Chapter 62: Smoke on the Balcony
["Some prisons are made of silence and silk."]
The door closed with a dull click behind him. Zuko didn't bother to lock it. He didn't even change out of his robes.
He just dropped.
Face-first onto the vast crimson sheets of his bed, arms sprawled wide, the deep sigh he released more exhausted than dramatic. His back ached. His legs were stiff. And his mind had been spinning nonstop for over twelve hours.
He hadn't even closed the door with his usual care.
From outside, a voice drifted in, soft, familiar.
"Long day?"
Zuko blinked into the pillow.
He hadn't noticed her.
Katara sat curled on the balcony chair, silhouetted against the silver glow of starlight and the warm lanterns dotting the Fire Nation capital below. A thin trail of steam rose from her cup of tea, catching the light like smoke from a distant fire.
She didn't turn to face him.
"You have no idea," Zuko muttered, voice muffled in the sheets.
"I might," she said, sipping her tea. "I've been trapped in your gilded palace all day."
Zuko let out a low grunt and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.
"I entertained sages. Oversaw spiritual preparations. Walked up and down every level of this palace more times than I care to count. All just to keep them from asking the wrong questions."
Katara still didn't look at him. She just swirled the tea slightly, letting the warmth seep into her hands.
"And did it work?"
He glanced toward her, his eyes half-lidded with fatigue.
"For now."
Katara exhaled, almost a sigh, but quieter. She leaned her elbow against the edge of the balcony, letting the breeze tangle with the tips of her hair. The city beyond flickered with life, music from distant courtyards, drifting laughter, the occasional whoosh of a fire lantern rising into the night sky.
"You sound like a real politician," she said softly.
Zuko chuckled under his breath. "That's terrifying."
"I meant it."
That quiet silence stretched between them again.
Zuko sat up slowly, wincing as he rubbed the side of his neck.
"You've been out there a while."
"It's cooler out here," she said.
That wasn't really an answer.
But he didn't push.
Instead, he got to his feet and moved to the dresser, pulling off his ceremonial overcoat and folding it with absent precision.
Behind him, she asked, "And what do the great sages of Crescent Island say about killing the Avatar?"
There was no malice in her tone, just that unnerving stillness she'd developed. Calm. Polished. Measured.
Zuko didn't turn to face her.
"They're still... theorizing," he said, voice careful. "I think they want the ritual to appear holy before it becomes a weapon."
A sip of tea. The quiet click of porcelain on porcelain.
"Of course they do."
He turned then.
She was watching the city again.
There was something deeply normal about her posture, the angle of her spine, the way her shoulder leaned slightly into the chair's back. She looked like she belonged here.
But her fingers were clenched a little too tightly around the cup.
And that was all he needed to see.
"You hate it here," Zuko said.
She didn't answer.
Not immediately.
When she did, it wasn't a confirmation.
"It's easy to forget where you are," she said. "When the lights are soft. And the tea is warm. And someone tells you when to eat and what to wear."
She looked down into the cup.
"And then you remember."
Zuko stepped out onto the balcony, resting his hands on the railing beside her.
"I haven't forgotten," he said.
She finally looked up at him.
And for a moment, neither of them said a word.
Zuko broke the silence first. "You'll be out of here soon."
"That's what you said last week."
"This time, it's true."
She studied his face carefully. Every line. Every tired blink.
Then she looked back down at her tea.
"How soon?"
"the day after tomorrow," he said. "during my coronation."
Katara nodded once. Then again.
But she didn't smile.
The silence that followed Katara's nod wasn't peaceful.
It clung to the night air, thick with meaning, like the space between lightning and thunder.
Zuko leaned forward slightly, arms resting on the railing beside her. Below them, the capital flickered like a basin of stars turned upside down, glowing with firelight, music, the pulse of a nation at peace with its own arrogance.
"You don't need to worry anymore," he said, voice low. "I've accounted for the variables."
Katara didn't look at him. "What variables?"
"All of them."
There was no pride in the way he said it. No boast. Just calm certainty.
He went on, tone steady.
"Your route. The checkpoints. The guards my father added since the Avatar was moved. The fire sages' movements. Schedules. Ritual procedures. Even which hallways are under surveillance and which aren't."
He finally looked at her, waiting.
Katara stared into her cup. Then gently placed it on the balcony table and leaned back into her chair.
"That's… a lot of thought," she said softly.
Zuko gave a quiet laugh. "It has to be."
"Because failure means…"
He nodded once. "Everything falls apart."
She was quiet again, but this time the silence wasn't heavy.
It was fragile.
Like a thread stretched between two cliffs, straining under its own weight.
Zuko turned to lean fully against the railing, folding his arms over his chest.
"Tomorrow," he said, "I start putting it into motion."
Katara blinked. "But the coronation…"
"Exactly."
He met her eyes then, something wry flickering behind the exhaustion.
"While the Fire Nation watches me take the final step to the throne… everything else happens beneath their feet."
She stared at him, trying to read the layers in his voice.
But the mask held.
"So you're just… trusting it'll all go to plan?"
"I never trust plans," Zuko said, smiling faintly. "I trust contingencies."
She hated that he sounded so in control. So ready.
She hated that she was relieved.
Her fingers tightened slightly on the curve of the chair's arm.
"And if something goes wrong?"
Zuko looked up at the stars.
"Then I improvise."
Katara stood slowly, brushing her palms against her dress as she did. She didn't go inside. She didn't say goodnight.
She just walked past him, pausing only long enough to speak over her shoulder.
"You really think of everything, don't you?"
Zuko turned his head just enough to watch her retreat into the doorway.
"I have to."
And then she was gone, the balcony curtain swaying slightly behind her.
Zuko remained at the railing, watching the capital burn with celebration in the distance.
'Two nights.'
That's all it had to be.
Zuko stepped inside moments after Katara did, the light curtains rustling softly as the night air followed him into the room. He stood there for a moment, watching her as she moved to the corner, as far from the bed as she could without appearing deliberate. She poured another cup of tea with calm, practiced motions, like she hadn't been trembling minutes ago.
"Katara," he said quietly.
She didn't answer at first.
"Katara," he repeated, this time more firmly.
She turned, a touch of impatience in her face, but nothing in her posture suggested alarm. Just a weariness. A familiarity.
"Yes?"
"Come here."
She hesitated. Then walked slowly across the room, setting the teacup down as she passed the table, stopping just a few steps in front of him.
"What is it now?" she asked, arms crossed.
Zuko studied her, carefully, without aggression.
"I know this… arrangement between us hasn't been easy," he said. "And I know it's been confusing. Complicated."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Is that what you call keeping someone prisoner in silks?"
Zuko didn't rise to the bait. "It's more than that, and we both know it."
Katara opened her mouth, but he cut her off before she could speak.
"I see it, Katara. In the way you look at me. In how you try not to care. In how you fail."
Her arms tightened across her chest.
"I don't know what you think you're seeing—"
"Yes, you do," he said firmly, stepping closer. "You hate me. You hate what I've done. But part of you… part of you doesn't want to let go."
Katara scoffed. "You're delusional."
"Am I?"
She looked away.
Zuko tilted his head, voice quieter now.
"You have told me more than once that you wanted to go home. That you wanted to leave this place and never look back."
"I still do," she snapped, but the edge wasn't as sharp.
He nodded slowly.
"And in two days, you will. You, your brother, and the Avatar. You'll leave, and this entire facade will end."
Katara looked back at him sharply.
"But before that happens," he said, "I want something to be clear between us."
She didn't speak.
Zuko stepped closer.
"I want you."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"I don't mean tonight," he added. "I'm not talking about a moment. I'm talking about something real. I want you to be my woman."
Katara's mouth opened. "You…"
He didn't let her interrupt.
"I know what I am. I know what I've done. Nothing about that changes. I'm not becoming a different man. I'm not asking you to change either. You'll still leave with the Avatar when the time comes. I need you with guys together. This doesn't change that."
She stared at him like he'd lost his mind.
"You want me to agree to… what? Be with you? While you're sending me away?"
"Yes."
She shook her head. "You're insane."
"No," he said calmly. "I'm honest. I want you. I trust you more than I have realized. You know what I'm capable of. You've seen me at my worst. And to be honest I have been holding back. I want you to be prepared for the fact that you haven't even seen anything yet."
"I didn't have a choice."
"You always had a choice," he said. "You're not a prisoner, not really. Not with me."
She looked at the floor, her throat tight.
"I don't know what to do with this," she whispered. "You terrify me. You confuse me. And sometimes I…" She cut herself off, furious with herself for even going that far.
Zuko stepped back, giving her space.
"I'm not asking you to say anything now," he said. "You have until the morning of the coronation. Then I'll have my answer."
She didn't move.
He turned away, rubbing his eyes, then tugging off his outer robe with exhausted hands.
"I'm tired," he muttered.
He moved to the bed, not bothering with food, with talk, or with ceremony.
Just collapsed onto it, flat and face-down, like someone who had carried the weight of too many masks too long.
From across the room, Katara stood frozen in place, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
She didn't say goodnight.
And he didn't ask.
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