Work Text:
Clink. Clink.
Throwing knives settled into velvet-lined slots. Crimson draped the mansion of New Ozai—columns, stone, shadows long against the floorboards. Mahogany desk: a scroll half-unrolled, parchment heavy; royal seal pressed in wax.
…remain in Omashu during the eclipse. Await further instructions.
Mai’s jaw ticked. Back to Omashu, back to her parents’ house. She locked another blade into its slot.
Her mother moved without a sound, a shift in the room's draft before Michi stood in the doorway. Face a mirror of her daughter’s—neutral, observant, a wall of glass. Mai had seen that look all her life and never knew if it was survival or indifference.
"Mai," Michi said, voice soft. "I thought you'd be at the Capital with the Princess. There's been… unusual military activity lately."
Her hands kept working. Beneath the desk, fingers grazed the hilt of a wrist-sheathed stiletto. Old habit. "Azula wants me here for now."
Footsteps announced Ukano. He entered with his chest puffed, robes like parade-armor.
"Princess Azula's wisdom is remarkable," he declared, stopping beside his wife. "Whatever she has planned, having you stationed here must be vital." His eyes flicked to the half-hidden scroll, then back to Mai. "You know what's happening, don't you? As governor, I really should be kept informed—"
"Classified royal business," Mai said, flat. She rolled the scroll closed—not fast, just enough to obscure the text. Her hand rested over the paper, the seal still visible. "If Azula wanted you to know, she'd tell you herself."
Ukano's smile thinned. "Of course, of course. Still… it does strike me as odd. Why send you all the way back to Omashu when the real power is in the Capital? You should be at the Princess's side. Or better—beside Prince Zuko." He gave a small, knowing chuckle. "That would be good for you, wouldn't it? Very good."
Mai looked up, her voice perfectly even. "What do you want me to do, Father? Azula gave me an order. I'm not going to disobey her just because you think I'd be more useful somewhere else."
Ukano's jaw flexed. He didn't like the wording. "Useful?" He stepped closer. Looming. "I'm thinking of the family, Mai. Our position. The connections I've spent years building. You disappearing to the provinces the moment things get interesting… it doesn't look right. It doesn't feel right."
She shrugged a shoulder, the motion small and indifferent. "Then write Azula a letter. Tell her I'm slacking. I'm sure she'll appreciate the input."
A flush crept up Ukano’s neck. "Watch your tone. Maybe she sent you here because you weren't doing enough in the Capital. Maybe you weren't protecting the family's interests the way a daughter of this house is expected to."
Her hands stilled on the knife case.
"Sit straighter," she said. "Smile smaller. Speak softer." She stopped. The words had come out before she'd decided to say them. "That's all it's ever been."
Eyes widened. Narrowed. "While lesser families gave sons and daughters to the front lines, you had the finest tutors, the best silks, opportunities—"
"Opportunities to be a better ornament," Mai said, standing now. The chair scraped back. She didn't say the rest. She didn't have to.
The stiletto was already in her hand—she hadn't felt the draw—balanced on her fingertips, blade-cold. Ukano's gaze dropped. Something flickered across his face: reassessment, then quick, defensive anger.
Michi stepped forward. Silk-rustle. "Speaking of opportunities… why didn't Prince Zuko accompany you? It would have been an honor—"
"He has duties," Mai said tightly. "I'd only be in the way."
Ukano flushed darker. "Do you realize what I've worked for? The alliances I've forged? When Zuko becomes Fire Lord, you will be Fire Lady. You should be on your knees thanking the spirits for the future I secured, instead of this—this ingratitude!"
She opened her mouth to answer—knife still gleaming—
A small sound from the doorway cut through the room.
Tom-Tom stood there in his night robe, one fist rubbing an eye while the other clutched the dark wood. He looked tiny, his lower lip already trembling.
The fight left her. She set the stiletto down slowly and crossed the room, gathering her little brother into her arms. He smelled like sleep and lavender soap.
"Mai!" he mumbled against her shoulder, patting her cheek. "Up!"
"Already up," she whispered. She carried him back toward the desk and looked at her parents over his head. Stillness from Michi by the window, hands folded, gaze fixed on nothing. Ukano: red-faced, bluster faltering. A dim awareness of the shift. Then he straightened his robes, recovered his bearing—himself again.
"Don't do this to him," Mai said. Flat. Final.
"Everything we've done has been for this family's honor and position in the Fire Nation."
She set him on his feet. From her case, she picked up the dulled practice knife—wood, smooth-handled, small. Pressed it into his hands. He gripped it with both fists, babbling, turning it over like treasure.
She watched him for a beat.
"Let him decide for himself what matters," she said quietly. "Don't take that from him."
She didn't wait for a reply. She guided him down the hall, two fingers held in his grip, then unhooked them at the nursery door. Left to his toys and the night maid, he didn't look back. She closed the door.
She walked to her own room and shut that door too.
The silence pressed in. Outside, Omashu light turned the color of embers, pooling gold across the floorboards while the corners stayed in shadow. She reached into her collar and drew out the small framed portrait of Zuko. She turned it slowly in the fading light. Studied the stubborn line of his jaw and that awkward tilt of his mouth—the one no court painter had ever quite managed to capture correctly.
The ache was familiar. Only thing entirely hers. One day, she thought—not a vow, just a fact she was tired of deferring.
Behind her, in the study, the royal seal waited on its half-unrolled scroll. The dark gathered.