Chapter Text
Katara
The air in the room didn't move, thick with the sulfurous bleed of the volcano beneath the floorboards.
Katara stood barefoot on the obsidian tile. The back of her throat felt raw, the sour tang of bile still burning near the base of her tongue. She deliberately avoided looking at the brass washbasin near the edge of the mattress.
She took a step back, her toe nudging one of his discarded heavy boots out of her path. The massive bed was violently tangled, his side completely bare, and the quilt was shoved onto the floor.
She slid her arms into his sheer silk robe. It was far too broad in the shoulders, but she left it hanging wide open. Any extra friction against her sweat-damp skin was unbearable.
Stepping in front of the tall mirror in the corner, Katara stopped.
Slowly, her right hand lifted, pressing into the side of her breast. She flinched. The tissue ached beneath her knuckles, feeling heavy, firm, and painfully tender. She turned slightly to the side, flattening her palm against her lower belly. The flesh yielded easily, soft and unchanged, but her fingers trembled against her skin.
She didn't need to see it to know.
A flick of her wrist drew a ribbon of clear water from the washbasin. It wrapped around her palm like a liquid glove, a bracing shock of cold against the suffocating heat. Igniting a luminescent blue glow beneath the water’s surface, she pressed her hand flat against her lower belly.
The water didn't pool; it sank seamlessly through her skin. Her breathing slowed to a deliberate drawl as her focus tunneled entirely inward. She navigated the dark interior of her own body, down into the deep, protected hollow of her pelvis.
Her thumb twitched. She pushed the healing water deeper, wrapping the cool energy carefully around the microscopic cluster. She could feel the frayed edges of her own chi around it—the rigid knots from weeks of tense council meetings, the hollow ache of skipped meals. She had run her body into the ground, completely blind to what it had been building in the dark.
Then—a pulse.
Fast. Frantic. A stubborn thrum pushing back against the water. Alive.
The connection snapped.
The water lost its light, dropping from her pores all at once and splashing heavily back into the brass basin. Katara yanked her hand away as if the damp flesh had scorched her.
She stared blindly into the dark glass. The mirror didn't just show her reflection; it caught the violently tangled, empty sheets behind her. The great, iron-banded doors locked her inside the Caldera. A violent ringing started at the base of her skull, drowning out the hiss of the volcano beneath the floorboards. The air in her lungs turned to hot ash. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't swallow. The ringing grew deafening, vibrating down her spine until her mind stopped, leaving an intense, hollow numbness settling over her skin.
Slowly, her right hand lifted again.
Her fingers curled, pulling a thin, ribboned current back out of the basin. It hovered in the dead air before her exposed abdomen, pale and deceptively clean.
She was a Master. She knew the precise, fragile anatomy of blood and chi. A single, sharp push of her wrist could wash it away before Zuko even returned to the empty side of the bed.
The water hummed inches from her skin. Her jaw locked tight. She stared at the blue glow, completely paralyzed by the terrifying gravity of how easy it would be.
A sharp, rhythmic knock struck the heavy wooden doors.
Katara flinched. The tension in the water broke, collapsing into the basin with a flat, dead splash. She scrambled backward, dragging the wide lapels of Zuko's sheer robe tightly across her chest and knotting the fabric in her fists as she forced her spine straight.
She swallowed the copper taste of her bitten lip. "Enter."
The doors opened. The younger attendants unlatched the tall windows, throwing the black drapes wide to the balcony.
The Caldera’s morning air rushed inside. Stagnant and baking hot. A slick layer of sweat broke instantly across the back of Katara's neck, her stomach rolling as she fought down a fresh wave of bile.
Near the threshold, her two noble-born ladies-in-waiting dropped into synchronized courtesies. Lady Hana stepped forward, her flowing pink silks brushing the obsidian tile. Without breaking stride, she scooped up Zuko’s heavy leather boot from where Katara had nudged it, placing it neatly at the foot of the mattress.
The morning light caught Hana's striking grey eyes—a quiet mark of the colonies that nobody in the palace ever mentioned out loud.
"May the sun rise in your favor, Your Majesty," Hana murmured. She glanced toward the balcony, wrinkling her nose. "Though it's already miserable out there."
Katara sat straight-backed on the vanity stool. Zuko’s silk robe suddenly felt like sandpaper. "It feels as though the volcano is breathing down my neck."
The elder lady offered a knowing dip of her head and signaled the attendants. They stepped forward, holding up the heavy vermilion silks usually laid out for the morning court.
"Leave those," Katara murmured, waving a dismissive hand toward the stiff fabric. "The humidity is intolerable today. Bring the blue hanfu. The high-tied skirts."
The maids exchanged a brief, silent look, but immediately bowed. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
They lifted the sheer blue silk panels, tying the skirts high and securing the wide red sash snugly just beneath her chest. It left her ribs uncrushed and her lower belly completely free. The outer robe slid over her shoulders, its long, unpadded sleeves cascading over her wrists.
Sitting motionless as they pulled her dark hair into a sharp topknot, Katara's eyes tracked the silver comb in the mirror, deep in thought.
Confinement. Weeks locked in these chambers, healing, while the council room ministers bypassed her seal and quietly pushed their western tariffs through the moment she wasn't sitting across from them.
Her thumb pressed hard against the edge of the vanity table, her nail turning white.
The solid clack of the silver moon crown sliding into place pulled her back. The maid slid a pointed pin through the center, anchoring it firmly to her scalp.
To her left, the heavy connecting door to the nursery groaned inward.
Lady Hana paused in the threshold with a breathless laugh.
Katara turned.
Gripping the mahogany bars of his crib, Kaien Shin was standing on his own two feet. His knuckles were pale around the wood, his dark hair sticking up in wild tufts. He glared right past the lady-in-waiting, his bright golden eyes locking onto the vanity.
"Ma!" he demanded, bouncing once on his heels and rattling the crib. "Ma-ma!"
The rigid line of Katara’s shoulders dissolved. She stood, the blue silk trailing over the floor, and crossed the room just as Hana reached in to lift him.
Kaien Shin squirmed immediately, batting a clumsy hand at Hana's shoulder. "Na-na! No!"
"Good morning, my prince," Hana said smoothly, turning him toward his mother.
Katara caught her son's flailing hand. His scowl vanished into a wide, open-mouthed grin of uneven teeth. He lunged forward, babbling, but Katara only stroked his soft cheek, deliberately keeping her hands free of his heavy weight for the moment.
"Has His Majesty left for the council room?" Katara asked as Hana expertly wrestled a purple robe over Kaien Shin's stubbornly rigid arms.
"His Majesty has been reviewing the province ledgers since dawn," Hana replied, pulling the boy's arm through the sleeve. "Though currently... he is walking the south wing courtyard with your brother."
Katara closed her eyes. "Spirits. Did Sokka take down another wall?"
Hana offered a deeply diplomatic smile, choosing not to answer. Instead, she picked up a small purple bonnet and moved to tie it under Kaien Shin's chin.
The boy’s eyes went wide with offense. "No!" he shrieked, swatting the fabric away with both hands and twisting his head violently to save his hair. "No na-na! Ma!"
"Your Majesty," a maid called from the doorway, bowing. "The morning meal is prepared in the solar."
The blue silk sash tied just beneath Katara’s ribs felt considerably tighter than it had an hour ago. She had stress-eaten three empty plates of spiced duck hash and half her son’s mashed taro root before bolting for the courtyard.
The heavy wooden gate of the compound swung open. A chaotic roar of voices flooded the carriage, carrying the lower city's salty heat through the slats.
On Katara’s lap, Kaien Shin let out a sharp, demanding squeal. He hit her knees, his tiny hands flying up to grab the dark hair framing her face.
"Ow—Kaien, no," Katara hissed, catching his wrists before he could rip it straight from her scalp. She hauled him back by his purple sash, securing his squirming weight against her chest.
She stepped down onto the baked clay courtyard, the thick heat instantly wrapping around her ankles.
They were allowed two hours each morning to step away from the council and tend to whatever duties needed their attention. The rule kept Zuko fed and present; Katara found herself lingering at the relief house, treating the allotted time as a small reprieve she hadn’t expected to enjoy.
She barely had time to set Kaien Shin on his feet and grip his small hand before the swarm hit her.
They did not bother with bows. They rarely did unless a matron was actively shouting at them. Tiny, dirt-smudged hands grabbed at the sleeves of her blue hanfu, tugging her forward.
"Lady Katara! Look!"
"Is the prince playing with us today?"
"Ma'am, Jian won't give me back my wooden knife!"
Katara sank to her knees right there in the dust, uncaring of the sheer silk pooling around her. She leaned forward, catching a small boy who had launched himself at her chest. He wore a faded, oversized tunic, the frayed insignia of the 41st Infantry Division hanging loose over his thin shoulder.
"Hold on, hold on, one at a time," Katara laughed, her hands moving constantly—smoothing wild hair, adjusting slipping collars, tapping noses. She caught the face of a little girl with a severe, uneven haircut. "Rina. Cough for me. Deep breath first."
The little girl took a loud, exaggerated breath and produced a forced, dry hack.
Katara pressed two fingers gently against the base of the girl's throat, feeling the vibration. "Clear. See? I told you the willow bark would work." She turned her head, catching a boy trying to wedge his way to the front. "Koji! Open your mouth. Let me see."
Koji grinned widely, pointing a grubby finger to a massive, bleeding gap in his upper gums. "It came out at breakfast! Matron Li said a badger-mole was going to steal it."
"Matron Li is trying to frighten you," Katara said smoothly, wiping a smudge of soot from his cheek. "Put it under your pillow. I'll make sure the badger-moles stay out."
The overlapping chatter was deafening. Kaien Shin, entirely unfazed by the crowd, had already wriggled his hand out of Katara’s grip and was aggressively trying to snatch a woven grass ball from a boy twice his age. Hana hovered a few paces back, keeping pale eyes on the Crown Prince while quietly handing out small wrapped honey-cakes from a leather satchel.
Katara’s eyes flicked past the immediate wall of grabbing hands.
A little girl near the back had taken her honey-cake, but instead of unwrapping it, she immediately shoved it deep into the hidden lining of her sash, her small hands clamping protectively over the lump. Katara caught the girl’s eye and offered a slow, deliberate nod.
"Lady Katara."
The voice was quieter, rougher than the Caldera accents ringing around her. Katara turned.
Two children stood at the edge of the chaotic circle. A boy, perhaps seven, holding the hand of a girl barely three. Neither of them wore the standard red or grey linens. Their clothes were dyed a muddy brown.
The boy didn't crowd her. He stood with his feet planted wide, his bare toes digging into the clay courtyard to anchor his weight. His posture was rigid. When he looked at her, his eyes were a brilliant jade green.
"Bao," Katara said softly, shifting her weight on the hard dirt to face him squarely. She kept her hands open, resting on her knees. "How is your sister sleeping? Has the crying stopped?"
Bao’s grip on the little girl’s hand tightened. The girl, sharing his vibrant green eyes, stared at the gold moon crown in Katara’s hair.
"She sleeps through the bell now," Bao answered, his chin jutting out slightly. "She didn't wake up when the guard marched past the wall."
"That's good," Katara murmured. She reached into her wide sleeve, pulling out a smooth river stone she had kept in her pocket since morning. She held it out on her flat palm. "I found this in the palace gardens. I thought Lin might like it for her collection."
Bao hesitated. His green eyes darted to Katara's face, searching for a trap, before he stepped forward. He didn't take the stone himself. He nudged his little sister forward, watching intently as Lin reached out with a trembling hand and snatched the smooth rock.
“Lady Katara!" Koji yelled again, tugging violently on her blue sleeve. "Are we doing the water game? It's burning out here!"
Katara stood, brushing the red dust from her knees.
"Back up," Katara ordered, raising her voice just enough to cut through the din. "Everyone against the dormitory wall."
The children shrieked in electric anticipation, scrambling toward the shade of the overhang. Katara turned to clear the space, but her eyes caught a shift in the shadows beneath the far awning.
Huddled tightly behind a wooden support beam was a dense knot of unfamiliar faces. Twelve of them. They watched the yard with the unblinking stillness of hunted prey, wearing coarse, mismatched wool stained with the chalky dust of the western colonies.
Lady Jinju stepped down from the shaded veranda. Widows of disgraced, executed generals usually moved through the capital like ghosts—shoulders bowed, eyes fixed on the floorboards. Jinju walked with her chin level, her stride even and unhurried. She moved like a woman who had finally unbuckled a suit of iron armor.
A little boy, fleeing a game of tag, barreled blindly into Jinju’s skirts. She didn't flinch. Her hand dropped instantly, her fingers curling into his hair with a heavy, lingering tenderness.
Katara watched that hand, her own palm resting instinctively against the blue silk over her lower belly.
"New arrivals," Katara said, her voice dropping below the noise of the yard.
Jinju offered a slow, weary nod. "Displaced from the clearing of the northwestern colony. Most of them were living in the ruins of the garrison after the army pulled out." She shifted her gaze to a boy, perhaps five, sitting on an overturned supply crate with his arms wrapped entirely around a little girl.
"And those two?" Katara asked quietly.
"Found sleeping by the lower docks," Jinju murmured, her voice stripped of judgment but heavy with exhausted reality. "They said their mother told them to wait by the harbor master's office while she bought a ferry ticket to the mainland. That was nine days ago."
Katara's fingers pressed tighter into the silk. A mother walking away. Choosing the docks over the crushing weight of two starving mouths.
She walked directly into the shadows of the awning and knelt slowly, resting her open hands on her lap.
"It's very hot out here," Katara said. She looked at a lanky boy with a dark bruise ripening along his jawline. "What is your name?"
The boy swallowed hard. "Rohan."
"Rohan," Katara repeated with a nod. She shifted her gaze to a girl beside him, clutching a rusted tin cup. "And you?"
"Saki," the girl whispered.
Katara moved her eyes methodically down the line, acknowledging each face. She didn't offer empty platitudes. She just took the heavy, undeniable reality of their presence. Finally, her gaze landed on the two children sitting on the crate.
The red sash cut sharply into her ribs.
"I'm Katara," she said softly. "What are your names?"
The boy stared at her. He looked at the heavy gold pin in her hair, then at the dirt on her knees.
"I'm Zun," he said, his voice cracking. He reached back, pulling the little girl forward. She had dried tear tracks cutting clean lines through the dust on her cheeks. "This is Nori. We're waiting for our mother."
Katara forced herself to breathe evenly through her nose.
"I know," Katara said, holding his gaze. "You can wait for her here."
She stood, brushing the worst of the red clay from her skirts.The remaining matrons had gathered near the shade of the veranda—women bearing the disgraced names of captains who had returned from the Earth Kingdom in chains. As Katara approached, they folded into a neat, uniform bow.
Except for one.
The woman at the far end of the line did not lower her chin. Beneath the standard grey tunic, the woven collar of a faded Water Tribe parka peeked out. Dark, silver-threaded hair was pulled back from a rounded jawline. She had packed up her life in the Southern snows the day her husband’s burial canoe was set adrift, following Katara to the Caldera without a second thought.
"Katara," the woman greeted, her voice a low rumble lacking any of the Caldera's sharp edges.
"Tala." The rigid tension in Katara's spine dropped.
A demanding shriek shattered the moment.
Kaien Shin was actively fighting Matron Li near the carriage, his tiny hands shoving violently against her collar as he kicked his feet.
Hana stepped forward, but her left arm was burdened with a thick ledger, the ink brush hovering dangerously close to her sleeve.
"Keep the count, Hana," Katara said. "I have him."
She caught her son under the arms, hauling his squirming weight against her chest. Kaien Shin wailed, arching his back and kicking out wildly.
His heel clipped her lower abdomen.
Katara flinched, a sharp gasp hissing through clenched teeth. She instantly dragged him sideways, pinning him high against her hip and forcing his kicking legs backward—away from her belly. The red sash bit deeper into her ribs to support his shifting weight.
"Easy," she muttered, her breath shallow. "Stop fighting."
Across the yard, guards drove iron crowbars under the lids of the supply crates. The wood gave way with a violent crack.
The courtyard erupted. Two dozen children surged forward, kicking up a choking red cloud of clay. Small hands grabbed frantically at carved komodo-rhinos, grass balls, and painted tops. The screaming was deafening. They had lived their entire lives competing for scraps; they did not know how to wait for a toy.
Kaien Shin froze against Katara's side. His golden eyes tracked the rushing bodies. The sheer volume of the noise hit him all at once, and he buried his face into her neck, bursting into panicked tears.
Katara patted his back softly. The relentless heat pressed against her skin, trapping dust in her lungs.
She turned her back on the screaming yard and carried his heavy, shuddering weight straight toward the open doors of the sleeping quarters.
The shadowed interior offered a break from the glare, but no relief from the heat. The stagnant air was thick with the smell of boiled millet, old straw, and the sour tang of unwashed bodies.
Katara shifted Kaien higher. He had stopped wailing, his small chest jerking with heavy hiccups. Her silk sleeve stuck completely to her forearm. She swallowed, her eyes scanning the floorboards.
The woven sleeping mats were lined up with precision, but the math was wrong. She counted the gaps. Twelve new children had arrived from the colony, but there were only four extra pallets crammed into the far corner.
"Where are they going to sleep?" Katara asked, her voice echoing slightly off the wooden beams. "We are short eight beds."
Lady Jinju stood near the doorway. "They will share the wider mats for now, your majesty. The older boys are used to sleeping on the floor."
Katara’s jaw flexed. "And the rice?"
"The silos are holding," Tala answered, stepping out from the narrow kitchen. She held a clay cup of water, pressing it gently against Kaien Shin’s flushed cheek to cool him. "Though we lost half a sack on Tuesday night."
Katara’s brow pinched. "Lost it?"
"Three men hopped the eastern wall." Tala wiped a smudge of ash from her thumb, her voice maintaining the steady rhythm of the South. "They tried to haul a crate over the fence. I caught them by the storehouse."
Tala’s blue eyes met Katara’s. There was an amused glint in them, but her jaw was set hard. "I broke one's collarbone with a grain shovel. He had quite a lot to say about it as he crawled away. Mostly regarding snow-savages and the color of my skin."
The nausea vanished from Katara's stomach, replaced instantly by a sudden, rigid cold.
The ambient moisture in the room answered the sudden spike in Katara's pulse. The water in the clay cup Tala held gave a sharp, unnatural shiver.
"Did you call the city guard?" Katara demanded, her voice dropping.
"They arrived an hour later. Took a report. Left," Jinju said. She stepped forward, retrieving a heavy, leather-bound ledger from a low desk. "But we cannot afford the timber to raise the wall, nor the wages for a night sentry. We cannot even afford the eight missing mats."
"I set the seasonal allowance myself," Katara said. "The treasury allocated a twenty percent increase for colonial overflow. You have the coin. If there was a delay, you should have sent a runner to the palace."
"We did, Katara," Tala said quietly.
Jinju opened the heavy ledger, tilting the pages toward the sliver of sunlight cutting through the window.
Katara’s eyes tracked the neat rows of black ink down to the bottom line.
Forty-three percent. They had received less than half of the approved funds.
Beside the final tally, stamped in thick red wax, was the seal of the City Minister of the Lower Ring. Beneath the seal, a crisp script read: Disbursement halted. Municipal priorities shifted. Re-authorization strictly requires the Fire Lady’s direct seal of approval per decree.
Katara stared at the red wax. The minister knew a civilian requisition form would sit at the bottom of the lower court’s pile for months before ever reaching her palace desk. A deliberate, bureaucratic strangulation.
A sudden, sharp crack echoed from the kitchen.
Jinju flinched. Tala turned her head.
A clay pitcher on the distant counter had just fractured straight down the middle. A thin layer of white frost bloomed rapidly across the ceramic shards, the water inside frozen entirely solid.
Kaien Shin shoved his hands hard against her collarbone, throwing his weight backward.
He didn't want to be held anymore. The stifling heat of Katara’s body against his own was too much. He kicked his boots against her thigh, whining loudly.
Biting down on a sigh, she bent her knees—keeping her torso straight to protect her lower belly—and set the toddler on the floorboards. The exact second his soles touched the wood, Kaien Shin raised both arms and let out a furious, high-pitched demand to be picked right back up.
Katara closed her eyes, the pounding behind her right temple syncing perfectly with her pulse.
She looked past the squirming boy, pinning her gaze on her lady-in-waiting. "Hana. Send the driver to the merchant quarter. Buy eight woven mats and eight summer blankets. Have them brought here within the hour. Pull the coin directly from my personal purse."
Hana didn't write it down. She bowed her head. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Katara shifted her attention back to the women. She didn't look at the frozen pitcher on the counter; the air radiating from it was unnaturally, sharply cold.
"I will see you next week," Katara said, her voice dropping low, completely devoid of the Caldera's usual political softness. "The ledger will be corrected by tomorrow morning."
She hauled Kaien Shin back up against her hip. He immediately grabbed a fistful of her silk lapel, hot and sweaty against her chest. She turned and walked out into the blinding, white-hot glare of the courtyard.
The carriage was twenty paces away, its dark velvet interior offering the only shade—the only place she could finally drop her rigid posture and press her face into her hands.
A sharp tug on her skirt stopped her dead.
Koji stood there, dirt smeared across his forehead, holding out a crumpled piece of brown parchment. A jagged komodo-rhino was scratched into it with charcoal. Behind him stood Saki with a flattened piece of rice paper. And Bao, holding a broken slate. Half a dozen others formed a quiet, hesitant blockade between her and the carriage step.
Katara's arm trembled under her son's weight. Her skin crawled under the stifling heat. But she didn't take another step toward the carriage.
Shifting Kaien Shin to her left hip, she fought the stiff resistance in her knees and knelt. "Is this for me?" she asked softly.
Koji nodded enthusiastically, pointing at a chaotic black smudge in the corner. "That's the badger-mole."
"I see it," Katara murmured. She took the paper carefully by the edges. She turned to Saki, taking the rice paper. She took the slate from Bao. She stopped for every single one of them, accepting the torn, smudged offerings as if they were official state treaties, stacking them against her chest until her blue silk was permanently stained with black charcoal dust.
At the base of the carriage steps, Katara rested her hand heavily on the polished wooden frame. She offered Lady Hana a strained smile, the muscles in her cheeks feeling completely disconnected from the rest of her face.
"Hana," Katara said, keeping her voice incredibly soft so it wouldn't carry. "Before we return to the palace... would you take one of the guards into the merchant quarter? Bring back the sweetest, richest pork buns from the golden pavilion, and whatever candied lotus seeds they have fresh."
Hana paused. Her pale eyes scanned the sweaty sheen on Katara’s forehead and her white-knuckled grip on the carriage frame. She didn't ask questions.
"I will see it done, Your Majesty," Hana murmured, stepping back to signal an armored guard.
Katara’s smile held for exactly the three seconds it took to haul her aching body up the wooden steps with Kaien Shin braced against her hip.
She stepped inside. The door swung shut.
Click.
The iron latch dropped into place, sealing out the blinding white light of the courtyard.
Katara set Kaien Shin down on the velvet bench. The carriage lurched forward, wooden wheels grinding into the rutted dirt. The exact moment the carriage swayed, Katara’s rigid spine folded.
She dropped onto the opposite bench, pressing both hands over her mouth.
The tears hit without warning. She bit down hard on the heel of her palm, locking the sob behind her teeth to keep from alerting the driver. Her shoulders shook in ragged spasms.
She pressed her free hand to her lower belly, fingers digging into the blue silk. This tiny anchor in the dark was making her volatile; it was raw and terrifyingly close to the surface in a way she hadn't been with her firstborn.
Through the blur of her tears, her gaze dropped to the soot-stained drawings resting against her thighs.
Her jaw locked. The sorrow hardened.
Forty-three percent. A red wax seal. The ministers sitting in their cool, high-ceilinged offices, casually deciding to starve a compound of orphans because the paperwork was inconvenient. They thought she was a figurehead—a soft, foreign bride playing house while her husband ran the armies.
The air inside the carriage dropped ten degrees in a single second. Condensation immediately fogged the small window.
She was the only Southern waterbending master on the planet. She had stood in the burning ash of the palace and brought the princess who commanded them all to her knees. She would march into their office, freeze every drop of wine in the room, and shatter the minister's desk into splinters.
But the rage couldn't hold.
It slipped, breaking against the jagged charcoal drawing of a badger-mole on her lap. In her mind's eye, Katara saw Zun sitting on the overturned crate. The little girl was gripping his frayed shirt. We're waiting for our mother. Nine days on the docks, believing with the agonizing certainty of a child that she was just buying a ticket.
Katara’s chest caved inward. A physical pain seized her ribs, so sharp she gasped against her hand. A wet, broken sound escaped her throat despite her efforts to swallow it.
On the opposite bench, a small rustle of fabric broke through her ragged breathing.
Katara blinked, tears blurring her vision.
Kaien Shin sat motionless on the velvet cushion. His golden eyes were wide, fixed entirely on his mother’s face. His tiny brow furrowed in profound confusion.
Mamas didn't cry.
He let out a low, questioning grunt. With clumsy determination, he slid off the bench and crossed the rocking carriage, grabbing a fistful of Katara’s blue silk skirt.
Katara instinctively caught him as he hauled himself up onto the bench beside her, his wobbly legs using her shoulder for balance.
A sticky, dirt-covered hand reached out, smacking flat against her wet cheek. The clumsy tap left a smudge of courtyard dust right beneath her eye.
"Ma," he demanded, his voice high and serious. He patted her face again, his little fingers poking near the corner of her mouth. "Ma?"
Katara bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting the salt of her tears.
She hoisted his squirming weight onto her lap, careful of her lower belly. She pressed her face into his messy, dirt-smelling hair with a lingering kiss to his cheek. A wet, breathless giggle caught in the back of her throat.
"Mama's alright," Katara whispered. She didn't use the singsong pitch of the nursery maids, speaking instead with the steady, clear cadence she always used for him. "I'm just a little sad today, sweet boy. It happens."
Kaien Shin blinked his large golden eyes. The tension left his small shoulders, and he dropped his weight forward, resting his cheek flat against her chest. One hand was tangled in her blue silk lapel while the other absentmindedly patted her collarbone. He settled there, perfectly content to listen to the steady rhythm of her heart.
Katara rested her chin on the top of his head, her hand smoothing over his back in slow circles.
Just a moon past his first year.
Her chest squeezed, guilt crashing over the fading anger. How could she do this to him? He still demanded to be carried, still cried when the courtyard was too loud, still expected her to be his entire world. The ministers would rejoice over a spare dynasty heir, quietly carving up her legislative power during her confinement. But Kaien Shin would only see his mother’s arms full of someone else.
Katara’s thumb stroked the soft cotton of his purple tunic.
Then again... she had Sokka. The absolute certainty of looking over her shoulder and knowing her brother was standing right there with a boomerang and a bad joke. She wanted him to have a tether in this obsidian palace that wasn't just his parents.
But then, an image of blue fire flashed behind her eyelids. Lightning is cracking against a stone courtyard. A brother and sister are trying to burn each other to ash.
Katara shuddered, her arm tightening around Kaien Shin. No. She pressed her lips to his hair. That will not happen to my children. Never.
A sharp tug at her chest sash pulled her from the dark thought.
Kaien Shin tilted his head up. His mouth found the hem of her sheer robe, and he immediately began sucking on the silk, his hands pushing insistently against her chest. He rooted forward, bumping his nose hard against her breast.
Katara winced. The swollen tissue flared into a sharp ache at the contact.
She gently caught his wrists, pulling his hands away. "No, no," Katara chided softly, prying the wet silk from his mouth. "If you do that now, you won't have room for the midday meal. Hana is bringing sweet pork buns. The ones you like."
Kaien Shin let out a grunt of severe disapproval. His nose wrinkled, his dark eyebrows pulling down into a harsh V—a flawless, miniature replication of Zuko’s most dramatic scowl.
Katara let out a real, startled laugh. She wiped the drying tear from her cheek, the suffocating dread lifting just enough to let her breathe.
But the reprieve was temporary. Nausea still sat at the bottom of her stomach, and her scalp ached from the gold crown pinning her hair.
"Ma!" Kaien Shin announced, pointing at the door.
"I know," Katara sighed.
The iron latch clicked. The door swung open, letting the blinding glare of the Caldera sun pour back over them. Katara braced her boots against the floorboards, secured her son against her hip, and climbed down into the heat.
The obsidian pillars of the entrance hall offered a sudden drop in temperature. Thick stone absorbed the glare, plunging the corridor into cool, muted shadows.
Katara let out a ragged exhale, shifting Kaien Shin higher.
"Ah! The Fire Lady returns."
The voice carried a resonant cheer that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. Katara turned as General Iroh stepped out from the adjacent corridor. He wore his thick red robes as though the summer heat simply did not apply to him, his hands tucked into his wide sleeves. He stepped close, pressing a scratchy kiss against Katara’s cheek. He smelled of roasted ginseng and old parchment.
He pulled back, his golden eyes crinkling as he tapped Kaien Shin’s nose. The toddler blinked, utterly unimpressed, and buried his face back into Katara’s shoulder.
"I see my new schedule has kept you moving," Iroh said, his white beard twitching with a hidden smile. "Did the mandated hour of leisure serve you well?"
Katara shifted her weight off her aching left knee. "It delayed my docket by two hours, Uncle," she said, a dry edge clipping her tone. "I'll be reviewing the western shipyard budgets by candlelight tonight."
Iroh chuckled. "Youth is a rushing river, always determined to carve through the mountain. You must learn to let the water pool, Katara. Rest is not a delay. It is a gathering of strength."
Before she could point out that resting in the Caldera heat was a physical impossibility, leather-soled shoes approached from the courtyard doors.
Lady Hana stepped into the hall, trailed by a guard carrying a lacquered tray.
The smell hit the corridor instantly. Glistening grease. Deep-fried dough. The savory tang of spiced pork fat mingles with the sugary aroma of honey-glazed lotus seeds.
Katara’s mouth watered so sharply her jaw ached, a sudden hunger completely at odds with her rolling nausea.
Iroh stopped.
He looked at the tray, taking in the towering pile of glazed pork buns and the massive ceramic bowl of sugared seeds. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to Katara’s face.
Katara didn't offer an excuse about a skipped breakfast. A hot flush crept up her neck, burning beneath her collar. Her eyes dropped to the polished obsidian tiles between his boots. Her free hand drifted down, the blue sleeve brushing against the red sash tied just above her ribs.
Iroh’s white eyebrows lifted toward his hairline.
He didn't gasp or make a scene. The smile that split his face was sudden, brilliant, and entirely uncontainable. He stepped back, crossing his arms formally, and bowed—a deep, deliberate incline of his head, significantly lower than his usual casual greeting.
"Well," Iroh murmured, his voice thick with profound warmth. "If the workload is keeping you to the candlelight, perhaps I should review your calendar again this evening. It seems the Fire Lady might require a few... permanent extensions to her resting hours."
Katara’s head snapped up.
"Don't you dare touch my ledgers," she warned, though her voice lacked any real venom.
Iroh laughed, a bright, joyous sound bouncing off the stone walls. He turned on his heel, hands sliding happily back into his sleeves as he ambled down the corridor. "Enjoy your meal, Katara! Eat twice as much!"
Katara shook her head, a reluctant smile breaking through the rigid tension in her jaw. She hitched Kaien Shin higher, turned toward the royal dining solar, and followed the smell of the grease.
The outer blue silk robe lay crumpled on the floor near Katara’s chair.
She had not waited for the servants to bring the wooden nursery seat, nor had she waited for her husband. She sat perfectly straight at the mahogany table, the sheer blue skirts tied high beneath her ribs, her shoulders bare to the stagnant air of the solar.
A steaming pork bun sat half-eaten in her hand, savory grease coating her fingertips. Sitting directly on her lap, Kaien Shin had both hands clamped around a honey-glazed lotus bun, his chin smeared with sticky syrup. He wasn't eating the boiled yam puree set out for him. He was aggressively tearing into the sweet dough with his front teeth.
The solid doors to the solar swung open.
Zuko stepped inside, the thick layers of his official Fire Lord robes making a sharp, swishing sound against the floor. He paused near the threshold, catching his breath.
"My deepest apologies to Her Majesty," Zuko said, the formal title rolling off his tongue with dry sarcasm. He walked toward the table, his golden eyes scanning the empty lacquered tray, then dropping to the greased pastry in Katara’s hand.
He looked at the only untouched plate left: a small ceramic dish of steamed, unsalted sea spinach and plain tofu.
Zuko stopped beside her chair. "You didn't leave anything."
Katara took a deliberate bite of the pork bun. She chewed, swallowed, and picked up a linen napkin to wipe a drop of grease from Kaien Shin’s chin. "You were supposed to be here at the midday bell. The bell rang."
Zuko let out a slow breath through his nose. He pulled out the wooden chair beside hers and dropped into it, his spine hitting the backrest with a dull thud.
Katara reached for her tea. "Where is Sokka? I thought he was walking the courtyard with you."
"He was," Zuko muttered, reaching for the chopsticks. "Until he decided the west retaining wall wasn't up to his engineering standards. He's currently hitting it with a mallet."
Katara rolled her eyes. The movement sent a sharp spike of pain right behind her temples. "Is the steam-vent invention working, at least?"
Zuko shrugged, picking up a piece of the limp spinach.
He leaned in. The ambient temperature around Katara immediately spiked, the raw heat of his internal fire chi radiating through his dark clothes. His left hand slid casually onto her bare thigh just above the knee, his thumb pressing into her skin. At the same time, his right hand darted toward the last piece of candied pork on her plate.
Katara’s hand snapped out, slapping his wrist hard.
Zuko flinched back.
Directly on her lap, Kaien Shin’s golden eyes narrowed. Mimicking the movement flawlessly, the toddler swung a sticky, syrup-covered fist and aggressively smacked the back of Zuko’s hand.
Zuko went completely still.
He slowly turned his head, locking eyes with his son. The toddler glared right back, pulling the half-eaten pork bun closer to his chest in a blatant display of territorial hoarding. Zuko’s jaw twitched. He looked at the boy like a traitor who had just committed high treason, then silently withdrew his chopsticks, returning to his plain tofu.
"The Lord of Shuhon Island," Zuko started, his voice flat as he chewed. "Two solid hours of him pacing the council room, complaining about the repatriation taxes. Not the provincial taxes. The personal ones. The levies we placed on the noble estates to pay for the stolen Earth Kingdom artifacts."
Zuko pointed his chopsticks at the wall, his brow pulling down into a harsh scowl. "He wanted a deduction because his grandfather bought the relics 'legally' from a wartime auction. I had to sit there and listen to him justify keeping a stolen Omashu tapestry while the northern shipyard workers are still striking over grain rations."
Katara didn't answer. She kept her eyes on her plate, picking at a crumb on the mahogany wood.
Zuko stopped chewing.
The silence stretched. His gaze dropped from the wall, shifting sideways to look at her profile. She kept her face perfectly still, but the light in the solar was unforgiving. It caught the faint, uneven tracks cutting through the fine layer of courtyard dust on her cheeks.
Zuko’s hand left her thigh. His knuckles lifted, reaching toward her face.
Katara shoved his hand away before his fingers could graze her jaw.
"Don't," Katara clipped. She grabbed the linen napkin and scrubbed it harshly across her own cheek, wiping away the dust and the tracks in one rough motion. "It's the heat. The air in the carriage was trapped."
Zuko didn't argue. He didn't press. His golden eyes simply tracked downward, lingering for a quiet second on the bare, exposed skin of her arms and shoulders, taking in the missing outer robe and the tight, high knot of the red sash.
"What happened?" Zuko asked. The rant about Shuhon Island was entirely gone from his voice.
Katara dropped the napkin. The rich, greasy food sitting in her stomach suddenly felt like a block of lead.
"City Minister Shen of the Municipal Treasury," Katara said, her voice dropping to a low, rigid register. "He halted the orphanage ledger. He stamped it with red wax and claimed a shift in priorities. Forty-three percent of the allocated budget, Zuko. They don't have enough sleeping mats for the children from the northwestern colony."
Zuko set his chopsticks down. He didn't interrupt. He listened as she mapped out the missing beds, the stolen rice, and the sheer audacity of the minister demanding her personal seal to unlock funds that had already been cleared by the treasury.
When she finished, Zuko leaned back in his chair. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm on the armrest.
"Pull his domestic accounts," Zuko said quietly. "If he's choking civilian supply lines under the guise of municipal priority, he's moving the silver somewhere else. Have Hana draft an audit of his personal estates. Threaten to seize his trade barges in the harbor until the ledger balances."
He laid out the weapon. But he did not offer his own seal. They both knew if the Fire Lord stepped in to fix a civilian orphanage dispute, the old guard would smell blood in the water. They would know she couldn't hold her own territory.
Katara nodded once. The pulsing behind her eyes sharpened.
"You should sleep," Zuko murmured, his eyes catching the rigid tension in her jaw. "Before the afternoon hearings."
"I can’t," Katara said immediately.
On her lap, Kaien Shin suddenly arched his back.
The lotus bun slipped from his sticky fingers, hitting the floorboards. The toddler didn't try to retrieve it. He brought both fists up to his eyes, rubbing them violently as a ragged whine tore from his throat. The sugar crash had hit, colliding directly with the midday heat.
Katara shifted him, trying to tuck his head against her shoulder.
Kaien Shin screamed. He shoved his hands against her bare collarbone, kicking his little boots hard against her stomach.
Katara flinched, her breath hitching sharply. She caught his ankles, pinning his legs against his own stomach, but he just thrashed harder. His wails echoed off the high stone ceiling, spiking straight through Katara’s skull. Her jaw locked. The muscles in her bare arms pulled taut, trembling with the rigid effort of holding him still.
Zuko's chair scraped against the obsidian floor as he stood, his large hands hoisting the thrashing toddler straight up from her lap. The sudden absence of the boy's radiating heat left Katara gasping, her arms dropping limply to the table.
"I don't have time for this," Katara hissed through her teeth. She pressed the heels of both hands against her temples to cage the blinding throb in her skull.
"I have him," Zuko said. He shifted the boy's weight, easily pinning Kaien Shin’s flailing boots against his own hip to keep the toddler from kicking his ribs.
Katara dropped her hands, her eyes darting to the towering stack of red-stamped scrolls waiting on the side table. "You have the repatriation laws to finalize before the third bell."
Zuko didn't look at the scrolls. His gaze tracked the faint tremor in her fingers, the dark bruising beneath her eyes, and the bloodless pallor of her skin under the harsh light.
"The orphanage is the priority," Zuko stated, his voice stripped of its sharp edge, leaving only absolute certainty. He adjusted his grip as Kaien Shin wailed louder, reaching desperately for Katara. "Go to the municipal office. Get the coin. Get the beds. The laws will sit exactly where they are." He paused, his golden eyes locking onto hers. "But when you get back, you sleep."
Katara stared at him. The defensive line of her spine collapsed, her chest sinking with a long, shaky exhale.
She stepped forward. She pressed a firm kiss into the sticky, syrup-tangled mess of her son's dark hair, ignoring his frantic, grasping fingers. Then she tilted her head and pressed her lips hard against the warm line of Zuko's jaw.
She didn't say another word.
She turned toward the mahogany doors. She didn't look down at the discarded outer robe crumpled on the floor. She walked straight toward the exit in nothing but the sheer blue skirts and the red sash, leaving her shoulders and arms completely bare. It was a staggering, aggressive breach of Caldera protocol. Every clerk, minister, and passing noble in the corridor would stare.
Let them.
As she stepped over the threshold, she heard Zuko’s voice echo behind her in a low, rumbling attempt at negotiation.
"Alright. It seems like it's a day with Papa."
Smack.
The wet sound of a sticky palm connecting solidly with adult skin rang through the room.
"Ugh," Zuko grunted.
Katara didn't look back. She let the wooden doors pull shut behind her, her jaw setting into a dangerous line as she marched down the corridor toward the minister's office.