by V. St. Clair
“I’m Harriet—Hattie, and you’re, um, in the Frost family home…” she said in a lowered voice, eyes darting occasionally to the stairwell behind him as though expecting to see something horrible come down it at any moment.
Still not sure how he came to be here, Hayden reached up and touched the side of his head reflexively, hoping to conjure up the memory. There was something dry and flaky stuck to the side of his head and face, and he scraped a few fragments off with one fingernail, studying the brown-red flakes with interest.
“What is this stuff?”
“That’s…that’s your blood, sir. You were still bleeding a lot when he brought you here,” she explained, still on edge. Hayden was afraid to make any sudden movements for fear that she might sprint away and leave him with no one to answer his questions.
“My blood? When was I bleeding from the head?”
It hit him even as he asked the question: the sound of alarms echoing through his cell in the Tower, his father trailing bloody footprints behind him as he entered the room, hearing that Calahan and however-many others were dead, having his head slammed against the wall over and over…
“Did he really bash my head against the wall until I passed out, without so much as a warning beforehand?” he asked himself out loud. “It’s a miracle I’m still alive, let alone coherent…”
He shuddered at the casual brutality that his father was comfortable using on him, realizing that he had never encountered anyone so terrifyingly whimsical with their cruelty. It made his father frightening on a whole different level than he was accustomed to.
“I think he healed you once he brought you back here…” Hattie supplied helpfully, still nervously glancing towards the stairs. My father must be up there somewhere, or else she just hates stairs. “He carried you in and dumped you on the floor there, but then he did something with his prism and all the bleeding stopped. I wasn’t sure what else to do, and he didn’t leave instructions, so I put a blanket over you so you wouldn’t get cold…”
Well, my father plainly cares nothing for me, but for some reason he wants me alive…
“Do you work here or something?” for the first time, Hayden registered the uniform of a housekeeper, and only because he had become accustomed to seeing them around the Trout estate.
Hattie frowned and looked down at her garb.
“Yes, me and about ten others; well, nine, ever since Jack tried to escape.” She grimaced at some memory that Hayden could only guess at.
“Please don’t tell me that you actually volunteered to work for the Dark Prism,” he raised an eyebrow, suddenly wary of whether this was an ally or an enemy he was speaking to.
Hattie scowled and said, “Of course not; none of us did. He just showed up in town and grabbed a bunch of us one day. He said he needed servants to run his estate while he did his work.” She frowned again. “He told us that there were defensive spells to keep people from crossing through the gates, but Jack tried anyway a few days ago. It was…horrible.” She shuddered and grabbed her arms as though trying to warm herself.
“He died?” Hayden winced in sympathy when she nodded.
Well, so much for just walking out of here and calling the man’s bluff…
“I’m a little surprised that he has so many people here,” Hayden changed the subject. “I mean, I guess he needs to eat, so I understand a cook or two…but ten people? For living here by himself, that’s almost a full crew.”
Hattie nodded and said, “He’s very serious about maintaining protocol, even though it’s just him and you’d think he has more important things to worry about than whether the table is set properly for a formal dinner every night.” She shrugged, relaxing as she grew more comfortable talking to him. “But everything has to be just so, and in line with how a Great House should run, or he gets furious and…bad things happen.”
Hayden raised an eyebrow at that. It seemed an odd thing for his father to focus on, especially since he wasn’t exactly entertaining friends and business partners, but reflecting on all the stories Asher had told him about Aleric’s father and what a stickler for rules he was…maybe it made sense.
I wonder if that helps keep him from going totally insane, Hayden considered thoughtfully. Keeping some of the fundamentals from his life before he became the Dark Prism must act as an anchor of sorts.
He filed away that piece of information, along with every other scrap of knowledge he had been amassing about his father, in the hope that understanding him better would help him win the fight against him. He was suddenly thankful for all the time he’d spent at the Trout estate, having etiquette beaten into him by Magdalene.
I’d rather be lightly slapped by her than beaten to a pulp from my father for accidentally using the bread knife instead of the cheese knife.
Finally, Hayden forced himself to his feet.
“Well, I suppose I should go find him and see if he’ll tell me anything useful, since apparently he doesn’t want me dead just yet.” He said this much more calmly than he felt for Hattie’s benefit. “Is he upstairs?”
She nodded and then asked, “Are you going to fight against him and set us free?” very softly, not meeting his eyes. “The others—we were wondering…all that stuff we’ve heard about you these last few years, the medals you got for bravery and heroism and everything…”
Hayden felt an unpleasant tightening sensation in his chest at the thought of all these people counting on him and the knowledge that he was woefully overmatched and weaponless at present.
“Well, I certainly intend to try my best,” he answered truthfully. “I’ve been training with some of the best mages in the Nine Lands to prepare me to fight him, but of course I can’t promise I’ll win.”
Hattie nodded slowly, though she looked heartened.
“We all believe in you, and if there’s anything we can do to help…even if it gets us in trouble or—or worse…” she trailed off, frightened but determined.
That’s all I need, the deaths of ordinary people who shouldn’t be involved in this at all on my hands…
“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind,” was what he said out loud, though he privately decided that he wouldn’t be asking anyone else to risk themselves unless he thought it was the only way to defeat his father once and for all.
Not sure whether he should report to his father immediately or get cleaned up first, he decided to err on the side of caution and check in before trying to do anything else. Trying not to let his fear rule him, he began walking up the stairs along the back wall of the foyer, winding gradually around to the upper level.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he told himself for the second time as he walked. All of that time and training, it was all so that I’d have a belt-full of prisms, wands, and anything else my heart desired, and about a dozen more skillful mages alongside me. It was never supposed to me alone and unarmed…
Well, so much for well-laid plans.
From the sound of things, it didn’t seem possible for anyone to escape the grounds without dying a horrible death, which probably also meant that no uninvited guests would be getting in either. Hayden was locked in a mansion with his super-powerful, mostly-psychotic father and ten—nine—unlucky victims who had been abducted from their homes to make sure the fires stayed lit.
He rounded the top of the stairwell and continued down the main hallway more slowly, peeking into every room he passed to see if the Dark Prism was inside. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if the man was in the bathroom….Wait outside the door? Knock and announce himself? Leave and pretend to still be unconscious and come back later?
Fortunately, when he finally found his father, it was nowhere near a restroom. In fact, the man was in a large library-turned-workshop at the very end of the hall. The room was by far the largest on the floor—possibly in the entire house, with shelves of books that ran from about halfway through the room all the way to the back wall, lining three sides of the space, with free-standing bookshelves in between.
The part of the room closest to the door was open floor space, and while Hayden suspected chairs and tables used to be set up here in the past, currently there was only a row of four tables put end-to-end. There were no chairs in the room at all, except for a pair of armchairs near the fireplace on the far end, and Aleric Frost stood in front of the worktables on the opposite side with his back to Hayden, making notes on a diagram of something Hayden couldn’t see properly from where he was standing. The rest of the table space was filled with neat rows of prisms and organized stacks of notes and drawings.
Shame that none of my father’s organizational skills rubbed off on Asher while they were friends. The Prism Master’s office was regarded by most right-thinking human beings as a paper-filled fire hazard.
Taking a breath to calm himself, he raised a hand to knock on the open door to announce his presence, but his father said, “I wondered when you would awaken,” without turning to look at him.
Frowning slightly, Hayden said, “How did you know I was behind you?”
“Blood calls to blood, especially at this proximity. Given sufficient time and energy, I could find you anywhere,” he answered simply, still filling in an alignment with colored pencils without looking up.
“I’m not sure what that means,” Hayden admitted, wondering how far he could push his luck before the man stopped answering his questions and knocked him unconscious again. “I don’t feel your presence at all.”
His father set down his red colored pencil and turned to face him at last. Hayden felt a lurch of fear when he saw the circlet on the man’s head, the Black Prism currently tilted upwards so that it faced the ceiling. Of all the things his father couldn’t remember, he had hoped that the location of the Black Prism was one of them…
Otherwise he looked much the same as when Hayden had met him inside the schism. The clothing was different, of course; he’d traded the leathers and animal hides from the schism for well-tailored slacks and a high-collared shirt that seemed less formal than his House robes but more formal than normal daywear. He was still muscular and handsome and didn’t look the least bit insane or fatigued—actually, he looked more well-rested than Hayden had felt for months.
“I have a much more powerful connection with magic than you do,” he answered Hayden’s question at last, sounding completely matter-of-fact. It was strange hearing him sound so emotionless; Hunter had been much more animated.
Hayden didn’t point out that a lot of his father’s vaunted connections to the world had been grounded in corrupted magic and distortion, since it was something they both knew and he obviously was still reaping plenty of benefits from it. It didn’t seem fair that there could be so many rewards for someone who used forbidden magic, like a sort of cosmic joke that punished the good and lauded the wicked.
No wonder he was tempted by broken prisms. He has powers that no other mage will ever have.
Hayden pushed that unproductive thought aside and said, “I wasn’t sure whether to get cleaned up or come and see you first.”
Without changing expression, his father asked, “Why would you think I needed to see you?”
Thrown by the question, Hayden said, “Uh, I don’t know…I assumed there was a reason you brought me here, so it logically follows that you might want to speak to me now that I’m conscious.”
“I didn’t bring you here because I lack company and good conversation,” the withering look he graced Hayden with let him know that his father thought he was a complete idiot.
“Since we’re on the subject…” Hayden began hopefully, “why did you bring me here?”
“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to; I have no patience for it.”
Hayden flinched at the tone of warning, remembering how much it hurt to have his brains bashed out…yesterday? The day before? He wasn’t sure how long he had been unconscious in the foyer, just that it was now sometime during the day and he’d been knocked out sometime at night.
“I’m not,” he explained. “I assume it’s for the same reason you came after me when I was ten, but I don’t remember much about that day and I never knew what you wanted with me back then.”
For the first time, his father betrayed a microscopic amount of emotion, his surprise registering as nothing more than a momentary lift of the eyebrows.
“Is that so?” he asked with an almost academic sort of interest.
“Yes, and it’s been driving me crazy for years.” Upon reflection, that maybe wasn’t the best choice of words, given the audience, but his father didn’t seem bothered by it. “Whatever you did that blew up the house, it left me with a massive case of light-sickness and warped my Foci in some legendary way.” He held up his wrists so that his Focus-correctors were visible for emphasis. “I’ve tried everything I can think of to get those memories back, but I still only have fragments.”
The Dark Prism took a few measured steps towards him, and it was everything Hayden could do to keep himself rooted to the spot and not run away screaming. There was something inherently terrifying about Aleric Frost, something that Hunter had lacked.
His father took one of his hands and examined it as though looking for defects, before dropping it carelessly so that it fell back at Hayden’s side.
“Why are you so eager to retrieve that memory?” he asked with mild curiosity.
“Are you kidding?” Hayden asked incredulously. “My entire life changed that day. You have no idea how frustrating it is not to be able to remember something so significant.”
“Don’t I?” he asked delicately, and again Hayden could have kicked himself for his choice of words. If there was anyone who understood giant, gaping holes in one’s memory, it would be the man standing in front of him.
“Oh, sorry…”
“By all means,” his father ignored his awkwardness entirely, “let me alleviate this particular concern of yours. It will make things less tedious in the weeks ahead.”
For a moment Hayden thought the man was simply going to explain what had happened that day, but then he saw his father lower the Black Prism in front of his eye and twist it rapidly in search of an alignment.
Not sure what would happen if the Black Prism was used on him, but certain that he didn’t want to find out, Hayden said, “Oh no, that’s fine, you could maybe just tell me—”
Then his father found the right alignment, and Hayden watched the world shrink away from him as he was flung back into the recesses of his own mind. It felt like his eyes had rolled over backwards and he was staring into the depths of his memory, his new surroundings springing up out of the blackness.
Suddenly he was ten years old again, hiding behind the door to his bedroom in his mother’s house. All of the things he had forgotten came rushing back to him: the sights and sounds, even the smell of bread baking in the kitchen….How had he ever forgotten that? He heard his mother’s voice from somewhere in front of him, and he leaned closer to the door to listen.
“You!” she cried out in surprise, and Hayden heard the sound of a dish breaking against the floor. Risking a peek into the kitchen, he could see the shards of the yellow ceramic plate scattered across the floor.
“What—what do you want from me?” his mother’s voice shook horribly this time. She looked like she was staring at a ghost, or a seven-headed hydra, but there was no one except for a handsome, youngish man standing in the kitchen. He had a strange circle of metal around his head, partially hidden by his hair, and a clear diamond glittered in an eyepiece on top of it, pointed towards the ceiling.
“You know why I am here,” the man answered evenly, almost lazily. “I have come for the boy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” his mother lied terribly; she had always been bad at it. “There’s no one here but me.”
Is he talking about me? Hayden wondered in surprise. But I’ve never seen that man before in my life. I would definitely remember someone with a giant diamond on their head…
“He is in the hou
se; I feel his presence. Call him here,” the man replied calmly, as though there hadn’t been anything unusual about his request.
“No, please. He’s just a boy—he doesn’t know anything about magic, or about you. Please, just leave us be…”
Magic? Hayden thought in alarm just as a loud slap caused him to jump. His jaw tensed in anger as he watched his mother’s body hit the floor, reeling from the unexpected slap. Hayden was beginning to form a much more sinister guess of who this stranger was, because come to think of it, the man nicknamed the Dark Prism was supposed to have a black diamond of some kind, even though this one looked clear. But legendary villains didn’t just show up in one’s kitchen for no good reason…
“I will go when I have seen the boy. Bring him here or don’t, but I will not leave without him.”
Unable to stand being hidden any longer, Hayden darted out from behind the doorframe and ran into the kitchen. He pulled a knife off of the kitchen counter as he passed by, wielding it with shaking hands. It was still wet with pear juice, and smelled vaguely of the fruit his mother had recently been slicing with it.
“You leave us alone or I’ll hurt you!” he shouted, though his voice pitched high with fear as he faced down this unknown foe.
A moment of silence and then, “Do you know who I am, boy?” The man didn’t sound condescending when he asked it, merely curious, and suddenly Hayden knew who he was, though he wasn’t sure how.
“You’re the one everyone talks about…” he ventured carefully, “the one who wears the evil diamond on his head.”
He spared a brief glance at the supposedly Black Prism, though it still looked perfectly normal to him, despite being the largest diamond he had ever seen in his entire life.
“Correct in essentials,” Aleric Frost conceded mildly. “Do you really believe that you can hurt me with that knife?”
Ten-year old Hayden’s hands gripped the hilt tighter. “I don’t know, but I’m not going to let you hit my mom again.”
