Author's Note: Well, the chapters are bound to get longer and I gravitate from action-oriented scenes to introspective ones. I love introspective scenes, don't you? Yes, readers, the story has many twists and turns, none of which I have pre-planned. Depending on how the previous chapters end, sets the stage for future chapters. So even I don't know what the characters will do or say when I write. It comes, I just write it down. As always, read and review. The Silent Reader epidemic is soooo not cool, guys. I want your thoughts on the story thus far! ^.^
Viperinae
By Shadovar
He hides there waiting all night, with legs crossed over Asian style.
Her phone's been ringing at odd hours; she's planting sacred lotus flowers.
Only on a sure return could you find that you never left what's missing.
Counting on a predictable tide for deliverance—it's right in front you!
Scouring the countryside just to find that the enemy's within your self.
I've been waiting for you.
"These travelers are strange, Rothgar," the old man was a gray-bearded elder who sat upon an ornate throne carved of wood and decorated with the bones and teeth of what the trio assumed to be large, dangerous beasts. He was dressed in animal skin, and as he leaned forward, he examined the three of them, his gaze lingering on Mozenrath.
"For a woman, she is quite skinny. I suppose they could stay until they are properly recuperated—perhaps get some color in those cheeks of yours." Mozenrath looked around, obviously perplexed. A look from Nadja told him it would be wise to play along. The less they provoked these giants-amongst-men, the easier their stay would be. Mozenrath fumed beneath his skin, blood rising to color his cheeks and the elder laughed.
"She blushes! Haha! Well there may be hope for you yet! Give them rooms at the inn, and a hearty meal will see them looking healthy again. I shall speak with them on the morrow when they've the strength to talk and appear more respectable than they do now." He waved his hand, and the trio was escorted out. Nadja and Jasmine burst into laughter. Mozenrath sneered.
"The old man needs his eyes checked…or gouged out. How can one even assume I'm female? And he was three feet from me! I could smell it!" Nadja and Jasmine shrugged, obviously reserving whatever jesting remarks they had for a later time.
"Maybe if you scrubbed up, put some meat on your bones and some…" Jasmine began to laugh, "…color in your cheeks, you wouldn't be mistaken for female." Mozenrath wanted to throttle both women, but inwardly he was laughing. He supposed it was better to be considered a pretty female than an ugly male. He may have been thirsty for power, but he was at least meticulous with his appearance. As they were led to the inn, Rothgar transferred them into the care of the couple who owned the establishment. The woman was large and heavyset, with yellow hair and summer blue eyes. She wrinkled her nose and spoke in jest.
"You two smell like a dead ram. Come in, we'll get you cleaned up." Nadja, seemingly used to this reaction on her own journeys, followed the couple inside along with Jasmine and Mozenrath. The interior was as warm and inviting as the three assumed it would be, with a cheery fire burning by the hearth, and a polished wooden floor with tables set up. The downstairs must have been a tavern, and the steps led upstairs to the rooms they'd be staying in. They followed the couple upstairs, and each were given a room as well as a large basin of hot water to bathe in.
"We'll bring up some fresh clothes, although the three of you are so scrawny I doubt we've anything in your size." Nadja narrowed her eyes as she noticed that the other rooms were vacant as well. Dismissing the notion that something was wrong, she assumed that due to the curse on the Hinterlands, visitors were few and far between—if at all. As each of the trio entered their rooms, Mozenrath began to undress, taking his shirt off to the gasp of the innkeeper.
"Goodness me, you're a man!" She exclaimed and Mozenrath gave her a tight smile, before he sneered.
"Would I be anything else?" The woman didn't respond, instead she slammed the door shut and he heard her fumbling down the steps in an obvious panic. Mozenrath's brows furrowed, finding her behavior odd, but he thought nothing of it.
Sun been down for days, a pretty flower in a vase.
A slipper by the fireplace, a cello lying in its case.
Soon she's down the stairs, her morning elegance, she wears…
…the sound of water makes her dream awoken by a cloud of steam.
She pours her daydream in a cup; a spoon of sugar sweetens up.
Nadja was glancing at the water after her bath. She had used it first to bath, then to wash her clothes, which hung by the window to dry. The water had turned black and she shook her head. She was truly getting too old for this. There was a soft knock at her door and she tightened the absorbing sheet about her before going for a blade and heading to the door.
"Yes?" She called.
"It's me, we need to talk." Mozenrath's voice was commanding even when thick wood separated them from each other's sight. Nadja opened the door to let the sorcerer.
"Something is very wrong with this place." He said resolutely and Nadja lowered her hand from behind her back, revealing the blade she'd taken up. Mozenrath chuckled.
"I take it you got that vibe as well?" Nadja gave him a tight and cold smile.
"No. This is just protocol for any new and strange world I find myself in. Why do you think something is wrong with this place?" She asked him, hoping that Jasmine too did not share this strange sense that there was something inherently off in this village. Surrounded by a cursed mountain range, one would think they would want to get as far from the Hinterlands as possible…
…could they even leave? Nadja hated this already. Mozenrath watched the changes on her countenance like the changing of the seasons. He smiled.
"I don't suppose you could set aside that silly grudge and realize that when the fat lady saw I was indeed a man, she took off as if she'd seen a ghost." Nadja raised a brow.
"Honestly, with your hand exposed thusly, I would have done the same thing in her position." Mozenrath's lip curled as Nadja made her way further into the room to the table where she'd laid out her arsenal, down to the tiny blades she hid inside of her mouth. Mozenrath followed, wearing little more than a tunic the woman had brought him that was too large, and some pants that had no doubt belonged to a younger man—mayhap a child—and a pair of fur-lined boots. Nadja noted he looked extremely out of place. This darkling sorcerer-prince looked so strange in those animal-skin clothes, with his damp, black hair bound at his nape, his pale skin slightly flushed with color, and he had found a glove to cover the skeletal hand that had cut her face. Mozenrath noticed her wounds had healed clean.
"I'm serious, Nadja," He said, reached to run his bared fingertips over the length of an exposed steel blade. The steel was as cold as her heart, and he smiled to himself. "There is something wrong with this place. I never read of any village beyond the Hinterlands. I never read of any life beyond the Hinterlands. Less dangerous, yes, but nothing of the indigenous people."
"I know, I know," The Adder said irritably, "but we have to take what we can—information and supplies—and get out of here as soon as possible. We can't rush out without knowing what lies ahead."
"That's assuming they even know what lies ahead. Why would anyone want to live in the shadow of cursed mountains? I need the Gauntlet. You and Jasmine may be able to rely on physical prowess, but I am the one who has extensive knowledge of magic."
"And betrayal."
The word hung between them, sounding both furious and wounded in the same breath. Mozenrath did not respond, his face schooled to calm as neither of them looked away from their accusatory gazes. "Yes. But that has to be forgotten in light of our recent situation. Nadja, I didn't have a choice. You said yourself when I first summoned you that you would have no qualms betraying me should someone pay better."
"And I told you the price we demand—demanded—was not always coin. What could the other sultans of the Seven Deserts offer me other than a bunch of useless gold and jewels?" There was more, Mozenrath could feel it hovering at the heels of that inquest like a hummingbird seeking the nectar of a fresh-bloomed flower. He could taste it, the unspoken question.
"I could not afford any liabilities. The legends never lacked for reminding me how treacherous you could be—price or no price. Should I succeed in my conquest, what would you have done? What price would you and your comrades asked of me before you quietly slipped off to whatever world you were summoned for?" Nadja did not respond.
"We would have asked for the Gauntlet. We would have asked for the one item with which you could not bring yourself to part from. Even now, I can see the separation is excruciating. To think, so small an item commands you like a puppeteer to a puppet. You fancy yourself in control, and now the Immortalis run free in your world." Mozenrath stepped close to her, pressing her against the table before he felt cold steel at his throat.
"Do not think your treachery is so easily forgotten sorcerer. I nigh succumbed to your seductions once. I will not ere thusly again." She said, her voice suffused with ice that settled on his skin like wind over a fresh grave. He leaned forward, pressing the steel into his throat until a trickle of crimson leaked from the wound.
"Do it, Nadja. Have your vengeance. If you think I am trying to seduce you, then you need to shake that notion. Has a man ever wanted you for what you truly are, Adder? Or have you always worn a mask?" At what point did the mask consume its wearer? Nadja's hand shook as she tried to force herself to press the blade into his throat. She found that she could not for she stayed her own hand. The blade clattered on the floor between them, as useless as the gold and jewels she so casually dismissed earlier. Mozenrath smirked.
"Why can't you do it, Nadja? Why can't you bring yourself to claim your rightful vengeance?" Nadja averted her gaze. She should have been able to. It should have been that simple to cut his throat—especially after realizing how easy it had been for her to use the Gauntlet. Mozenrath cupped her face in his hands and claimed her mouth for the second time. The first time they had been forced to stay their own steps, relinquishing one another to their respective places as contractor and assassin—but they were lost in another world, and no longer bound by contract or boundaries that prevented her from relishing this.
His kiss was like ice, and she was like fire, hissing and steaming beneath the rain as he doused the flame of her suppressed desire. It always started this way, for one so accustomed to the passions of men being guided by her whim, but never had Nadja been led into the vice of lust blind. She did not know what to expect from the sorcerer as his lips took in the scent and taste of her, traveling along the sleek line of her jaw, down her arched throat, and lingering as it vibrated with a soft groan of pleasure. Mozenrath's gloved hand took a grip on her hip beneath the silk absorbing sheet before his lips found her pulse which thumped beneath his smiling lips like a fever cadence. Her blood leapt to meet his touch, her pulse leapt with each feather's weight kiss he left upon her skin, the steam hissing as fire became doused in water and ice. Nadja had never felt so…helpless.
It didn't end there…and she hoped it wouldn't.
By the time the moon had reappeared, the two had let themselves be consumed by passion, with Nadja struggling to regain her dominance, and Mozenrath quelling her insecurities with his own knowledge. She had thought him inexperienced, but she should have expected nothing less of the sorcerer. Like when his fingertips strayed along her bared skin as if searching for buttons to push, grazing her inner thighs until he could feel the heat radiating from the apex between them. She fought valiantly, he would give her that, but in the end, he showed her that surrendering to a man had its benefits. Whoever moved first was Fate's decision, and the tow came together in unison amidst the cushioning support of feather-stuffed pillows and fur-lined blankets. Nadja found he responded like a perfectly tuned harp to her ministrations, and it brought her pleasure when he grew tired of her teasing and consumed her once more.
They moved like it was predestined, and she moved for him, while he moved for her. He smothered the worshipping plea of her cries with his gloved hand over her mouth, while he moved her world at a pace that had her flickering like a wickless flame in his coaxing breeze. Together, they resituated with a lewd and raunchy ease, coming together as many times as they could garner strength, in as many ways that could bring them pleasure—forceful and consuming to both of them.
The sun was beginning to rise as the two lay entangled, reclining in a well-earned languor that had them both smiling, as finally—finally!—they had crossed the boundaries that had held them from one another. Nadja's head found an easy recline against his shoulder, while her fingers scooped up a handful of his wild, black hair, testing her long-ago theory of how it wove between her fingers like ink. She sighed, and Mozenrath chuckled, running her bared fingertips over her sweat-slick shoulder as the two gazed into a space beyond the high ceiling.
"Was that so hard?" He asked the Nubian, his voice limned in languor, yet underneath was the smug mien of the sorcerer claiming this milestone victory that had been destined since the day he first lay eyes on the serpent. Nadja laughed.
"A lot harder than you can imagine," she responded, her voice losing its edge and taking on a gentler tone. Mozenrath turned his head, his lips brushing her forehead as an urgent knock sobered them from their shared reverie in the passion-scented air. Nadja rolled from the bed and gathered her now-dried clothing, settling her blades and straps to their respective places and Mozenrath saw how she situated the razors in her mouth, pressing them against the inside of her cheeks before she moved her lower jaw to assure they were secured. When she was fully dressed, she answered the door. It was Jasmine.
"You should see this. I knew something was wrong with this place but…" Jasmine looked as if she would die of fright. Mozenrath clothed himself and came to join the Adder in the doorway. Nadja stepped into the hallway and the trio went to the steps. From the top landing, Nadja could make out the problem.
It was too quiet.
As they crept down the stairs, Nadja saw then what was wrong. Everyone in the tavern was frozen solid in stone. It appeared as if the curse of the Hinterlands was not the only curse that ailed this place. The innkeeper was locked in a silent wave to a patron who had just recently passed through the door, frozen in his stride.
"It's like this everywhere," Jasmine said, as they passed outside to see the entire village had been turned to stone. "I thought something was wrong when they told me the village had been here for thousands of years and they remembered its inception. This curse must have been here for a lot longer than they have." The stone-curse must have been preserving the villagers. Nadja pursed her lips. "I don't suppose it would be too much to hope that the horses at least still live." Jasmine shook her head.
"Everything in this village is turned to stone. But I managed to gather some food in case you wanted to get out of here before nightfall." Nadja nodded. She suddenly regretted losing herself to her passions with Mozenrath while the princess had never once lost her good sense. She was determined to get home, and Nadja just wanted to get out of this world. Mozenrath said nothing in response to the sound reasoning, and did not even suggest giving him the Gauntlet to make their journey that much easier, but his desire for the magically-cursed item showed in the subtle flex of his gloved hand.
"Well, I suppose we could head out. Perhaps the curse is only here. But we will need horses to make this easier." That was when Mozenrath suggested it.
"We can't trust you with the Gauntlet," Jasmine retorted but it was Nadja who stepped in on his behalf. "We have no choice at this point, Princess." Jasmine's eyes widened and she glanced between the two, not understanding what had brought on this change of heart.
"Give him the Gauntlet. If he steps out of line, I will kill him. Agreed?" Jasmine didn't think Nadja would kill him, but she conceded, wary that perhaps the two had decided to come together to get rid of her. But the look in Nadja's eyes did not seem to be that of potential betrayal. It was too ambiguous, but the princess had no choice. The trek on foot could prove to be harder than if aided by magic. As she unclasped the Gauntlet from her hip and handed it to Mozenrath, Nadja flexed her arms, unsheathing an inch of steel. Mozenrath took the Gauntlet, almost too eager than he wanted, then he removed the plain glove, and slipped the Gauntlet onto his skeletal hand. Almost immediately, he laughed.
It felt so good to be back. For a moment, he looked between the princess and the assassin, and both looked at him as if expecting him to betray them both. Admittedly, he wanted to, but he may need them later.
"I'm not doing anything, see?" He waved his hand, now reunited with the Gauntlet and smiled. Nadja kept her eyes on his, and Jasmine was ready to tackle the sorcerer at a moment's notice. Mozenrath sighed, exasperated.
"After all we've been through the past few days you think I've the energy to betray anyone right now?"
"Yes." The two women responded in unison and Mozenrath's brows rose in surprise. He had not expected them to respond without at least deliberating first. However, in light of his history with both women, he could see why they'd be unanimous in that decision. Nadja shoved him forward.
"Well, sorcerer. Conjure us some transportation. Jasmine and I can pilfer this place for anything that could be useful." As the trip split up to search the village, Mozenrath considered his options. He could have abandoned both women, but in light of what had happened between himself and the Adder, he found that leaving would be harder, as if some unseen inextricable chain bound him to both women, weighing the untamable wings of his spirit to be ground until they saw fit to strike him free. When Nadja returned she had gathered a weapon for each of them, as well as three quivers full of arrows and the smallest bows she could find. Mozenrath had conjured three black steeds, saddled and bridled and equipped with saddlebags for the journey. Nadja smiled at him and for the first time he felt discomfort in the limelight of her attention—however brief it may have been. As the Nubian secured supplies, Jasmine came with all the nonperishable food she could find consisting of dried meats and fruits, herbs for flavoring, and waterskins. Swinging gracefully into the saddle of the nearest horse, she pulled up the hood of her borrowed cloak and tossed Mozenrath a wrapped bundle.
"They at least had the decency to wash our clothes for us." She remarked as Mozenrath peeled away the tightly-bounded skin to reveal the dark blue clothes within. He placed the bundle within a saddlebag and mounted the horse. Nadja vaulted into the saddle and took up the reins.
"The day is going to go by quickly. We'd better cover as much ground as we can before night falls…who knows what may happen then." As the three spurred their mystical mounts into a steady canter out of the village, Nadja was aware that there was more to this curse than stone villagers, lava flooding the Hinterlands, and a strange sense of eerie silence by day, and biting cold and howling winds by night. Something was seriously wrong with this place and unless they found a way out, they may very well have become part of this vicious cycle that cursed them. Jasmine did not remark upon the knowledge that she knew of whatever had transpired between the sorcerer and the assassin, keeping her own counsel for now. She let the two underestimate her to a fault, as it played to her strengths. She was not as naïve and sheltered as they would believe, and Mozenrath should have known better than to make such base assumptions. Nadja, she could excuse, as the woman judged her based on appearance and words alone. She had proven herself countless times to Aladdin and the others that she could hold her own in battle and save her own kingdom without the aid of a man.
Aladdin…ah! She wondered where he was, if he was searching for a way to find her, just as she longed to find him. Homesickness had a strange way of manifesting at the most inopportune moments and she reached up to wipe a stray tear from her eye and sniffled, hoping she could blame the chill of the air for her condition and not the fact that she longed for the love of her life to come and rescue her—as he always had. Now, it seemed as if she were cut off from everything she knew and held dear, forced to rescue herself the entire way. Carpet and Genie were not here to aid her, and the only magic she could depend on was that of the one man who had come so close to destroying everything she loved. The only man who could save her right now was the one who had gotten them into this mess to begin with. She was unsure of whether to feel relieved that he was aiding in this quest, or enraged that it was his fault they were here, and the Immortalis ran amuck in their world doing Allah-knows-what. Nadja did not seem inclined to share where it was she would go should they find a way out of Amoria, but nor did she seem inclined to slow the process of finding a way out. Jasmine assumed she would return to whatever world it was Mozenrath summoned her from…unless things had changed and she would return to the Citadel with the evil sorcerer.
I shouldn't call him evil. If he were as evil as we all thought, he wouldn't be helping us now. Then again, he's only helping us because it benefits him as well. With the sorcerer so recently reunited with his precious power, Jasmine was even more wary around him. The Adder's potential for betrayal would probably be far more calculating, exacted only when it was absolutely necessary and beneficial to whatever cause she took up, but Mozenrath had betrayed Nadja because it was convenient and because he could. It had not helped him in the end, and had only made matters worse. Now, the three of them were trapped in a cursed realm with none to rely on but one another for survival.
"How is it you came to know about the curse of the Hinterlands, Nadja?" Jasmine asked suddenly as their mounts fell into a steady walk beside one another, though they kept an even distance so as not to rile the steeds' territorial anger. Mozenrath smiled, inwardly guessing at the answer. Thinking she would not relinquish an answer, Jasmine abandoned the question immediately, until Nadja suddenly spoke up, looking ahead between the pricked ears of her mounts head.
"It was one of the many lands I was forced to train in before beginning my trials as one of the Viperinae. At first, I thought my lesson was to learn the nature of the curse, and my comrades and I foolishly set out to find the source of the lava. We did not realize the purpose of the training was to teach us that some situations are futile. We all died that day, and learned the price of pursuing the futility of uncovering truths not meant to be discovered."
"That's foolish nonsense," Mozenrath snorted, "what sort of lesson that you must die to learn it in full?" Nadja hazarded a slow, lateral gaze toward the sorcerer.
"You were trained at the hands of one of the most depraved men in your world's history. You should know as well as I that some lessons can only be taught by exacting the ultimate price." Jasmine did not understand how either of them could endure such cruelties for the sake of becoming who and what they were now. So she pried further, seeing as how both were open for the discussion.
"But why did you have to die to learn the lesson? Did searching for the source of the curse not prove the situation futile within itself?" She asked, and Nadja laughed.
"Would that it was so simple to learn the lesson without the blood-price. Let me ask you, princess, say you were on another one of your infamous adventures to save Agrabah from doom and gloom. If one of your party were to die in the process, would you not realize the danger you and your friends put yourselves in? Would you not realize the price of your recklessness…and the source of your father's constant worrying?" At that, Jasmine fell silent, considering it. What if they battled the likes of Mirage, and one of them did not make it out of the ordeal unscathed, or worse yet…alive? What if it had been Aladdin who had been sliced up by Mirage's attacks instead of Genie? What if it had been Iago, or Carpet, or Abu…or Aladdin? Jasmine could not fathom what sort of pall would befall their band if one of them was no longer there?
Truly, she was blessed and sheltered…and yet she was not. Jasmine made no more inquiries as to what sort of cruel tutelage Nadja had to endure to become the hardened woman that sat straight-backed in the saddle next to her. Mozenrath chuckled.
"I think you've offended the princess' sensibilities, Adder. Have your social skills waned in this deplorable weather?" He asked and Nadja's brows rose. Jasmine huffed.
"I'm not offended. Just because I'm not used to hearing of such cruelties practiced on people does not mean I'll wilt at the first sign of cruelty." Nadja's gaze siphoned to Jasmine, amusement writ in the lines of her face.
"And you call my dying during a training exercise meant to kill me cruel? You have barely scratched the surface of cruelty. I am sure Mozenrath can regale you with tales of Destane's own methods of instruction. I hear tell they've much more to offer in the realm of offensive than anything I could readily bring to memory." Mozenrath's jaw set firmly, an indication that while he was comfortable in the presence of his enemies-turned-allies, he would not share in their open discussions of one another's pasts. Destane was a depraved and morally-corrupt bastard, and when Mozenrath came to power, he became a dead depraved, morally-corrupt bastard.
That was all anyone needed to know.
Two white horses in a line, carrying me to my burying ground.
When night fell, they were leagues from the cursed village of stone, and for all that, they were lost as to where to go. There were leagues of uncharted territory but none of the trio had any idea as to where they could go for assistance in their current quandary. Nadja felt as if she had not slept in some time, and she realized that collectively, she had slept mayhap a few hours in the two days since they had arrived, and her horse clopped on while she dozed in the saddle, eyelids aflutter as she struggled to keep awake.
"If you pass out and fall of your horse, I can assure you I will leave you behind." The voice was so close she could practically feel his breath on her skin and she realized that Mozenrath had brought his mount close to hers, leaning over to whisper in her unsuspecting ears. Lack of sleep had seen normally keen senses dulled, and the whirlwind of events thus far had seen the Adder numbed to the cold that bit at her chafed fingers beneath the suede gloves. Despite it all, she managed a tired smile, but little else. Mozenrath wondered what sort of thoughts dogged her tired mind in that moment—and he knew spells capable of finding out—but he doubted that even at her most exhausted, the Nubian would not allow for a psychic intrusion, least of all from him.
Jasmine, however, was another story entirely. He knew the princess was vulnerable, and she was far too trusting despite her being the one to uncover his plot first. He could permeate her mind with his consciousness like a water soaked into a sponge, which is exactly what he did. He cast the spell, projecting himself into her mind, seeping into her conscious and subconscious like a damp mold forming along the paneling of a wall. Her thoughts flowed in a river that fed on itself, floating like small pictures that came to life when he touched them. One in particular caught his eye and he reached forward to scoop the thought from Jasmine's open mind. The picture was of her and Aladdin, a star-spangled sky in the fore why the two gazed in one another's eyes, gliding upon the magic carpet that Mozenrath had seen save the group a few times more than he cared to name.
You are the boy from the market, why did you lie to me?
Did you think I was stupid? That I wouldn't figure it out?!
Yes—I mean…no!
Mozenrath smirked, watching Aladdin tell yet another lie to cover another, but he saw Jasmine's shrewd expression and knew she wasn't buying it, no matter how cheap Aladdin was selling it for. He set the memory back on the river and it flowed away, vanishing around the bend while he searched the memories for something a bit more interesting. As he soaked into her mind, he noted that the framing to certain pictures indicated whether they were memories or merely dreams. When he spotted a dream, he all but pounced upon it; well and so, he was featured. In Jasmine's mind, he was a villain seeking to reform, seeking redemption amongst those he had made his enemies. It was almost adorable that she harbored such hopes for him in particular in secret, but the dream held nothing of import save that what he had planned to do—using diplomacy to conquer the Seven Deserts—had fallen through and instead the kingdoms managed to include him amongst their sovereignty. Mozenrath tossed the dream back into the river, insulted and disgusted. He would conquer the Seven Deserts, and he'd do so the minute things were set straight when he escaped this eerie, lifeless world. He plucked a memory idly, seeing Nadja and Jasmine standing at the mouth of one of the caves, engaged in what appeared to be amicable conversation.
But he defeated Destane; he could have chosen another route.
When the serpent of bondage has held you so long, sometimes it becomes a comfort—so much that when the serpent dies, you are left bereft of purpose and long for the suffocation once more.
You care about him, don't you?
Mozenrath shoved the memory away, wondering why the two women had discussed him, and why Nadja's word struck a chord in him that was not shy from the truth. He wanted to know if because her comrades were dead, if Nadja had been referring to herself as much as him. It had never occurred to him that she was not such a wild card any more without the other two Viperinae to complete the lethal trinity. After he had defeated Destane—by sheer force of will and blind fortuity—he had come to a crossroads. The Land of the Black Sand fell under his power and somewhere along the line he had become like his master, from torturing needlessly, to causing senseless suffering for his own amusement.
But he had not committed the atrocities Destane himself had made a daily discourse. Mozenrath could still feel the pain resonate in the half-healed wounds of his memory. Mozenrath had vowed never to take his dark path to power that far. He vowed never to lose his mind, and yet, when he had taken the Gauntlet from Destane, he had inevitably sealed his fate. The serpent of bondage had died, yes, but somewhat else weighed his mind in inextricable chains that refused to let him deviate from the path he had inadvertently chosen. In the beginning, he had chosen this path, vowing to never again be a victim to another, never again be powerless, and now he was one of the most feared sorcerers in the Seven Deserts…and perhaps beyond. He withdrew from Jasmine's mind, receding like a black tide before he returned to his own mind, in time to hear Nadja say they should stop and make camp before braving the thick of the forest. Mozenrath, slightly fatigued from perusing Jasmine's mind so long, did not contest it, and Jasmine looked as if she wished to go on, cover as much ground as they could, but she kept her mouth shut. Better to travel when they were well-rested. After a quick set up, they sat huddled about a modest fire, and Mozenrath said he could spirit them off to a more agreeable world, although he was mocking them.
"The less magic we use, the better," Jasmine said, more toward Mozenrath than Nadja, "we don't know who else may be watching us…or if your power can be drained here." Nadja's brows rose in surprise.
"And what do you know of magical deadzones, princess? Because that is what you just described." Jasmine shrugged, indicating that she was only thinking practically, she had not realized that such a possibility was common in strange worlds. The strangest place she had ever been was Morbia, and it was also the most frightening. This place was just empty and lifeless.
"A magical dead zone is a place where magic is simply leeched away…it can not exist. If we enter one, Mozenrath will be defenseless." Nadja smiled at him, and Mozenrath's lip curled. He was never defenseless, and he would impress upon the Adder that this was infallible fact, not some pompous toting of his black banner to a pair of stubborn women. As Nadja warmed her fingers by the fire, Jasmine took one to examine it.
"I have some salve back home to soften your hands, if you'd like." Nadja snatched her hand away.
"I am not a princess like you, Jasmine. These are the hands of one who spills blood for a living. No salve will erase that fact. I do appreciate the gesture, though." Jasmine's eyes narrowed. It seemed the easy camaraderie the three had found was wavering somewhat, but she assumed it was because Nadja was tired, which was made evident as she took a bedroll and coverlet from the saddlebag and went to sleep. Mozenrath chuckled.
"Trying to coax a snake to surrender its venom is a futile task, princess. I would think after five years you would know a lost cause when you saw one." Jasmine pursed her lips. "No cause is lost, Mozenrath. They just become difficult to handle." Mozenrath rolled his eyes.
"Please, princess. We're in the middle of no where, you can stow that hero-talk for someone who still believes in it. You can speak what you really think, now." Especially since he had so recently been inside of her head, he knew that she believed what she was saying. She most likely thought that by the end of this ridiculous journey, she would have singlehandedly convinced an assassin to lay aside her blades in favor of a quiet and humble life, and convinced him that his quest for power was as futile as trying to convince Nadja to stop doing the only thing she had ever done without fault or flaw.
Nonsense.
"Maybe you can stow your cynicism as well, Mozenrath," she countered, "She's not evil like you, and you had her friends murdered. It is because of you we are here to begin with." Mozenrath's lip curled into a veritable sneer again.
"Actually, Jasmine, it is because of you we are here. Had you not thieved my Gauntlet, it would be you and your pathetic lot of friends here and not me. And don't kid yourself…Nadja's heart is as black as the land I rule. It is because she still finds you useful—or amusing—that she had not drawn a blade on you."
"And what about you, Mozenrath? Why hasn't she drawn a blade on you?" Mozenrath raised his leather-encased hand and Jasmine did not look convinced.
"But you saw it with your own eyes…she is capable of using the Gauntlet herself without aid. She could have killed you and escaped using the magic. She could have killed both of us if she thought we were slowing her down." Mozenrath shrugged.
"Perhaps it is because I am so dashing, princess."
"And perhaps she actually gives a damn about you." Mozenrath's eyes went wide in mock-shock, his leather hand covering his mouth. "Careful, princess. Profanity isn't very ladylike." He assumed Jasmine did not know of what had happened between the Adder and himself back in the village, and that despite the tension between them being lessened in light of that, it did not mean either of them were ready to set aside their weapons of choice for fear of treachery. Nadja's easy handling of the Gauntlet was precisely why he would not stow his usually biting and arrogant nature—even if she did care for him.
"If you think she cares for me, princess, you have been attached at the hip of that street rat of yours for far too long. I wonder how he's handling this. Do you think he's pounding away thinking his pitiable pet Djini can open the portal and come save you?" His question struck a nerve and Jasmine's gaze snapped from the flickering fire to the sorcerer.
"Aladdin will find a way to get me out of her, and I've half a mind to tell him to leave you behind." Mozenrath raised a brow.
"And you had planned to take me with you? Princess are you sure you want to marry that street rat? I can teach you things he wouldn't even take into consi—" Jasmine held up her hands and made a noise for him to be silent.
"You're despicable."
"I was speaking in jest, princess. I can tell you love that ragamuffin, it's written all over your face. But you know, if you're ever entertaining the thought of taking a more…adventurous route—" He held up his hands as a pebble struck him on the head and found Jasmine's glower pinning him. She was already moving to gather her bedroll. "We need to get some rest and figure out where we are tomorrow." Mozenrath smirked.
"Sweet dreams, princess."