Cyrus and Jafar had broken off some time ago from the group, heading back to the house while Jasmine, Tzipporah and the kids ate at the lunch hall. Jasmine was introduced to several new families, and even made a couple of new acquaintances to talk with – so she didn't mind Jafar's absence very much. Tzipporah took Jasmine through the shops afterwards, and bought all of them a small treat from one of the merchants – a type of Israeli candy. It melted in her mouth exploding with flavor and she groaned with a blissful expression – to which the children all laughed and pointed.
"You're silly!" Opal giggled loudest and Jasmine took another bite and pulled an even more dramatic face making Josiah spit out some of his food with laughter.
Their innocent happiness filled her heart with joy, and Jasmine beamed with better spirits the rest of the day.
By the time they'd returned to the house, Jafar and Cyrus were already gone. Now, halfway through prepping dinner, they'd still not returned, and Jasmine grew a little anxious. (Hopefully her husband wasn't causing turmoil to a sweet man like Cyrus.) She'd still the faintest idea of why they'd come to Safed, and honestly, Jasmine didn't really want to know the details. It would only upset her.
"Jasmine, be a dear and chop these vegetables for the matbucha." Tzipporah asked kindly, handing over onions, garlic, tomatoes and peppers."
Jasmine took the knife and got to work, feeling a sense of pride in herself for remembering what she learned in the brothel kitchen. Tzipporah bustled around the kitchen preparing the rest of the entrees and another cold salad for the table. This was the first time they were alone together – Hadassah watching the children and reading to them in the other room - And Jasmine took the chance to try and better know the older woman.
"All of this looks so amazing," jasmine began conversationally. "I don't think I could ever make things like this on my own."
"Why would you dear? You've a palace full of servants for that, don't you?" Tzipporah asked and it came off a bit curt.
"Yes – I guess so. But . . ." Jasmine didn't continue, feeling a little uncomfortable. She wasn't complaining about her status, she knew more than ever before that she was blessed. But there remained the part of her that liked doing things for herself – the part she'd only discovered recently.
"I guess it just feels nice knowing how to do things myself, is all. You've made such a lovely home," Jasmine gestured to the atmosphere, "The palace always feels so empty. I would like to add my own touch to things. Be able to make it feel homely. Like you do." Jasmine smiled at the Israeli woman, slicing away at a tomato.
Tzipporah softened. "Of course, dear. I understand that. If i couldn't be the homemaker of my own home I'd act out in an ungodly manner, I'm afraid." It made Jasmine giggle a little and Tzipporah grinned. "I believe that's how the Lord made us women - especially since you're a mother, those instincts are naturally stronger."
The knife slipped, cutting Jasmine's finger at the tip. Blood seeping through the slit flesh. Jasmine sucked on her small wound and Tzipporah hurried for a cloth to wrap around it.
"A mother?" Jasmine laughed dryly, taken aback, "I'm – I'm not a mother, Tzipporah."
"But you're with child, yes?"
Jasmine dropped her face becoming wide-eyed, "I am?!"Her hands flung to her flat belly as she looked down on it with fear.
"Oh honey, ignore me. I only assumed you and the Sultan were trying to have an heir." Tzipporah blushed with embarrassment. Sometimes she didn't know when to mind her own. "Please forgive my prying – anyhow, let's move on to the jachnun. The dough is already prepared, now all we have to do it roll it paper thin. Come I'll show you."
The older woman hurried quickly to the table top, setting out two balls of dough and wiping wiry hands on the front of her apron. Jasmine moved with ghostlike steps, after making sure the bleeding had stopped, Jasmine set aside the cloth and started to roll out the dough.
With child? Why would anyone assume such a thing as that? Did she look pregnant? She certainly didn't feel it – then again who would she know? Would there be signs, would Jafar know. Did Jafar think it too?! Maybe that was why he'd been gone all day. If she were pregnant . . . Allah she couldn't bear to bring a child into this world, not when it was so unfair and cruel. Not when the father would be – she couldn't imagine Jafar with a baby. An infant would be so vulnerable and helpless; would Jafar hurt it? Use it against her when he became angry? The thought was sickening.
"Darling, you're not rolling. I know the boys have been gone most the day, but one thing Cyrus arrives on time for is supper." Thin fly away tendrils around her temples stuck up in every direction, turning silver in the light. Tzipporah thinned out her dough rather quickly, and Jasmine forced herself to do the same; finding her hands had turned numb and stiff in her worrying.
"Tzipporah, may I ask a question?"
The wiry woman began to roll her sheet into a log; hands lined with hard work, strong and sturdy, yet they handled the paper-thin dough with such graceful care. The hands of a mother – Jasmine wondered what her own mother's hands looked like. If she herself would be able to have the capable hands of a loving mother.
"Of course, dear, anything."
Glad, you said that.
"Do you ever regret your life? I mean – the way your life ended up. The paths you chose." Jasmine looked down quietly. "The paths that chose you. Would you change it if you could?"
Tzipporah stopped rolling long enough to look Jasmine square in the face. With all certainty she boldly stated, "Never. I wouldn't change one thing," then started working again.
Jasmine sighed, "Oh." So, it's just me then which must mean I'm the weakest person alive. "Even the bad things?"
Tzipporah finished her log of dough, and dusted off her hands, putting one on her hip and the other on the table as she leaned her hip into it. "Your highness, may I speak frankly with you. Woman to woman"
Jasmine straightened at attention. "Yes, please."
"Fine then, but I'll only say this once. Honey, that man you're married to is a dark soul – I felt it the moment he stepped into my house and every moment since. We're it not for Cyrus I would've kicked that man out before he'd the chance to set inside." Her eyes softened, and she took a thoughtful breath. "But . . . that doesn't mean the Lord doesn't have a plan for your marriage; that He can't use what was painful and change it into something beautiful. Do you love your husband?"
"No." Oh. She hadn't expected it to be that answer – at least not so fast. "I mean . . . I don't hate him or anything. At least I don't think I do anymore. I don't know – I haven't had time to really process everything. There's been so much chaos around every turn. Everything is so – complicated and confusing."
"Matters of the heart often are, my dear." Tzipporah took Jasmine's hands in her own and rubbed the backs of them.
For some reason the strength in Tzipporah made Jasmine feel weaker than ever, and she suddenly felt like crying; clinging to Tzipporah's strong voice as she continued.
"You don't have to have it all figured out yet, that's the beauty of marriage – you have a lifetime with one another. You will go through trials, some bigger than you've ever experienced before. But that's doesn't mean there won't be moments that steal your breath away. Whatever trials you undergo will make you both stronger, wiser, more patient. Love isn't always fireworks – sometimes it comes softly over time. Don't be afraid, sweet girl. Everything will be as it should. Have faith."
Jasmine's eyes watered as she beheld the strength found in Tzipporah's empathetic ones. More than anything Jasmine wanted faith, envied Tzipporah's undying belief and motherly nature. (It was comforting, yet a painful reminder that she had neither.)
Tzipporah held the side of Jasmine's face and she leaned into her hand, touching it with her own and closing her eyes so the tears that welled up fell gently down. Jasmine had wanted to love Jafar – but the reality of it was she still didn't know what love was. Not entirely anyway. What Cyrus and Tzipporah had Jasmine never experienced with another human being. But this felt good for her soul – and a pang went through her as she thought of her father and wished he was there.
"Now – let's stop this crying, yes?" Tzipporah took the backside of her apron and used it to dab at Jasmine's cheeks, Jasmine smiling through reddened eyes and mottled skin. "I'll finish the bread if you would like to start on the dessert."
Jasmine hurried to follow Tzipporah's directions, not wanting to take up any more time with her own nonsense; though she chewed on Tzipporah's words as she worked. Tzipporah came over when able and helped Jasmine create a dish called kanafeh – a goat cheese pastry soaked in sweet sugar-based syrup. Tzipporah walked Jasmine through the steps, and let her be more hands on. Jasmine heated the pastry in butter, then added goat cheese and on top of it more pastry. Towards the end drops of orange blossom were added to it, and Jasmine eyed her creation proudly. All sense of self-pity and sadness gone.
Dinner was finally ready and, as if on cue, Cyrus burst through the door. "Beloveds, I'm home! And I bring gifts!" He shouted from the front entrance and all the children could be heard stampeding through the house with shrill cries of excitement.
Tzipporah leaned into Jasmine with a cocked brow. "See, what'd I tell you. Every time."
Jasmine snickered and went to set the table, eyeing Cyrus for a moment as he rolled on the ground with the children, trying to hide their little toys from them in a teasing manner. She finished setting the table, when Jafar caught her eye – standing ominously by the blue front door.
"Oh, I didn't see you there." Jasmine wiped a bead from her brow and came over, trying to smile as pleasantly as possible. "Everything alright?"
"I need to speak with you for a moment – outside if you don't mind."
A frown flickered her brow at how impassively dark he was, but she acquiesced without quarrel and strode past the threshold and out into the courtyard. It was freezing cold, bitter chill nipping through her thin dress and seeping through the soles of her shoes. She held herself with a light tremble and walked alongside Jafar to the far wall of the limestone yard.
A pitch-black curtain draped over the sky and twisted the stars into warped dim smears; murky clouds further reducing what light they offered. Another breeze blew in over the courtyard wall, washing over Jasmine with frigid strength - she'd wondered why it was pertinent to do this outside, and so far from the house.
The moonlight was a pale-yellow casting troubling shadows over Jafar's calculated cold stare. Hands behind his back the crisp black of his thobe hugged like armor customized to fit him perfectly.
Jasmine attempted a smile to ease the growing hostility. "Is something wrong?"
"That, I believe, will depend entirely upon perspective. Though I assume it'll be quite clear soon enough." His voice was drawn, set in distinct firmness. "I will offer you only one chance. Is there anything you want to tell me?"
Suddenly she'd felt they were too close, that the wall's around them were closing in and the cold chills she'd had, moments before, now turned into shivering beads of sweat down her back.
Jasmine shook her head slowly, scrunching the sides of her violet gown between clammy fingers – she hated lying but that's all she seemed to keep doing.
"I see," his heavy eyes flickered and Jasmine's stomach dropped.
"Then would you mind telling me where you got this?" Jafar presented his left fist, opening a mighty palm for her assessment; a gold chain tumbling forward as it dangled around his middle finger.
Mother's necklace – the chain, with a serpent charm – Ummah had given it to her right before the building collapsed. Jasmine had forgotten she'd hidden it in her luggage – along with . . .
Jasmine licked parched lips though found her tongue had run just as dry.
"It's my moth–,"
"I know who's it is." He curtly interjected, "how did you get it?" Each word was chipped at the end and Jasmine recoiled.
There was little sense to try and lie anymore – whatever came out next she wouldn't be able to stop. The secrecy had lasted long enough.
"…Umm –"
"Ummah?" Jafar finished darkly. Jasmine tried to step away from him but it was as if her legs had grown roots beneath glacial stones
"May I have it back?" She susurrated then tried again, sounding just as small as before. ". . . It belongs to me."
Humorlessly Jafar chuckled. "Does it now? And I suppose this belongs to you, as well?"
Jasmine closed her eyes as if slapped across the face; Jafar pulling the small leather book from behind his back.
"You went through my things?" She kvetched as if he'd betrayed her.
"You went through mine." Jafar gnashed through clenched teeth.
Frightened eyes met his portentous ones. What was there to say? She'd needed answers. That was all. It was a far less crime than the ones he'd committed to her on a daily basis.
Her only misconduct, she felt, was stupidity for believing it possible to hide anything from her choleric husband.
Calmly he tucked the small book into the lining of his black thobe, snug against his broad chest, then clasped hands steadily together. "Walk to the stable."
"What?" She gave an ethereal gasp.
"Do it. Now."
Shoulders curled forward, chest caving as she shuffled her feet forward and hugged her chest. The path elongated, time slowing as she counted every slab of stone beneath her feet. Brief glances were cast to the right and left, though left little hope – even if she managed to get away it wouldn't be very far. Gloom weighed on her chest with auspicious peril as if marching towards her funeral.
The stable doors landed at her feet, grey unwieldy doors adorned with tired rusted hinges that creaked as Jafar lugged one open; the stench of horse feces and puff of last summer's straw saturating her nostrils. The stuffy musk of animal fur and dried dropping of rats came next and Jasmine stifled a whimper.
"Go on." He droned richly when Jasmine cast him a wavering look.
Frail streaks of moonlight shone through the tiny window over the stable doors, turning the of dusty frames of wooden stalls and poles into nothing more than blurred shadows. The door creaked shut with a cantankerous slam and Jasmine jumped, nerves on edge; eyes hard pressed against profound darkness.
She could see nothing but the plume of her own breath.
Old straw crunched beneath her feet as she ambled uneasily, a scampering of little paws made way behind her, brushing the heel of her feet and she let out a muffled scream. Jafar moved like a ghost among the small stable; his voice low yet thunderous compared to the still of night.
"Put your hands on the wall," he ordered and Jasmine turned to the direction he'd come.
Blindly sliding one foot in front of the other, she acquiesced, arms stretched out until they pressed against stone. Breaths came in shallow pants. Ears turning out and replacing her sight – horses snarled plumes of breath, their hooves stepping in place upon the gritted ground of dried hay. A braided leather horse whip could eerily be heard running through a hook. Jafar pulling it tight so it snapped with a crack, making Jasmine flinch.
Jasmine closed her eyes, though it was just as black as when they were open. He was going to kill her. Strangle her as he did once before. This was it. This was how she'd die – cold, broken, decaying next to a pile of dried dung. And for reasons irrational Jasmine thought of the children she'd never have, the mother she would never get to be. There would be no more firsts for her, no new experiences, or love or memories. It would end here. After everything it all would end violent and alone.
As she waited for the cord to wrap around her neck Jafar gathered the back of her violet, satin gown and rolled it up and over instead. Draping the fabric over her lower back so she was completely exposed to him; and all the more vulnerable.
With insouciance, Jafar warned, "I'm going to finish teaching you that lesson. If you scream, or try to run, I'll strike you twice as hard. Do you understand?"
Allah please – have I not suffered enough with this man?
Broken snivels rose above the other sounds, body shivering with each tremulous pattern of breaths. "I," Jasmine choked swallowing a metallic lump, "I underst-ah!"
The first lashing was struck across her backside with a whistling bow of air, body nearly caving in from the force. It stung numbingly at first, then tingled like a thousand pin pricks over her right side – a wave of nausea threatening to send her to her knees.
Then again on the left, a sweltering whack.
"Ah-," Jasmine groaned, quick to bite her tongue and not scream. Fluid dropped steadily from her nose, the tip of it cold. Her fingers and toes stiff, and the frosted air nipping at the agony of blistering flesh. She began to wobble at the knees before throwing them into stiff submission – Jafar would only make it worse if she showed weakness.
He wanted to hurt her, enjoyed how he could cause her pain. She knew that. It was no keep secret that Jafar had been waiting to do this; by now he'd won. She'd be damned to let him see her crumble on top of it.
Without a single word or trace of exhilaration, Jafar struck again with inhuman callousness – cocking his arm and releasing the trigger with devastating strength, all while remaining composed.
Jasmine didn't feel that one as badly. The old sting wearing into the new; for the moment, she'd shut everything out. Becoming desensitized to the world around her. The cracking of the whip, the horses huffing, her skin burning. It all fell on deaf ears. Her body jolted forward after another strike, then again, and again. Until finally, Jafar stopped.
The leather was put away on the nearby hook and Jafar came calmly from behind. Carefully he pulled her dress back over her rear and she flinched as satin scraped against raw skin. Head low, hands on the wall, eyes wielded shut, Jasmine remained impervious.
When he spoke, it was as if nothing happened. Jafar ever nonchalant, poised, and controlled. To Jasmine, however, his voice sounded like teeth scratching against metal and set her nerves on edge.
"You can cry if you want when I'm gone. Then pick yourself up, accept what's been done, and be thankful it wasn't worse." He paused – waiting for what she didn't know. And Jasmine kept hidden by her outstretched arm.
His mouth open and closed; Jafar running the tip of his tongue over the inside of his cheek where he'd been biting it as he struck her. Metallic clinging bitterly to his palate from the wound he created inside his mouth. While falling short on words, Jafar quietly back away and left his wife in the dark.
The door creaked open, a draft scuffled loose dirt and straw and moonlight touched the base of the entrance giving Jasmine back a tinge of light. The sounds of horses' breath, the smell of manure and hay, the slow hopeless pulse of her heart, wearily came into focus. It was too much for her still, and she tried to barricade her soul from feeling; but it was futile.
Jasmine collapsed to her knees.
Pressing her head against the frigid wall and dropping her hands into her lap, Jasmine hiccoughed a gasp; choking on rasping tears as if she'd been thrown into a frozen river and her body had gone into shock.
Twice now she had hoped Jafar could love her. Twice she'd started to try and be okay with her situation and both times he'd proven her otherwise. She'd mistaken his self-restraint as progress - lust for affection. Nothing had changed. How could it in such a short time? Was she so fatuous to believe pitiful kisses on his face could penetrate the withered thing he called a soul?
And the truth of it all stung worse than the sores of her rear – this was her life now; and would be forevermore.
She hadn't cried since their wedding night and it was long overdue. Jasmine sobbed with painful lugs of breath then screeched bitterly behind her teeth. Shaking fists pressed at her head as she held her breath. The veins in her neck and forehead popped, entire body straining in unnatural solidity. Her face reddened as Jasmine trembled with unmatched rage. Until finally, her mind faded into white noise and all functions shut down. She could no longer think. Thinking made it worse. And in the solitude of the stable Jasmine fell on her face and slipped into the recesses of the darkness.
"Jafar, there you are." Cyrus hesitated in his gait. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"
"Not at all – I expect we didn't disturb your family?" Jafar tightly smiled as Cyrus came to a stop before him. Clearly, he'd wanted to talk but they'd done enough of it already and Jafar was drained.
"No, no. I'm not here to question how you run your household."
Jafar scoffed inwardly. Sure, he didn't. The pest had done nothing else the last several hours.
"I'm glad you came to me with information. On top of what I found in her luggage, I now know just how little I can trust my wife." He said clearly vexed.
Cyrus twitched, tugging at his thick peppered beard. "The witch who tried to lure Jasmine away was not Jasmine's fault though."
"A thin line of blame, i'm afraid. Jasmine deserved her punishment." Jafar huffed hating explaining himself.
"And what then will you do about the enchantress? Surely the power I felt is cause for concern for Jasmine's safety. And yours."
Jafar sighed, casually heading towards the yellow glow emanating from the house. "I hardly feel the need for concern. Palm readers and tricksters are the least of my worries."
Cyrus grumbled under his breath hands behind his back thoughtfully and soft brown eyes giving hinting glances that Jafar's confidence may be overestimated
"Fine," Jafar rolled his eyes, "I'll be on higher alert. Now, about your son."
"I told you the signal is set."
"And you're confident he'll respond?"
Cyrus huffed, taking a moment before broaching the topic again. "Give it a few days. He'll turn up at that location."
Cyrus stopped just before the front steps, chewing the inside of his cheek as he smoothly turned the topic back to Jafar. "…Remember the caves we found when we were boys – have you ever taken anyone there."
Jafar rose an uninterested brow. "Have you?"
"No. Not even Tzipporah knows about them – but sometimes I still visit when I can't get away enough to clear my head. Special place up there – magical even . . . Believed by some to have healing properties."
Jafar eyed him suspiciously. "Only you and I know about the caves."
Cyrus scratched his ear with a childlike gesticulation. "I'm just saying some believe there's healing up in those mountains: the details of who matters not."
Jafar crossed powerful arms over his chest. "Healing? And what, pray tell, are you suggesting I need healing of."
"Well . . .," Cyrus blubbered a grumble trying to pull off indifference and failing. ". . . For health. Er, tummy problems, headaches. Matters of the heart and marriage." The latter spoken hastily.
Jafar's eye ticked, he shook his head tensely, "Cyrus –."
Cyrus rocked back on his heels, tiger like paws shoved in the wrap around his growing belly. "Come now Jafar; don't look so glum. I know I know," he waved rocking his head side to side, "I'll not meddle anymore. But you should take your wife up there, Er, for a day or two." He suggested. "Malachi won't respond for a bit and besides, with everything going on I-umm . . . Well I've decided to come clean to Tzipporah about everything. And . . . Well, it may be best if we were alone for –."
Jafar silenced Cyrus with an easy nod. "We'll be gone tomorrow. Two days only though. Allah only knows what I'll be tempted to do to the shrew if we're alone too long. I may very well return without her."
"Ha! Don't underestimate her, Jafar. I wouldn't be surprised if it was her who came back alone." Cyrus bolstered and swatted Jafar on the back.
"Râcham! Lord, have mercy! Have you boys nothing better to do than make my hungry children wait to eat their supper?" Tzipporah hollered front he doorway looking fiercer than ever. "Get in here this instant and eat, or no desert!"
Cyrus' mouth fell open like a maw, Tzipporah huffing with a spin and Jafar swatted Cyrus roughly on the shoulder.
"Apparently, I'm not the only one who shouldn't underestimate his wife," he chuckled and Cyrus gave an agreeing, yet worried, exhale and hurried inside to change his wife's mind.
Jafar paused and looked towards the stables in the distance, waiting to see if Jasmine would come out.
But she didn't.
His face drew down, hesitation keeping him rooted as he battled within. He knew she would be okay – the skin hadn't even broken, although, one more strike and it would've.
Possibly she hurt elsewhere; someplace deeper within that the physical pain couldn't reach. He saw her legs tremble, knew she'd been holding her breath the entire time. She was crying now, he knew.
His knuckles ran angrily over his jawline rubbing against the grain. He hated second guessing himself. Hated that she made him have even a trace of guilt.
Serves her right – what else were you supposed to do?
Jafar shook his head looking heavenwards. A tightness pulled at his chest like stretched rubber, an uneasiness growing in the steel of his heart. He waited a minute longer for her to appear, relentlessly eyeing the ajar door. Then, when she remained in the shadows of the stable, he set aside the thought of checking on her and went inside.
Everything was green with moss while murky with a deathlike aura. Massive boulders that made up a tetrahedral hill towered Jasmine. Black sharp trees, shaped like pitchforks, were covered in swaths of mold. The air was humid, foggy, dank and Jasmine coughed to rid the heaviness in her chest, slowly rising from the soft bedded earth where she'd lain.
She'd been here before.
There came a discord of disembodied screams – the forest enshrouding the whereabouts with thick fog and devilish trees. Chanting, signing, and shrill cries of agony rose in numbers; roaring louder, closer, drawing in around her in a circle. She could see no faces, only shadows in the distance. Was it children crying? Someone singing her name in demonic melodies. Jasmine covered her ears – the world spinning on its axis around her, swirling into dizzying blurred shapes. The screams came louder, the incantations faster.
"Stop it." Jasmine hunched over, wielding eyes tightly, 'Stop it!" Jasmine fell to her knees and screamed the command once more – then, emptiness.
A presence stood before her. Jasmine slowly raised large brown eyes.
The woman was old at first and haggard with warts and a crooked cane that matched her crooked walk. Then, by some trick of the mind, she was beautiful and young. Speaking in honeyed lyrics.
"You just can't stay away, can you?" She smiled, tipping Jasmine's chin up with a sharp finger, Jasmine recoiled defiantly, ripping her face from the witch's claws. "Soon enough my pet – now. Where were we? Oh, yes." She sneered in a sinister, playful way. "You needed to wake up." Unexpectedly a double-edged sword, with an opened mouth dragon on the end, devouring the base of the blade, was thrust forward and plummeted into Jasmine's gut; knocking the breath from her with a devastating blow.
Jasmine woke with a start gasping in laborious, frantic pants. It'd been so real, the lingering stench of the moldy forest clinging inside her nose, until the dream turned back into a dream – a mottled haze of events, until finally, nothing at all; Jasmine unable to recall the nightmare and labeling it as nothing more than that.
The room was dark. Empty. Unfamiliar at first. A scuffling on the ground made her heart jump again. In the shadows, a small brown mouse could be made out, burrowing beneath the warm hay. She was still in the stables.
Wincing, Jasmine stood, dusting off her thighs and pulling straw from her hair. Her buttocks were sore, the skin swollen and tender to the faintest brush of her swaying dress as she walked delicately. Unyielding arms wrapped around her midsection. She was half frozen it felt and the stiffness from sleeping on the ground had settled in her lower back and crept over her small shoulders.
Jasmine blinked adjusting to the moonlight as she stepped outside – the moon was seemingly unmoved from last she saw it and Jasmine supposed little time had passed; although it seemed she'd slept a lifetime.
Ha – If I could be so lucky.
A light was still on in the house, seeping through the small windows and the tiny holes of the wooden door, but no noise could be heard from within. Jasmine pressed the shell of her ear to the blue frame, hoping, praying, to hear Cyrus and the children's laughter, or Tzipporah singing or scolding someone for not having table manners. Any inkling of human activity that could ground Jasmine to the belief that she was not alone.
The calm, however, remained disquieting; and hope, ever elusive.
Jasmine took another moment to reassess her aspect of the situation. Tomorrow she'd get to see them. For now, it was probably best to be alone. After all, if everyone was in bed she could sneak in without drawing attention. No one would ask questions, and she wouldn't have to hold back tears and wear a brave face while pretending everything was alright. (For in that moment it could only end in a dramatic display of emotions and sniveling sobs.)
Gathering her straggled hair Jasmine pulled it in one lump to the side and draped the tangled strands over the front of her shoulder. Some of its mass fell forward around her face and she shoved them behind both ears and rubbed her face, trying to rid any tear streaks or dirt. Then, closing her eyes with a calming breath, Jasmine headed inside the home.
As suspected there were only two lanterns lit. One in the hallway upstairs visible from below the railing, and another along the hall that led towards the pitch-black kitchen. It sent a chill over Jasmine and she hopped on the bottom step of the stairs, when a match was struck from behind; a third lantern casting incandescent light.
So close.
Jasmine sluggishly turned to face the living room. Jafar sat, ankle over his knee and hands over the arms of the sofa, next to a small table with a lantern flickering gold hues over his face. His expression was devoid of emotion, body language unwelcoming and aggressive simply by sitting.
"You missed dinner." He said plainly. "I assume you're hungry."
Jasmine looked behind her, palming her chest mockingly as she scoffed. "Are you talking to me?" She laughed humorlessly, "Because I think you have me confused with someone you didn't just beat and leave in rat infested hay."
The dark lines of his eyes narrowed together. "I'll take that as a yes."
"Fuck you!"
"Lower. Your. Voice." He growled in smooth truncated tones.
Jasmine fisted her hips spinning away as she paced shaking her head. How could she ever believe there was a chance for redemption in this man. He was insufferable, callous and selfish – case closed.
"At least take some responsibility, for your actions, Jasmine. You're old enough by now." Jafar perceived as if reading her mind. "Sit down – if you can that is." He smirked.
Jasmine's jaw jutted, her eyes, appearing dark and deep set from crying, defied him. Jasmine proudly came to a hard-wooden chair and plopped down in it, stifling a groan as her body screamed inwardly.
Jafar waited momentarily with an amused raise of the brows, and tented his hands, waiting for the pain to become too much for her. Sure enough, discomfort won out over dignity and Jasmine winced, repeating 'ow-ow' as she carefully stood back up again.
"You're a bastard." She muttered scornfully and Jafar gave a deliberate small smile.
"So, I've been told – I supposed we can discuss your actions even as you stand. Hmm? Would you mind now telling me something truthful for once," He sat back with radiating confidence, lacing broad knuckled fingers together in his lap. "What were you doing sneaking around in my tower?"
She didn't want to do this. Not now. If she had to bring up her mother, was forced into repeating the horrible things she'd heard, Jasmine would become literally sick on the floor.
She swallowed hard, chest fluttering with anxiety and making her stomach ache.
"I know about you and my mother. That you were lovers for a long time." The words tumbled out and, if it weren't for Jafar's dropping expression, she'd have thought they weren't spoken at all.
Albeit, honesty never felt so alleviating. Like sucking poison from a snake bite, the truth oozed from her mouth.
"I know you and my mother branded whores, abused them for pleasure and . . ." She scoffed bitterly, unable to finish the sentence.
Jafar puffed out his chest as if in defense and tolerantly waited for her to finish.
A chill went over her and she shuddered, taking a moment to steady quavering nerves.
"I also know about you and Henrietta being engaged . . . Yeah," She huffed with a broken smile when Jafar's irritation steadily grew. "I was shocked too. And, uh, my mother came up in that story as well." Jasmine shifted uneasily.
The back of her eyes pricked. She pulled at her lips wetting them over as her mouth ran dry and nose started to run with emotion.
"I guess – I just wanted to know the truth. And obviously, I couldn't ask you."
"So instead, you break in and steal from me." He hissed in annoyance.
Jasmine shook her head, tucking hair behind her ears when it fell forward, and ignoring him. She made circles on the floor with her toe and sniffed. "I don't remember her at all. And it's like there's this thing I'm missing out on, like half of my heart is . . . lost."
Jasmine hadn't hardly ever talked about her mother; it wasn't ever important enough in the past. She'd always assumed her mother was good, kind, passive. The way Baba was. And he had hardly spoken of her either. It wasn't until now, being in Safed, with Tzipporah and the seeing the unity of a loving family that made Jasmine feel left out. Like she'd missed something and still was. Jasmine's heart lurched, large single tears casting from distraught watery eyes.
"Was she really as awful as people are saying? . . . was she dark like you?" She forced herself to meet him, mouth twisting down and trembling as she choked on the words. "Will I be dark like her . . .?"
Jafar looked away masked as always. "I've nothing to say Jasmine."
Her face scrunched petulantly. So now he felt was an opportune time to keep opinions to himself? "Do you – do you see her when you look at me?" Her pulsed quickened and she splayed a hand over her chest. "When you're inside of me, fucking her daughter, are you imagining –."
"Hold your foul tongue, little girl!" He snapped, digging nails into the arm rest and breath hardening in his chest. The low light highlighted sinewy muscles beneath his silk shirt; shadows undulating as his chest rose and fell. "None of my past is any of your concern, so keep your damn mouth shut."
How was she supposed to accept that!? It may be his past but it was every bit her concern.
The images plagued Jasmine next. (As they had when she'd first heard the truth.) Then, however, it was merely hearsay. Now – now it was real and Jasmine began to exhale in heaving distraught breath as she envisioned her mother and Jafar naked and writhing together in bed – a bed, perhaps, that Jasmine herself had now shared with him.
Jasmine's fists gathered at the temples of her head. "This is so wrong. It's so wrong!" Her heart hurt, racing so quickly she felt it'd explode. "You fucked my mother. Betrayed my father. Your Sultan!" Then, a further demented suspicion excreted upon her mind.
Jafar pulled a face as Jasmine visibly sickened. He sat up a little more, coming to the edge of his seat in preparation. Her stare turned deathly cold, cinnamon skin taking on a sickly complexion; suddenly he knew what she must be thinking. A knot tightened below Jafar's heart.
"Wait a minute . . . Are you the one who –." Her eyes trailed over him head to foot with utmost disgust. "Am I your?"
"For fuck's sake, Jasmin, how revolting do you think I am!" He shouted jumping to his feet and shaking with rage. "You honestly believe that if you were my flesh and blood I would do the things I've done to you!? Do you see me as some demented, warped, fucking –." He shut his mouth turning away and fisting his hips; he felt he might kill her he was so angry.
Jasmine shook her head distraught, closing her eyes and pressing her hand to her mouth. She stood in the doorway of the living room and hugged herself tightly, willing her mind to stop overthinking and just shut down. What did it matter the life he had before her? What mattered now was how cruel and heartless he was to her. Nothing else should be important.
Neither of them talked for a long while. Jasmine was so worn emotionally, mentally. She'd been drained repeatedly for the last few months with little to replenish her soul. Jasmine quivered, shoulders shaking as she began to silently cry against the white stone frame; nose pressing into it as she hugged the wall for comfort.
The floor creaked under his weight, Jafar stepping slowly towards her. She was so beautiful it was painful to look at her sometimes. There was a dip in er dress, that cut low past her shoulder blade, revealing creamy cinnamon skin and taut muscles. Even with the small scars there, nothing could tarnish her perfection. She hunched a little, holding her small waist and leaned her head against the wall. He needed her, more than ever. She was angry with him, but that was normal. He liked her anger, fed off of her fiery spirit. His mouth ran dry, tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips as her sweet scent encompassed him. The tips of his fingers tingled, desiring the touch of her skin - warm and heavenly compared to his cold and deadly heart.
Jasmine hated him, though it mattered little to him. Even now he knew she was his. That she belonged to him and would give him herself if only for the sake of fulfilling the lust they both shared; and despite himself, Jafar needed that more than anything at that moment. To feel her sink into him and come undone with his touch, to assure him he hadn't lost her. He would someday - a thought constantly at the back of his mind - but he refused to let it happen yet. He needed more time with her.
"Jasmine?" Jafar asked hoarsely. Stepping slowly around to her front when she didn't move. Her face was screwed shut and pale with mottled spots of pink from crying. He reached for her chin, and she ripped it away from his touch.
A tinge of wounded ego frayed the edges of his confidence, and Jafar held his rejected hand in front of his abdomen like a delicate fist.
What was he supposed to say? It'd been a lifetime ago – he'd nothing to apologize for. Nothing to hide. He was a sick bastard more often than not, but for her to honestly believe he'd have incest with his own child – Jafar blew hot air looking away. Fury rekindling.
Jafar callously sneered, "You're acting like a pitiful, little wench."
Jasmine spun on her husband with a look that made him inwardly shrink. "No - I'm just disgusted by the beast I was forced to marry."
A veil dropped over his face but his heart took an unexpected hit and Jafar stepped back before rooting himself firmly.
Jasmine came off the wall, stalking towards him like a tigress. "I will never forgive you for everything you've done to me." Her nostrils flared. "I don't know how you can even live with yourself." Jasmine spun bitterly and he caught her arms, yanking her to his chest and gripping the back of her hair in a deep kiss.
Jasmine whimpered in her throat, tensing as he held her to him and slipped his tongue over the roof of her mouth. But the familiar lust she expected to have turned to one of repulsion as she imagined how he beat her. How he had darkened the path of her life before she'd even been born, and the haze of arousal vanished. This loveless act wasn't enough anymore and Jasmine grew livid, biting down on his lip until he was forced to break away. Jasmine leapt back when Jafar realized what she'd done.
"What the hell," he touched his swollen lip finding blood on the pad of his finger. "You. Bit me?" He scoffed in disbelief unsure if he should be angry or excited by her spirit.
Jasmine kept arms straight at her side, shaking her head. "It's not enough." He came forward and she backed up to keep the distance. "No! You can't fix this by having sex with me, or hitting me. Maybe that's how you and her did things. Or you and your whores, or Henrietta, or however many others you tormented and fucked. But I'm none of those women from your past!" She was finding her strength, becoming drunk on it, dizzy with brave staccato. "I'm not like you, I can't shut my heart down – I feel everything, Jafar! . . . I'm sorry for whoever made you this way. I truly am. It's one of the reasons I tried to find proof to discredit those stories. I didn't want my mother, of all people, to be someone who hurt you."
Jafar hardened with an emotion she couldn't read and Jasmine stepped forward, decreasing the space between them and speaking more evenly.
"But whatever happened to you, however painful your past, you can't keep blaming your actions on it. You decide daily to remain hateful and bitter, because you like hiding behind the walls of a black heart." Jasmine craned her neck, puckering a brow as she came directly below him. Jafar kept himself tall as he peered censoriously down the length of his nose.
"And you know why that is?" Jasmine continued, then raised up on her toes to challenge his height. "You're a coward."
"I am not a coward." He bit baring large teeth.
"Yes, you are. You're weak. That's why you beat me in the stable."
"I spanked you," he barked, lowering at the neck, and her belly gave a traitorous lurch, "Because you fucking well deserved it."
"Did I deserve what you did to me our wedding night?" It was hardly above a whisper at first, Jasmine's voice rising steadily with insufferable ire. "The night I was most afraid of – the night I was most vulnerable. You stole what remained of my innocence and twisted it into something foul and putrid!" She choked stabbing a finger at his chest and falling back on her heels. "I was helpless and trusted you to protect me as my husband. Yet you found joy in my misery. Gained power from my tormented heart and shattered dreams."
Jafar's face flickered over hers and she rose a challenging brow; chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Admit it." Her whisper croaked, "Seeing others weak makes you feel strong because you have no strength of your own."
Jafar's eyes were dilated, muscles flexing in his jaw and down his powerful neck. How she affected him, admittedly, gave Jasmine a sense of pride – good. He needed to hear that. Even if it changes nothing it's a medicine for her own heart.
Then, feeling she'd said more than enough for one night, Jasmine bravely turned her back on him and slowly headed up the stairs for bed; Jafar left speechless, brooding in the shadows of the lonely room.
"So, did you do it? Did you see her again?" Aladdin jumped off his mare, patting it briefly while eagerly looking after the witch.
Lilura rubbed at her temples, the bubbling cauldron dying out into oozing waves of mist. "For a moment, I made contact yes. It's easier when she's distraught to penetrate the realm of her dreams."
"So, she is unhappy!? Alright!" Aladdin grabbed a fistful of air and yanked it to his side.
"Well what'd ya know; a real Prince Charming." Lilura droned thick with sarcasm that was lost on the boy.
"So, what's the next step." Aladdin persisted rubbing palms together as if making a risqué transaction. "How do we get Jasmine here?"
Aladdin jumped back as glass broke in her clenched hands, hair like veins shooting like roots along her wrist and up over her bare shoulder and neck – evidently, he'd asked that question one too many times, and Aladdin wisely chose to shut up.
"I'm sorry," he bowed at the waist and stepped back further. "I'll not ask again."
The witch eased releasing her hands and the shards of glass falling from them, her skin untarnished by the serrated edges. "My pet, patience is key –."
Aladdin nodded standing again. "So . . . Why did you offer to help me get Jasmine back? What's in it for you exactly?"
Lilura had her back turned looking over her potions on a small round table, eyes rolling as she tried to keep her agitation controlled. "I'm a sucker for love stories," she announced sticky sweet adding a condition to her cauldron. "Besides, with the heir of Agrabah out of the way and free to live amongst the thieves, Jafar will have to step down as ruler. Everyone wins." She shrugged cheerily and it placated the simple-minded boy.
"What is the meaning of this. Still playing with newts and bat tails? We've work to do, boy." A wheezily cockroach of a man came forth, the mud squishing beneath his boots as he berated Aladdin.
"Yeah?" Aladdin scoffed boyishly, "come make me." He drew his sword playfully twisting it in his hand and smirking mischievously. The runt drew spikes chains, his weapon of choice, and began swinging it at his side, bandy-legged as he readied to pounce.
"That's enough. Tostig. Aladdin. Save it for the real battles." Roel barked and both men lowered their heads respectfully obeying. "Lilura I've a gift for you." With a finger cocked two other thieves tossed a lumpy little man in the mud to land at Roel's feet.
The squirming, slovenly imp, tried to get away when a steel boot dug into his back and pressed him flat into the mud.
"Look what we caught going through our treasure." Roel announced to Lilura as if he'd caught a wild hog just for her.
Lilura excitedly exclaimed, "Ahh," waggling her shoulders and stooping down to look deep into his eyes. "Hello little pet." She smoothed his gruff oily face with feigned sweetness. "Have you come to play with Madam Lilura?"
"I'll not tell you anything, nothing. Nothing at all. You'll have to kill me before I – ooh, nice hat." Abis Mal gawked at the blue and black wrapping on a thief's head, then remembered he was a hostage. "I'll never say what I know . . . So, you should just – set me free and not waste your time."
Roel shoved the imp's head into the mud to silence his squabbling. The witch stood, rolling thin elegant sleeves and walking to her cauldron.
"Somehow, I had a feeling someone new was coming, so I took special care in preparing a welcoming treat, just for you."
Abis Mal gasped for air when allowed to lift his head. Lilura gave Roel a look; irritated that now shed have to repeat her monologue. The pale man with a scar over his face shrugged uncaring.
"I'll never talk." Abis Mal whined brokenly.
"You don't have to. I love a mind that's already nice and weak." She pulled a slimy ball form the cauldron, it squirmed and the gathered thieves all stood a step back. She coddled it as if it were a human baby instead of a misshapen egg and stooped down to meet Abis Mal. "Ready to play?" Eyebrows waggled and Roel stepped back, giving Lilura full authority over the thief, with a satisfied grin.
Aladdin turned away having seen her torture people before and led his horse down the opposite side of the muddy jagged hill. When he reached the base, Aladdin mounted. Though he wanted to believe the enchantress, Aladdin didn't think he'd the patience to wait for her to make a move. Jasmine, his Jasmine was trapped with a maniac and he was going to take her back. Even alone Aladdin would fight Jafar and win – or die trying.
War was coming to the Forty Thieves, and he planned to be long gone from them, Safed and Agrabah by the time it all broke out; with Jasmine at his side of course. With decision made Aladdin rode off to rescue his Princess.