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To make matters more uncomfortable, Lu Beifong was here, of all people. The old man sat near the edge of the crowd on a folding stool. He was surrounded by a small group of Earth Kingdom sages. Based on the faces she recognized, they appeared to be handpicked solely on the criteria of who disliked Kyoshi the most.
“I’m sorry, Avatar,” Jinpa said. He shifted on his knees, not used to the position, compared to the way Air Nomads sat cross-legged to meditate. “None of my sources indicated there would be an Earth Kingdom delegation. I’ll try to keep them from troubling you with petty requests.”
The performance ended in a crashing halt, the musicians shouting at the top of their lungs one last time in unison. The ones who were sitting to play leaped to their feet, their arms spread wide, and the drummers held their sticks over their heads like victory flags. They posed for a moment, breathing heavily.
The crowd responded with polite applause that ended equally abruptly. If the performers were disappointed by the muted response, they didn’t show it. They began packing up their instruments without a word while the assembled nobles turned to each other. Earsplitting music was replaced by the murmurs of delicate conversation.
“That’s it?” Kyoshi asked, her words suddenly too loud. She looked behind her to see Dairin motioning the three of them to get off the platform. They joined the chancellor on the ground level. “What happens now?” she asked him.
“According to palace garden-party etiquette, now you . . . mingle in the general direction of the Fire Lord,” Dairin said, as tense as Auntie Mui before a banquet. His mustache wiggled from the strain. “He will do the same to you. This allows for the two of you to encounter each other as equals, as perfectly as two leaves drifting together on the surface of a pond. This method of reception is one of the highest honors the ruling family can grant a guest. It is beyond my station to linger at your side.”
“Okay,” Kyoshi said. The objective was straightforward. “Go talk to the Fire Lord. Got it.”
“No!” Rangi said, already knowing what Kyoshi was thinking. “You can’t go right to Lord Zoryu, or else that would be rude to the other guests.” Behind the cover of the platform she hastily adjusted Kyoshi’s lapels and sash, brushing lint and garden pollen off the fabric.
“So I have to chat with everyone I bump into?”
“No! Only certain individuals here have enough status to speak in your presence!”
Kyoshi was getting desperate. “How will I know who they are?”
“Those with the right to approach the Avatar by themselves will introduce those who do not,” Rangi said. “Remember, between Fire Nationals, higher rank always introduces lower rank. The introd
uction is the pivotal juncture that sets the tone for the rest of the conversation.”
She saw the anxiousness in Kyoshi’s face. “You may directly address whomever you want without preface, up to and including the Fire Lord. To be greeted by the Avatar herself is a great blessing. But I strongly recommend you reserve that honor for Lord Zoryu. Jinpa and I will be by your side, but we won’t necessarily be able to speak unless the situation allows it.”
There was so much to remember. “I’m going to die here, aren’t I?” Kyoshi said with a groan.
“Don’t worry, Avatar,” Jinpa said. He stepped forward and rolled his shoulders. “I’ve failed you once tonight as your chamberlain. It won’t happen again.”
Despite his bravery, Jinpa was the first to fall. As they entered the crowd, a little circle of courtiers interested in meeting an Air Nomad for the first time quickly isolated him from the group. Apparently, speaking to an Airbender was fair game for most of the attendees.
They had to leave him behind, trying to answer questions about the Western Air Temple and its unusual upside-down architecture. Kyoshi assumed he was improvising many of the inner details, given that the Western Temple housed nuns only.
Her exalted status as the Avatar kept people from approaching her, but not from scrutinizing her. The court made sure to provide a respectful amount of physical space, creating a little bubble that moved with Kyoshi and Rangi at its center, which only made the glances over the tops of their glasses, the sideways stares, the lulls in conversation as they passed more obvious.
It was deeply unsettling. Kyoshi found her pulse rising, a mindset of neutral jing failing to calm her. She had to distract herself by observing them back, taking mental notes the same way she did on her patrols through dangerous territory.
This was the first time she’d seen so many high-ranking Fire Nationals in one place. The nobility of this country favored more understated fashions than their counterparts in the Earth Kingdom, choosing red-on-red patterns for their robes and gowns. The broad expanse of their shoulder pieces seemed like the most common way they expressed their associations. She could see subtle geometric sigils imprinted on the swathes of fabric, or simple renditions of native flowers and animals.
One particular image she noticed again and again was the stone camellia, in small bunches or large asymmetrical designs or used as delicate edging. A good quarter of the attendees were wearing some form of it, by far the largest group. Noticing she was outnumbered by a particular faction set the hairs on Kyoshi’s neck prickling before she tamped down the worry. She was among Fire Nation nobility, not in a back alley about to get jumped by Triad hatchet men. The flower must have had a link to the departed Chaeryu as she’d seen in the gallery, and the partygoers wore it out of respect.
Servants passed by them as smoothly as clouds, offering morsels of food so spiced that the drifting aromas nearly made Kyoshi sneeze. There were skewers of hippo-ox tail, rolls of ocean kumquat, and slivers of fish of all sorts, from waters near the islands and from rivers so far away they would have had to make the journey here packed in ice.
Kyoshi declined to eat out of nerves. This was how much she’d changed since becoming the Avatar. Refusing food. Younger Kyoshi would have punched her in the nose for that.
Rangi watched a few of the platters go by. “That’s odd.” That’s odd was now their official motto for the trip. “What is it?” Kyoshi asked.
“There’s no stalknose mushrooms. They’re a traditional Festival of Szeto food. The mushrooms grow on overcrowded ears of grain, so they’re symbolic of a good harvest. I don’t see them anywhere.”
“So?”
Rangi turned to her with the utmost gravity. “Kyoshi, this is the royal palace. If we don’t have them, no one in the country has them. This is not an auspicious sign for the holiday.”
The slight pout on her lips that she was doing her best to fight was adorable. Rangi always tried so hard to hide her foibles, as if “liking certain things” was unprofessional. Knowing that she had a weakness for a particular snack made Kyoshi want to squeeze her tight. The next time the two of them visited Yokoya, she’d ask the remaining kitchen staff to find some stalknoses and cook them however they did in the Fire Nation.
“Avatar,” came a squawk from somewhere around Kyoshi’s belly.
