Naqam stood on top of the wall, the tips of his fingers raw and aching from the miniscule cracks he'd shoved them into making his way up. He took a moment to appreciate the view, balanced on the foot-wide top of the wall.

He hadn't realized until about halfway up that the wall was cleverly tapered. Wide at the bottom to support its height, but thinner toward the top, making it difficult not to slide and hard to ascend even if he'd had a ladder to help his climb.

The trees swayed in that ever-present sea breeze, looking like an emerald ocean itself.

Looking down and to his left, he found the crystal wine glass and knelt to pick it up, twirling the delicate stem between his fingers. At least the slight curve of the wall would assist him on his way back down. He peered over the edge and nodded his head.

He could make that.

Adira, Hatter and the King were all looking up at him, appearing no bigger than dolls. He held the glass cradled gently to his chest and sat on top of the wall, his boots dangling over empty space. 

He might have thought twice about a fifty-foot drop if the wall hadn't been curved like it was. The friction would slow him down just enough that he would be able to control his descent. He thought he heard a small gasp from Adira when he scooted forward, but then he was falling.

The wall was slick under the cloth of his pants and he put out one hand to slow himself, skin dragging against the smooth stone. It burned his hand, but then he was vaulting out into open space with nothing to stop him.

He loosened his grip on the glass slightly so it wouldn't break, then hit the ground.

Practically before his feet touched the sand below, he was already tilting forward. There was a jarring, uncomfortable impact, and then he was rolling across the ground. The world flipped around him three times before he came to a stop in a kneeling position. Even letting himself roll like he had, the final landing was hard. It sent his knee into his chest, making his heart stutter.

He let out a slow breath, then looked up to find he had come to a halt at the feet of the King.

Both Hatter and Adira looked a little pale, but the King's expression remained flinty and unimpressed. Naqam frowned lightly and presented the goblet to Killian, who just glanced at it with disdain.

Moving gingerly, he stood up, then handed the glass to Adira instead.

"Not even a scratch," she said. Then she glanced at him. "Don't mistake that for any kind of praise, Ace."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Lady."

"I'm General out here," she corrected, waiting until he nodded his understanding before she pointed to the next challenge. "Let's see how you run."

Naqam walked with her over to a table with a map on it. She traced his route on the paper, then said, "It's a little less than five miles. Try to be back in twenty minutes. Oh, and don't hurt anyone."

His eyes widened, but he didn't balk. He just turned and ran, letting his body take over, dulling his mind as he sprinted from the castle. Years of his life had been spent like this: hard conditioning and harder training. The palms of his hands stung a little from where the stone of the wall had skinned them.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he would catch sight of a black guard. Obviously Adira--or perhaps the King--hadn't trusted that he would be able to stay on his chosen path. Naqam ignored them and the small protests his body was starting to stage.

But then, one became impossible to ignore when he exploded from the brush at the side of the trail, swinging an ax at Naqam's head. Adira's final instructions rang in his head, and he mitigated his response accordingly.

This stupid Seven wasn't worth risking his own life over.

He stepped toward the Seven--which seemed to startle the man a bit--and turned slightly so he was facing the ax. His shoulder nearly touched the man's chest and he exhaled, thrusting his hand forward in a palm-strike.

The shaft of the ax splintered where he struck it, making his already raw hand sting with the force. A clamoring need to repay the attack rose within him, but he just forced himself to keep running. He wasn't supposed to hurt the guards.

A new attack met him every dozen yards or so, and Naqam easily defended or evaded them, never doing anything more.

He finally started to circle back around the the castle, running hard. Even without a pocket-watch, he knew his deadline was approaching rapidly. 

Five miles in twenty minutes is absurd, he thought with a vicious scowl. Five miles in twenty minutes when I keep getting attacked is impossible.

Still he could not bring himself to slow down even as his lungs started to feel like they were filling with powdered glass and the back of his throat burned as if on fire. 

By the time he could see Spade Castle above the tops of the trees, his vision was starting to tunnel slightly and he couldn't seem to pull in a proper breath.

For him, a five mile run was usually nothing. Barely a warm-up. But a five mile run at a dead sprint the whole time was another story, and he all but stumbled across Adira's finish line.

As it was, he sank to his knees, chest heaving and sweat soaking his hair. Beads of perspiration snaked down his bare chest, and he badly wanted a glass of water. A cold hand touched his shoulder, but he was so fatigued he couldn't even jump.

"You aren't done yet, kid. Not even close," Hatter's gruff voice said quietly from above him. "Addy's not going to go easy on you."

Naqam lunged to his feet. "I wouldn't want her to," he nearly snarled. "I don't need her to!"

Hatter just smiled, looking pleased, which made Naqam frown and slow down, but then Adira was yelling for him and he forced himself to run over to the Jack. She was looking as pleased as could be.

"Choose one."

He looked down to the table she was pointing at, and found a vast array of edged weapons. Everything from small butterfly knives to a claymore that would come up to his lower ribcage if he were to place the tip on the ground. His breathing slowed down as he let out a sigh that was nearly loving, trailing his fingers over the pristine blades.

Whoever Killian had as a bladesmith was someone very talented indeed. Naqam hadn't seen weapons this fine in ages. Naktis had always kept the quality weapons locked up, reserved for special missions, only two of which he had been allowed to go on.

"Are you going to pick one," Adira asked dryly, "or just stand there and make eyes at them?"

He cleared his throat, fighting a blush. Casting his eyes back down to the slick, silvered blades, he touched the edge of a light short sword, then something caught his eye.

Two identical blades, each a little less than a forearm's length, with a subtle flare in the belly and a wickedly pointed tip. His breath escaped from between parted lips and he picked them up, the hilts fitting naturally into his palms.

"Do these count as one?" he asked, unable to tear his eyes away from them.

"They do," Adira said, her voice smug and... Naqam looked up trying to decide what the other was.

She was looking at Mad, who was staring at the blades. Then the Real Worlder turned to King Killian. The King's dark hair was gently ruffled by the wind, not tamed by his crown today.

"Where did you get those?" Hatter finally asked, sounding choked.

Naqam looked to Adira for an explanation, but her dark eyes were fixed firmly upon the ground, her hands in tight fists at her sides. 

Hatter wheeled around, his coat flaring around him as he faced the King. "Where did you get those?" he roared, catching the collar of Killian's shirt and jerking him forward.

There was something fearful and mad in those green eyes, and Naqam almost wished he had chosen something else. But they felt so natural in his hands. So well balanced and light.

He could destroy armies with these blades.

Then Hatter released the King, who stumbled back a step.

"You said you burned them. You said they were gone." His breath rapid, Mad glanced at the weapons, then away, like he couldn't stand the sight of them. "Why are those here, Killian? Why are they here?"

No one spoke. Naqam's eyes widened when the Real Worlders hands actually shook.

"What are you trying to prove, Killian?" he hissed, eyes narrowed and poisonous.

The King still didn't move or speak. Mad let out a breath, disgust laced through the puff of air. He turned his back on the King and stalked over to Naqam, glaring at the blades like they had wronged him somehow.

He held out one hand, though his fingers were still twitching with some suppressed emotion. Adira was watching him with large eyes, her fingers twisting together in a way that looked painful in front of her waist.

With reluctance, Naqam placed the right-hand blade in Hatter's palm. The man shivered minutely, then brought the blade up to his face, hawkish eyes hyper-focused on something near the hilt of the blade.

A soft gasp escaped him, and he threw the knife down into the sand, the sharp point sinking easily into the ground. Naqam made a small sound of protest and yanked the blade out of the dirt, searching it for any defect.

He looked at the same place Hatter had been so focused on and found a small inscription. One he hadn't noticed before.

It was simple and sent a chill screaming through his body.

For my own Ace. ~M

His hands loosened every so slightly, the heavier tips of the blades tilting toward the earth. Looking up, he met Hatter's gaze. While the man was looking at him, Naqam knew he was not seeing what was truly in front of him.

A small voice in the back of his head told him to move away from the Real Worlder. The rest of him refused to back up from anything.

Mad pressed the heel of his palm into his temple and turned away from the Ace, gritting his teeth. He pushed roughly past the King, batting away his outstretched hand as he nearly ran back toward the flower-heavy trees they had walked through with Tarian.

"These," he started, turning slowly to Adira, "are Tamsus'. Aren't they."

It wasn't a question. Adira answered anyway, nodding, her eyes still on Hatter's retreating back. She took a few steps forward, as if to follow him into the shelter of the trees, but something stopped her.

Her body trembled like it was aching to run, but she turned sharply, snapping her attention back to Naqam. Those dark eyes were somehow darker and there was something troubled in them.

Both the King and the Jack watched him as he looked down at the blades, a fierce battle waging within him. He had already fallen for the knives. They felt good in his hands and he didn't want to let them go.

But by hanging onto them, he might prove the King right, showing them all that he was exactly like Tamsus.

His common sense won out, as it was supposed to, and he set the weapons back onto the table with care. Adira made a small sound of astonishment, and he knew he'd made the right choice.

But he couldn't stop his eyes from return to them as he tried to find something else to use.

In reality, he could have picked up and wielded any of those blades with equal skill. It shouldn't have mattered. But the knives--Tamsus'  knives--had captured his attention, ensnaring him with vicious want.

His hands clenched and unclenched several times, and then he reached forward, snatching them up again.

"I can redeem these," he said, his breath almost ragged. "I can make them mine, not his."

"You would want to erase his memory?" Killian asked. "Or do you just pick them up in his name?"

Naqam thought carefully about his answer, and yet, he was still surprised by what came out of his mouth.

"Tamsus is just a ghost. And a weapon is only as dangerous as the person wielding it. These blades don't have to be used for useless bloodshed only. I can make them mean something else."

Even as he said them, and meant them, the words were like a blow to his heart. He caught his own reflection in the mirror-polished steel. Just his eyes, shining like blood crystals in his pale face. A small breath escaped him and he jerked his gaze up to Adira.

"What am I to do with these?"

Adira was staring at the King, lush lips pressed into a thin line. Killian stood with his arms crossed, watching Naqam with a very strange expression on his face.

"I think we'll stop for today. You're fit enough, at least. We can test the rest of your abilities when everyone's calmed down a little."

Naqam blinked as the King turned and strode away, leaving him there with Lady Adira and his predecessor's blades in his hands. He looked over his shoulder when Adira let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"Why did you have to come here?" she muttered, nearly to herself.

"I..." He trailed off. There was no real answer readily available.

He really didn't know himself.

There had been absolutely nothing to stop him from killing Adira, then Killian. They were too close and he would have been too fast. It had been a perfect opportunity, and he had let it slip by as easily as water between his fingers. 

Conflicting thoughts assailed him, forcing his breath to quicken as Hatter's had.

He caught his reflection in the steel again, and wasn't entirely sure who it was he was looking at.

"Go," Adira finally said. "Just... go."

Naqam picked up his shirt from where it had been neatly folded and placed under the table holding the blades and pulled it on. Not thinking, he slid the blades into his belt.

"You're going to keep them?" Adira's sharp voice startled him.

He glanced at her uncertainly. "Can I?"

Her gaze wandered to where Hatter had disappeared into the trees, but the alabaster skin of her forehead puckered as she considered this.

"What are you doing here?" she asked again, and there was something about her voice that wanted to pull the truth from him, much like the King's compulsion had.

Except, this time, he had no idea what the truth was. He needed time to figure that out.

"I'm just..." He shook his head. "I'm just trying to find a place to belong."

It astonished him when he realized that was at least a little true. That ball of mixed feelings spun in his chest, and all he wanted to do was find some secluded corner of the castle to riddle it all out. He wanted to figure out why he suddenly felt like he had never belonged at Heart Castle, and, more importantly, why he hadn't killed the King.

It had been such a perfect opportunity.

Killian and Adira would have been a challenge for him, but the only one he had actually ever been worried about had come undone and walked away at the sight of the knives brushing against his legs.

He should have killed them!

Adira looked at him for a long moment. "I still don't trust you, Ace," she said quietly. "I still think you're going to do something that will leave me with a broken heart. That's what Aces do. Particularly Red Aces."

This made him shift, the sand crunching under his boots.

"But," Adira continued, "Madison trusts you enough to let you come here. He trusted you enough to put weapons in your hands. I will take his lead. Keep the blades and do what you said you'd do."

That ball of confused feelings flooded into a pool, and he could feel something dangerous teasing at his mind. Wanting to snap it, to exploit how fragile it was.

"Prove to me you're different," she said as she walked away. "Prove you aren't what I know an Ace to be. Do this, Naqam, and I will welcome you with the same open arms Mad has."

She broke into a smooth run, quickly becoming lost in the trees.

Open arms? If that was open-armed, then he didn't really care to know what Hatter's hostility would look like. 

He stroked a thumb down the left-hand blade, brow furrowed as he thought. A bead of sweat fell from his forehead, stinging his eye, and he decided he could think about this after he had washed the sweat and dirt from his skin.

He made his slow way to a door in the castle, trying to find his way back to the room they had given him the other night. Servants skirted around him, doing everything within their power to get as far away from him as they could when he chanced upon them in the wide hallways of the castle.

But he didn't care about them. He had far to much spinning through his head to be worried about a few lowly Twos and Threes.

The weight of the knives in his belt was a comforting thing after having gone for so long without any kind of weapon in reach. He wondered if he would be able to commission sheaths for them. Or if the King would see fit to provide him with leather, he could make them himself. Naqam shook his head, still damp hair smacking against his cheeks. Since when did he need anything from the King?

Finally he found the spiral staircase that would lead to his room. Then he wondered when he had begun to think of it as his room.

Ignoring his tired body--still angry with him about the mad run Adira had sent him on--he took the steps two at a time, flying up to the thick, wooden door. He shoved it open, flinching when it smacked into the stone wall with a horrendous bang.

But that wasn't nearly as surprising as the small, startled shriek it inspired.

Tarian peered over the top of the armchair he had been reading in this morning. Naqam took one uncertain step back.

"Oh," she breathed out, standing up. "Um... I had thought you would be gone for the rest of the day."

"Which would make it okay to go through my room?" he asked, then paled. "Apologies, princess." He gave her a deep bow. "This is your home. You can do whatever you want."

"No!"

He looked up in astonishment when she nearly yelled at him. She took a deep breath, smoothing her hair back, which was now hanging in loose, satiny, black sheets down her back.

"No," she repeated more sedately. "I'm in the wrong. I shouldn't have come in here without your permission. It's just... I--um." She looked over her shoulder at the bookshelf. "I'd noticed one of the books was missing," she said with relief. "I was curious which one you were reading."

To his horror, she picked up the book he had started this morning. The red cover accused him, and he couldn't deny his crime.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," he stammered, then squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face away from the princess. Why could he not seem to control himself when she was anywhere nearby?

A flurry of footsteps and swishing skirts had him looking down at the princess, who was suddenly right in front of him. She had the book clutched to her chest with one hand and the other outstretched toward him.

He skittered back, just to nearly fall back down the stone steps he had just ascended. His arms flew out to the sides and he shifted his weight toward his toes. But he was too unbalanced and closed his eyes, ready to just sustain the abuse, hoping he wouldn't break anything too badly.

He started to curl forward, arms going out to form a cage that would take the brunt of the impacts and protect his head.

A small hand fisted into the cloth of his shirt and he was yanked forward, away from the stairs.

Right into the princess.

He stood frozen, his body pressed against hers, his mind completely blank. Her blue eyes were wide, her lips parted, her hand still grasping his shirt as she held on to him.

The only thing between them was the book.

Tarian swallowed and whispered, "Are you okay?"

Her voice snapped his mind back into gear and he stepped away from her, gently unfastening her hand from his shirt. He dropped her hand as quickly as he could and nodded.

"I... I'm sorry," she said again. "I shouldn't have come here. I nearly sent you down those stairs the hard way, and I'm most certainly going to get you in trouble with my father." Her expression darkened. "Well, more trouble."

"No... no need to apologize. Your father has every right to be suspicious of me," Naqam said quietly, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder to make sure that no one was about to put a bullet in his back.

"Why?" Tarian said, scoffing. "Because you look like Tamsus?" She rolled her eyes, making him blink.

"Because... I'm the Heart's Ace," he said slowly. "Because he doesn't have any reason to trust me."

He was horrified when his last words came out sounding melancholy. Like he wanted the King to trust him.

But... did he really not care for the King's trust? He simply didn't know anymore. Not right at this second.

Tarian cleared her throat, yanking him from his muddled thoughts. With a smile, she offered the book to him. "This is one of my favorites," she said, still with that sweet smile. "I'd like to know what you think of it when you're finished reading. If you don't mind?"

All he could do was shake his head.

The princess' smile grew. She stepped cautiously around him, like she thought she would scare him if she moved too quickly.

He turned to watch her leave. His heart thudded in his chest as she turned to look at him one last time.

"For what it's worth," she offered. "I don't think you're the kind of Ace Tamsus was. I think you'll show us what a real Ace is supposed to be like."

Then she left without giving him the chance to even begin formulating an answer. The door shut softly behind her and he turned, throwing the book. All it hit was one of the pillows on the bed, not the window like he'd intended.

Naqam sank to his knees, head hanging down.

He wasn't any kind of Ace at all. He was nothing more than a failure.