Chapter 1
Sokka was awoken on the morning of the election by his sister.
Katara, already dressed and bright-eyed, stooped by his bed and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Time to get up.”
Sokka responded by burrowing further under the covers.
“I made breakfast,” she tried again. Sokka emerged, only slightly. “Dad says she’s going to eat all the bacon if you don’t hurry.”
Sokka sat up. “I’m coming.”
When Sokka lumbered downstairs, shirtless with hair falling in his eyes, Katara was pouring batter onto a frying pan and Hakoda had his nose buried in a newspaper. Sokka sat between them and piled a generous amount of warm breakfast food onto the empty plate Katara had set for him.
“You should be dressed,” she chided, placing a pancake directly from the spatula onto her plate. “Aang is picking us up soon.”
“He must be in high spirits.” Hakoda flipped a page. “Gyasto is predicted to win the air temple by a landslide.”
Sokka gratefully accepted the cup of coffee that Katara handed across the table. “I kind of want there to be some big scandal last minute. Y’know, to spice things up.”
Katara gave her brother a look. “Sokka, this is serious.”
“Relax, none of the races are even close. Gyatso will get the air temple, our man Arnook has basically already won the water tribe—“
“Stop,” Katara said. “you’ll jinx it.”
Sokka threw a piece of egg in the air and caught it in his mouth. “Bumi will win the earth kingdom—“
“Sokka!”
“—and Ozai will be firelord.”
Katara grimaced. “You can jinx that one.”
Kayota set aside the newspaper. “Well, whatever happens will happen.” It was nicer than saying Ozai will almost certainly win because for some reason that none of the other nations could figure out, the fire nation saw a strong leader, and not a rising dictator, in him.
The three ate and chatted and ate some more. Sokka went upstairs to get dressed only after some forceful prompts from Katara kicking the backs of his shins until he was in his bedroom. He pulled his hair into his trademark ponytail and tugged a Arnook campaign shirt over his head. He grinned in pride at his reflection. He and his dad had sent in their ballots early. Hopefully, this race would be called while they were at school, so he could begin his gloating. Who he would gloat to he didn’t know, seeing as most of his friends shared his political views, but he would find someone.
As usual, Sokka heard Aang approaching before he saw him. Appa’s loud grunts bellowed from a block away, and the thump of six enormous paws hitting the driveway made the floor shake. Sokka stepped outside and was ambushed by Momo dressed in a mini Gyasto campaign shirt. Appa had #VOTE spray painted on his side in massive blue letters.
“With animal friendly spray paint,” Aang made sure to clarify. “We made it out of vegan products at the air temple.”
“You airbenders and your vegan crap,” Toph grumbled from atop the bison.
Sokka, Katara, Toph, and Aang went to a school that was built almost directly on the point that joined all the territories, making it one of the most diverse schools in the four nations. For bending, that is. Sokka was one of the only non-benders in the school, but that was fine. It made him unique. Plus, he was always featured in the advertising pamphlets.
Aang landed in front of the school and jumped off Appa in that graceful, airy way he did. Once everyone had demounted, Appa led himself and Momo to the barn behind the building.
Almost immediately, Aang was swarmed with reporters shoving cameras and microphones in his face. “Avatar Aang, have you cast your vote yet?”
“I’m not quite old enough,” Aang answered with a polite smile. “Two more years.”
“Do you think you should get to vote one in all four nations, since you bend all four elements?”
“That’d be pretty cool, but I’m fine with just voting in the air temple. Also, like I said, I can’t vote yet.”
“Do you agree that Bumi is too old to serve another term as master?”
“No! Bumi is a great master.”
As quickly as the reporters had appeared, they vanished, leaving Aang to swarm like moths in front of a sleek black car. Zuko and Azula stepped out, both dressed in matching suits of maroon and orange. They walked past the reporters without so much as a passing glance.
“Look at those jerks,” Toph said. “I mean, I can’t see them, but I know they look like jerks.”
They did indeed look like jerks, with their shoulders too upright and their arms glued to their sides. Zuko wasn’t that bad, if you looked past the anger issues and downer attitude. He was fun to mess with. Sokka could get a reaction out of him easier than almost anyone he had met. If he was having a boring day, he could just rip the eraser off the back of his pencil and throw it at Zuko’s head, and the day wouldn’t be boring anymore. Azula, on the other hand, was terrifying. Sokka would only prank her if he developed a death wish.
“I wonder why Ozai lets them go here.” Katara’s eyes followed the siblings as they ascended the steps and walked inside, letting the door swing closed in the reporters' faces. “He’s made it pretty clear that he only cares for the fire nation.”
“It’s a political stunt,” Sokka said. “Like, ‘Hey guys, look at me, I’m so accepting of other nations that I sent my kids to the most diverse school out there. Now do my bidding.’”
The reporters returned to try and ask Aang more questions, but Sokka put his hands on his shoulders and guided him past them like a bodyguard. The energy inside of the building was electric. Every student seemed to be talking at once. There was a bakery stand selling cupcakes with the candidates faces on it. Sokka bought one of each candidate, and shoved the entire Ozai cupcake into his mouth at once.
“Dere,” he said through a mouthful of red velvet crumbs and cream cheese frosting. “‘e’s gone.”
Aang laughed, and Katara cringed. “Close your mouth while you chew.”
“Can I get a cupcake?” Toph held out a dollar, though she was facing the wrong direction. Sokka guided her to the stand, and she too obliterated the firelord in one bite.
Zuko was awoken on the morning of the election by his sister.
Azula switched on the bedroom light and said “Dad wants us downstairs for breakfast.” She had walked away by the time Zuko opened his eyes. He yawned and grabbed his phone to check the time. It was 6:30, about an hour since he had managed to drift towards sleep. The time prior had been spent tossing and turning and sweating a wet patch in the center of his sheet. Ozai was going to win. Everyone was saying it. He would win. But if he didn’t… Ozai didn’t like to lose. It made him angry. Zuko didn’t like Ozai when he was angry.
Zuko’s suit was hanging in the closet, freshly washed and tailored. He got changed and slipped wordlessly down the stairs to join his sister on the right side of Ozai, who sat at the head of their long rectangular table. On his left was his campaign manager, Zhoa. He jabbered into Ozai’s ear with a cadence much too quick for Zuko to comprehend at this hour. Azula was nibbling on a piece of toast and scrolling through her own instagram pictures. Zuko watched as she did this. There was a picture of her on the back of an eel hound. A picture of her laughing over ice cream with Mai and Ty Lee. A picture of her under the arm of Ozia, with Zuko under his other arm. Each picture was carefully planned and curated, down to the hashtags in the caption. Zuko’s social media accounts were the same. Everything was the same.
“You haven’t touched your breakfast.” Ozia’s voice ripped Zuko from his thoughts. He did his best not to shudder under the weight of his father’s amber stare.
“I’m not hungry.” It was the truth. His stomach was stuffed with an anxious knot of nerves that left no room for the slices of buttered toast and mini quiches on his plate.
Ozai’s eyes shifted to Zhoa, who cleared his throat and straightened like an actor following his cue. “Today is an important day for your father, kids. It’s crucial that you both keep up appearances. Be engaged in class, even if your mind is elsewhere. Laugh with your friends, even if you don’t want to see them. Eat, even if you aren’t hungry. We need you to be the happiest, healthiest kids in the four nations. For your father.”
Ozai returned his gaze to Zuko. Gingerly, he picked up a slice of toast. It turned to ash in his mouth, but he forced himself to swallow.
The ride to school was silent. Azula scrolled through her phone. Zuko looked out the window. When they got to the school, reporters were asking questions before the driver had opened their door. They walked right through them without a word and headed to class.
In class, Zuko answered all the questions he could and wrote down everything the teachers put on the blackboard. He followed his script. The morning seemed to drift past him. He was there, but he wasn’t. He could barely name one thing that had happened by the time he sat down in the cafeteria with Azula and Mai and Ty Lee for lunch.
“Zuko!” Ty Lee cheered, making Mai wince. “Are you excited!?”
“Through the roof.” Zuko looked down at his tray. Watery mashed potatoes and overcooked broccoli and a slab of something that resembled meat. His stomach turned, but with his father’s message ringing in his ears, he ate like the happiest and healthiest kid in the four nations.
“I’m excited for the party on friday,” Ty Lee crooned. “It was so fun last year!”
“You’re the only one who thinks it’s fun,” Mai murmured, pushing her broccoli around with a plastic fork.
Ty Lee pouted. “Am not! It’s a victory party for all four nations. What’s not to love about that?”
Azula laughed a bit too hard. Her smile didn’t touch her eyes. Laugh with your friends, even if you don’t want to see them. “Come now Ty Lee. Remember, Mai hates all things that aren’t the color gray. And all people who aren’t in the fire nation.”
“That’s not true,” Mai countered. “I hate most of the people in the fire nation too.”
“Well, I think it’s fun.” Ty lee played with her braid. “Last year was fun, anyway. It was in the earth kingdom, right? So it’s at the water tribe this year. I think it’s their turn now, right? Arnook is probably going to win, so it’ll be at his house. He has a really nice house, I’ve seen pictures. It’s almost entirely made of ice, so we should dress warm.”
Zuko let Ty Lee’s voice fade towards the back of his brain. His eyes found their way to the avatar’s table. Aang kept bending the water out of Sokka’s cup every time he tried to take a sip. Katara was laughing and eating a sandwich. Toph had two french fries sticking out of the sides of her mouth like a walrus. They all looked happy, real happy, not politically happy. Maybe they were just better at faking it than Zuko. They would have to be really good at faking it, though. Ozai had always said that the avatar was unnatural, that nobody should be allowed to wield that much power. Zuko didn’t think anyone should be allowed to wield that much happiness. Aang and his friends quite literally laughed their way through life. The nights Zuko and Azula spent watching their father scream at his staff, the avatar and his crew spent watching movies on one of their basement floors. At least, that’s what they claimed. They were probably just as miserable as Zuko. Happiness was probably just a fable he was taught back in his other life, the life he had before his mother left and before Ozai became firelord and before…
Lunch concluded with a jarring ring of the bell. Zuko stood, discarded his empty tray, and made his way to class.
That was when everything went to hell.
Sokka was doodling in the margins of a pop quiz when Aang interrupted his class. He walked in tentatively, a light blush coloring his cheeks. “Erm, sorry, professor, I needed to borrow Sokka for... Avatar stuff.” It was a lie. A really bad one, but because he used the all powerful avatar card, the teacher dismissed Sokka without questions.
Aang led Sokka out of the building and into the barn, where Appa slept in his enormous stall. Katara and Toph were leaning against him. They moved a significant distance every time Appa’s side heaved in a hearty snore.
“What’s going on?” Sokka asked, a twinge of excitement grabbing his stomach. This must be big to make even Katara ditch her class.
“Nothing good,” Katara murmured.
Aang looked at Sokka. “Do you remember Jet?”
Sokka’s face fell into a glare. Katara and Sokka had met Jet at a summer camp a few years back. He seemed nice enough, Katara had really liked him, until Sokka caught him dunking a firebender kid’s face in the toilets. He gave Sokka a black eye, but Sokka gave him a concussion, so he felt confident in saying what he said next.
“Sure. I beat his ass a few summers back.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t take a beating.” Jet was leaning against the side of the stall, a strand of wheat held between his teeth. He smiled at Katara. She shot him a glare that could freeze the ocean into a sheet of ice.
Sokka scoffed. “I got a black eye. You got a concussion. There’s a difference.”
“You also had a split lip.”
“What did you want to show me?” Aang asked, guiding the conversation back to focus. Jet smirked and pulled his phone out of his pocket.
“Wait, hang on, what’s going on here?” Sokka was sharing his sister’s bad feeling about this, and not just because Jet was here.
Katara kept her glare on Jet. “Jet texted Aang to meet him here. Said he wanted to show him something.”
“I work for the Freedom Fighters now.” Jet said it like it would definitely mean something to all of them. He rolled his eyes at the dumbfounded looks he received. “It’s a newspaper. We expose the truth, and nothing but the truth. We have a big story coming out in... “ Jet checked his watch. “About two minutes. I wanted the avatar to see it first. I could run a follow up story, if you’d like to comment.”
“What’s the story?” Katara asked coolly.
Aang’s phone pinged. He rifled it out of his back pocket. “It’s… A video.”
“It’s more than a video.” Jet’s smile was glowing. “It’s firelord Ozai’s downfall.”
Toph grinned. “In that case, I don’t suppose you brought a braille transcript?”
Aang’s finger lingered over the play button. He looked at Katara, who nodded tentatively. They all gathered around. Aang turned the volume up to the highest setting for Toph, and hit play.
The angle was strange and contorted. It looked to be shot from a security camera, set up in the upper corner of the room. Distant shouting could be heard. It got louder and louder, and then the door swung open. A little boy stumbled in, tripping a bit and bracing himself against the wall. Sokka squinted. The boy looked familiar, something about his stance and his paleness, though his face was turned away from the camera. Firelord Ozai stormed in after him, slamming the door with a mighty thud.
“You humiliated me,” the firelord roared. “You deliberately spoke against me in front of my constituents. Foolish, arrogant, ungrateful boy!”
“I’m sorry!” The voice broke on the ‘ry,’ and Sokka started feeling sick.
“Oh, you’re sorry? Are you now? Do you think that fucking cuts it? My son spoke out of turn against me, but he’s sorry, so it’s all okay.”
Ozai lunged, and the boy jumped to the other wall. His face was in full view. It was Zuko. Young Zuko. But his youthfulness wasn’t the only thing that made him look… Different.
It took Sokka a moment to realize that the reason he looked different was because he didn’t have a scar.
Ozai’s voice dropped low, and he mumbled something that wasn’t caught by the camera. Zuko’s eyes widened and he shook his head. Ozai said something else, and Zuko shook his head again. The firelord started shouting, so loud it cracked against the speakers: “PUT YOUR HANDS UP, PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN.”
Zuko widened his legs and his shoulders, a fighting stance, but he didn’t put his hands up. He stared at his father, wide-eyed.
What happened next happened so fast. The flash of fire was too bright to catch on camera. It looked like a huge orange cone shot from Ozai’s opened palm. It cascaded across the room and collided with Zuko’s terrified face. His entire figure was engulfed in light. It was only when the fire faded to smoke that he was visible again. He was crouched on the floor, clutching his eye, screaming. Screaming. Screaming.
Aang’s phone fell to the floor. He stared at it, rigid. Katara had a palm pressed to her mouth. Toph’s white eyes were huge. “Was… Was that what it sounded like? Tell me that wasn’t what it sounded like?”
“Firelord Ozai marred his son.” Jet was beaming. “He’s told the press for years that Zuko got his scar in a training accident, from a private tutor who was let go. He’s been lying.”
“You can’t leak that.” Aang’s voice was firm, despite the shakiness in knees. “If that was leaked on some gossip website--”
“The Freedom Fighters are a legitimate news outlet!” Jet snapped.
“It‘s horrible,” Katara cut in. “You can’t just post something like that.”
“The people deserve to know what kind of a man the firelord is.”
“We need to go about this in a different way. We need to talk to Zuko, and--”
Everyone’s phone pinged. A breaking news notification. They didn’t need to check it.
Katara took a step towards Jet with her hands balled into fists. He took a step back. “Someone at the office uploaded it, I didn’t get to choose when it came out. I just came down here for a quote from the avatar.”
“No. Comment.” Aang spoke through gritted teeth. “Get out.”
Jet exited quickly, watching Katara over his shoulder as he went. He left behind a pile of silence bigger than Appa.
Toph was the first to break it. “Please, tell me that wasn’t what it sounded like.”
Sokka laughed nervously. His chest felt hollow. His body felt strange and floaty. “I know I said I wanted a big political scandal, but… This wasn’t what I meant.”
“What do we do?” Katara sounded younger than she was. She was usually the one who knew what to do. Now she was looking around at her friends, eyes wide and desperate.
“We could… um…” Aang’s stutterings fell from his mouth, useless as the hay Appa slept in with unfair peacefulness.
“There’s nothing we can do.” Sokka knew it wasn’t the answer they wanted, but it was the answer that was true. “The whole world is watching that video right now. We should just… Go back to class.” Suggesting they go back to class felt so out of character for Sokka, but it was the right thing to do.
They all walked Toph back to her class, and then Aang and Sokka walked Katara back to her class, and then Sokka walked Aang back to his class. Sokka was walking himself back to his own class when he passed two girls huddled in front of a phone. He heard the video they were watching. When he rounded the corner, a boy was watching the same video. In the sliver of window on the classroom doors, Sokka saw students holding their phones under their desks. The teachers were too distracted to notice; they were probably looking at the same thing. Sokka was right. The whole world was watching that video.
Sokka decided to stop by the bathroom before going back to class. He took the largest stall and scrolled through his phone. Every other post was about Zuko. The story had only broken ten minutes ago.
The bathroom door swung open so aggressively it made Sokka jump. A pair of footsteps stumbled in and a loud thump sounded; a body hitting the floor. The hyperventilating made Sokka’s heart race, and the sickness returned to his stomach. For a moment he just stood there, listening to the frantic inhales and exhales. He took a breath before opening the door.
Zuko was curled against the wall, clinging to his knees and panting. His eyes were squeezed so tightly shut that his eyelashes had disappeared. His entire body vibrated. Sokka considered sneaking out. From the limited knowledge he had on Zuko, he knew he wouldn’t want to be seen like this. He especially wouldn't want Sokka to see him like this, because though Sokka held some enjoyment for his little charade of annoying Zuko until he yelled his voice raspy, Zuko probably didn’t share his fondness. It might be more merciful to look the other way. But it didn’t feel right.
Something deeper than mindless teenage rivalries enticed Sokka to speak: “Zuko?”
Zuko’s eyes shot open. They were wide and yellow and terrified; the boy in the video. Tears snaked their way down his cheeks. His hyperventilating didn’t lessen.
Every year on his mother’s birthday, only an hour or two before midnight, Sokka found Katara curled in a ball and sobbing on her bedroom floor. Every year, he took her in his arms and just held her. He held her tighter than he would hold his own mom were she to walk through the front door one day. He held her until the shaking stopped and her breathing evened. It was a rare moment where he took care of her, not the other way around. When he saw her like that, panting and shaking and crying for things long since lost, he knew in his bones that she needed to be held until the world became a little more possible again.
Looking at Zuko now, his knees hugged to his chest, his good eye bigger than a yellow saucepan, Sokka knew he needed the same thing. He knelt down and took Zuko in his arms, a bit awkwardly, but full of purpose. Zuko stiffened for a moment, and then melted. He let go of his knees and fell into Sokka. Sokka squeezed him as his sobs raked into his chest, making a mess of his Arnook campaign shirt. Sokka rubbed his back. He held him sturdier than he would hold the little boy in the video. However much Zuko needed protection on that day, Sokka wanted to protect him more. None of the arguments and snotty comments mattered in this moment. All that mattered was keeping him safe.
Something rattled against the tiled bathroom floor. Zuko’s phone had fallen out of his pocket. Sokka kept one arm around Zuko’s shaking back, and used the other one to pick up the phone. The contact name lighting up the screen said “Uncle Iroh.”
Sokka’s brain went into overdrive. Iroh was Ozai’s brother. He ran a successful tea shop in the earth kingdom. He was often photographed with Zuko, but Ozai was also often photographed with Zuko, so that didn’t mean much. He seemed nice enough from the few things Sokka had seen and read, but he had also read that Zuko and Ozai had a great relationship. Nothing from the papers could be trusted. But Sokka had seen in some political gossip column that Ozai and Iroh didn’t get along, which would make Iroh good. But again, nothing from the papers could be trusted. But Iroh was calling Zuko, maybe to check in. Or maybe to scream at him and tell him that his maniac father was coming to scorch his other eye. But he ran a tea shop, for crying out loud. Tea must be the least violent drink in the world. Unless it was thrown at someone’s face. But Iroh had such a kind face, one of those faces that make you feel safe enough to reveal all your secrets at once. He didn’t have a tea-throwing face. He had a tea-drinking face.
With a leap of faith, Sokka picked up the phone.
“Zuko!” The old man’s voice shook against the speakers. “I saw, I’m on my way. Are you alright?”
“Um, hi, Zuko’s Uncle, uh… it’s uh… it’s Sokka.” Sokka immediately felt stupid for saying his name like it would mean anything to Iroh. And for calling him “Zuko’s Uncle” instead of just his name. Or would Sir Iroh be more appropriate? He made a mental note to learn how to properly address the brothers of powerful people.
A drawn out beep screamed in the background, almost swallowing Iroh’s voice. “Hakoda’s boy?”
“Uh, yeah.” Sokka was startled at the recognition. “I, uh, I have Zuko here. We’re in the boys bathroom, on the first floor.”
“Thank you, Sokka.” The voice was rich and sincere. Sokka knew he made the right decision in picking up the phone. “I’ll be there soon.”
The line clicked to an end. Sokka placed the phone down and wrapped the other arm around Zuko. They were silent. The crying had stopped, but the shaking persisted. Sokka kept rubbing his back. He wondered if all firebenders had such warm skin.
The door to the bathroom flung open about ten minutes later. It didn’t startle Sokka. There was nothing startling about Iroh. He was small and stout, dressed in a Jasmine Dragon apron with one of those funny looking tea hats on his head. He must have just left a shift at the Jasmine Dragon. His amber eyes held gallons of kindness and concern.
Carefully, Sokka let go of Zuko, guiding him from his own arms to his uncle’s. Zuko stirred in confusion. He looked to be halfway asleep.
“Uncle?” His voice was hoarse and small. Iroh shushed him.
“It’s alright, nephew,” he said softly, running a hand through Zuko’s black hair. “It’s going to be alright.”
Sokka’s palm found the back of his neck. He felt like he was intruding on something unbelievable personal. He took an awkward step backwards.
Iroh met his eyes. “Thank you, Sokka.” He sounded more sincere in person than he did over the phone. “Your kindness will not be forgotten.”
When Sokka left, his legs didn’t carry him back to class. They carried him out of the building and across the green grass to the barn where Appa was still sleeping. Sokka climbed his side and laid flat on his back. Momo scrambled towards him and curled up on his stomach. They all three laid there, silent save Appa’s beast-like snores, for hours and hours.
Katara was the first one back. She looked concerned to see her brother coexisting peacefully with Momo. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Sokka sat up and rolled his shoulders back. “Class let out early.”
“Did you hear?”
“‘Bout what?”
“The results came out. You were right, about every single one of them.”
Sokka smiled, though it didn’t feel like a victory.
Zuko saw the headline. He read it once, twice, three times. He tried to make it make sense. It didn’t. It was only when he clicked on the video that it made sense, and that only made it make sense because he was there again, standing in front of his father, too scared to put his hands up.
Zuko had walked out of class without a word. The panic was biting at his ankles, crawling up his back, preparing to seize him. He couldn’t outrun it. He needed to get to a locker room, or an empty classroom, or anywhere other than this too bright hall where the walls seemed to be caving in.
Zuko couldn't remember how he found the bathroom. All he knew was that he tumbled in, and then Sokka was standing above him, which was weird because Zuko didn’t remember sitting down. And then Sokka was holding him. His arms were strong, which was good. He wanted to be held, to be carried away and shielded and made right again. He was crying. Sokka rubbed his back.
And then Uncle was there. Zuko had no clue where he had come from, but he ran his soft, tea making and pai sho playing fingers through Zuko’s hair, and then he led them to his car and then they were in the Jasmine Dragon and then they were walking upstairs and then it was all quiet.
And then Zuko awoke to his father shouting.
He felt around to gauge his surroundings. He was in Uncle’s bed. The blanket was heavy and the pillows smelled like lavender. The shouting was coming from downstairs; either his father was fighting with someone in the middle of a crowded tea shop, or the shop was closed and Zuko had slept through the operating hours. He slid out of bed and made his way down the stairs. He felt oddly numb, and oddly brave.
“You’ll return my son to me, or you’ll pay!” Ozai’s voice was enough to break every teacup in the building.
Uncle, despite being a significant amount shorter than his brother, seemed to look down on Ozai. “Zuko will stay with me.”
“He’s my son!”
“He may be your son, but you haven’t been a father to him a day in his life.”
“Why don’t we settle down a bit.” Zhoa stepped between Ozai and Uncle, eyes darting back and forth with rodent-like skittishness. “Iroh, whilst we acknowledge your opinions, we need Zuko back. The fire nation is near rioting. Many citizens sent their ballots in early, you see. They said they would have rethought their decisions had they known... “ He scratched at the reddish beard on his cheek. “Look, Zuko making the speech should calm things down.”
Uncle raised his chin, unwavering. “Zuko will stay with me.”
Ozai started towards Uncle, growling out the words “Why, you…”
“What speech?” Zuko asked, deciding to step around the corner and end whatever was about to happen before it began.
“You’re coming with me.” Ozai said at the same time that Uncle said “You should still be asleep.”
Zuko held his ground. “What speech?”
Zhoa stepped forwards. “We were hoping you would address the press to, er, explain the circumstances of the video. For your father.” He laughed airly, scanning Zuko’s face with nervous eyes. “We actually drafted a speech for you,” he whisked a piece of paper from under the wing of his trenchcoat. “Just something to mull over. Feel free to make it your own, so long as you include the gist of it, you know. For your father.”
Zuko took the paper and scanned. It was as he expected. The video was taken out of context.My father was attempting to teach me a lesson. I am deeply regretful to have caused a scandal in my father’s great career.We laugh about it now.
Zuko looked from the sheet of paper to his father’s eyes. “I’m only making this speech if I get to stay here with Uncle.”
Ozai’s face darkened. “What did you just say to me?”
“I’m only making this speech if I get to stay here with Uncle.” Zuko spoke with the stiff diction of a robot.
“You get to stay here with me regardless of whether or not you make the speech.” Uncle moved to step in front of Zuko, but he held up a hand.
“But, uh, you see,” Zhoa cut in. “it would look bad for your father if you were photographed living somewhere else. It might make the relationship seem… Insincere.”
“I think a video of my father burning my face may make it seem a bit more insincere than a change of address.”
Ozai stepped forward and Zuko thought for a moment that he was about to lose his good eye. Zhoa grabbed his arm.
“Give us a moment, please,” Zhoa said with a meek smile. “Sir? A word outside?”
The two men stepped through the glass door into the dark and empty streets. Iroh immediately started trying to convince Zuko that he didn’t need to make some phoney speech to stay here, but his words drifted in through one ear and out the other like steam from a tea kettle. He knew he had to do this. This was the first time he had something to hold over his father. This was his first real chance at escape.
Ozai and Zhoa came back inside about fifteen minutes later.
“You’ll ride home from school with Azula,” Ozai said. “You'll walk in and out of the front door every day. Security guards will sneak you out through the back and escort you here in the evenings, and pick you up in time to ride into school with Azula in the mornings. In the eyes of the press, you sleep under my roof every night.”
Zuko nodded.
“And you’ll be at my side for every gala, every party, every fundraiser. I’ll have my staff drop off what you’ll wear.”
Zuko nodded again.
“And you’ll make the speech. Tonight.”
“It’s three in the morning,” Iroh protested, but again, Zuko held up a hand.
“I’ll do everything. Just as long as I get to stay here.”
Ozia nodded and left the Jasmine Dragon without another word. It was Zhoa who provided the address to the pressroom where Zuko was scheduled to speak. He offered to drive, but Iroh assured with a cold voice that he could manage.
On the way there, Iroh said “You don’t have to do this, Zuko. You don’t have to do any of it.”
Zuko looked out the window and watched the world pass by.