of smoke filling her mouth. Her heart pattered like a drum inside her, but her face she made into a mask, blank and serene.
“Not so neat and perfect now, hmm?” Azula said when she caught her breath. She crossed her arms and grinned. Behind her, their classmates clapped.
“Hilarious,” Mai drawled, reaching up to feel the hot, uneven ends of her hair. If her fingers shook, she hid it well. “I’m sure my mother will love it.”
Azula scoffed. “Just tell her it’s the latest style, or that I gave it to you--who cares? Come on, let’s go find Ty Lee, I want to try it on her braid.” Her smile turned conspiratorial, and she reached out to link arms with Mai like nothing had happened.
That evening, Mai examined her hair carefully in a mirror. With clever pinning, she would be able to hide the burned part, she thought. Her mother was away at a dinner tonight, so she would never have to know. Mai exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. It could be fixed.
Her trust in Azula, on the other hand—she stared out her window and thought of lightning-cracked trees.
-
When Azula demands Mai explain herself at the Boiling Rock, Mai tells the truth: she loves Zuko more than she fears Azula.
That is the truth, but not all of it. You wouldn’t make a good Fire Lord, she doesn’t say. I don’t trust you.
I don’t want to serve you, Azula.
Azula’s glare burns, but Mai keeps her expression calm, her heartbeat steady. She isn’t sorry.