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Princess Azula is six and frighteningly powerful, but beloved by all of the Fire Nation. Of course she is— she’s a prodigy, destined for greatness.
She’s a curious child, with a desire for knowledge and approval. Sayuri has just started as one of the young Princess’s handmaidens and thinks royals must be quite strange. Distant.
Lady Ursa is close with the young Prince, but doesn’t invite Princess Azula, and Sayuri doesn’t quite understand why. Is the young Princess really so busy that her mother doesn’t think she’ll have time to relax, to be a child?
Sayuri doesn’t have children of her own, but spent her teenage years raising her younger brothers. (She ponders on the image of her youngest brother watching her spend time with her other while he has to study. It makes her heart ache.)
It is not wise to pry into the lives of the royal family, so Sayuri softly confides her observations in hushed voices to Atsuko, who has worked there far longer than anyone else.
Atsuko tells her the walls have ears, and the floors have eyes. Sayuri asks what she means, but Atsuko simply shushes her— gentle, almost like a sigh.
Princess Azula is six and her mother, Lady Ursa, has disappeared into thin air. Sayuri knows not to ask where. Princess Azula is now second in line for the throne, Prince Iroh removed from succession entirely.
( It’s a shame , they say, He’s a failure. He asked others to give, but couldn’t bear the burden himself. )
It’s one morning when she’s washing Princess Azula’s hair, combing it through the water with practiced tenderness, that the young girl catches her off guard.
“Sayuri,” Princess Azula says, and in all honesty— she hadn’t expected that her name was known at all, “Where did you live before at the palace?”
Sayuri isn’t sure what prompts the inquiry, but it’d be rude not to answer, “Little outside of Caldera.”
“Where did you work before here?”
It’s almost like an interrogation. Princess Azula asks about her life, her family and her brothers. She asks if she’s happy with her current employment, and even her favourite flower. Sayuri can’t fathom why she’d want to know any of this.
But, she thinks, maybe it’s loneliness. Sayuri almost thinks she can hear it in her voice. Maybe, she just wants a conversation.
Perhaps her next move is a foolish one, a bit too bold, but Sayuri has always balanced reckless and responsible in the most unusual way.
“If I may, Princess,” Sayuri says, “I’d like to ask how you’re enjoying your studies. I’ve heard you’re quite exceptional.”
And Princess Azula talks, a little more freely and openly, about how she had to correct her own tutor on what she deems basic Fire Nation history. Sayuri smiles and tells her everything she must already know, that she’s a bright young girl with a wonderful future ahead of her.
Yumi and Mika start the same year that Sayuri becomes the new Atsuko, and Sayuri cuts to the chase and wastes no time giving them the rundown. She tells them how to fold the sheets, what to say and how to handle any situation they might run into.
Yumi picks up on the structure quite well, but Mika is too curious for her own good.
(“Does Princess Azula always ask so many questions,” Mika asks her, in a soft voice.
“Yes,” Sayuri replies, almost surprised that Princess Azula has started asking Mika and Yumi already— she never heard from anyone else regarding the Princess asking questions. Perhaps she had hoped it meant the Princess liked her, “I think you should ask some of your own. How about her studies?”)
Princess Azula is nine and has grown taller. Sana has worked as the seamstress for years for the Royal Family, so it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. Children grow— her own did, and they left and now she’s on her own.
She’s quieter today, and Sana assumes she must be tired. Rumour is her lessons have increased spectacularly.
While Sana wraps the measuring tape around the Princess’s waist, she notices the girl falter for a moment. When she asks the Princess to list her arms again, she spots a burn hiding behind her sleeve.
Sana politely asks Azula to wait a moment, and returns with burn cream and an adhesive gauze. She doesn’t ask questions. Azula doesn’t either.
Princess Azula is ten and has started wearing make-up. She seems too young for it, in Tomoko’s opinion. But what does she know?
Tomoko is the youngest on the staff, and sometimes worries the pressure could crush her. It might be strange to the others, but she admires Princess Azula, and not just for her knowledge or firebending prowess.
Princess Azula exudes confidence, something Tomoko knows she could never do, and carries herself with a dignity Tomoko doesn’t have.
Still, Tomoko’s job isn’t simply to admire the Princess. She helps get her ready, helps with her make-up and her nails and makes sure they’re perfect.
Tomoko isn’t much of a perfectionist herself, but she’s no stranger to the concept. While she’d be perfectly happy with chipped nails and messy hair, few she has worked for have felt the same. She’s careful with the nails.
Princess Azula asks questions— Mika told her that may happen— asks her where she learned to do make-up.
(“I learnt from my mother,” The words fall slowly out of her mouth, and there’s an anxiousness that follows. Tomoko is not a good liar, especially not good enough to lie to Princess Azula.
There is no silence that follows, but Tomoko can’t shake the feeling that the mere milliseconds without sound lasted a lifetime.)
Princess Azula is eleven and her brother is burned and banished, and no one knows why. Princess Azula doesn’t offer any words on it, and her attendants don’t ask. She is quiet, but seems lonelier than ever.
Her friends are far away, but Sayuri stays close. Sentimentality, you could say.
Sayuri doesn’t initiate conversation, and when Princess Azula does, the tone is ever so slightly different.
Sayuri thinks she realizes now; it’s intel. Azula doesn’t seem surprised at the turn of events, and Sayuri wonders if she’s spent all this time trying to cover her back. Find someone to blame, or find an ally to stand behind her.
Her throat feels dry.
Princess Azula is fourteen when her brother chooses to leave her side and her friends betray her. Words go unspoken in favour of glances between servants.
Princess Azula is fourteen and beloved by all of the Fire Nation when she snaps. She banishes Mao for the cherry-pit-incident, and everyone else in the castle for one reason or another.
(There’s dark circles under her eyes and Sayuri wonders if she’s slept at all. Sayuri has never feared Princess Azula more than she feared for her.)
Princess Azula is fourteen when her title is taken away and she’s simply Azula to the Fire Lord— her brother, her older brother. Sayuri tries to imagine herself in the place of Fire Lord Zuko and her brothers in the place of Princess Azula. She shudders at the thought.
(What kind of environment would allow for siblings to be so close and so far away at the same time?)
Fire Lord Zuko has ended the war, and Princess Azula has been taken away somewhere.
Princess Azula is fourteen and undoubtedly thinks she’s all alone, forgotten about. (Princess Azula is fourteen, and she’s wrong.)