Chapter 45: Pawn or Pet?
The door to Zuko's chambers clicked shut behind him, the heavy silence of the room pressing in. His muscles ached from the day's training, lightning generation, failed attempts, and the lingering sting of Iroh's words. He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as his gaze swept the room.
Katara wasn't there.
Not at the balcony, not by the bed, not even lurking in the shadows like she sometimes did when she was brooding. The absence was unusual. She had no reason to leave unless ordered, and he hadn't given her any. His jaw tightened.
'Where is she?'
He pushed the thought aside for now. The bath would come first.
The bathing chamber was spacious, tiled in black stone that gleamed under the flickering lantern light. Zuko dragged a wooden tub to the center, the scrape of its base against the floor echoing in the quiet. He worked methodically, filling it with water from the heated cistern, the steam curling lazily in the air. When it was halfway full, he stripped, his robes sliding off his shoulders, the fabric pooling at his feet.
Scars mapped his body. Some were old, faded silver lines from blades and whips. Others were newer, jagged and raised, burn marks from battles, from mistakes, from his own fire. He traced one absently, a habit, before stepping into the water.
The initial heat made him hiss, but he adjusted quickly. Settling in, he tilted his head back, resting it against the rim. Then, with a slow exhale through his nose, he released a controlled breath of fire, just enough to warm the water further. The surface rippled, steam thickening, the heat seeping into his bones.
He closed his eyes.
The rumors were spreading now. Drunken sailors in taverns, whispers in gambling dens, his "failure" against the Avatar, the spirit world, the miniature sun technique. All of it, laid bare.
A gamble.
Azula would have weaponized the information eventually. Better to leak it himself, control the narrative, let the court dissect it before she could twist it. But the consequences were unpredictable. The nobles would react tomorrow, probing, testing. Some would see weakness. Others, power.
And then there was the ceremony.
A formality, really. The clans would pledge support, or pretend to. It didn't matter. He didn't need their loyalty, only their illusion of it.
His skin had begun to wrinkle. He'd been stewing too long.
The door swung open.
Zuko's eyes snapped toward the sound, muscles coiling. The bathroom door was ajar, but the intruder wouldn't see him yet.
'Katara?'
No.
"Is that you, Zuko?"
'Azula's voice.'
He exhaled through his nose, a thin stream of smoke curling from his nostrils. Of course it was her.
He rose from the bath, water sluicing off his body, and grabbed the fiery red towel hanging nearby. Tying it loosely around his waist, he stepped out, dripping onto the stone floor.
Azula stood in the center of the room, her back to him, examining a scroll left on his desk. She turned, and froze.
Her golden eyes flickered over him, lingering on the scars, the water trailing down his chest, the way his hair, longer now, unbound, clung to his shoulders. For a fraction of a second, something unreadable passed over her face.
Then it was gone, replaced by her usual smirk.
"What do you want, Azula?" Zuko asked, voice flat.
She tilted her head. "Can't a sister just see her brother?"
"Yes, you can," he said, walking past her to the bed where fresh clothes lay. "But that isn't my experience with you, is it?" He grabbed the pants, not bothering with a shirt yet. "You always have an ulterior motive, little sister."
Azula's smile didn't waver. "We are family, Zuko. Don't say that."
He didn't dignify that with a response, simply stepped behind the bathroom door to pull on the pants. When he emerged, bare-chested, her gaze tracked the movement of his hands as he tied the sash.
"I heard the commander who defeated you in the Agni Kai arrived in town last night," she said casually, circling the room. "The whole capital's buzzing about it. Your little… performance."
Zuko didn't react. "I know. I met him earlier. When I spoke with Father."
A flicker of irritation in her eyes. Good.
"Are you going to challenge him again?"* she asked, feigning innocence. "For real this time?"
Zuko smirked. "You want to see if I can beat him when I'm not holding back?"
"Well, you claimed you let him win," she said, shrugging. "I think everyone who knows the story would be curious to see just how much Zuzu has grown."
The childhood nickname. A needle, as always.
Zuko didn't rise to it. Instead, he closed the distance between them in three strides, stopping so close she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes. The scent of smoke and heated water clung to him.
"What do I get in return for this little plan of yours, Azula?" he asked, voice low.
Her breath hitched.
For the first time, her composure cracked. A flush crept up her neck, her pulse visible at her throat. Her fingers twitched at her sides, as if fighting the urge to step back.
"W-what do you want?" she stuttered.
Zuko's smile widened, slow and deliberate.
Just then...
The door creaked as Katara stepped inside, her eyes darting between Zuko, shirtless, water still glistening on his skin, and Azula, who stood uncomfortably close to him. The air in the room thickened, charged with something unspoken.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then Azula's smirk returned, sharp as a blade. She took a deliberate step back, smoothing the front of her robes.
"Well," she purred, "look who finally decided to show up."
Katara's grip on the door tightened. "I-I didn't realize you had company."
Zuko didn't turn, didn't react beyond a slight tightening of his jaw. His gaze remained fixed on Azula, watching her every microexpression.
"You're dismissed, servant," Azula said, flicking her fingers in Katara's direction. "Unless my brother enjoys an audience?"
Katara's cheeks burned, but she didn't retreat. Instead, her eyes flicked to Zuko, waiting.
"She stays," Zuko said, voice flat. "She answers to me, not you."
Azula's eyebrow arched. "How… possessive."
Zuko ignored the jab. "You were leaving."
A beat of silence. Azula's golden eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was something else there, something restless, like a caged animal testing its bars.
"Think about my proposal, Zuzu," she said, stepping around him, her shoulder brushing his as she moved toward the door. "It would be… entertaining."
Zuko didn't respond.
Azula paused beside Katara, leaning in just enough to whisper, loud enough for Zuko to hear, "Careful, peasant. My brother's tastes are… particular."
Katara stiffened, but before she could retort, Azula was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
Zuko waited. Listened. Counted the seconds until Azula's footsteps faded down the hall. Only then did he exhale, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
"Where were you?" he asked, turning to face Katara.
She crossed her arms. "Playing my part."
"Elaborate."
"I went down to the servants' quarters," she said, lifting her chin. "If I'm supposed to be your maid, I can't just hide in your room all day. People would talk."
Zuko's eyes narrowed. "What matters is that you left without telling me! Your primary goal is to be playing the part of my arm candy. Your other supposed duties can be explained away as part of the primary duty."
"You were training with Iroh," she shot back. "Was I supposed to interrupt your precious firebending lesson to ask permission to breathe?"
A muscle twitched in his jaw. *"You don't wander this palace unsupervised, Katara. Not unless you want to end up in a ditch with a knife in your back."
"I was careful!"
"Careful?" Zuko stepped closer, his voice dropping to a growl. "You think Azula didn't notice you weren't here? You think she won't wonder why my 'servant' disappears whenever it suits her?"
Katara's fists clenched. "I was doing what you asked! Keeping up the act! Or did you forget that this was your idea?"
"The act includes me," Zuko snapped. "You don't make moves without me knowing. Not here. Not ever. I cannot make contingencies if I don't know where you are."
She glared up at him, her chest rising and falling with quick, angry breaths. "Fine. Next time, I'll send a formal invitation. Would you like it written in blood or just fire ink?"
Zuko's lip curled. "You're pushing your luck."
"And you're a hypocrite," she hissed. "You want me to play this role, but you don't trust me to do it. You want me to be convincing, but you treat me like a prisoner. Which is it, Zuko? Am I your pawn or your pet?"
The words hung between them, sharp and ugly.
Zuko stared at her, his expression unreadable. He didn't dignify her defiance with a response. Then, abruptly, he turned away, grabbing a shirt from the bed and yanking it over his head.
"You're both," he said finally, his voice cold. "That's what you are."
Katara's anger faltered, replaced by something quieter, something like hurt.
"I guess that explains that," she murmured.
Zuko didn't look at her. "Get some rest. We will be leaving soon." He said.
Katara didn't move. She watched as Zuko stalked to the balcony, his silhouette framed by the dying light of the sun. The distance between them felt vast, despite the smallness of the room.
She wanted to say more. To demand answers, to scream, to...
But she didn't.
Instead, she turned and retreated to the corner of the bed where she felt most comfortable.
Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the Fire Nation capital in shadows.
Tomorrow would come.
And with it, the game would continue.
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