Chapter 6
7.
The accommodations this time were the same as the night before. Low table, cushions, tea.
As she sat down, she noticed something about her own attire that was not right.
In the morning, her maid had taken her clothes to be washed. Jasmine had put on more conservative clothing to sleep in, a long robe that covered her arms and her midriff. But what she wore now in this dream state was the same lavender two-piece outfit she had worn to sleep every day the past week.
She looked up accusingly at the sorcerer sitting across the table from her. He propped his chin on one hand and watched her with a cool smile.
She folded her arms, suddenly self-conscious of the way her outfit bared her skin, though he had seen her wear this for six or seven nights straight. His smile grew wider at the sight of her discomfort.
"The rules of this game are all yours, as is this little dream world you have set up. At least you could give me some measure of control over what I'm wearing," she snapped.
"Ah. Well, one of the rules of this 'dream world,' as you call it, is that we see what I would like to see," he said nonchalantly. He paused to let her digest that unsettling bit of information. "Were I a cruder man…"
He raised his gloved hand and her cup of tea disappeared right before she could fling it in his face.
"As I said once before, humor does not seem to come naturally to you royal types." He eyed her hand, now curled into a fist on the table where the cup had been. "Violence does, however."
"Would you like to test that hypothesis again?" she said angrily. "Take off that gauntlet of yours and try."
"Easy, Princess. At least give the illusion of delicacy."
"You can't do anything without your gauntlet, can you?" she went on. He had stepped over the line tonight, and she was sick of being on the receiving end of his power trips. "Aladdin told me that the one time you lost it in the sand, you started digging as if your life depended on it. You even let him and Genie go because you couldn't do a thing against them without that worn-looking thing."
He was taken aback by her sudden backlash, but his surprise quickly turned to annoyance and contempt. "You know nothing of the gauntlet. Don't bother to try to wrap your petty little mind around it."
"I think I know enough about it to have hit upon your weakness, Mozenrath. Without that glove, you're nothing. You bound yourself to it because of your greed for power and now you're condemned to a slow death. But even death is better than being separated from your precious power, isn't it?"
He narrowed his eyes, his lips curving in a sneer of utter disdain at her bold statement. She had struck gold then. She flashed him a sweet smile of triumph and revenge.
"Power comes at a cost," he said simply. His voice was level and cold. "I will say it again: you know nothing of this gauntlet, and you know nothing of power. It runs in your veins and has been spoon-fed to you since birth, yet you are blind to it. You are right in that I treasure power. Thus it pains me to see it wasted on one such as yourself."
"What does it mean to 'know' power?" she questioned. "You seem to think that using it to harm people and destroy things means you have knowledge of it. If that's the definition you're going by, then I guess I really am clueless about it."
He gave a short, cruel laugh. "Princess, I think you only insult yourself when you continue making such inane assumptions about me. Since when have I ever harmed people and destroyed things as ends in themselves? I am not so petty."
"Alright, then you enjoy destruction as a means to an end, to gain even more power for yourself. That's the basic reason for this game, isn't it?" She took the chance to channel the conversation in the direction she wanted. "You gave me this thirty-day challenge so you can enjoy gloating over me before getting to your actual plan to take over. Knowing that you can keep the princess of Agrabah on her toes for thirty days is quite a power trip for you. Especially when you can decide what she wears."
"I would watch how far I tread if I were you," he said casually. His eyes did not leave her face as he continued. "Especially when I can decide what you wear."
It took a great measure of control not to slap him after that remark. She was determined not to let him win this time. In a split-second she thought to strike at another weakness she was sure he had.
She had yet to meet a man who did not desire her on some level, whether he tried to hide it or not. Mozenrath had never made his attraction to her a secret. He seemed to enjoy making her squirm with suggestive remarks that exposed that side of him. But this time she would be the one to set him on edge.
With steady hands, she pulled her long hair loose from its bands. It cascaded around her shoulders in smooth waves, brushing the bare skin exposed by the outfit he had chosen to see. She leaned forward slowly, her hands planted by her sides, her eyes challenging his to break contact.
"You can decide, Mozenrath," she said in a different tone of voice. Her heart raced as she said the words, telling her this was wrong, that she was going too far for the sake of a small victory. But she had already started; it would only be more humiliating to turn back now. She stepped up her challenge, loosening her shoulders so that with each inch forward, the fabric of her top slipped downward.
He watched her, expressionless, his cheek resting against his gloved hand. She reached up to touch his face, wondering if he would be able to feel her heart pounding through her fingers.
To her surprise, he caught her hand before she could touch his skin, and looked coldly into her eyes. A wave of nausea washed through her as she felt the skeletal frame of his dead hand through the fabric of his gauntlet.
"Know exactly what you want before you act," he said softly. "That was a poorly thought-out course of action, Princess. Were I a cruder man, what would you have done?"
He released her hand, still expressionless as the spell she had cast over her own senses broke, to her humiliation. What would she have done if he had accepted her advances? She had indeed expected him to; her plan, simple and stupid, was to capitalize on a man's weakness. But to what end? She had been digging her own grave from the moment she had let down her hair. A wave of relief quickly replaced the queasiness she had felt from touching the gauntlet.
Relief in turn was followed by guilt. She was committed to Aladdin, yet she had tried to tempt another man. Not out of lust, but out of a spur-of-the-moment desire for power. She was as bad as she claimed Mozenrath was—wanting to gloat over someone else, to know she had power over him.
The silence was heavy with her embarrassment. She refused to meet his eyes, instead busying herself with retying her hair. She suspected he was gloating over her at the moment, and expected the insults to begin any second.
None came. The next words he spoke took her by surprise. "Power comes at a cost," he repeated. There was no arrogance in his voice. "I sense you are turning over that little firsthand lesson in your head now. Know what kind of cost you are willing to pay before making a gamble for power. The cost that it exacts cannot be refunded."
She had nothing to say in reply. At present, anything she said would sound foolish to them both. Her regret of her spontaneous decision was building by the second. She wanted nothing more than to end their meeting now and forget about what she had done.
He went on, unperturbed by her silence. "It seems that among the company you keep, only the jinni knows the cost of power. Perhaps the nature of a genie is the clearest illustration of it. Beings with immense power, the power to create and destroy, change destinies for better or worse. Their abilities are limitless except for three prohibitions. But the cost…they are shackled to a lamp and the will of mortals, endless possibilities confined to petty human whims."
"No freedom," she mused, remembering how sad Genie had looked after Jafar's defeat, even as he smiled upon her and Aladdin together. He had never known freedom, and thought he would never see it until Aladdin's selfless wish.
"Indeed. Your jinni's current state of existence goes against the rules of his nature," he commented dryly.
"You must be quite proud of yourself, then," she said, "to have both power and freedom."
He looked at her amusedly, perhaps because it had taken her only a minute to begin insulting him again. "Proud? Freedom is not a reason for pride, Princess. Neither is power in itself. It is the cost of gaining and bearing power that justifies my pride. You have sacrificed nothing for your power; it was all handed to you at birth. Your street rat has also had the good fortune of having all his desires fulfilled without any effort on his part. Perhaps that is why the two of you get along so well."
"There has been a cost," she asserted. "For me, at least."
"As of late, yes, I have noticed," he said. "How does it feel?"
"Tiring." It was the first word to come to mind. She abruptly stopped herself from saying more, wondering why she should bother to answer his question. He would not show sympathy, only disdain.
He nodded slowly. "Paranoia and insecurity go along with it also, I believe. You are experiencing the consequences of knowing how much power you wield, knowing you are responsible for what happens when you exercise it. By nature you are needy for control. I imagine it has been very difficult for you to feel like it is slipping away from you."
"I'm not losing control," she said defensively. "I've only gained more control over the kingdom's welfare in the past week."
"Princess, the very fact that you must contradict me on this point shows that you very much fear losing control. You must always be right; you must always have the last word; you must never back down even when you know you are wrong. You are stubborn, annoyingly so."
She almost opened her mouth to respond but realized that she would only be feeding his perception of her further. He was right in large part, but she would be hard-pressed to admit it openly. He had won too many victories tonight, as usual. She decided to change the focus of the conversation.
"Then I have Aladdin to balance me out. He doesn't worry about responsibility or power because he has no desire for it, no natural inclination for control. He just wants the best for the kingdom and those he loves. It's said that the best leader is a man who does not desire to lead or wield power. That's the kind of man he is."
"What does your street rat have to do with this conversation?" Mozenrath asked. "You've never had so many good things to say about him before. Could it be that you're finally willing to play second fiddle to a man?"
"I'll support whoever makes a good leader," she replied. "That's always been the way I operate."
"Somehow I don't quite believe that, Princess. Though you incessantly accuse me of arrogance, you are quite diseased with it yourself. Since when have you ever followed anyone's will but your own?"
"I haven't followed anyone because no one has been worthy of my confidence. And with my standing, the only person I may follow is my father, but he has failed at leadership."
"Ah, your father. Another example of a pampered waste of power," he remarked. He noticed the way she bristled at his crude wording and smiled. "You are in agreement with me on this. There is no reason to cringe at the truth."
"He is still my father," she said, but felt little strength behind her words. She had been railing against the sultan for days, yet she was offended when her enemy shared her opinion. But perhaps she was justified; her father, though incompetent, was a good man. Mozenrath was not.
"The more honest you are with yourself, the easier it will be to handle power and all that comes with it. There is no reason to try to alter your gut opinions for the sake of comfort or propriety."
"I have been honest. I've actually confronted my father with what I think. But he hasn't changed anything," she said. She wasn't sure why she was telling him this. Perhaps she just needed to vent to someone, even though she had already talked to Aladdin.
"You mean he hasn't stopped playing with children's toys? A pity; I thought he might have at least moved on to magical pursuits. There is much entertainment in them, at least in my experience," he said lightly.
He saw the indignant look in her eyes again and laughed. "You seem to find offense in everything I say, whether it is a joke, an insult, or a mere statement of truth. There is truly no way to make you happy. I wonder how your street rat deals with you."
"I find offense in your very being, I thought you knew that," she shot back.
"And I find amusement in yours. I believe you know that, but can't quite accept it."
She folded her arms and glared at him. They were silent for several seconds, having reached a standoff. He shifted his weight and continued to watch her, his cool, calculating gaze never leaving her face.
"In seriousness, power affects people in different ways," he said, his tone formal and cold. "Your father is an example of one such way. Given power and privilege at birth, he has spent his days taking it all for granted. Of course, all rulers must take some responsibility for their realm, and so he has to the best of his limited ability. But I believe he sees power mostly as a method for seeking entertainment and comfort. He may have been given power and privilege, but he was not endowed with the mental faculties needed to properly conceptualize his lot in life. In normal circumstances, such a ruler would lead his kingdom to ruin. He has been fortunate to have capable advisors to make up for his weaknesses."
"Capable advisors. You mean Jafar?" she questioned sarcastically.
"Yes, especially Jafar," he responded, to her surprise. "Personal motives aside, Jafar was an excellent advisor. He basically ran the kingdom in place of your father, did he not? Agrabah faced no wars, no civil unrest, no economic depression during his tenure. Or perhaps you were too busy primping your hair to notice.
"And," he went on, "you are only beginning to become aware of how power affects you. I take it you have stopped spending so much time on primping and have begun focusing on important matters of the kingdom. You said yourself that the burden of responsibility is great, and it tires you. This is only the surface cost, Princess. You have only begun to learn."
She fought the temptation to give a retort against his blunt words. He was speaking more civilly this time, not focusing on insults but on…teaching her? It puzzled her that their conversation this night had taken such a turn.
Was his goal for this game to teach her about power? It was an absurd thought, but it seemed true except for the fact that he was her enemy, and enemies never intended to help, only to weaken and destroy.
"How has power affected you?" she said without malice. It was the first question she had asked him that had no ulterior motive, no aim to insult or to dig out a hint of his plan.
"The first thing it did was exact its cost," he replied calmly. He raised his gloved hand. "You know what is beneath this."
She did, and felt slightly sick.
"You know, but you don't really know," he said, musing more to himself than to her. "How could someone with two arms know what it feels like to have only one?"
She remembered her first moment of great fear and loss of control. She had ventured into the marketplace on her own, having never walked through it as a commoner before. She had known nothing of cost, then, not even the simple monetary costs of the fruit piled high in the carts around her. And because of her ignorance, she had almost lost a hand to a vendor's sword. For that split-second, she had imagined living without a limb.
No, she corrected. She had imagined the pain of the sword. She had given little thought afterward to what daily life would have been like without such a vital appendage.
Mozenrath had experienced both the pain and the difficulty of living crippled. But his hand seemed to function fine without its flesh. Perhaps she pitied him more than she should.
"I have no feeling in this arm," he said, as if he had read her thoughts. He flexed his fingers, and she heard the bones clicking underneath the glove. "Convenient at times, I suppose. But not a day goes by without my thinking of its loss. Imagine your right hand as bleached white bones, Princess. You would have to be careful touching your own skin lest you draw blood. You would have to relearn how to hold a quill, to open doors, even to eat. You would be unable to touch your lover without causing him to cringe, though he might try to hide his disgust. And you wouldn't be able to paint your nails anymore, either."
His bitter laugh was unnerving. She spoke quietly. "Do you still feel pain?"
He looked at her coolly with eyes that had seen far more than she had in their relatively young lives. "The pain is always there," he answered plainly. "The gauntlet never stops demanding payment for its power."
"Why don't you remove it?"
His gaze did not falter as he seemed to consider answering her question, then decided on another course of action. She almost shrank back before catching herself as he wordlessly removed the glove and set it on the table before her. Her eyes were helplessly drawn to the perturbing sight of his exposed arm, his long sleeve covering most of the bones. It looked wrong, so utterly wrong for a young man to carry death on his arm. It was wrong for any living being.
"I can remove it for a time," he said simply. "But it can never be far from me."
Her heart began to race as she reached forward, hesitantly, fearfully. He watched her without expression as she touched the gauntlet with her own hands. She could sense him studying her reaction, as if he expected her to flinch away. Her eyes went from the glove to his face as she wondered how much he trusted her.
His greatest weapon was now in her hands. This was a dream world, but it felt like reality. The glove she was examining was made of real fabric and the real potential to wreak destruction.
If she put it on…
It would cost her an arm. But it would give her power, the power to win against him. Mozenrath was powerless now, wasn't he? She could make herself the gauntlet's new master, and render him powerless for life.
"Do not be foolish."
Her thoughts were broken by his calm voice. She looked at him in surprise tinged with guilt.
"You have no sense of magic; your body has no ability to harness it. The gauntlet would kill you," he said bluntly. His smile was cruel, devoid of humor. "You want to feel the cost of power that badly? Have patience, Princess. You will learn.
"It may not take the flesh off your bones. But it will take many other things that you currently cannot imagine living without. Your youth, your energy, your beauty, your dreams and passions and love…it will take it all and sacrifice it for the sake of whatever you wish to use your power for. Foolishly noble as you are, I imagine it is for the sake of your kingdom. It will take from you in accordance with how much you wield."
He reached forward and took the gauntlet back from her, his bony fingers brushing her hand for a second. She did not flinch.
She had always thought him a fool for craving power so badly, for using his gauntlet for destruction and conquest. She had thought it served him right to have to suffer for his greed and the sins it led him to commit. But the only sentiment that came to her mind now was pity. He must have seen it in her eyes, for he tugged the gauntlet onto his hand a bit more forcefully than necessary, his lip curling in contempt at how ignorant he thought she still was.
She had seen and felt the price of power—the price it demanded from him. The sensory memory of cold, dry bones brushing her skin did not fade as she watched him with a new kind of respect. He must have noticed the change, because his look of contempt changed just slightly to a nod of acceptance; he accepted that she understood, or at least that she was trying.
Perhaps it was the first time they had truly dealt as equals, though they were still enemies.