chapter 5 interlude

Elsewhere, in a realm where even the roses had learned to hate, the Court was getting impatient.

The throne room of the Thornheart Court had been designed to intimidate.

Vaulted ceilings disappeared into darkness above, their heights suggested only by the faint rustle of things that lived in shadow. Columns of living thorn twisted upward like frozen screams, their surfaces slick with something that caught the light wrong. The floor was black glass, polished to such perfection that it reflected everything above it—creating the illusion of walking on nothing, of standing suspended over an infinite drop into a mirror world.

And at the center of it all, empty for now, the throne.

It grew from the floor like a wound that had learned to bloom. Thorns and roses intertwined in patterns that shifted when observed too long, petals opening and closing in rhythms that matched no heartbeat, stems writhing with slow, patient hunger. The Queen's seat. The Queen's heart. The place from which she had ruled the door-roads for four centuries.

She wasn't here today.

That was the only reason the two figures in the room were still talking instead of kneeling.

"You're being unreasonable."

Ace's voice echoed off the glass floor, calm and measured, each word placed with the precision of a chess piece moved across the board. He stood near one of the thorn-columns, arms crossed.

Red Jack threw a chair at him.

Ace sidestepped. The chair shattered against the column, spraying splinters across the glass floor.

"I'm being unreasonable?" Jack's voice bounced off the walls, too loud, always too loud. He was pacing now, boots cracking against the glass with every step, armor catching the dim light and throwing it back in jagged fragments. "You come into MY throne room, demand MY specimens, and I'M being unreasonable?" "It's not your throne room."

"It's not YOURS either."

Ace didn't flinch. Didn't react at all. He simply watched Jack pace with the detached interest of someone observing a storm from behind very thick glass.

"The echo has information," he said, as if the chair hadn't happened. "Information about the Waywalker. Her abilities. Her weaknesses. The doors she's walked through, the keys she carries." A pause. "Information Mother wants."

Jack stopped pacing.

He turned toward Ace, and there was nothing controlled about his expression. Nothing calculated. Just raw, ugly fury twisting his beautiful features into something monstrous.

"Mother will get what Mother wants when I'm done playing with it."

"And when will that be?"

He moved fast. Faster than someone in full armor should be able to move. One moment he was across the room, the next he had Ace slammed against the thorn-column, forearm pressed against his throat.

"You don't get to come in here and make demands," Jack snarled. "I don't care that you're running your little suite all by yourself. I don't care that Mother lets you play at being important. The echo is MINE. The dragon is MINE. And if you try to take them from me, I will gut you like a fish and hang your entrails from the ceiling."

Ace's expression didn't change.

"Are you finished?"

Jack's arm pressed harder. Ace's face started to go red.

"I could kill you right now. Mother would be annoyed, but she'd get over it. She always does."

"She wouldn't."

"Want to find out?"

Silence stretched between them. Jack's breath came hard and fast, his eyes wild, his whole body vibrating with the need to hurt something.

Then he let go.

Shoved Ace sideways, sent him stumbling, turned away with a sound of disgust.

"You're not worth the mess," he spat. "Get out of my throne room."

Ace straightened his coat. Adjusted his collar. Showed no sign that he'd been seconds away from having his throat crushed.

"The Waywalker is in Fractura," he said. "As of this morning. She's going for the fragments. Gathering them one by one."

Jack went still.

"What?"

"She's building toward something. The Codex, presumably." Ace's voice remained infuriatingly calm. "I thought you'd want to know. Given your... investment in the situation."

"Why didn't you lead with that?"

"You threw a chair at me."

Jack laughed. It was an ugly sound, more bark than humor.

"So I did." He turned back, and something had shifted in his expression. Still violent. Still unstable. But focused now. Hungry. "She's coming here. Eventually. She's going to walk right through our doors thinking she can save him."

"That appears to be her plan."

"Good." Jack's smile was all teeth. "That's good. I was getting bored with just the two of them. A matching set will be much more entertaining."

"Mother wants the echo examined first. Properly examined. Information extracted."

"Fine." Jack waved a hand dismissively. "Send Dia. I don't care. Just make sure she leaves me something to play with when she's done."

Ace's eyebrow rose slightly.

"You're agreeing?"

"I'm agreeing to let Dia poke at the echo. That's all." Jack moved toward the doors, his earlier rage already shifting into something more like anticipation. "But I want the dragon examined too. I want to know what makes him special. Why Mother wanted him so badly."

"You think there's something specific?"

"I think Mother doesn't collect things without reason." Jack paused at the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder. "And I think our scaly friend is hiding something. Even from himself."

He was gone before Ace could respond, his laughter echoing off the glass floor long after his footsteps faded.

Ace stood alone in the throne room.

"Maniac," he murmured.

But he said it with something that might have been respect.

The Garden of Specimens wasn't quiet when Jack arrived.

It was never quiet. The dreamer whimpered in her crystal prison. The speaker of the dead made wet, choking sounds around the roses in his throat. Things rustled in the hedges, scuttled across the moss, whispered in voices that weren't quite voices.

Jack loved it.

He walked the familiar paths with the swagger of a man surveying his kingdom, pausing occasionally to admire a particular specimen or adjust a pose that had shifted slightly out of alignment.

The dreamer caught his attention first. She was crying again. Tears streaming down her face, trapped in whatever nightmare the crystal was feeding her today.

"Beautiful," he murmured, pressing his palm against the warm surface. "Simply beautiful."

He stayed there for a moment, watching her suffer, drinking it in. Then he moved on.

The echo was where he'd left it.

She lay at the base of the draconis's prison, a smudge of faded color against the glowing moss. She'd tried to reach him again. Crawled maybe two feet before her arms gave out and she collapsed.

Jack laughed.

"Still trying?" He crouched beside her, grabbed a fistful of her faded hair, yanked her head up to face him. "That's pathetic. You know that, right? You can't even remember why you're crawling anymore."

The echo didn't respond. Couldn't respond. Her eyes were empty, flickering with colors that had long since lost their meaning.

"Useless." Jack released her, let her head drop back to the moss. "You're not even fun to hurt anymore. Just lie there and fade like a good little ghost."

He stood, turning his attention to the real prize.

The draconis hung in his chains, wings pinned wide, thorns digging deep into scales that had long since stopped healing between wounds. The muzzle gleamed dull silver in the Garden's strange light, the thorns that had been driven through his jaw crusted with dried blood.

His eyes were open.

"There's my favorite," Jack crooned, reaching up to pat Caelum's cheek. The draconis tried to pull away. The chains didn't let him. "Did you miss me? I missed you. Well, I missed this."

The echo was where he'd left it.

She lay at the base of the draconis's prison, a smudge of faded color against the glowing moss. She'd tried to reach him again. Crawled maybe two feet before her arms gave out and she collapsed.

Jack laughed.

"Still trying?" He crouched beside her, grabbed a fistful of her faded hair, yanked her head up to face him. "That's pathetic. You know that, right? You can't even remember why you're crawling anymore."

The echo didn't respond. Couldn't respond. Her eyes were empty, flickering with colors that had long since lost their meaning.

Jack turned her face toward the chains above them. Toward the draconis hanging there, forced to watch.

"Say his name," Jack ordered. "Go on. You remember that much, don't you? Say it."

The echo's mouth moved. Shapes without sound at first. Then, barely audible: "Cae... lum..."

Above them, chains rattled. A sound escaped the muzzle. Low. Broken.

Jack's smile widened.

He let the echo's head drop, rose to his feet, turned to face his real prize. "She can barely remember her own face, but she remembers YOU. Isn't that sweet? Isn't that just... pathetic?"

Caelum's eyes burned with hatred. With fury. With something that refused to die no matter how many weeks passed, no matter how deep the thorns grew, no matter how much blood dripped onto the moss below.

"You know what I've been thinking about?" Jack began to pace, circling the chains, trailing his fingers along the thorns that held those pinned wings in place. "When she gets here. The real one. I've had SO much time to plan."

He stopped. Leaned close.

"I could put her right next to you. Chain her up just like this, let you watch while I work. That's the obvious choice." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "But that's boring, isn't it? That's what anyone would do."

His hand shot out, gripped one of the thorns embedded in Caelum's wing, and twisted.

The sound that escaped the muzzle wasn't quite a scream. Couldn't be a scream. But it was close.

"No, I think I want to be more creative than that." Jack released the thorn, examined the blood on his fingers with casual interest. "I think I want to give you hope first. Let you think you might actually save her. Let you get SO close..."

He smiled. All teeth.

"And then I take it away. Over and over. Until hoping hurts worse than anything I could do to your body."

Caelum's chest heaved. His claws flexed uselessly against their bonds. Fire flickered behind the muzzle, desperate for release, finding none.

"She's out there right now, you know. Fighting her way toward you. Believing she can make a difference." Jack laughed. "I almost admire it. Almost. Mostly I just can't wait to see her face when she realizes what walking through our doors actually costs."

He turned toward the Garden's entrance.

And stopped.

A figure stood at the threshold.

She was tall and slender, dressed in grey so dark it was almost black. Her hair was cropped short and practical. Her face showed nothing at all.

But it was her eyes that made Jack pause.

Pale. Almost colorless. Like glass that had forgotten how to reflect.

"Dia." Jack's smile didn't waver, but something behind it shifted. Wariness, maybe. Or anticipation. "You're early."

"I'm precisely on time." Her voice was cool, clinical. "You're simply not aware of the current time. Understandable, given your... activities."

She stepped into the Garden, her gaze moving across the specimens with professional interest. The dreamer in her crystal. The speaker with his throat full of roses. The child frozen mid-flight.

"You've been busy," she observed.

"Always." Jack spread his arms wide. "Like what you see?"

"I see adequate preservation with inconsistent methodology." Dia moved past him, not waiting for a response. "The dreamer's crystal has harmonic degradation. The speaker's roses are overgrowing. And your draconis..."

She stopped beside the chains. Looked up at Caelum with those pale, empty eyes.

"Crude," she said. "Effective, but crude. You've damaged him significantly. Some of this scarring may be permanent."

"That's the point."

"Is it?" Dia's head tilted. "I was under the impression Mother wanted him preserved. Intact. Functional."

"Mother wants him broken."

"Those aren't the same thing." Dia turned to face Jack, her expression utterly flat. "You can break something and still leave it functional. You can damage something beyond repair while barely touching it. The art is in knowing the difference."

"Don't lecture me about art."

"I'm not. I'm lecturing you about results." She moved toward the echo, crouching to examine the faded form. "This one is nearly gone. Another few days and there won't be enough left to extract. If you'd called me sooner..."

"I was busy."

"Yes. Hitting things." Dia's voice held no judgment. No emotion at all. "Mother wants the echo's memories. I can still retrieve them, but the window is closing. I'll need her in my laboratory within the hour."

"Fine."

"And the draconis."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "What about him?"

"Mother wants him examined. Fully. There's something about his heritage she finds significant." Dia rose, brushing off her coat with precise movements. "I intend to find out what."

"Be my guest." Jack's smile returned, sharp and eager. "I want to know too. Want to know what makes him special. Why he matters."

"He'll need to be conscious for the examination."

"He IS conscious."

"He'll need to be capable of response." Dia's gaze flicked to the muzzle. "That will need to come off. Temporarily."

"Absolutely not."

"It's not a request."

Jack moved fast. Got in her face, looming, trying to intimidate through sheer physical presence.

Dia didn't react at all.

"The last time that muzzle came off, he killed three of my gardeners," Jack snarled. "Burned them to ash before I could get it back on."

"Then you were careless." Dia's voice remained perfectly level. "I won't be."

"You don't know what he's capable of."

"I know exactly what he's capable of. I know the heat tolerance of draconis fire, the regeneration rate of their flame-producing organs, the specific neurological triggers that activate their breath weapons." She paused. "I also know seventeen different ways to disable those systems without permanent damage. Would you like me to list them?"

Jack stared at her.

Dia stared back.

"Fine," he said finally, stepping back. "Fine. But if he burns your face off, don't come crying to me."

"I don't cry." Dia turned toward the exit. "Have them both delivered to my laboratory. The echo first. The dragon within the hour."

She was almost at the threshold when she paused.

"Jack."

"What?"

"The Waywalker." Her voice remained flat. "Ace tells me she's gathering fragments. Coming here eventually."

"She is."

"And your plan is to... break her. In front of the dragon. For entertainment."

"That's the plan."

Dia was quiet for a moment.

"Inefficient," she said finally. "But I suppose that's not your concern."

She left before Jack could respond.

He stood alone in the Garden, surrounded by his specimens, his treasures, his works of art in suffering and despair.

Then he turned back to the draconis. "I don't like her."

 "Never have. She's too..." He waved a hand vaguely. "Cold. Where's the passion? Where's the joy?"

Caelum didn't respond. Couldn't respond.

Jack grinned anyway.

"Don't worry," he said. "I've got enough joy for both of us. And when your precious Waywalker gets here..."

"Well. Let's just say I've got plans."

He left the Garden laughing.

Behind him, in the silence that followed, the echo stirred.

She couldn't remember her name. Couldn't remember why she was here. Couldn't remember anything except a feeling, a pull, a desperate need to reach the figure hanging above her.

She began to crawl to Caelum.