Chapter 20
She opened her eyes to darkness.
Her breaths were shallow, hesitant, as if most of her allotted air was escaping from the gaping tear in her chest before it could reach her lungs. She blinked slowly, her eyelashes weighted by droplets of water. She still saw nothing.
Her heart pattered feebly as she wondered if she were really in that place that was not actually a place but a state of being…or not being. Perhaps the Mirror had never intended to let her out alive.
But she still had a heartbeat.
She blinked again in delayed reaction to the sting of something sharp cutting into her palm. She shut her eyes then, taking her first deep breath, and found that the air entered her lungs without obstruction. There was no gaping tear in her chest. She was in the physical world once again. A world that was solid, tangible, and heavy with reality.
She lifted her hand, feeling her brain slowly reconnect with her physical senses, and realized that she was sprawled across a hard surface on her stomach. The cut on her hand began to bleed. Her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, making out vague shapes in front of her and above her. She craned her neck up to see the gray outlines of a bed and a divan. Gingerly she picked herself up off the ground, standing upright on unsteady feet, and felt the light crunch of glass under her delicate shoes.
She looked down and saw the faint glitter of countless pieces of shattered glass strewn all around her. She turned and her arm brushed the hard surface of her dresser. She was in her room. The Mirror had let her out after all. But it was completely dark. Was it past midnight? How long had she been gone?
Still half-dazed, she fumbled on her dresser for the lamp that she had lit ages ago while writing her biography. There was a brief clink as her hand knocked over a small object before she found the lamp had been overturned and snuffed out. Her hand paused upon contact with the rough edge of the Mirror's frame, drawing back in time to prevent splinters from digging into her skin. The frame lay flat on her dresser with the glass surface facing down.
She clumsily managed to light the lamp, and by its dim flame she finally realized what had happened.
The glass on the floor was the shattered remains of the Mirror.
She did not remember leaving its sands, but apparently her reentry into the physical world through the frame had knocked over the Mirror and smashed the glass into thousands of fragments. She stared down at the deadly object, now silent and unassuming, seemingly nothing more than an old, unpolished wooden frame. She never would have imagined that such a powerful, ancient object could be broken so easily. Perhaps she would never find out its secrets now. But at the very least, no one else would have to suffer the devastating cost of its power.
She reached for the book she had written. The top was covered in glass debris. She paused in brushing it off as her fingers encountered wet ink. Half of the parchment was soaked through. She must have overturned the ink bottle when she was fumbling with the lamp. Peering closer, she could barely make out the warning note she had scrawled before entering the Mirror. The words were heavily smeared, as they had not yet dried.
Which meant hardly any time at all had passed since she had entered the Mirror.
She stood silently, trying to think, but her mind was simply too weary. She had lived someone else's life for almost twenty years, and now all of it was once more buried in the invisible quicksand of history. It was as if she had come out of a long dream, or rather, a prolonged nightmare, that seemed less and less real with each minute that passed.
She looked down at the blood seeping from the cut on her hand. It was just starting to clot, but it began bleeding anew as she clenched her hand experimentally into a fist, smearing across her palm to mix with the black ink from the parchment. It was strange to feel the sensation of pain in a place other than her mind and heart. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing herself to relax, to ease herself out of the shock of passing into death only to pass out of it a moment later.
He'd killed her.
Something in her chest twisted at the crisp memory of the knife breaking her skin and piercing her heart. How he'd almost suffocated her, how she hadn't even been able to scream from the agony of the mortal wound. And how she'd looked up at him at the last moment and seen his unapologetic, serene features as he watched her die.
What had happened? Had he been in the Mirror waiting for her? Had it been just another one of the Mirror's tricks to push her closer to the edge, its final sinister triumph before she left its evil sands? She did not know, and she was too tired to wonder. She wanted nothing more than to rest, to sink into blessed sleep and lie unmoving, unthinking, undreaming for days.
She braced herself against the back of the chair by her dresser, the strength seeping out of her lower body as she sank into the cushioned seat. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and forced herself to think.
His unrelenting grip on her waist, the suffocating force of his lips upon hers, the words he had spoken that had killed her softly…they had been all too real. Maybe he had actually been there with her after all. Had she been playing into an elaborate trap of his the whole time?
But if he had actually been there, he would have exited the Mirror with her as well; he would have been here with her in her room at this very moment. Or he would have taken her to the Citadel with him if he wanted her as a prisoner. And what would he have gained from stabbing her in the chest and leaving her to die, only to let her out of the Mirror unscathed? It was a pointless fear tactic.
But had he meant for her to enter the Mirror? Had he known about her trip to Seripensia and into the Cave? If he had, then how far ahead had he been planning this? It seemed impossible, however, since she had first begun inquiring about the Land of the Black Sand of her own accord, and the old historian Thanon had her complete trust. Eberzin, on the other hand…had the old man received directions from Mozenrath to tell her about the Mirror? But even so, how could he have predicted that the Cave of Wonders would let her enter? And how could he have directed her journey inside a Mirror taken from a Cave that was off limits to him?
She threaded her fingers through her hair, pulling it tightly back from her scalp, willing her thoughts to continue flowing through the ruptured mess of her mind. She was undoubtedly missing something important in her numb state. But she couldn't stop thinking now. The game hadn't ended. As Mozenrath had once said to Xerxes, the world didn't stop turning for anyone, no matter how much pain and suffering one faced.
Her thoughts then turned to the Mirror itself. It baffled her that she had come across black sand more than once in her own memories; had the Mirror merely tailored her journey to fit the man she wanted so desperately to understand? Or was the Mirror itself connected somehow to the Land of the Black Sand? Perhaps she would have to find Eberzin again and ask him. But even then, she suspected he might lie to her or leave out important information as he had the first time. Asking Genie or Eden about it would only serve to arouse their suspicions; Iago was not a safe bet either. In any case, the price it had exacted from her was high indeed, and now she was at a loss for what to do after she had learned almost everything about the history of her enemy and lost almost everything about the history of her beloved.
Her fingers grasped the edges of the parchment, turning several pages to where she had written about Aladdin. Her handwriting was rushed and sloppy, but still legible. At that point in her writing, her wrist had begun to grow sore, and instead of full sentences she had resorted to short phrases and notes. He was her fiancé, born into poverty, lived on the street, had met her when she was almost sixteen…saved her from a fruit vendor who'd almost cut off her hand? Was that how they had met? She felt a small, sad smile touch her lips as she thought about what her first impression of him might have been, and what kind of man he might be beyond the rough sketch he had become to her.
She read on, noting that he had deceived her and her father by masquerading as a prince with an extensive, magically conjured entourage. So that was why he had been dressed in royal attire during the magic carpet ride in the Mirror. Then he'd gone on to save the kingdom from Jafar and many other magical and non-magical enemies, including Mozenrath. Her writing confirmed that Mozenrath had indeed tried to switch bodies with him, but fortunately had failed.
He was kind, humorous, rash at times, quick on his feet, loyal, playful, adventurous, bad at lying to her…and the descriptions wound on for several more lines.
Her writing came to an abrupt end at the edge of the ink spill.
She stared blankly at the parchment. What about their most precious moments together? Why hadn't she written any context for those positive traits so she could imagine him in the flesh, not as a string of descriptors on paper? She had empty words and facts, nothing of substance; she could only try to imagine his mannerisms and way of speech, how he acted toward her, how he expressed his love toward her.
And they were supposed to be married soon, she had written. The closeness of the date bewildered her. How could she marry a man who was essentially a stranger to her now? She knew she loved him, but she knew nothing about him!
Another thought twisted her stomach with dread. How would he react when he noticed she didn't remember him? He would surely realize something was wrong within seconds the next time they spoke. She no longer knew how to act around him, what kind of habits they had established between them, how he expected her to treat him. What was she to do? And how could she continue to hide her secret regarding Mozenrath's challenge?
She bit her lip and shut her eyes tightly, wishing all the questions would just disappear or answer themselves. But again, time and reality waited for no one. She would have no relief. Not until she solved the challenge and ensured her kingdom's safety.
She stared at the scattered shards on the table, where her reflection was fragmented into a hundred pieces. She could see the haunted look in her own eyes, the frayed ends of her sanity. She was plainly a wreck. How could she interact with anyone without arousing suspicions?
Her heart clenched as tears came unbidden to her eyes. She should not cry anymore. She had shed enough tears in the Mirror. She had dragged herself through enough trauma and disaster to last several lifetimes, and she had died and come back to life. What was left to weep for?
She could think of no answer, although she knew there were thousands of reasons. Too many to sort out in the tatters of her mind. So she pulled herself slowly toward her bed and lay down, cradling her wounded hand, staring at the clotting blood on her palm. She would sleep and forget about all that had transpired and all that was waiting for her to question, succumbing fully to the numb shock that had paralyzed her. She would start anew when she woke up. She would have to.
But as soon as she shut her eyes and began to drift away, she was jarred out of her deadened state by urgent shouts outside her door. She did not move for several seconds, hearing the familiar voices of guards and heavy footsteps pounding down the hall.
"…th…sultan!"
"…ecurity…lock off…."
She opened her eyes and listened, trying to decipher their words. She flinched as the gruff voice of Razoul suddenly sounded right outside her door.
"Princess Jasmine! There's an emergency! The sultan has been poisoned!"
The feeble patter of her heart in her chest stopped for a brief moment. And then it returned full force, the blood beginning to pound in her ears in tandem with Razoul's heavy fists against her door.
Her body moved faster than her mind, stumbling over the broken glass as she made for the door, the guard's message ringing in her mind. Her father…her father had been poisoned! Was he still alive? Who was responsible?
She had no time to wonder how her mind could still function at this point, how she managed to brush aside the nightmare she had just survived and operate purely on the basis of necessity. She flung open the door and stared up at Razoul's anxious, sweating face; the urgency of the moment prevented him from paying any heed to her disheveled appearance.
"What happened?" she demanded, the mantle of authority shifting onto her shoulders like a well-worn burden. She moved forward into the hall, forcing the guard to take several steps backward, and shut the door behind her.
Razoul spoke rapidly with the composed succinctness he carried in dire situations. "He was dining with advisors, your Highness. Several minutes ago the first man fainted. The sultan followed soon after. We—"
"Is he still alive?" Jasmine said sharply.
"Yes," the guard breathed. "But just barely; the jinni is sustaining him."
"Take me to him."
Seconds or minutes passed in a blur. She ignored the burn in her muscles and lungs as she ran closely behind the hulking form of Razoul, her body now unaccustomed to strenuous movement in the physical world. A brief spell of dizziness washed through her mind, but she shook her head to clear it, determined to go on. She could not afford to falter now, not when her father's life was in danger.
She suppressed the raging questions in her head, preventing them from driving her even deeper into madness. She would find the answers when she arrived by her father's side and saw the situation with her own eyes. Genie was there. Aladdin would probably be there as well. She brutally crushed the worrisome thought that she did not remember him. In such a dire situation, it did not matter whether she acted out of character toward him; they needed to save her father first and foremost.
What had been only a minute seemed like an hour as she finally raced into the room where her father often dined with his close advisors and friends. In her breathlessness she tripped over one of the cushions on the floor, but strong arms caught her at the last moment.
She looked up into the concerned eyes of Aladdin and froze. This was her fiancé, the love of her life. The man she no longer knew.
In the next second she pushed away from him and ran toward her father, hearing Aladdin's footsteps close behind her.
"Jasmine, it's all right. He's alive, Genie's not going to let him go," he said, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. She did not reply as she looked down at her father, lying pale and motionless on a mattress Genie had conjured. Carpet, Abu, and Iago were there as well, looking on in anxious silence. The blue jinni stood right beside the sultan, his normally jovial face set in grave, rigid lines. There was no room for humor here.
She noticed her father's body was outlined in a soft blue glow. Genie's magic. She looked up at her friend, and he answered her unspoken question immediately.
"Magical poison. In the wine," he said grimly, motioning toward the upturned goblets on the floor. Dark liquid stained the rug and cushions. She stared at it as she listened to him explain. "I'm keeping the poison from spreading, Jas, but I can't get it out of his system. I'm already pushing the line here with mixing magics."
"What kind of magic is it?" she asked, kneeling down beside her father's small, prone form. Aladdin followed suit, his hand still on her shoulder.
"Dark," Iago said simply. "The high grade, 80 proof type."
She stared sightlessly in horror. Was this Mozenrath's doing?
"We don't know who did it," Aladdin said, his voice low with suppressed anger. "But we'll find out for sure, and they'll get what's coming to them."
"Come on Al, how many bozos do we know who throw around this nasty brand of magic?" Iago said, flapping up to perch on his shoulder.
"One too many," Aladdin answered tightly. "This isn't like any of them, though, to just poison the sultan and not show up to gloat or attempt a takeover."
"Genie, how long can your spell last?" Jasmine asked, her mind already racing toward possible solutions.
"For an indefinite time. But someone has to be here to guard him," he said, keeping pace with her thoughts. "Mr. or Ms. Wannabe Sultanicide probably won't be happy to know that the poison didn't instantly kill him."
So Genie or someone sufficiently powerful would have to stay here with her father while the rest of them went off to find a cure. Where should they even start looking?
"There must be an antidote," Aladdin said firmly. "I'm not going to sit around waiting for the assassin to show up while I could be saving the sultan's life."
"Two possibilities," Genie said. "The Tree of Renewal, and the Elixir of Life."
"Oh, this is going to be a swell adventure," Iago said, sweeping one wing over his eyes in resignation. "Two of the hardest places to get to without becoming lake monster chow, dog chow, or worm chow in the process."
Abu chattered angrily, scampering up Aladdin's back to give the bird an indignant shove.
"Hey!" Iago protested, almost losing his balance. "I didn't say we shouldn't go; it's just my job to point out the obvious!"
Aladdin turned toward her, grasping her hands as he looked into her eyes with grave urgency. She paused at what she saw in his gaze, the unvoiced love and genuine concern for her and her father.
"I'm going with Genie. You'd better stay here," he said, and put a finger to her lips before she could protest. His voice dropped in volume, edged with hesitancy. "You have to stand in for your father as the sovereign of Agrabah."
"But—"
He shook his head, having made up his mind, and she knew she could not change it. At the same time she felt a wave of gratitude wash through her. He understood his role and hers, that they were different and separate at this moment. Yes, she could contribute to the search for an antidote if she went along with him. But he could not command the kingdom like she could. He did not yet have that right, and he knew it all too clearly. She wondered then exactly what the people thought of him, a street rat soon to ascend the throne. Did they respect him? Was he well-liked, or was he a laughingstock? Judging from the worried look on his face, it was obvious he was insecure. She did not let him hesitate further.
"Go," she said shortly. "Genie, call Eden—"
"Already here, sweetheart," the female jinni said, having appeared a second earlier with a bewildered Dhandi in tow. Her brow furrowed in determination and indignation at what had happened. She placed a delicate hand on Genie's forearm while the other rested on her hip in a defiant pose. In a flash her bright pink attire morphed into a dark green and brown patterned outfit, her head covered in a round helmet of the same shade as her long-sleeved jacket and pants. "Off you go, men, on the double! We ladies'll hold down the fort here! Hup two!"
Aladdin was already on Carpet, Abu and Iago perched on his shoulders. Genie transformed into a similar character with a faint unshaven layer of hair on his stern face, and gave Eden a rigid salute. "Yes sir—er, ma'am! Let's roll out, boys!"
In a poof of magic, Genie transported them out of the room, leaving in his wake a cloud of sparkling dust. Jasmine watched as Eden changed back to her ordinary self and knelt down on the opposite side of the mattress, looking into her eyes with sincere care.
"Don't worry, your father will be all right," the jinni said in a warm, motherly tone. "I won't let this spell break. And we can count on our guys to fix up this situation in no time."
"Yeah, Aladdin and Genie always save the day!" Dhandi spoke up beside her. The young girl sat down cross-legged beside the jinni and gave Jasmine an encouraging smile.
"Thanks," Jasmine replied softly. But the worry did not fade from her mind at all. The thought that Mozenrath could be behind this was suffocating her slowly. Why would he choose to do this now? Was he already putting his ultimate plan into motion? And why hadn't he shown up yet to claim responsibility?
Behind them, Razoul coughed pointedly and stood at attention as he cut in. "Princess Jasmine, my men stand ready and awaiting your orders."
"Have them search the palace grounds for intruders. If it was a human assassin, they could still be in hiding somewhere nearby, waiting to escape at the first chance they get," she said quickly. "Also, dispatch some men to block off all the kitchens; don't let any of the cooks or servants there out of sight, but make sure no one is harmed. We just have to cover all our bases in case there are agents or hired hands working among them. Station a few guards outside this door, but most of your men should be scouring the palace and looking for the perpetrator. And find out where this wine came from."
"Understood, Your Highness," Razoul said swiftly, and backed out of the room with haste to pass her orders on to his underlings. Two of his subordinates remained as her personal guard, but they stood at a respectful distance, knowing she preferred more freedom of movement.
She placed a hand on her father's forehead; his skin was cool to the touch. She frowned, wondering how far the poison had spread before Genie had intervened. Eden's hand hovered over his torso, glowing light green as she cast more magic over him.
"Just reinforcing Genie's spell," she explained. "Your old man's tough, don't worry. And so's our magic. It'll keep him suspended in this state indefinitely."
"Will the Tree of Renewal really cure him though? Or the Elixir of Life?" she asked, her eyes not leaving his pallid, blank face.
As much as Eden was trying to make her feel better, Jasmine could hear the slight edge of uncertainty in her voice. "They're called the Tree of Renewal and the Elixir of Life for a reason, honey. At least one of them should do the trick."
Jasmine sat down heavily and covered her face with her hands. "I wish I could do something. But I'm just sitting here helpless!"
"That's not true!" Eden insisted. Dhandi nodded vigorously in agreement. "You've got some major responsibility on your shoulders, missy. Namely your father's authority over the kingdom!"
Jasmine did not reply, trying to stop the uselessly circular race of her thoughts. She knew about her responsibility. But that didn't make her feel any less powerless.
"I'm willing to bet one of our old pals is behind this," Eden said. She frowned as if recalling a bad memory. "Maybe that Mozenrath fellow, the little punk who drained me and Genie of our power!"
Jasmine did not move from her position, her face resting against her knees. She hoped Eden didn't notice the way her breath paused for a second, or how her heartbeat quickened. "Maybe," she said weakly.
"Or maybe it's someone we haven't faced yet," Eden conceded. She hadn't noticed Jasmine's discomfort, to her relief. "It seems every evil soul that roams the Seven Deserts eventually tries its hand at taking over Agrabah. Maybe we should be flattered?"
She stayed silent once again, not trusting herself to speak. The jinni gave her a curious look.
"Could this have to do with…" she trailed off, glancing at Dhandi for a split-second before continuing, "…the last time we met?"
Almost on reflex, Jasmine shook her head. She knew the jinni's suspicions would only increase from now on, and she feared suddenly that her secret trip to Seripensia would no longer be so secret once Aladdin and Genie returned.
"No, that has nothing to do with this," she said firmly. "Trust me."
"And you still won't tell me what you did there?" Eden asked with a worried frown. Dhandi looked back and forth between the princess and the jinni, clearly confused.
"Sorry, Eden," Jasmine said sadly. "I can't."
She stood from the floor, signaling the end of the tense conversation. She was still slightly shaken, but she steeled herself quickly. It was time to stop waiting around and start assuming her father's authority. She breathed in and out slowly, trying to arrange her thoughts. She would go to the throne room. She would call the advisors together for an emergency meeting. At this point, word might have already spread beyond the palace that the sultan had been poisoned. She would have to dampen the populace's fears—and the wily intrigues of any insurrectionist hopefuls—that he was in mortal danger, and make it clear that she was only on the throne temporarily in his place. He would recover soon and return to power. At the same time, she had to ensure that all her orders were obeyed respectfully and in a timely fashion. Perhaps this was the first real test of her authority. Before, she had issued commands to carry out her ideas for improvements to the kingdom, but only as a subordinate of her father. Now, she would be standing at the helm alone, and she could already feel the increased pressure weighing down on her. If she did not keep calm and composed, it would crush her.
"Go get 'em, girl!" Eden said proudly, pumping a fist in the air. She transformed instantly into a middle-aged, heavyset woman with heavily powdered features, bright red lips, and voluminous hair tied back in a bun. "Make momma proud!"
"Eden and I will watch your father!" Dhandi chimed in. "Don't worry, you'll do great!"
She nodded, smiling gratefully at the pair, and hurried from the room. She passed several elderly physicians at the door just as they rushed in. They cringed as they saw her, perhaps expecting a harsh reprimand for not being there the whole time.
"Your Highness, we just returned from fetching the medicines—"
"Arrange with the jinni to move him to a more comfortable room," she ordered, and moved on without a backward glance.
By the time she arrived in the throne room, trailed silently by her personal guard, the palace was under a subdued hush. Guards were everywhere, scouring every inch of the building for intruders and trying to keep order among the court nobles, officials, and servants who had left their customary duties and activities in the hope of finding out what was happening. She strode as calmly as she could toward her father's throne, her eyes fixed on the giant golden elephant above it, a symbol of stalwart strength and dignity.
She stopped right in front of it, refusing to sit on that hallowed seat while her father still lived. The guards flanking the throne watched her with masked curiosity. She ordered one of them to gather the top royal advisors for a meeting.
Several minutes later a dozen stately men of varying ages and responsibilities stood before her in slight apprehension, perhaps wondering how the young princess would fare in her father's shoes. She shook off the tendrils of doubt encroaching upon her and raised her chin.
"You have heard the news by now. The sultan has been poisoned," she said, her gaze sweeping over all their faces. She paused only for a second as she noticed Thanon was not among them. "But he is not in mortal danger as some are whispering. He will recover soon, and in the short time that he is resting, I will oversee the affairs of the kingdom in his place. Nothing else has changed. You will all perform your duties as usual. If any urgent matters arise, you will discuss them with me. Atares, assure the guilds that nothing is amiss. Muhab, you may tell the foreign dignitaries what has happened, but make it clear that it is not urgent and they should not have to send any messengers back to their kingdoms. And…"
She frowned. The question would not be still. "Where is Councilor Thanon?"
The advisors looked at each other uncomfortably, none of them wanting to speak. Her pointed gaze fell on the youngest man, who coughed politely and answered her with reluctance. "Councilor Thanon was with the sultan, Your Highness…he and Councilor Waqar were both poisoned as well. They are dead."
She felt a hollow pit of grief and shock open in her stomach, sucking away all her composure for a brief moment. She almost faltered but steadied herself, making it appear as if she had only shifted into a more authoritative posture.
They must have thought she was a blind fool not to know. Razoul had plainly told her that the other men in the dining room had also been poisoned. She had been in the very room where her father's councilors had died, and she had not even thought to ask! Their bodies must have been removed from the room before she had arrived, but didn't she have the sense to realize their fate?
She shoved the self-accusations away; it had been a grave mistake, but it was done and she could not cover over it now. She would just have a harder time proving herself now in front of these men.
"That is grievous news," she said steadily. "The loss of two faithful, valuable councilors in one night. When my father recovers, we will give them the proper state funeral they deserve."
And then she was struck by another alarming thought. How could she assure them that her father was safe when two men who had taken the same poison were already dead?
"We know where the antidote to the poison may be found," she said, hoping desperately that Genie was right. She took a calm breath before fully revealing their plan to save her father. "Aladdin is procuring it as we speak, and in the meantime the jinni's magic is preventing the poison from spreading through my father's body."
Her words elicited no visible reaction from the advisors, all of them having been schooled from childhood to wear pleasantly blank expressions in front of the royal family. But she imagined that behind those unreadable faces were mounting doubts and uncertainty at the situation and her new authority. The brief silence that followed was rife with unspoken tension. She dismissed them before it could accumulate further.
She almost sank back into the throne in weariness once the last of them was out of sight. But she could not touch that seat. Not yet.
She stopped that thought abruptly. In actuality, she would never sit upon the throne. Aladdin would, and she would stand at his side. The thought relieved and worried her at the same time. At the moment she was doing what came to her naturally, while he was doing what came to him naturally. It was bizarre to think that one day they would have to switch places. Or rather, he would have to do both, while she would stand as his support. But she had no time to worry about that now. She hoped that they would not have to come to that crossroads for a while yet, as long as her father lived. And he would live on for a long time, she told herself. This poison would not kill him. She would not let herself imagine that possibility.
She strode down the hall toward her own room, dismissing the two guards although they looked ill at ease in leaving their duty to protect her. Her head was a whirlwind of questions. Thanon, the kind old historian who had told her stories as a child and faithfully carried on his father's mission of freeing the oppressed, was dead. Had he been purposely targeted? Did Mozenrath have a reason to kill him? She was almost sure it was the sorcerer's doing. He hadn't shown up to gloat, but given his pattern of unpredictability starting with the presentation of his challenge, it wasn't a surprise that he was operating out of his normal paradigm.
Why would he want to kill her father and his advisor? Did he want to erase that idyllic past he could have had, the past that must have haunted him after his mother had revealed it to him? But why now, at the midpoint of the timeframe he had given her? None of it made sense to her. She despaired at how far behind she was, too slow to figure out what was going on. Even after a lifetime in the Mirror, seeking to understand who he was, she still understood nothing.
She stumbled into her room and shut the door, her eyes falling upon the shattered mess on her floor. She did not have the energy to clean it up now. Locking the door behind her, she made her way toward her bed, hoping to catch at least an hour of rest. If she tried to go on without it, she might make even more mistakes than she already had.
She lay down and sank into the mattress, rendered immobile in utter exhaustion. She finally removed the barrier of control she had set between what she needed to do and how much she needed to rest, and faded from consciousness almost immediately.
Her last thought was that she had no way of ensuring she would wake up in an hour.
***
14.
***
She was jarred awake by Genie's voice in her head. Disoriented, she caught the tail end of his message.
…gone and we don't know why…
"What?" she said aloud, struggling to open her heavy-lidded eyes.
The Tree is empty, Jas. No fruit on it at all. Can't tell how long it's been this way, either.
"Then…then what?"
We're going to get the Elixir of Life instead. We're going there as fast as we can!
With that, his voice faded from her mind. She bit her lip to keep a cry of frustration from breaking the silence of her darkened room. What would they do if the Elixir of Life didn't work? Or if it wasn't there anymore, just like the fruit on the Tree?
She forced herself to sit up, her muscles aching. It was darker than before, and she was afraid she'd overslept by several hours. She should have asked Eden to wake her up, but the fact that the jinni hadn't sought her out was perhaps the one good sign in all of this. Her father was still stable.
For the first time in a long time she bowed her head and prayed in desperation, begging God that it would all be all right somehow. But right after she made that plea, she realized that what she needed more than anything right now was hope and strength. Aladdin and Genie wouldn't return for another few hours at the least. She had to hold out until then on her own strength, but she had spent it all in her harrowing journey through the Mirror.
"Please…" she begged in a broken whisper. She bent forward until her forehead touched her blanket. "Please, give me strength…"
Tears trickled from her eyes, staining her blanket invisibly. What would she do? What could she do?
She must have lived through many situations where life had seemed hopeless. Surely none of her and Aladdin's battles against their enemies had been easy. If she could just remember him, how he must have inspired her and given her hope through all the hardships they had faced, perhaps she wouldn't be mired in despair now. But she couldn't remember anything about him, couldn't remember how he had always come through in the end for her and the kingdom.
She flinched as the wide doors to her balcony suddenly swung open, a chilly breeze flowing in and raising goosebumps on her skin. Cautiously she tried to peer through the gauzy curtains, but could not see anything.
Fear suddenly spiked through her heart. She had locked those doors before she had entered the Mirror.
There was someone waiting for her on the balcony. Someone with the power to open locked doors from the outside.
She stared in terror at the waving curtains, frozen by the thought of who it must be. She could not face him now. She was not ready; she was defenseless and helpless. What if he killed her? What if he was angry that she had used the Mirror to unearth his past?
She shivered more from fear than the cold and drew her blanket tightly up around her shoulders, trying in vain to protect herself from what she knew she could not fight.
Several seconds passed, and he did not make an appearance. She still could not see the balcony clearly. The wind died down for a brief moment, allowing the gossamer curtains to settle over the open entrance.
She swallowed hard and made her first move toward unknown danger. There was no use waiting. She could run, perhaps, but what would that do? If he wanted to capture her, he could trap her long before she could reach the door.
Her legs shook as she stood from the bed and made her way toward the balcony, bracing herself against shelves and any other solid object she could cling to. Her hand unexpectedly brushed the jeweled hilt of a dagger on top of one shelf. She snatched it immediately as if it were her salvation, though she knew that a simple blade would not stop him. She unsheathed it and held it as steadily as possible at her side, trying to keep her fingers from trembling around its hilt.
She brushed aside the first curtain in one rapid motion, steeling herself to face him on the open balcony. But there was no sight of the familiar blue and black robes or the eerily calm smile of a young man. She blinked at what awaited her instead.
"Princess Jasmine."
She drew back at the aged voice, heavily accented and slow with deliberation. The gray-robed old man spread his arms wide to rearrange his long sleeves before folding his hands together. She stared speechlessly at his wrinkled, blindfolded face, the prominent nose and long white beard.
"F…Fashir?"
She took a step forward this time in disbelief, her tight grip on the dagger growing slack. It had been a long time since she had last seen him. Then she was suddenly on guard again, remembering that he had once turned her into a rat just to teach her a lesson. She had to hold a healthy respect for his powers and mysterious motives. None of them knew if he was actually on their side, or on anyone's side for that matter.
"Are you behind this?" she asked, her question almost stifled by the chilling breeze. She moved forward hesitantly, coming to stand in the middle of the balcony several feet away from him. "Did you poison my father?"
He shook his head gravely, his invisible eyes seemingly focused on her even though he appeared to be blind.
"No. That was an act of evil."
"Do you know who did it?" she said.
"To answer such questions is not my purpose," he said sternly. She closed her mouth, not wanting to tread wrongly around this frighteningly powerful enigma.
"Do you recall the lesson you once learned? Of the force that is ever triumphant?"
She shook her head. It seemed he always spoke in vague riddles.
His gaze seemed to sharpen though she could not see it, and it felt as if an intense light were scouring her mind from its surface to its dark, inner recesses. He must have seen that the tapestry of her memory lay in tatters.
"You may have forgotten the moment you learned of this truth, but your heart still knows; such knowledge cannot be removed once gained," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Love," he said simply. "All the legions of evil and hate in this world and beyond are no match for its power."
His artistic words resonated inside her, but she failed to see how they could help her now.
"But how can I save my father?" she asked. "Will the Elixir of Life work?"
He frowned severely, and she bowed her head, chastened. She waited for him to reprimand her for speaking out of turn, but no rebuke came.
"You know how to save your father," he said finally, answering her question though it distracted from his purpose. "But most knowledge sleeps until you awaken it."
Her hands clenched into fists in frustration. For a moment she didn't care how powerful he was. If he couldn't help her, then it was a waste of time to listen to his riddles. "But I don't know! None of us know, not even Genie. Only a miracle of…"
She paused, turning over what she had been about to say.
"…of a god…" she said slowly, staring in realization at Fashir's blindfolded eyes.
The old man bowed his head slightly, his creased frown turning into a small smile.
"Remember the truth," he said simply, floating backward and lifting into the air. The edges of his billowing robes began to fade. "Remember…"
She stared silently as he disappeared at last, leaving no trace of his presence on the balcony. Then she turned and raced into her room, her heart pounding with excitement and fear of her epiphany.
Just as she reached her bed, she heard Genie's worried voice in her head once again.
The Elixir's gone too, Jas! The cup's empty, and the guardian worms are dead!
She did not respond as she lay down quietly and closed her eyes.
Jas? Jas, can you hear me? Did you just say something?
She had whispered the name too softly for her friend to hear.
***
14.
The darkness enveloped her fully in its cold embrace. It had been ages since she had walked on air in this borderless realm, dealing with her greatest enemy on his terms and territory.
She heard his familiar, detached voice, addressing her in aloof cordiality.
"Welcome back, Princess."
She tensed as he appeared before her in a silent swirl of smoke, looking exactly the same as always, down to his cold eyes and enigmatic smile. She fought down the terror that seized her heart as she remembered the sharp pain of a knife spearing through her chest. That nightmare was over, she was still alive, and he would not harm her now—she hoped.
"I was afraid you'd gotten lost on your way home," he said nonchalantly.
The insinuations in his voice set her on edge, but she hardened her gaze and forced the fear out of her expression. She would not allow herself to become his source of amusement for the night. She reminded herself that he didn't hold all the cards. She now knew more about him than any person alive.
"I've missed you too, Mozenrath," she said sweetly, but did not smile. "But tonight I have more important things to worry about than your pathetic little game."
He cocked an eyebrow at her in mock ignorance. "Oh really? What could be of such dire importance, I'd love to know."
"My father is dying," she said bluntly, absent of all humor. Almost certainly by your hand, she almost added.
His look of exaggerated surprise and false sympathy sickened her to the core, mixing cruelly with her helpless attachment to him. The prettily veiled malice in his every word pricked at her heart; it was worse than every meeting they had had before, because she was not who she had been before, and he was no longer the same person he had been in her eyes and heart.
"What happened, Princess?" he asked in artificial concern. "Did someone lace his toys with poison?"
"His drink, actually," she said, refusing to rise to the bait. "I wonder who could have done such a horrible thing."
He had the audacity to fake a look of distress as he deflected her veiled accusation. "Indeed, what a horrible crime. I trust you and your virtuous street rat will ensure the perpetrator is brought to justice?"
"Of course," she said with an easy smile. "Although I'm not sure if he deserves justice."
He returned her smile hollowly, and with a leisurely gesture the familiar table and cushions appeared between them. But there was no tea or wine this time; the surface of the wood remained empty. He seated himself and motioned for her to join him.
She sat and watched him warily from across the table, waiting for him to make the next move or to drop the façade altogether.
He chose the second option much sooner than she had predicted.
"In truth, Princess, I have nothing to do with poisoning your father." He put his hands up defensively as she narrowed her eyes at him. "I would have done it sixteen days from now, if anything. But such a simple, crude assassination plot doesn't suit my tastes. You should know that by now."
Ignoring the insinuation in his last sentence, she gave him a skeptical look. She couldn't completely trust him, even though his excuses sounded valid.
"If you didn't do it, then who did?"
"Come on now, Agrabah has even more enemies than I do," he said in slight indignation. "Why am I the only one under suspicion?"
She shut her eyes briefly, waiting for her patience to replenish itself.
"I'm not going to bother answering that. But I have a proposal to make," she said. "I want you to save my father."
He turned his head slightly as if trying to hear her better. His self-assurance confirmed that he was indeed capable of fulfilling her request. "And…?"
"Name your price."
He laughed in her face. "An open-ended proposal? Oh Princess, I thought you'd moved beyond that level of irrationality even if you never did pay attention in your lessons."
She bristled, planting her hands on the empty table between them and leaning forward with the clear aura of a challenge. Her heart began to race involuntarily at their sudden proximity, her face mere inches from his.
"I don't have time for your ego trips," she said tensely, her gaze riveted on his cool, dark irises. His smooth, pale lips were just at the rim of her vision; she suppressed a shudder as she remembered the feel of them upon her own, brutally crushing the remaining breath out of her. "Can you save him or not?"
He returned her glare with indifference, seemingly unfazed by their sudden closeness. "Solve my challenge, and your father will be saved."
She fought down the urge to punch him in the face, opening her mouth to retort. But she closed it just as quickly, thinking hard about the perilously insane idea that had just popped into her mind.
She spoke slowly but resolutely, praying all the while that she was making a wise gamble, if there was such a thing.
"What if I agree to be your prisoner?"
Perhaps this was the first time she had managed to catch him off guard since she had lifted him by his cloak and dropped him into the path of the Crystal of Ix. She wished she could capture his look of intrigued surprise and preserve it in a painting. Her feeling of victory was short-lived, however, as the heavy consequences of her proposal began to sink into her heart. And as his surprised expression turned into one of darkly calculating interest, she had to struggle not to shrink back and reveal the sudden weakness that had numbed her insides. She forced down the fearful knowledge that he was thinking faster than her, that he could see farther and wider than her over the implications of her hastily delivered proposal, and that he was smirking at her now because he knew of his advantage.
"I'm going to have everything under my power at the end of thirty days anyway, Princess. Are you giving up early?"
She stared back at him in defiance. "Did I say I was giving up? I just want to save my father."
"I'm sure," he said smoothly. He propped his head on one hand and tapped his cheek with one finger in thought. She could see that his frighteningly intelligent mind had already processed everything she hadn't yet considered about her proposal. Again she had to fight back the urge to cringe at her own oversight. She had to trust herself, that her gut instincts were right, that no matter how much he schemed and manipulated her through this unexpected plan, she would still win in the end.
He watched her with knowing, confident eyes. He knew what she was aiming for through this seemingly radical concession, but neither of them would say it aloud. The pretenses of civility hadn't fallen yet, and neither of them was willing to be the first to drop them.
He knew she had entered the Mirror to find out about his past and his ultimate plan. And he must have suspected that she had searched for the scene where that plan had first materialized in his mind. The scene where he had rapidly perused a book of theory and turned his triumphant gaze upon the hourglass that spelled his doom. And so he knew that her intent for entering his Citadel as his prisoner was to investigate the meaning behind that mysterious string of events.
She was putting everything on the line with no guarantee of victory. If she became his prisoner, it was fully possible that he'd just lock her up in a dungeon and never let her anywhere near that room. But as he had said, such simple and crude plots were not of his taste. And if he wanted to throw her in the dungeons, he would have done so already.
She knew that she still held some important cards. Judging by the fact he hadn't harmed her at all in the past two weeks and had actually saved her life on one count, she knew that her health and continued existence were vital to him. He wouldn't hurt her or lock her up. She would be more than a mere prisoner to him.
She consciously avoided the continuance of that thought, not wanting to imagine where such close proximity to the dark sorcerer for the sixteen remaining days could lead. Hopefully it would not take her long to discover what it was she needed. And if she foiled his plan…then what? Was it even something that could be foiled? He had said it was foolproof, and that he'd give it up if she actually uncovered it, but who was to say he'd keep his word upon her victory?
She swallowed the unsettling questions for now. The urgency of the moment demanded action, and she had to be decisive. There was no turning back if she moved forward, and she could not afford to falter in front of him.
"So do you accept or not?" she said curtly.
His smile widened slightly. "I must admit I am a bit shocked that you're in such a rush to cohabitate with a man who is not your fiancé, Princess. I suppose it is flattering as well."
She glared at him, her face hot with embarrassment. "Or maybe I'm in a rush to save my father's life, you sleaze."
"Of course," he said easily. She could see the gleam of his teeth in his handsome smile, and suddenly felt like she was walking directly into a lion's den. But she knew that he was her best bet for healing her father. If a nearly ageless jinni's ideas for saving him had failed, then she had no one else to turn to but Mozenrath, given the time constraints. If she allowed her father's comatose state to continue indefinitely, she would have to assume authority over the throne, a duty that she was not ready for and not meant to take on as a woman. Her more immediate concern was that as the provisional head of the kingdom, she would not have any time to deal with Mozenrath's challenge.
"What's your decision, Mozenrath?" she said testily. "Might be your only chance to enjoy the company of a flesh and blood woman whose flesh and blood aren't rotting."
He actually laughed at her jab. "Touché. You know, this might actually be a pleasant experience for the both of us. But for your street rat…maybe not so much."
"You wouldn't tell him," she said, lowering her tone subconsciously. She suddenly thought of how wrong it was that she had chosen such an unsavory course of action without even considering how her fiancé would react. But despite the terrible guilt she felt, she could not tell him.
None of her friends could find out about this. She would have to disappear on them without explanation, leaving only the broken Mirror and a handwritten book of facts about her life. For sixteen days, they'd be in the dark about where she was and what had happened to her…unless Genie or Eden recognized the Mirror. But even then, they wouldn't know why she had used it. Aladdin would undoubtedly be worried sick, not to mention her father when he woke up. And Mozenrath would probably be one of the first enemies they would suspect of kidnapping her.
Mozenrath looked at her with a mildly incredulous expression. "Do I look like the kind of man who'd invite peasants to meddle in his affairs?"
She almost cringed at the layered meaning in his words, but answered him evenly. "Fine. Hold to your end of the deal then. Heal my father, right now."
"I hope you know that within the walls of my Citadel, I am the only one who issues orders," he said, his voice still light though she knew he was being serious this time.
He stood from the table and gestured with his hand toward the darkness beside them. The translucent outline of her father's comatose form appeared, a mere image of his real body. She rose to her feet as well and looked down at his frozen, blank face, faintly outlined in blue-green magic. Mozenrath pointed his gauntleted hand downward, and a golden stream of healing magic began to pour from the glove toward her father's chest.
Upon contact with his motionless form, the magic spread to cover his entire body, and the gold quickly faded into invisibility. Jasmine watched in awe as tendrils of black smoke began to rise from his face, torso, limbs, every place the magic touched.
Then he stirred and began to breathe once more, the color returning to his pallid face. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding and looked at Mozenrath with open gratitude. But she stopped short of thanking him as he made a remark dripping with his trademark contempt.
"And so continues the reign of one imbecile before the next one can succeed him."
She narrowed her eyes at him as the image of her father disappeared. "How do I know that was really my father and you weren't faking me out?"
"I'm offended, Princess; I thought we went over the whole 'trust' thing days ago."
"And I established that I'd only trust you to act with destructive intentions toward me and my kingdom. Give me proof that you really healed him."
She knew she was pushing it. There was no reason for him to comply with her demand; he could just take her to the Citadel now. But perhaps out of pity or amusement, he conjured an image of the room where her father lay on an expansive bed, surrounded by anxious court physicians. Eden hovered nearby, staring in disbelieving relief that the sultan was breathing again and seemingly recovered of his own accord.
"Satisfied?" he said in slight petulance.
It was good enough for her. It would have taken too much effort to design a false scene of such detail. She nodded, and the grave reality of what she was getting herself into hit her like a solid wall. There was nothing left between her and indefinite imprisonment in the Land of the Black Sand.
She could not conceal all of her fear as she met his cool gaze, but she knew that he had always been able to see it with utter clarity whether she tried to conceal it or not. And what terrified her all the more was the unanswered question of whether he knew what she had seen in the Mirror. Whether he knew that her last vision was of a sinister ceremony that profaned the meaning of matrimony in every way, and that she had died by his hand in the same way Raniye had.
But as he stretched out his gloved hand for her to take, she clung to the desperate, irrational hope that there was still an inkling of good in his heart. That the gauntlet and his own addiction to power had not stripped away everything that was good in him. The memory of his first love still remained, along with the memory of her sacrifice. Perhaps that was enough to kindle the infinitesimal hope for his redemption. His mother's spirit had said that it was never too late for anyone to turn back on the road of damnation. His flat rejection of her words did nothing to disprove their truth.
And she clung to the image of his unreadable expression as he'd handed her the cure to another type of evil poison. Alongside it was the gentle voice of the deceased Chyrilian princess from a rare ethereal scene in the Mirror.
Be strong, Princess…
She took his hand, feeling the firm grip of leather around her fingers, and fought not to recoil from the fleshless bones beneath the fabric. His callous smile tightened, and he drew her toward him with measured force.
In the next moment they entered a new mode of darkness, a dimly lit room with no visible source of light. She did not recognize it from any of the scenes in the Mirror. It seemed to be a small library of sorts, as the walls were lined with bookshelves and cabinets. She stepped hesitantly backward on solid ground, breaking contact with his hand, and turned to see a neatly made bed in the corner. Had he been prepared for her arrival the whole time?
Sudden exhaustion sank into her limbs as she realized she had just left the realm of dreams to enter the waking world once again. She took another step backward to balance herself but failed, feeling air rush rapidly by as she fell.
There was no jarring impact against stone, only the blessed softness of sleep. At last she ceased her struggles to keep awake and finally surrendered to her body's overwhelming need to rest.
This time, the last thing she felt before she faded into oblivion was the unearthly touch of cold leather against her cheek.