I sat beside my mother in the palace garden, legs tucked neatly beneath me, hands folded in my lap.
The sun was warm. The air smelled faintly of flowers and smoke.
Ursa smiled at me.
I mirrored it perfectly.
She believed I was here because I loved her.
That was… convenient.
I felt nothing for her. No attachment. No resentment. No affection. If she were to vanish tomorrow, my life would continue uninterrupted. She was simply a resource—one I intended to exhaust fully before circumstances changed.
But Ursa wanted to be needed.
So I gave her that illusion.
"Mother," I said softly, leaning slightly toward her, "can you teach me something today?"
Her eyes lit up instantly.
"What would you like to learn, my sweet girl?"
Sweet girl.
Interesting choice of words.
"I want to understand healing," I continued, keeping my voice gentle, curious. "You always know what to do when someone is sick. I want to help people the way you do."
That was enough.
Ursa had always wanted to believe there was goodness in this palace—something untouched by Ozai's shadow. And I, sitting quietly at her side, was the shape of that hope.
She began to speak about medicine: about herbs used to reduce fever, mixtures to ease pain, the difference between illness and injury. I listened attentively, asking the right questions at the right moments.
Never too many.
Never too fast.
Then I tilted my head.
"Mother… how do healers know when someone has been poisoned?"
She hesitated.
Just a fraction.
"Why would you ask that?"
I met her gaze with wide, earnest eyes. "Because poison hurts people. And if I ever had to protect someone… I'd want to recognize it."
Protection.
Such a powerful word.
Ursa relaxed. "Poisons are difficult," she said. "Many mimic natural sickness. That's why they're feared."
Feared.
I filed that away.
I leaned closer. "Are there poisons that can't be identified?"
Her lips pressed together thoughtfully. "There are substances," she admitted, "that leave very little trace. Court healers study them carefully—so they can be countered."
I smiled.
"Could someone make one that looks like a natural death?"
The question was innocent.
Perfectly timed.
Ursa sighed. "It's not something you should concern yourself with."
I lowered my gaze. Let my shoulders slump. Just slightly.
"Oh," I whispered. "I just… I want to understand how dangerous the world can be."
Silence.
Then she reached out and placed a hand over mine.
"I suppose knowledge itself isn't evil," she said quietly. "It's how it's used."
Exactly.
She spoke in general terms after that—old royal histories, theoretical discussions, warnings. Stories of assassinations long past, of substances designed to leave no mark, of how healers learned to recognize patterns rather than ingredients.
She believed she was teaching me caution.
She was teaching me possibility.
I absorbed everything.
Not eagerly.
Not hungrily.
Calmly.
When she finished, she kissed the top of my head.
"You're a good girl," she said. "Kinder than you realize."
I hugged her back.
Gently.
Convincingly.
Inside, I noted one simple truth:
Ursa trusted me completely.
And trust was far deadlier than any poison.
People feared fire.They should have feared me.