A/N: Super long chapter, brace yourself!

I own all the citizens, Marwan, Rashid, Ali, Abu, and Salih and the Empty Temple. That's it. Oh, and some magic theory.


Mozenrath was woken when a hand covered his mouth. Immediately, his survival instincts kicked in and he attempted to get away as a bag was forced over his head. However, he had had a spell of eating little to nothing, so his body wasn't up to fighting and his mind was too sleep addled to call forth magic. Not that there wasn't a valiant fight put up by the pale Prince.

He was dragged out of his bed, and next thing he knew, the bag was removed and he was in the stables. Standing before him was Ottilia. She had a very concerned look on her face, and upon making eye contact, she knelt down, placing a hand on his cheek. "Are you alright?" she asked softly.

"Am I…what the hell just happened?" he shouted.

"Shh!" looking around, she continued. "You remember the conversation we had about the Gauntlet and the Empty Temple?"

"Yes."

"You're going to find it now."

"And I couldn't be told because…?"

"Now Crown Prince been kidnapped has," said a man beside Mozenrath. He looked up to see a human there. "We left note."

"Thank you very much," said Ottilia. "Mozenrath, I hired these men to help you. They are going to take you out of the country and then help you get to the Empty Temple. Tomorrow morning, the struggle you so wonderfully left will be found and Rell will ride after you. One of these men will wait for him and guide him. Are you alright with this plan?"

"I…I would have appreciated some warning," said Mozenrath. "But the plan is sound."

"Come along then." She helped him to his feet and nodded to one of the human men who brought forward a horse. "I know he's not yours, but he's swift and strong. He will serve you well." Mozenrath climbed on, wrapping the reins about his hand. The humans mounted their steeds. "Head south. My Amm smile on your quest." She and Mozenrath shared a fleeting and nervous smile before the horses turned, galloping away. Behind them, Ottilia enchanted the ground to look as if the struggle had continued, walking away to bed.


The men were good people, and were overjoyed to find Mozenrath fluent in Arabic. The man in charge was called Rashid, and he had apologized about twenty times over for scaring him when he had stolen Mozenrath out of his bed.

"You have made your point!" insisted Mozenrath, already feeling uncomfortable in the golden sands around him. "I forgive you for it."

"Not good to have royalty hold a grudge. It always comes back to haunt you," he insisted.

"Well seeing as you aren't a citizen of my land, I think there won't be a problem." Rashid snorted and pulled his horse to a stop, calling out to all of them as they followed suit,

"We split up here! Salih, you wait for the Prince's companion." The man nodded, nudging his horse away. "The rest of us, we have a ways to ride yet. Come on!" and they continued on.

Mozenrath had never ridden like this before. A destination but no set road. He and his horse (whether it had been Horse as a Duke or Surefire as a Prince) had never had such freedom. There was a track to ride on at the Castles and Palaces, and a single trail as a child. And even in those times, he had had to have someone there to check his riding, make certain he wouldn't hurt himself or ride away. Here, here he truly was riding with the wind. And he loved it.

Sure, he could fly. Sure, he could travel within instants around the world, but why should he? Why trade it for this wonderful moment when the morning sun warmed him and the wind kept his black curls from resting even a moment on his neck? The sound of the breaths rushing in and out of the creature beneath him, the dull thumping of hooves against granulated rock, all of it was so lovely and so free that he couldn't help but let out a whoop, urging his horse faster. He heard the men laugh and hurry their own steeds, but he didn't and couldn't care.

Finally, they reached an oasis, pulling to a stop to water the horses. The sun was high and with his pale skin, Mozenrath was already beginning to wilt. His mother certainly hadn't been lying when she said the outside deserts were far too harsh for anyone of their land.

"You know," said Rashid, watching as the boy gulped down all the water, "your neck is blinding, let alone what your horns are like."

"You can see my horns?" he asked, taking a break from hydrating himself.

"Sure. They shine something impressive. Ever think of a way to keep us from falling off our horses?"

"It's not a problem back home. My neck never shines there and you can barely see my horns."

"Hmm. Well here, here's an idea." He went to the saddlebags and pulled out a length of linen, something that looked like bandaging, and handed it to the other. "Why don't you wrap this around your neck? Keep that hidden at least." Mozenrath took it, and did just that. The cloth was soft enough it didn't aggravate his skin, but it did do the job, at least that's what Rashid said. Perhaps he would have to do this in the future, should he ever leave his country again.

"Will we meet Rell and Salih here, then?" he asked.

"Is that his name? Rell? You people, such strange names you have…Yes, Salih knows to meet us here. Your companion will be here."

"Will your friend be so blinding as you, majesty?" asked another man from where he was unsaddling the horses. "Will we have two of you to worry of?"

"No, no you needn't worry. Rell is a full blooded Faun, there isn't a crystal to his horns," said Mozenrath. Around him, most people froze. "What?"

"A Faun? Fauns are fairytales," said a man, Ali.

"Fauns are one of the Cardinal Races in our land. They are one of the few races that can intermarry with viable offspring."

"What else do you have in your land? Pixies?" laughed another man.

"Yes. They bite."


And so Mozenrath found himself describing the many different races, from Cardinal to Quaternary, the ancient system ranking the species, and describing the Great Slaughter and how his home was a haven for magical creatures. Somehow, he found himself describing the varying colleges for magic and arts and sciences and such when they heard the hoof beats growing closer.

Entering the firelight cast around the oasis were the two they were waiting for, Rell and Salih. Dismounting his horse, Rell brushed himself off before noticing Mozenrath and rushing to him, calling his name. "You were fantastic! The maids were sobbing their eyes out when they found your room!"

"Yes, well when you don't know what's happening, struggle isn't too difficult. Did Ottilia tell you?"

"Vaguely. And as I was leaving at that. I was worried about you. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Good. Do you have water?"

Once Rell was recovered, he joined Mozenrath by the fire, and was obliged to show his cloven feet, outright refusing to show his legs. ("It would be indecent!") "You know," said Salih, "I really didn't expect you of all people. I was expecting someone who looks closer to the queen or this one" here he nodded towards Mozenrath "but not a Faun."

Once Mozenrath translated for him, Rell nodded and said (as Mozenrath translated back), "Yes, Elves and the Crystalline Horns do look more human than us other species. Selkies too, but they're rare."

"Not so rare. My some number great-grandfather was a Selkie," said Mozenrath.

"That might explain your fascination with eels."

"Speaking of, how is Xerxes?"

"He still doesn't know, as far as I saw. Panicking something fierce and despite mating season coming up, he doesn't want to go to the Chiem until you are safe. Ottilia promised she would try and calm him."

"He just found a mate last year too…He's only in his forties, he needs to go."

"Exactly why Ottilia is trying to calm him and send him off."

"I'm not allowed to make contact, am I?"

"No, you're kidnapped, remember?" Mozenrath let out a small groan, rubbing his face with his hands. "Look, if we ride fast, this will be done pretty fast."

"You're right." He sighed and said to the humans, "I am going to sleep. How far away from the Empty Temple are we?"

"About two days ride," said Rashid. "Depending. The Empty Temple is thought to be where we're riding. If it isn't, you can magic us there, right?"

"Or at least nearly. I need to know exactly where I'm going to get us perfectly there, but I could get us to the area, unless there are magic wards."

"Too complicated for me," said Ali. "I'll follow your lead, majesty, and get some sleep as well."

Mozenrath had only a sleeping roll, which he had never had before. But he found that, despite the discomfort, it really was nice. He could see the stars above him, and while he knew constellations perfectly well and all the directions and timings they held in them, it was different to just look.

When he was king, he would definitely take some time to go by himself and enjoy this.


The sun rose to find them already riding. Given, they were slightly late, as the men wanted to marvel over the stirrups for Rell's saddle, but their pace made up for lost time. Rell and Mozenrath rode next to each other, though the prince's horse could and would go faster than Rell's mare. Not that Rell wasn't used to his friend and prince riding ahead of him and taunting his own slow horse.

Rell, knowing his friend as well as he knew himself, knew that Mozenrath was loving riding through the land of the humans, while he himself was wilting in the sun very quickly. He also knew that the tying back of his hair and the constant flicking of his head meant that Mozenrath knew his horns were able to shine and be seen, and while he loved it, he was still new to seeing the rainbows that sparkled where the light landed.

"That vain?" he called ahead. Mozenrath turned back to him and, knowing what Rell meant, made a face at him. Rell simply laughed, he hadn't seen his prince act like that before. He was thriving in freedom.

Rell, listening to those around him talk to each other and hearing them interact with Mozenrath, found himself almost wishing that he too could speak Arabic. Mozenrath would want to come back out here, and if he did, Rell would have to go with him to keep him safe. How could he do that if he couldn't communicate?

Pushing the thoughts aside, he focused on how Mozenrath was slowing to ride beside him. "I was thinking," he said. "How is Daccor?"

"Lady Daccor? She is supposed to give birth either later this week or early next week. When she heard about your kidnapping, she was the one to insist that I go after you."

"She did?"

"She likes you. A lot. No one else at court enjoys gymnastics, that's only you and Daccor."

"And that's reason enough?"

"One of many reasons, I believe. I don't pretend to understand her feelings. I find it difficult to, what with her devotion to Destane."

"She's a good woman."

"I know that."

"You didn't sound like it. Is her relation to Destane really enough for you to condemn her?"

"I thought you hated Destane."

"I do. But Daccor is not Destane. She is the Lady Reagent of Auber-Upo, with a good mind for numbers and politics. I respect her, I am fond of her. I worry for her."

"Your premonition of the child?" Mozenrath didn't reply, but his silence was affirming. "He will be born Graf-Lord of Auber-Upo. Perhaps a higher title if Destane feels so inclined. A titled child will not be neglected. He'll be fine."

The two lapsed into silence, riding under the unforgiving sun.


As the boys rode free and wild, Daccor was in bed, gasping and clutching at her lover's hand with all her strength. The black sandstone Citadel Ortenburg was built of seemed to be shifting, recognizing the same damage to the child that her Prince had noticed.

As it always was with births of Lady Queens or of Lord Kings' Mistresses, the room was crowded, filled with courtiers here to see the birth of the child. In this crowd, only Ottilia noted the shifting of the sandstone. It was difficult for her not to, being Lady Queen.

"She needs air!" snapped the doctor. "Give her air!" Upon the command, the Lord King summoned wind to stream through the windows, freshening the room. It also knocked a few hair ornaments off the wigs of both ladies and men, but that was of little concern.

The wind kept a steady stream for the next hour, until Daccor let go of his hand, taking long, deep breaths, the child in the doctor's hands crying softly. "A son," he said, presenting the child to his parents. As he did, those in attendance burst into joyous whispers and soft conversation.

"He's beautiful," breathed Daccor, taking him and uncaring of the clear substance that coated the child's body. "Oh by Amm, he is beautiful."

"The Duke of Zyul," proclaimed Destane, before taking the son and handing him to the waiting maid, bearing him away to be bathed.

"Duke of…" started Daccor. When Destane nodded with that secret smile in his eyes, she started crying of joy, silently through her exhaustion.

"Rest. You need your strength," he said. She smiled up at him. "Everyone, out. Lady Daccor needs her rest." And they did, murmuring to each other about the new Duke of Zyul and how happy they were that the Crown Prince had been wrong and that he was well.

"I love you. Will you make certain our son is healthy?"

"I haven't forgotten what Mozenrath said. Sleep, I will see to it." Brushing back a strand of hair, he stood and let her sleep, walking past where Sotkia, now aged but still as dedicated as ever, stood with Ottilia.

"Congratulations," offered Ottilia as he strode past. Stopping, he turned to her, regarding her. Only a child, she was no older than some of the girls he had seen whilst buying slaves. He was only human, sorcery made one knowledgeable on many things, but he was still clueless when it came to his wife. Little more than wife in word, they hated each other, he knew that. Ottilia had grown close to their heir, the young sorcerer prince from a family that stayed greatly independent yet. She had grown close and now that he was kidnapped, she had retreated behind that callously polite mask she had always worn. The mask he forced on her when he stole her throne and innocence.

"Thank you," he finally said. Polite. They didn't know how to be if not polite. "Sotkia, with me."

"Majesty," the older woman said, curtsying before following. "What do you need?"

"Check if your nephew's claims are true. See about the health of my son."

"Very well, majesty. I shall report to you immediately." And she turned down one of the many twisting halls, going to see about her Lord King's request.

As she did, Destane continued to his study, where he was studying a cloak that protected the wearer from any weapons. He looked up not five minutes later when the door opened. Sotkia was there, pale and shaking.

"Majesty," she breathed. "Your son…he will never walk."

"What?" he roared, standing.

"His legs. They're too crippled. The doctors say that unless Amm himself comes to bless the child, he will never walk. He's a sickly little thing, unless proper care is given he won't live long enough for that to be a problem—"

"Then ensure the proper care, Sotkia." His voice was quiet, but the quiet voice was the one that promised pain and suffering—perhaps not physical, but always there. "I will not see the boy die, not after all I've put into this child."

Sotkia curtsied deeply. "Of course, majesty."

"Tell Daccor, but be a bit more delicate."

"Of course."

"You are dismissed." When she left, he dropped to sit, looking at the sandstone around him. It disturbed one of the tapestries, making it rustle quietly. His land was unhappy, and the faint howling of a very distant sandstorm only helped solidify that fact. But what made it so unhappy? The revolution toeing the arch separating the city and Citadel of Ortenberg? The crippled son of the king? The kidnapping of the Crown Prince? Everything was so wrong that he didn't know what to do or how to pacify anything.

So he would do the only thing he knew what do. He would soldier on, not give an inch for fear of having a mile stolen. He had held control over the land for over thirty years. He could hold on long enough to have everything wrong die down. Rell Dissel of Zyul would return with Crown Prince Mozenrath, the doctors would heal and fix his son, and he didn't know what to do about the revolution.


News of the kidnapped Crown Prince spread like wildfire. In the city of Ortenberg, rumors spread that someone had seen a group of riders, another claimed that they had something that flew, and no one seemed to agree how it happened. In the town of Zyul, Rell's older brother told everyone he knew that Rell would save him, people listened to him and took faith, because while that boy had been a bit of a troublemaker, he was brave and sure. In the town of Erasba, the Cardinal Archbischoff of the Mosque of God Amm led group prayers for the safe return of their prince, many men and women coming to pray for him outside of the prayer sessions.

But when the news reached Ischl, the Countess Ludovika, who had gone with her daughter Agulstine to recover from the stress she had been under, had actually screamed. She and Agulstine had been wandering the town, and had seen in one of the newspapers that were being sold the headline of "Crown Prince Stolen from Bed!"

Agulstine caught her mother as she fell, clutching at her breast in horror. A crowd formed, all either wanting to see or help the woman clutching her daughter and wailing, "No! Not my baby! My baby, my Mimzy!"

"Is she alright?" asked a man. Agulstine looked up.

"Crown Prince Mozenrath is her son and my brother. Of course she's not alright," she snapped. She didn't feel…sad, per say, just angry. Angry at Mozenrath for being vulnerable, angry at his kidnappers for stealing her brother, angry at those at Citadel Ortenberg or whatever castle he was at for letting it happen… "Come on, mother. Let's go back to the inn…you can get a drink and a bath…" She helped her mother stand, and a male elf approached.

"Eugenen Hanstae," he introduced. "Let me help." Agulstine regarded him distrustfully, but within moments nodded. She needed her mother to calm down before she could work through her own emotions on the matter.

They reached the inn and immediately Ludovika was settled in a private bath. As she was taken care of, Agulstine turned to the man who helped and said, "Thank you, for helping my mother. I won't forget it."

"I'm certain you will, highness," he replied. "You can't remember every kindness, can you?" Agulstine blinked a few times, surprised. No one had ever spoken so bluntly to her before. "Let me introduce myself again. Eugenen Hanstae."

"Duchess Agulstine Witternsbahl of Beyr."

"An honor, highness." He took her hand and bowed over it. But he didn't let it go. "I know that it isn't much, but may I offer you a drink of some sort?"
"After hearing my brother was abducted? I will gladly take that offer." He led her to the coffee house in the inn, calling for a hot pot of coffee to be brought. Agulstine drank deeply of the dark drink when it arrived, breathing fiercely out her nose.

"You seem upset, highness," commented Eugenen.

"Of course I am. Do you have any siblings?"

"No."

"That would explain it…one of my brother's names is Eugenen."

"Is it?"

"Crown Prince Mozenrath Amal Eugenen Witternsbahl. Strange, I never thought anyone could be named that outside of a second or third name."

"Well here I am, proving you wrong…about your brother…do you want to talk about it?"

Agulstine scoffed. "My brother…I haven't seen him in years. His letters are rare, and he's dying. What is there to talk about? How much I miss him? How I want him home?"

"Why not?" countered Eugenen. "Your brother has been kidnapped. Even if he returns safe and sound, this is still going to be a big event in the lives of both your mother and yourself. Let alone the rest of your family."

"If he dies…"

"Which he won't."

"And why are you so sure?"

"Why would kidnappers kill him? They want a price for him, they wouldn't kill him." Agulstine looked at him evenly a moment before gracing him with a smile.

"I like you, Eugenen Hanstae."


On the third day of his "kidnapping" Mozenrath's horse suddenly reared, upset at something. Digging his knees in and clinging to the reigns, the noble boy clutched to stay on the creature. The other horses were calmer, but Rell's also began to back up. Letting his horse move away from whatever there was, Mozenrath dismounted and stroked the stallion's nose, murmuring softly to it until the panicked eyes calmed.

"What happened?" asked Rashid.

"I have a theory. Where did you get your horses?"

"Mine came from Agrabah," offered Ali. The others agreed.

"They don't register magic, then." Rell dismounted his mare, looking to his friend curiously. Mozenrath lifted his hand, and with a quiet word of power, a simple light spell burst from his palm, shining blue as it floated forward. Rell could hear the disquieted murmurings from the humans, but they didn't seem anything more than impressed by the magic.

The spell itself drifted forward a few feet before it suddenly burst into blue flames, a tiny view of stone visible in what used to be thin air. It closed moments later. "By Allah…" breathed Rashid.

Mozenrath turned, momentarily surprised that they worshipped the Rain God, but turned back to what was in front of him. Taking a breath, he walked forward. A shudder ran through him, but everything still looked about the same. Furrowing his brow, he summoned the same glowing light. However, the moment it formed, he was flung back towards the horses, landing hard on the sand, wind knocked out of him.

"Yes, I was right," he wheezed. "Magical wards."

"What does that mean?" asked Salih.

"It means that we can't get in without magic but it rejects magic." Standing with Rell's help, he dusted himself off. "I think I know what to do." Taking a moment to get his breath back, he mounted his horse, and Rell followed his lead. "Everyone else go before me." And with a breath, he stood in his saddle, and from his hands, blue fire shot forth. It struck the ward, it melting beneath the foreign magic, just large enough for a horse and rider. "Go!" and the party rode forward, and when the last passed through, Mozenrath urged his own horse forward. As it galloped, he had to stop the fire. He barely slipped through as it sealed shut behind him.

Before him stood the Empty Temple in all its glory. True to the legends, it stood with golden statues guarding the staircase leading to the top, and at the very peak stood a statue, weathered beyond recognition.

"And now what?" asked Rashid.

"Now we search for the Gauntlet," responded Mozenrath, dismounting his horse. "We'll be here for a long time."

Mozenrath was right. The only entrance was at the top, and there it was a trapdoor. From there, there were winding corridors, doors and chambers branching off. Mozenrath and Rell both held light spells in their hands, letting them light all around them.

"Do you know where you're going?" asked Rell after a while. Mozenrath shook his head.

"Haven't the faintest. Do you have a better plan to get through here?"

"No, not really."

"Thought so."

"Why can I understand you?" The outburst was so unexpected from Abu that the two boys turned. The humans all looked rather frightened.

"In our language?" asked Rell.

"Yes. Oh by Allah, why can I understand you?"

"By Amm," whispered Mozenrath. "This place must be doing this…"

"No," snapped the faun suddenly. "We're here for the Gauntlet. Nothing else. No studying."

"But—"

"No." Mozenrath sighed but turned, carrying on.

"Is he always like this?" whispered Salih.

"Yes, always. I have to force him to eat sometimes."

"I eat!" called back Mozenrath.

"Yes, a mouthful of fermented bean curd and that's it! Maybe some fruit."

"I had two eggs the day before we left. And a bowl of soup."

"The tailor told me your waist is nineteen inches."

"And?" with that, Mozenrath picked up the pace, forcing everyone to speed up as well. As they continued, Mozenrath's gaze kept being drawn to more and more empty chambers, enough that Malik, the largest of all the humans, dared ask,

"What's wrong, majesty?"

"I just…" he said. "I keep thinking I see things in there. Nothing but trick of the…shadows…" he actually stopped, peering into a room. "A man who wasn't a man…"

"Mozenrath?" tried Rell.

"Hmm?" he didn't turn, entranced by something.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing…I just…I'm going in." And despite the collected clamor of "that's not a good idea!" he entered the empty chamber. To him, all sounds were muted and the room was very cold. The light he held seemed to dim, and there, in the corner, just out of the light, was the man who wasn't a man. Only a moment, but long enough for a slight movement from it to exist, a tiny nod towards the wall. A heartbeat later, it was gone. The sounds came back, the little heat returned and the light was bright once more. Stepping to the wall, he enlarged the light, peering at what was there.

A low whistle sounded from behind him, reminding Mozenrath that Rell and the others were there. They all looked up at what was on the wall. It was the same illustration as in the old book, a man with the Gauntlet on his hand, arm outstretched, his cloak billowing out behind him. Rell brightened his own light, and there they could see it, the rest of the picture. Before him, cities were falling and hundreds lay dead. Turning, Mozenrath lit the other side. The same man faced the other way, the arm gently bent, gesturing elegantly. Before him, cities shone and people praised him.

"Well. That's certainly something," said Rashid.

"A warning," said Malik. "Look, it's the same thing. It can do great harm and great good."

"I should hope that you will be inclined to the second," said Rell.

"You should hope for a lot of things, Rell. One of which is that there's a way out," said Mozenrath.

"What are you…" when he turned however, there was no entry. The room had no way in or out. "Mozenrath Witternsbahl, you had better have a way to get us out of here!"

"Working on it, calm down." But instruction to calm had no place where panic was growing. It turned out that Abu was claustrophobic, if the sudden gasping and tears had anything to show. Mozenrath, he closed his eyes, distancing himself from the panic about him. "You were just here," he breathed. "Why bring us all here? You know me, you let me go. Why not again?"

He didn't know exactly what he was speaking to, but he remembered a fall from a tree on Hélené's big day with all his family and a man who wasn't a man. He had thought it to be Death, the one power Destane came close to worshipping. Perhaps it was. Perhaps…

Mozenrath walked forward, his eyes still closed. He reached the stone carving and then passed through it, a gentle tingle of magic letting him know what happened. Opening his eyes, he turned, and peered through the illusion, calling to his companions, "Hurry up, then."

They spent the rest of the day in the corridors and passages, climbing over rubble and ducking under fallen statues and beams. True to its name, the Empty Temple was devoid of most anything. There wasn't a single spider, there wasn't a single piece of furniture, there was nothing.

Needless to say, after a while none of them felt that secure. Distractedly, perhaps in an attempt to calm himself down, Ali began to hum. It was very soft, but the tune was nice and indeed, it did calm the fears that they felt. Now feeling braver, they continued.

The gentle tune didn't keep them brave for long. Further, they once again lost heart. As they walked, Salih said, "I have a sister, you know. Loveliest singing voice you'll ever hear. Smart too, she taught herself how to read."

"I have a brother," offered Rell. "He's the one who's going to inherit the family farm but everyone says that my sister's got the best head for it."

"I have nine siblings," said Mozenrath. "Well, seven now, Nalzenrath and Wim both died when I was very young."

"Seven?" echoed Malik.

"Yes. Technically, they're only half siblings but I don't think of them that way." In sharing little stories about their families, they grew brave again, and continued on.

It continued like this for quite some time, until they reached a large room. There wasn't a single thing in it, besides a plain brown glove lying in the corner. But to Mozenrath, it was screaming at him, magic drawing at his, tugging painfully at him until he acknowledged it.

"Mozenrath, do you feel that?" asked Rell. The Prince nodded, unable to tear his eyes from the thing. "That's it, isn't it? That's the Gauntlet."

"Great harm and great good." And there it was again, that dimming of everything. Faintly there was the figure, on the far side of the room. It approached and entered the light. It was a man who was not a man. Simple as that, just as Mozenrath remembered from his fall from the tall tree. "You are Death," he said. The figure did not respond, not verbally. It approached, and took Mozenrath's right hand. The grip was cool but not unbearable. It drew a line from the tip of his fingers all the way to the shoulder. Squeezing there, it vanished.

"I don't get it," said Marwan. Everyone jumped. The man hadn't spoken a word the whole time. "What are you feeling?"

"It's complicated," said Rell, turning to him. "Our land is magical, we're on a rift between realities. That means that raw magic pours into the sands. That's why we refer to our home as though it's sentient, because it is. Through this, our species have evolved to absorb and sense magic. The Gauntlet is very insistent that we recognize it. Mozenrath, he's very sensi—Mozenrath!" he cut off when he turned and saw the boy about to place the glove onto his hand. And place it onto his hand he did.


Daccor named her son Auberrath. His full name and title was Duke Auberrath Agulst Bour Montes of Zyul. He was second in line for the throne, after Mozenrath, but if he didn't come home, he would become Lord King.

Sotkia and the doctors had gently told her about the damage done to the child's legs, and she had decided that she would not give her son to a governess. She would raise the child by herself to make certain he would grow healthy. Destane had agreed and even encouraged this, ordering the governess chosen to help Daccor if she needed it, but stressed that the Lady Reagent would need very little help.

Auberrath had been given a brace on one leg, as it turned out that only one needed such vigorous correction. The baby was not happy about it, though. Daccor had to hold the child close as he screamed and cried about the brace—at least, presumably about the brace. It was hard to tell what he screamed about most of the time, perhaps he was hungry? Wanted to sleep? Was the brace paining him? Needless to say, the governess was called in more than a few times a week.

However, Daccor always managed to calm her son when the brace became a source of screaming. She would pull him close and sing to him, rocking him back and forth as her famous singing voice wove stories or simply told him "sleep, my little prince, sleep on."

Destane's involvement was largely in name only. He visited the child a few times, but other than that, he sent presents to the child or ensured that only the best doctors cared for him. But his visible devotion to Daccor hadn't diminished. Daccor knew his aversion to children and didn't take it personally when he excused himself when the child awoke from his nap, simply making him promise to visit her again before letting him go.

Ottilia found herself becoming more and more fond to the baby, holding him herself when Daccor needed sleep, using magic to tell stories, making horses out of insubstantial golden shimmers or people out of purple bubbles. Auberrath loved them and tried to catch them, though they danced out of reach.

When she told these stories, Xerxes sometimes joined them. It was the few times that he stopped panicking, stopped burrowing into Mozenrath's bed, stopped flying a diameter around the Citadel. The longfin eel clicked and hissed at the child, who seemed to like the noises, and when Xerxes spoke, Auberrath looked completely entranced and surprised.

It was during one of the times that Xerxes was entertaining the child that he suddenly grew restless. His tail was flicking back and forth over and over. "What's wrong?" asked Ottilia, her golden horses still racing around Auberrath, keeping him distracted.

"Mozenrath hurt," said Xerxes, obviously feeling the pain or at least impression that it was happening. "Screaming."

Ottilia looked at the eel in horror. What had she done to him? Was it her doing at all? But Xerxes couldn't elaborate any more than that. Or he just didn't want to.


They built a fire near where the horses were, preparing a meal. Everyone was silent, Rell most of all. He had Mozenrath's head on his knee, the boy alternating between delirious wakefulness and restless sleep. He was waking up at the moment, and was muttering just the same as after the experiments. Muttering about Death, his brothers, when they would go to the doctor, where was Xerxes? But he slipped back into sleep pretty quickly, leaving Rell to adjust the arm. Just touching it made Rell uncomfortable, but he didn't want it lying in the sand.

"Do you know if…" whispered Malik, unable to finish the sentence.

"I don't know anything about the situation," murmured Rell. "I don't know what to do but keep the wound clean. This was done by magic, it will heal quickly."

"And then?"

"And then we go home. Mozenrath overthrows Lord King Destane and inherits the throne, we send him home to Possenhof in Beyr to his family and I go home to Zyul to my family. I'll leave the Lady Queen to figure out everything else." Malik nodded, and turned away joining Marwan by the fire. Rell knew they had to be quiet for Mozenrath, but the silence, it just let his mind wander back to what happened inside the Empty Temple.

The screaming had been horrible. It wasn't even a sound that should come from anyone's throat. It was the sound of original pain, the sound of an animal in so much pain that nothing could express but the rattling, choking scream. Rell had tried to do something, anything to make his friend stop screaming, but had drawn back in disgust and horror when he saw the sheer amount of blood pouring out of the glove.

"Mozenrath, what did you do?"

When he drew enough courage to grow near, he heard it under the screaming. There was a wet chewing noise. Rell immediately realized that the Gauntlet was eating his friend's flesh. Promptly, he grabbed the glove and tried to pull it off his friend's arm. But it clung onto the bone underneath, perhaps tighter if the way Mozenrath's screams grew louder was any indicator.

"Stop it right now. He's paid your price in blood and flesh, stop it. You will kill him. He was dying anyway, don't make it worse. Stop it right now!"

Rell had no idea what had stopped it, but now his hand was nothing but bone up until just above his elbow, where the flesh was ragged. Rell kept it clean and hoped against hope that it would heal as a magical injury should.

How was he supposed to explain to Ottilia what had happened?