A bitter smell jerked him back to wakefulness, his eyes flying open wildly. Snowflakes kissed his face, making him blink rapidly. A hand smacked against his cheek, startling him further, but before he could move, a blade was placed against his throat.

Naqam stilled, eyes darting around, ignoring the dull throb present at the base of his skull. Finally, he looked at the dark shape hovering over him, fighting against the snarl pulling at his mouth.

"Are we having fun yet?" Naktis said, icy gaze sweeping over Naqam.

The Ace didn't answer until the knife at his throat had been removed, and then he was on his feet before any of the Hearts around him could blink. Naktis slowly rose to his full height, looking down at Naqam with a sneer.

His heart thudded wildly in his chest as he slowly looked around. Trees shrouded in night shadows surrounded them, snow falling softly between the thin branches here at the edge of the forest. 

Naktis sighed in irritation and Naqam whirled around, fury making him bare his teeth and snarl at the man. The Jack did not look impressed.

"What are you doing?" Naqam asked furiously. "Are you insane? If Hatter notices—if he even suspects—"

"Madison Hatter?" one of the soldiers with Naktis asked in disbelief. "You're here with the Real Worlder?"

Naqam's teeth clenched as he realized he might have just made a mistake. His eyes flicked to Naktis' face, and he let his hands drift down to his belt. He didn't know what he thought he was going to do. He just wanted the comfort of cold steel in his hands.

His heart stopped when he found nothing in his belt.

"Looking for these?" Naktis said carelessly, holding both blades with little regard.

"Yes," Naqam said stiffly, knowing it would be a mistake to act like the weapons held any significance to him, good or bad.

Naktis tossed them to the ground at the Ace's feet. Naqam knew better than to move to pick them up just yet. He met the Jack's cold eyes and said, "Why are you here, Naktis? Why are you risking me?"

His superior didn't answer at first, instead turning to a soldier sitting against a tree. Face milky white, arm in a sling, the man was glaring balefully at the Ace. The look didn't bother him, nor did the fact that he'd most likely shattered the man's elbow—the soldier should have known better than to surprise an Ace and then put hands on him.

Slowly, Naktis turned back to him. "I see you haven't learned anything remotely close to control since you've been with the Spades.

"I haven't been with them that long," Naqam reminded him. 

Naktis stalked across the space between them, and Naqam braced himself for a blow. Instead, Naktis gripped his chin, tilting his head back and forcing him to meet the Jack's gaze dead-on. "I've been hearing some unsettling reports, Ace," he nearly crooned. "Imagine my surprise when I am here in Diamond lands, and one of my scouts comes running back to me with the news that no one less than Madison Hatter is here, and he's not alone."

"Is there something wrong with that?" Naqam asked, struggling to stay calm, resisting the urge to break every bone in the hand gripping his face.

"I'm beginning to wonder, Ace," Naktis said, "if you were truly ready for this."

Naqam growled. "Perhaps it's your training you're wondering about."

Naktis released him, just to backhand him. The movement was lazy and vicious, drawing blood easily as his lip split. He didn't bother wiping it away as he slowly turned his face back to the Jack.

He didn't move as Naktis fisted his hand in the hair at the nape of his neck, forcing him to bare his throat. A move designed to make him feel vulnerable, Naqam couldn't stop the hiss of hatred that escaped through his teeth.

The Jack had always made him feel like this. Exposed and vulnerable. Like he never had a choice.

Naktis leaned foward, making the Ace tense as he spoke directly into his ear. "Give me a good reason why we didn't find Hatter facedown in a pool of his own blood. You're in a Red territory. It would have been too easy to frame the Diamonds."

Swallowing hard against his suddenly dry throat, he rasped, "Because Killian would have known I did it. Then how would I get close enough to kill him, his wife and his pretty little daughter?"

This made Naktis fall silent for a moment, his stare burning into the side of Naqam's face. Then, his fingers loosened their hold and he patted the side of Naqam's face with something like affection. Obviously, that had been the correct answer.

"Moves are being made, Naqam," Naktis said, still speaking into his ear. "Your time is coming."

"When?" Naqam asked, his blood feeling sluggish in his veins.

"Soon." Naktis finally took a step back. He smiled, the expression cruel, and said, "Patience, Naqam, as always is the key. You will know when to make your move. Until then, do not let the Spades suspect anything concerning your loyalty."

The Jack cast a curious gaze over him. Then he reached forward, fingers grazing over his cloak's clasp. The one fashioned into the shape of a gryphon. "Has Killian forced you to take the Oath yet?"

Naqam shook his head, something inside him aching dully. "No. He doesn't want forced loyalty."

This made Naktis and the other soldiers laugh. Naqam allowed a small smile to play at the edge of his mouth. The expression was meaningless, but it was expected. As was the cocky tilt to his chin and the hungry way in which he looked at them through a heavy-lidded gaze.

Naktis shook his head in contempt. "How considerate of him." The Jack sneered. "What a wonderful mistake."

Naqam nodded noncommittally. He didn't think it would be a good idea to mention the days he'd spent with Hatter, or the fact that he had begun to rethink everything he'd been taught about the Spades, the Hearts and their shared, bloodied history.

The Jack rested a heavy hand on his shoulder, leveling a dire look on the Ace. "There are always people watching, Naqam. More eyes around the Spades than just your own. Remember that."

"Yes, sir," Naqam nearly choked out. 

He didn't know if he believed that. In the days he'd spent at the castle, he'd seen few Red Deck people, and those he had seen had been exclusively Diamonds.

Still, the idea that they had perhaps seen not only his missed opportunities, but his conversations with the princess, was disconcerting to say the very least. He didn't know why he felt that way, considering that he'd been sent to Spade Castle precisely to get close to the royal family. 

Betrayal was his order. To betray, he first had to earn their trust.

"Now go," Naktis said.

Naqam didn't hesitate, knew he couldn't hesitate. He snatched up his knives from where they still lay on the wet ground and ran back down the sloping hill leading into town, his cloak flying behind him. His boots skidded precariously in the snow and ice, but even that couldn't slow him down.

He ran full-tilt through the mostly empty streets of the city until he skidded to a stop outside of the inn where he had last seen Hatter. He didn't know what he was going to do or say, but he willed his breath to a steady tempo, throwing up a mask of unperturbed indifference.

Slowly, he pushed the heavy wooden door open, hesitating in the shadows, eyes scanning over the fire and lamplit common room. The warmth was delicious against the frozen skin of his face and fingers.

He found Hatter sitting in a comfortable chair in a corner of the room near the fire, bright eyes already trained on the door. A cigarette dangled from between his index and middle finger, wisps of smoke spiraling up toward the shadowed ceiling.

That, more than anything surpised Naqam. He'd never seen any makings or evidence that Hatter smoked around his house back in Spade territory. Then he wondered if perhaps it had just been a concession for his friend, who had smelled heavily of smoke.

The smell was a reminder of what had happened earlier today. Of what had sent him wandering blindly through the streets and to the library. Of what had allowed Naktis to get his claws into the Ace once again.

Bitter hatred welled in his throat, different than before. Hatred in response to hatred tasted somehow different than that which he had been raised on.

He walked slowly forward before sinking into a chair opposite Hatter, on the other side of the fire. The wood crackled and popped as it burned in the fireplace. Naqam held his frozen hands toward the flame, his stomach beginning to growl as he realized he hadn't eaten anything since that morning.

Hatter didn't speak, preferring instead to finish off the cigarette before flicking the butt into the fire. Smoke streamed from his nose, but still he said nothing. Naqam's mind whirled faster and faster—over what Naktis had told him, over the fact that he didn't know what to think or how to feel.

The only thing he could really think was that telling Hatter anything would end poorly, and in no other way. It would destroy any headway he'd made in gaining his trust. Telling the truth would strip him of his ability to decide his own fate.

Naqam blinked slightly at the thought. Did he want to be responsible for his own fate?

"Please tell me you didn't start any fights while you were out there?" Hatter finally said.

Naqam furrowed his brow in question.

Hatter tapped at the side of his own mouth. The Ace reached up, the tips of his fingers brushing against a crust of dried blood on the corner of his lip. He remembered Naktis splitting his lip—remembered not wiping away the blood.

Using the edge of his sleeve, he scrubbed the blood away, staring into the fire. "Icy outside," he muttered by way of explanation. 

It was no explanation at all and he could see in Hatter's eyes that the Real Worlder knew it too. But he didn't ask. Silence descended around the two men. Naqam sighed, opening his mouth, then shutting it. He shook his head, the heat from the fire drying the wet edges of his cloak.

"Not a pretty thing, is it?" Hatter said quietly. "That blind hatred."

Naqam looked up at that. Hatter was nothing more than a darker shadow amidst the others as his eyes tried to adjust after being blinded by the fire.

Hatter continued, "I've seen it before. And it made me hide a part of who I was for a very long time."

Curiosity fluttered through Naqam, and it must have shown on his face because Hatter sighed, running a hand through his silver-streaked hair. Then he dug into his pocket before tossing something at Naqam. He easily snatched it out of the air, surprised by what he found.

A chunk of blue-green rock, smooth to the touch and warm, sat cradled in the hollow of his palm.

"Turquoise," Hatter said, voice guarded. "It's sacred to the Navajo. To my people. It's life. It's the rain that grows everything. I carry that now to try and remember what I wanted to forget. Who I came from. But for a long time, I hated the stuff. Because it reminded me of where I came from—what blood runs in my veins."

Naqam stared down at the pretty stone shimmering in the firelight.

"The hatred of other people doesn't matter, Naqam. What matters is how you hate yourself."

Fingers closing around the stone, he chanced looking up at the Real Worlder. He didn't bother to deny those words. They were perhaps the truest he'd heard in his life.

Hatter understood this. "It was wrong, what Shan said. Tamsus' crimes aren't yours. The blood on his hands didn't move to yours when you were born, kid. You've got a clean slate and the chance to decide what you want written there."

"Why do you bother," Naqam rasped, voice nearly breaking. "Why do you spend the time to tell me these things? Why do you try to change what I am?"

Hatter didn't seem to have a ready explanation. Instead, he held out his hand expectantly. Naqam reluctantly returned the warm piece of turquoise, watching the semi-precious stone disappear into the dark material of his pocket.

"Because I was too late for him," Hatter said quietly, finally. "He was my friend once, you know. He was. I hate and love him for that. Hate and love the kindness he showed me when I was dragged to Wonderland. Kindness no other being in this wretched place ever saw, not even Mavros."

Naqam's throat had constricted.

"And I didn't start soon enough for Rakta." Suddenly, Hatter stood up, making Naqam flinch away.

The encounter with Naktis was very fresh in his mind, and he despised himself for that weakness—for that fear. Hatter extended his hand, and after a very long hesitation, Naqam took it, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet.

"Follow me," Hatter said, the offer implicit in his deep voice.

Naqam didn't have to—not if he didn't want to.

So different from the blind obedience Naktis craved.

He followed in Hatter's wake, silent as a shadow as the Real Worlder donned his coat and hat before stepping out into the glittering world of snowfall at night. 

Snowflakes swirled as they walked down the dimly lit roads, sparkling like silver powder in the frozen night air. Naqam's breath chilled his throat before puffing out in a steaming cloud that disturbed the falling flakes.

No words passed between them as they walked, headed toward the very center of the town. Cold nipped at his face, even as he burrowed into the hood of Tarian's gift. How he hated the cold.

Hatter's long strides never faulted. He never wavered, like he had taken this path many times over the last twenty years. Naqam walked half a pace behind him, wary of shadows with eyes.

Then they emerged from a narrow alley, and Naqam sucked in a small, awed breath.

Before him, in the center of the square, rose two perfectly identical obelisks. The rose quartz they had been crafted from rippled with silver veins that seemed to flow and shift on their own in the dull light.

Naqam could only imagine how spectacular the sight would be under the gaze of two full moons. Movement to his left caught his eye, and he scrambled to catch up as Hatter moved toward the towers. Toward the right-hand one specifically.

Slowly, he placed a gloved hand on the dully sparkling crystal. "Do you know who lies here?" he asked, voice soft enough not to disturb the coccoon of quiet the snow wrapped around them.

Naqam looked up, searching for a name. Something more than the stylized diamond chiseled into the rock. His eyes flicked to the other obelisk, but it offered no more answers than the first.

"This used to be where part of the castle stood," Hatter said. "They downsized after the war. Considerably. A poppy garden used to be here."

Indeed, one still remained in a way. Scattered at the base of the markers, nearly hidden by the snow, Naqam found small bouquets of the deep red flower laid at the foot of the stones.

"Who is buried here?" Naqam asked, voice just as soft as Hatter's. He copied the other man, laying a hand against the freezing crystal. Even as he asked, he already knew.

"Mavros slaughtered his family in front of him." Hatter's voice was drawn and cold. "Tamsus broke him, and he was forced to listen to her screams. Forced to watch as Mavros slit his princess' throat. He couldn't do anything to stop it."

Naqam's breath hitched.

"Can you imagine?" Hatter whispered bleakly. "Can you imagine what it must have been like for him that day? Knowing what was about to happen, but unable to stop it. Unable to save her?"

A phantom feeling of sheer helplessness and horror filled him, making his throat go tight and his eyes blur. Like Rakta Diamond had somehow reached across whatever was on the other side of death and shared with Naqam what had really happened that day.

The tale of that battle suddenly reframed itself in his mind. Instead of a glorious, righteous victory after punishing the Diamonds for some vague betrayal, Naqam realized it for what it was.

Bloody conquest. The Hearts had stormed Diamond Castle. Tamsus had bled the Diamond Ace, had broken his bones. And then Mavros had killed that which he had sworn to protect.

But that hadn't been enough for her. Sour bile rose in his throat as he realized what Mavros must have done to the Ace. The level she had stooped to, in order to add one more weapon to her arsenal. A level not even Killian had descended to.

"He was your friend?" Naqam managed.

Hatter fell silent at that, then slowly shook his head. "I don't think so. We just happened to fall on the same side of the line that day. He got what he needed, the same as I did." 

Naqam sank slowly to his knees, hand still on the gravestone. He hung his head, unfamiliar shame at his past whirling up inside of him. 

This was what the Hearts had done.

They had murdered and betrayed. Lied and corrupted. Slaughtered and rules with a heavy, iron fist.

And a part of Naqam that had been freed by Hatter—by the very man he was supposed to hate above all others—raged at the injustice of it. Raged at the sickness that was so deeply rooted in the Hearts he had never once questioned why he should murder Killian and his family.

He opened his mouth to spill his guts. To tell every last scrap of truth he owned, but movement deep in the shadows of a nearby alleyway stopped him. A cloaked, hooded figure stood within hearing range, but carefully positioned so as to go unnoticed.

Naqam's mouth snapped shut and he hauled himself to his feet, brushing a sleeve across his eyes.

Hatter stared down at him gravely. "I took the time, Naqam, because I saw something in you worth saving." He shook his dark head. "I don't claim to be a saint. I have my fair share of ugliness. But... I didn't get to help them, Naqam. Not really. And I'm starting to wonder if you might be a rare third chance."

"Don't you still think I want to murder Killian and his family?" Naqam rasped.

Hatter stiffened at the question, hand subconsciously twitching toward the inside of his jacket. But then he closed his eyes and sighed, his breath forming miniature clouds.

"Birth doesn't dictate your path, Naqam. That mark on the side of your neck and whatever teachings you were raised on are not the final say." Hatter glared, eyes fierce now. "You get to decide how you're remembered. You get to decide how this ends."

All Naqam could do was nod, something inside of him singing with that impossible idea.

Hatter's hand rested heavily on his shoulder, but there was something warmer in the gesture than when Naktis had done it. Still holding Naqam's gaze, Hatter said, "Make the choices you need to make. Understand and accept any consequences. Do not let the world decide any of it for you."

His fingers pressed a little harder into Naqam's shoulder. His eyes had turned dreadful now. "Tomorrow, I'm riding home. You can join me, or you can go back to the Hearts. Pick a side, for real, one way or the other, and stick with it."

He opened his mouth to argue that he had picked a side, but stopped as he glanced at the tombstone beside them. He realized he hadn't picked a side at all. He'd simply been born to one.

Now he had a choice.

"It'll matter," Mad warned. "It'll matter what you choose, Naqam."