A Father's Dream (The Dark Prism Book 1)

by V. St. Clair

  “That wasn’t really an answer,” he observed, wondering how far he dared push her on the subject.

  “I know. If you must romanticize it, I suppose you can say that I love him.” They were silent for a long moment before she added, “He is proud of you, you know.”

  Aleric frowned and said, “How would I know that? He’s never said those words to me in sixteen years.”

  His mother sighed and said, “He speaks well of you to others. I know your father seems difficult to please, and that you’ve always had a strained relationship due to the disparities in your temperaments, but he does want what is best for you.”

  “If that were true, he wouldn’t be forcing me to marry at sixteen,” Aleric grumbled, feeling ill-used.

  His mother was quiet for a long moment, features withdrawn in a way that let him know she was doing some deep thinking. Finally she said, “Would you feel better about this marriage if it were delayed?”

  Forever?

  “For how long?” he essayed cautiously.

  “I could probably buy you another three years, if I pitch it correctly to Cowen. After all, who can be sure how well-favored she’ll turn out before she has finished puberty? More importantly, what if she proves to be an intellectual dud and fails out of all her classes? We could hardly marry off the scion of one of the greatest Houses so far beneath him.”

  Aleric could hardly believe his ears. His mother almost never made these kinds of concessions for him, especially when it meant going against his father.

  It must be some kind of holiday and I just wasn’t aware of it until now…

  “I would appreciate that very much,” he answered with perfect sincerity.

  “Very well then,” she nodded to herself as though the matter was settled. “But I warn you, this is the farthest I will be able to move your father on the issue. You have the next three years to informally associate with Susanna and her family and to get to know them on your own terms before you will be expected to step up. Neither your father nor Eldric Kilgore will settle for any less.”

  Aleric nodded to show understanding. This stay of execution was temporary, as he knew it must be, but it was still better than being forced to walk down the aisle at sixteen. Maybe in the next three years he would know Susanna well enough that he wouldn’t hate the idea of being tied to her forever.

  His mother patted him on the shoulder and stood up.

  “You may return to school now; I need to have a word with the groundskeepers before bed.”

  “Thank you for helping me,” Aleric blurted out, “even if you don’t understand me.”

  His mother stopped at the threshold and turned back to him with a strange look on her face.

  “You are my son,” she said simply, and then left.

  5

  The Limits of Power

  Asher fed his familiar, Horace, bits of raw meat from his hand as he kicked back and waited for the Prism Master to enter the classroom. They rarely held formal classes since becoming mastery-level students in Prisms, but occasionally Master Antwar took a notion and decided to test them on some higher-level skill to see how they were progressing.

  Aleric yawned from the desk beside him, watching Cinder flying around the room, building up speed and then coasting until he lost too much altitude.

  “What do you think the old man wants to test us on today?” Asher asked brightly. He usually enjoyed surprises, in contrast to his best friend, who hated them.

  “He’s forty—hardly old,” Aleric rolled his eyes. “And I have no idea what he wants with us today. Maybe he’s mad at you and wants to see me bloody your nose again in a duel.”

  Asher smirked and said, “Maybe he’s planning on formally adopting you, and just needs me to be a witness to the ceremony. The man’s always thought rainbows shined out of your—”

  “Is that so?” the Prism Master interrupted from the doorway, and Asher mentally cursed himself for not having heard the man enter the room.

  Already committed to being sarcastic, Asher said, “Aleric’s always been the golden boy. According to you, the best use of my time would be mopping floors.”

  Aleric laughed but said, “Come now, we have other people less magically-skilled to run a mop around the place.”

  “No, I mean that he thinks I should be the mop that other people are pushing around the floors,” Asher corrected, remembering the conversation vividly.

  “Honestly, Masters, if your hair gets any longer that’s all you’ll be good for,” the Prism Master concurred with an amused smile, and Aleric burst into laughter.

  Nettled, Asher said, “So why have you called us together today, when I could be using the time to get a haircut instead?”

  “I’ve got a bit of news for you both, whether good or bad I’ll leave you to decide,” Master Antwar began, and immediately Asher forgot his annoyance and looked up in interest. “I’ve been debating when to tell you both, but it seemed silly to let you continue in ignorance when you could be pooling your considerable intellects…”

  “What are you talking about?” Asher interrupted, hating long, meandering paths around a message.

  Master Antwar sighed and said, “It seems you boys think very much alike. You both have been working on the same research topic, separately, for months now.”

  “WHAT?!” Aleric and Asher yelled in unison, both of them jumping to their feet and startling their respective familiars.

  We’ve been hiding our work from each other since last year, and it was the same stupid project?!

  If Asher was agitated, Aleric was livid.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he barked, forgetting to remain respectful. “You’ve been letting us bang our heads against the wall for months now, thinking we were doing something unique and important, when really we’ve been on the same subject all along?!”

  Maybe if Aleric punches him, he won’t get into trouble…Asher hoped inwardly. If I do it, I’m certain to be expelled, but everyone loves Aleric Frost, and he’s never really been in trouble before.

  Master Antwar held up his hands in the face of their anger and said, “I was hoping you two might view this as an opportunity to combine your considerable intellects and work on the problem together. You’ve both made different kinds of progress on the issue of underwater light-bending, and I think you two could actually make something of it if you—”

  “You think my father is letting me stay here for another year just so I can share credit on a discovery we might not even make?” Aleric snapped, face flushed with anger.

  A small voice in Asher’s head thought, You’re willing to share credit with Master Sark, but not with me?

  “He’s only letting me stay here because I managed to convince him that I was capable of another big breakthrough like the Law of Transversion with Sark last year. I don’t have time to play around with Ash on something that probably won’t even pan out.”

  “You think I’m not capable of real research?” Asher interrupted, annoyed.

  Aleric turned to him, looking exasperated as he said, “No, no, and I’m sorry it sounded that way. I’m not mad at you; I’m mad at him for wasting both of our times like this.”

  “So am I,” Asher agreed mildly, glaring at their mentor.

  “Well, I can see that neither of you are going to be reasonable about this right now,” Master Antwar sighed. “Maybe after you’ve had time to calm down and think about the merits of working together you’ll come around.”

  “Forget it, I’ll pick a new project—or better yet, I’ll focus on Powders research with Master Sark,” Aleric said furiously. “At least I know he’s interested in making real progress, and not with wasting my time.”

  Wow, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so angry at a teacher.

  Threatening to drop Prisms research when it was his major of focus was a huge deal, especially since Aleric never raised his voice at their instructors or back-talked them. Asher watched his best friend storm out of the room with Cinder o
n his shoulder and slam the door behind them, leaving him alone with Master Antwar.

  “Surprised to learn that your beloved pet has teeth?” Asher addressed his mentor scathingly, feeling bizarrely vindicated now that Aleric had turned on the man who prized him above Asher. “Looks like your golden boy has had enough; now you’re stuck with the apprentice you hate.”

  “Asher,” the Prism Master sighed, “I don’t hate—”

  “Save your breath. I intend to walk out as well, I just wanted to rub it in a little first,” Asher rattled off, preparing to leave.

  “It must have offended you, hearing that your friend isn’t willing to share his work with you,” Antwar changed tracks. Asher couldn’t believe he was trying to turn him against his best friend after everything else that had happened between them.

  “It must have offended you, being told that your star pupil is dropping his work in Prisms entirely, and that it’s entirely your fault,” he countered with grim pleasure.

  The Prism Master kept talking but Asher stopped listening, walking out the door and trying to decide what to do with his suddenly free hour of time. He supposed he would ultimately have to settle on a new research project, now that Aleric knew what he was working on, but there would be time for that later. Then again, perhaps there was no need to switch after all, if Aleric was truly serious about stopping his research in Prisms for now; Asher knew better than to think his friend was done with it forever, no matter how angry he was.

  He wasn’t exactly sure where he was headed, assuming he’d run into Aleric somewhere in the hall, where they could resume their venting about Master Antwar, but his best friend was nowhere to be seen.

  He must have left the school entirely.

  That wasn’t terribly unusual. Aleric sometimes left Mizzenwald for hours on end without telling anyone where he went, and Asher respected his privacy enough never to ask. In his absence, Asher was tempted to look for Maralynn instead; if anyone could cheer him up it was certainly her, though she would still be in class for the rest of the hour.

  He ended up leaving through the front entrance and turning eastward, following the path around the horse stables for visitors and tracing the familiar steps to his father’s cabin. Asher rarely visited his father when school was in session, partly because it was embarrassing to have his dad checking up on him when he was trying to make a name for himself, and partly because they never seemed to get along these days.

  Still, Torin was Asher’s father, and fathers were supposed to listen and care when their children were upset, so he entered the log cabin without knocking, still in a temper from his discussion with Master Antwar.

  Torin was taking inventory on a shelf full of elixirs and healing tinctures, his back to Asher, though he was talking out loud to a room that was entirely empty with the exception of Bonk—the strangest little oddball dragonling to ever come to Mizzenwald.

  “—sure you don’t know where my missing seagrass is?” Torin asked the mottled-brown dragonling, who was currently perched on the counter behind him.

  A shame that so much raw power is in such a wasted vessel.

  Bonk lacked all the nobility of Cinder and other magical dragonlings, though he was inarguably the most powerful familiar Asher had ever laid eyes on. Where Cinder ate raw meat with great dignity, Bonk chased squirrels around the grounds, ate blocks of cheese from the table at dinner, and once choked on a giant slug.

  “Close the door behind you, Asher, you’re letting in all the warm air,” his father said without turning around.

  “How did you know it was me?” Asher asked, frowning.

  “You’re the only one who barges in like you own the place without so much as a courtesy knock,” his father replied evenly. “What great hardship have you been asked to endure now that you would like to complain about?”

  This was why Asher hated visiting his father. The man acted like he knew everything before the words were even out of his mouth. Usually he was right, which made it all the more infuriating.

  “What makes you think I’m here to complain about anything?”

  “What else do you ever visit me for, these days?” Torin turned towards him at last, after setting the last of the bottles on the shelf and dusting his hands off on his pants.

  Asher resembled his father in most ways: blue eyes, dark brown hair that had a tendency to curl when it grew out, the same general range of facial expressions. The main difference between them was that Torin was built like someone who wrestled bears for a living—which he occasionally did—whereas Asher had inherited his mother’s lanky frame and softer bone structure. Often Aleric teased him for being more pretty than handsome.

  “Fine, I’ll go find someone else to talk to,” he turned to walk out, wondering how many rooms he would storm out of today and whether it would set any kind of Mizzenwald record.

  “No you won’t, so stop pretending and just tell me what’s bothering you.”

  How is it that everyone thinks he’s this swell guy and that I’m arrogant? They obviously didn’t receive what Asher referred to mentally as the friends-and-family treatment, like he did.

  “You won’t believe what Antwar pulled on me and Aleric today,” he fumed, building up his anger once more in preparation for letting it out.

  “Still at odds with your mentor, Ash?” Torin sighed. “I can understand that you were upset about what he said to you a couple weeks ago during your review, but—”

  “How do you even know about that?” Asher blurted out, sidetracked from his rehearsed plan. He hadn’t told anyone—least of all his father—that the Prism Master had verbally eviscerated him. Sometimes the words still echoed around his brain when he was trying to fall asleep at night.

  No one wants you.

  Torin looked apologetic and said, “Antwar told me, after. He said you took it much harder than he expected you to, and was asking my opinion on how to handle things with you.”

  That insufferable son of a—

  “He meant well, Asher,” his father must have known what he was thinking and was trying to mediate. “He simply lost his temper and wasn’t sure how to mend the fence, so to speak.”

  Mortified that his supposed mentor was talking to his father about him behind his back—about his feelings of all things, Asher snapped out, “Had a good laugh with him about me, did you? What was it he called me…an obnoxious little snip?”

  Bonk ruffled his wings indignantly at Asher for yelling at Torin, who pampered the dragonling like a pet.

  “It may have escaped your notice, Asher, but I am your father,” Torin, normally hard to anger, retorted, growing red in the face. “While it’s true that you are an obnoxious little snip, you are my obnoxious little snip, and I defended you to the limit of my abilities to Antwar.”

  Chastened by his father’s sense of familial solidarity, even though they argued constantly, Asher backtracked and said, “Sorry, I just don’t like the thought of him running to you telling tales about me. I wasn’t upset about what he said,” he lied unabashedly, “you know I don’t care what other people think of me.”

  His father leveled his gaze at him and said, “I do know you, which is why I believe that he did hurt your feelings. For all the bravado and sarcasm that spews from your mouth, you care more about the opinions of others than most other people; you’re like your mother in that regard.”

  Mention of Asher’s mother never did anything to improve his mood, and he grew surly again as he said, “Don’t talk to me about her. She tried to kill me when I was nine.”

  “Yes, and thankfully she didn’t succeed,” his father mouthed off to him. “We moved as far away from her as possible without crossing an ocean, and we’ve done quite well for ourselves here, so stop feeling victimized every time someone reminds you that you once had a mother.”

  I don’t know why I thought I’d get any sympathy from Father. Aleric has to take worse from his old man, but at least he gets to be the scion of a Great House, admired by all. I’m st
uck being nobody, from a family of nobodies, who happens to be excellent at magic and friends with the cool kid everyone loves.

  “You’re right,” he answered bitingly. “Mother was a saint, I’m a bad little boy, and everything has been rosy since we moved to Junir. You’re still wrong about Antwar though; I don’t give a damn what he thinks of me.”

  “You burned all your notes,” Torin folded his arms across his massive chest.

  Is there anything Antwar doesn’t tell him?

  “He told me to clean my office, so I did. You know I memorize things after I write them down, so it’s not like I needed the copies for anything.”

  “He just wants to see you succeed, but your blatant disrespect and total belief in your own superiority makes it hard for anyone to spend more than ten minutes with you without wanting to tear their hair out.”

  “I happen to have friends who like me just the way I am, and told me not to change just to make others feel better about their own lives,” he replied, thinking of Trish and the things she had told him. He was still mildly horrified that he had opened up to her in that way, but she seemed to have kept her word so far and not told anyone else about it, for which he was grateful.

  “I’ll bet if you tallied up all of the people you can call true friends, you wouldn’t even need all ten fingers,” his father challenged him. “When you were younger, perhaps, but in the last year or two you’ve driven away everyone who really cares about you in exchange for superficial popularity amongst your peers.”

  “Really glad we had this talk, Dad, thanks.” Asher turned away, seething inside.

  “You never told me what Antwar supposedly did to you and Aleric this time,” Torin reminded him.

  “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.” Asher walked out of the log cabin and shut the door behind him, heading back to Mizzenwald without any clear destination in mind.

  He hated the part of himself that accepted his father’s challenge and began ticking off people he counted as true friends in his mind as he walked, passing a group of level-four girls who giggled and blushed as he approached. Without any conscious effort, he lowered his eyepiece into place and cast Draw, followed by Growth, so that a nearby cluster of flowers sprang out of the ground and flew into his hand before blooming and growing to twice their normal size. He handed the bouquet off to one of the girls at random in passing, and the rest of them applauded him as he walked on.