by V. St. Clair
Closing his eyes and bracing himself, he said, “Fine, you win. Let’s go.”
He and Oliver used their magic of choice to make themselves less visible and snuck out of town. Alone.
13
The Great House of Trout
Hayden knew it would be unpleasant traveling with only Oliver for company, and for the first day they said almost nothing to each other. Occasionally Hayden complained about their dwindling supplies, as they’d lost access to everything Zane and Tess had on them (including the food), but Oliver simply ignored him and continued southwest around the cape.
Eventually they did find things to discuss, as the silence was boring and made the days seem much longer. Bonk and Slasher had been relegated to finding meat for them again (Bonk was given strict orders about not eating everything himself), and Oliver and Hayden were taking shelter behind a barn on someone’s farmland while waiting for them to return. It had been nearly a week since they lost Tess and Zane, and they’d been mostly avoiding towns ever since, trekking through the dry farmlands of Amvale as they turned north again and made their way towards Wynir.
“What were you saying about my knowledge of banking?” Hayden broke the silence, removing his shoes and massaging his calloused feet.
Oliver looked up at him and said, “What are you talking about?”
“Back in that town, where we…parted from the others.” He grimaced at the memory. “Before we saw them get nabbed, you were saying I didn’t know anything about banking.”
“Oh, yes.” He shook his head as though to clear it. “Well, you clearly don’t.”
“So teach me,” Hayden suggested. “We need something to help pass the time anyway, and I’m tired of thinking myself in circles about what we’re going to do when we get to the Forest of Illusions.”
Unable to think of a reason not to, Oliver sighed and said, “Fine. What do you know about banking?”
“Well, I thought that you had to set up an account at a certain bank…or the guild bank, if you’re a mage. Then you request money from that account, and as long as you have credit with them and can prove you’re good for it, they’ll give it to you.” He frowned. “But you’d clearly never been to that bank in Amvale before, and they just gave you money anyway, even though you weren’t registered with them or anything.”
Oliver rolled his eyes.
“You’re thinking like a common person, as usual.” He sighed. “You’re from a Great House, Frost, so start acting like it.”
“What do you mean?” Hayden barely resisted snapping at him, tired of Oliver’s attitude already.
“Our families have estates and affluent businesses, so much so that we’re known throughout the entire Nine Lands. Those estates generate income constantly, and so we can borrow against them from any bank on the continent.”
“But how does a place make money?” Hayden frowned. “I’ve never really understood that part…”
Oliver pursed his lips and said, “All kinds of ways. First, in taxes to anyone who has farms or houses on land you might own. Mostly the income is from family salaries and businesses; your grandfather started a massive chain of apothecaries, for instance,” Oliver waved a dismissive hand as he spoke. “While he lived, those profits paid out to the Frost estate, and even with him dead the estate is generating some revenue from their continuing success. Add that to any income your father made before he decided to try and end the world, anything his mother did, and so forth, and your estate is making a fortune while you sit around doing nothing.”
“But when my mom worked, she got paid directly—it didn’t go to our house or anything,” Hayden protested.
“We’re not talking about your average person, Frost, we’re talking about some of the wealthiest families in the Nine Lands. It gets too confusing trying to keep tabs on which family member has what money when there’s so much of it going around, so they usually just tie it to the estate—that way anyone in the family can use it when necessary.” Oliver tapped the pocket that contained his borrowed money. “That guild bank I took the loan from will write the bank near my home, and they’ll transfer the money to clear the debt.” He shrugged.
“So you’re telling me that the Frost house has been making money all this time since my father died from past generations, and no one’s been using any of it?” Hayden frowned thoughtfully.
Oliver gave him a strange look and said, “Well, I don’t know what agreement you have with the Council of Mages, but if they’re holding the estate in trust until you come of age, then they’re probably borrowing against it whenever they need short-term loans.”
“What?!” Hayden scowled. “You mean they can just spend all my family’s money without telling me? I mean, I knew they were taking some for the rebuilding effort after my father died, but—”
“They can’t legally take any of your money, even to rebuild,” Oliver interrupted. “They can borrow that money from your estate as long as you allow it, but if you walk into the Council office and call in the debt then they’d better cough up their receipts and start paying you back—with interest, depending on how long the loan has gone on for.”
Hayden mulled that over for a long moment before speaking. “So you mean I can just walk in and ask for my money and house back? The Council always kind of implied that they can keep my house until they deem it safe, and my money too.”
“They’re counting on you being too stupid to know your rights, and obviously no one else has negotiated on your behalf yet,” Oliver explained easily.
“But Asher or one of the others would have helped me if what you say is true,” he protested.
“Asher knows a lot of things, but he doesn’t come from money, so he didn’t grow up being tutored in estate-law like Lorn and I. Everyone probably assumes that someone else is handling your affairs for you, if they even think of it at all.”
Hayden chewed his lip thoughtfully for a moment.
“Will you help me then, if we survive this whole thing in the Forest of Illusions?” He practically choked on the words, since asking a Trout for help was about as natural as trying to breathe underwater. Still, he didn’t know anyone better suited to the task at present.
Oliver considered him for a long moment and then said, “If my mother is alive and you help me get her out of there, I’ll have her get you every scrap of your assets back,” he vowed solemnly.
“And if she isn’t?” Hayden asked hesitantly, unable to avoid the possibility.
A muscle tightened in Oliver’s jaw, but all he said was, “Then I’ll do it myself. There aren’t many Great Houses left intact after the Dark Prism was finished with them; the ones that still have heirs should stick together, I suppose.” For once his haughty look wasn’t directed at Hayden, which felt strange.
Bonk and Slasher returned soon after that, the former carrying a fat squirrel in each of his claws while the latter brought them a chicken. They contemplated the task of plucking a chicken before Hayden sighed and said, “I wish Tess was here. She probably knows a way to wave her knife threateningly and scare the feathers off of it.”
Oliver rolled his eyes but added, “She is oddly skilled with common weaponry. I’ll have to warn Lorn not to cross her during your arena practices in future.”
Hayden chuckled and they set to work on the chicken, giving the squirrels to the dragons (Bonk had clearly caught two for that purpose anyway). Slasher looked like he’d rather be eating a more noble creature that was worthy of being consumed by a dragonling, but he eventually resigned himself to his squirrel without complaint. Hayden wondered if familiars were like their masters by coincidence, or if they chose a master who they knew was like them.
If so, what does that say about me?
Bonk was—by common consent—the strangest creature at Mizzenwald, though Zane sometimes joked that Lorn Trout was a close second.
They ate their chicken with a few pieces of bread from a loaf they’d bought from a farmer a few days ago, which was going stale by n
ow. Oliver tossed the bones to the dragons, who gnawed at them enthusiastically for a while before settling in for the night.
The next day was something of an adventure, since they encountered a nest of harpies just before lunch. Winged creatures with razor-sharp beaks, the harpies formed a wide circle around them to trap them before closing in. Bonk and Slasher let out hunting cries and picked two at random to attack, while Oliver and Hayden equipped their weapons of choice.
Hayden had his clear prism on, and used it to cast Heat at the harpy that looked most intent on eating him, knowing that harpies weren’t supposed to like fire due to their flammable feathers. As he was still adjusting to the mastery-level prisms, he generated a larger fire than he intended to in his adrenaline-rush, barbecuing one harpy on the spot and scorching a few others, who squawked and regrouped. Oliver had a wand out and was using some spell that cut like a knife, startling Hayden when a harpy-head nearly hit him as it parted company with its host’s shoulders.
Bonk must have unleashed his magic, because Hayden saw a harpy explode for no apparent reason out of the corner of his eye, as though it had swallowed a bomb. Bonk let out a triumphant shriek and moved to another target, while Slasher clawed and bit his foe, clearly toying with it for sport.
Dragons, Hayden rolled his eyes, dialing back his willpower a bit and helping Oliver mop up the rest of the harpies.
By the time he was finished, his clear prism hadn’t even shrunk noticeably. Oliver was examining his mostly-intact wand with similar interest, and Hayden knew they were sharing the same thought: mastery-level instruments were awesome.
Bonk and Slasher picked at the remains of the fallen harpies like conquering heroes until they were chivvied along.
“You two go find us a creek or something where we can wash up before we eat,” Oliver commanded, and Slasher took flight immediately and soared off to the east. Bonk gave him a skeptical stare and turned pointedly to Hayden. He clearly didn’t intend to take orders from Oliver Trout.
“Go on then, help Slasher find water,” Hayden smirked, watching Bonk take off and head west.
In the meantime they continued straight along their course to Wynir, eager to get to the Forest of Illusions after all these weeks of tedious walking. Oliver managed to fell a couple of geese for lunch before the dragons returned, and they followed Slasher for a mile or so to the east, where they came upon a mossy creek.
They filled their canteens and washed up while their familiars feasted on goose liver and every other organ Hayden and Oliver refused to eat out of principle. While their meat was cooking Hayden cast around for something to talk about to pass the time.
“Is your father also fighting in the war, or can’t he use magic?” he asked curiously, suddenly wondering why he had never heard mention of Oliver’s father before when his mother was so famous.
He received such a venomous glare in response that he was immediately sorry for asking the question, and put a hand on his violet-tinted prism in case Oliver attacked him.
Finally his companion composed his face long enough to say, “No, he’s not in the Forest, and yes—he was magically-inclined.”
Hayden noticed the past-tense, and against his better judgment said, “Oh…is he dead, then?”
Oliver nodded curtly in response, prodding at the goose meat with a nearby stick to check its doneness.
“Sorry, I didn’t know,” Hayden continued awkwardly. “It’s just that I hear a lot about your mom, on account of her being on the Council, but I’d never heard anything about your dad before.”
“We don’t talk about him, much.”
That seemed weird to Hayden, whose parents were also deceased. True, he didn’t talk about his mother terribly often, but that was mostly because he didn’t have any siblings or other people who knew her to share stories with. And people talked about Hayden’s father a lot more than he wanted them to…
“Why not?” he asked cautiously, wondering if he was taking his life into his hands by pressing Oliver like this. When the other boy didn’t answer, Hayden tried a different route. “How did he die?”
This time Oliver leveled his gaze on him and answered in a very calm tone.
“My mother killed him.”
Hayden opened his mouth to say something and then closed it, trying to process this new information and wondering whether Oliver might be joking (though there was nothing amusing about the look on his face).
“Any other questions?” the older boy asked sardonically.
“Umm…a few…” Hayden answered truthfully, earning a humorless chuckle from his companion.
“My father disgraced the Trout name so badly that he nearly brought our entire house to ruin,” Oliver continued with a scowl. “The name runs through my mother’s line, not his. So she brought a Great House with a lofty lineage to the marriage, and he brought us nothing but shame in return.”
Hayden slid some meat off of his makeshift skewer and took a bite to give himself something to focus on.
“Um, what did he do that was so bad?” he asked after an uncomfortable silence.
“He supported your father during his reign of terror,” Oliver answered with pure disgust, though for once he didn’t look like he was blaming Hayden for the Dark Prism’s doings. “My mother is on the Council, of course, and naturally she would discuss their meetings at home. She would make us debate the Council’s decisions to encourage critical-thinking skills in me—Lorn was too young—so the three of us would sit around and rehash their meetings. It took years for someone to finally realize that the Dark Prism was always a step ahead of us because there was a mole on the Council.”
Hayden listened in fascinated silence, afraid to speak in case it made Oliver stop sharing.
“When the leak finally got traced back to my father, our family was put on the brink of ruin from the disgrace. My mother did the only appropriate thing and took care of him herself, and she spent the next two years doing everything she could to salvage our name—and it worked.” Oliver nodded slowly to himself in relief. “Needless to say, Lorn and I don’t mourn our father’s death particularly.”
Hayden frowned and said, “Wow, and here I thought I was the only one with a crummy father.”
He supposed he could see why Oliver hated him on sight three years ago in The Magnificent Mage. It could have been something for them to connect over, but as it was the Dark Prism’s fault that Oliver’s dad had to be killed, he wasn’t terribly surprised that the older boy didn’t want to befriend his son.
Slasher perched on his master’s shoulder and wore his most arrogant expression, which Hayden took as some kind of show of support. Bonk burped loudly and flopped onto his back in the grass to rest until it was time to go.
“I’m surprised Tess can stand to be seen with you, since she lost her mother because of your father,” Oliver continued after a long silence. Hayden’s stomach clenched painfully.
“Honestly, so am I, but she doesn’t seem to hold it against me personally.” He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant about the entire thing.
“Don’t people give her a hard time for being your girlfriend?” Oliver continued, obviously enjoying Hayden’s discomfort. “I mean, I’ll credit you that your reputation has improved somewhat since you got to Mizzenwald, but there are still a lot of people who think you should be put down before you can go the same way as your father.”
Hayden really didn’t like this line of conversation, but as he had just grilled Oliver for details about his private life, he could hardly tell him to take a hike now that the tables had turned.
“First off, she’s not my girlfriend. Secondly, yes, she does get a lot of flack for being my friend…which is mostly why I’ve never asked her to be my girlfriend, because she deserves better than that.” He had no idea why he was admitting this to one of his mortal nemeses when he hadn’t even been this candid with Zane, other than the fact that he expected to die sometime in the next week or two so it wouldn’t matter.
Oliver seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding.
“I can see that, I suppose. Well, at least she knows how you feel; that should be of some comfort after we die in the Forest.”
Hayden made a face and said, “Uh, I never exactly told her…”
Now Oliver looked at him like he was an absolute idiot. Ah, there’s the Oliver Trout I know and love.
“We’ve been walking towards our doom for how many weeks now, and you didn’t tell her you like her?” He didn’t wait for an answer to his question. “You’re an idiot, Frost. You must really think we’re going to make it out of this thing alive.”
Hayden scowled and said, “There weren’t a lot of times when we were alone, or I might have. I thought about it sometimes…” he trailed off, before changing the subject. “Well, anyway, we should get moving again.”
Oliver mumbled something about him being ridiculously stupid, but Hayden ignored it in favor of getting a move on. There was no time for regrets now; he had chosen his path, and it involved walking into a war zone with no one but Bonk and one of his enemies for company on the scant hope of saving anyone they knew and cared for. If he thought about his friends—especially Tess—he would just want go back, and there was no going back.
Bonk began to grow restless as the week continued, flying out ahead of them and scouting, plainly eager to get to their final destination. At night he twitched and began having nightmares again, though he didn’t wake up shrieking from them like he had at Mizzenwald.
“It’s okay, Bonk…we’re almost there…” Hayden would assure him during the late-night hours, patting his head sympathetically. He was alternately filled with a desire to get to the Forest of Illusions as fast as possible, and to abandon this madness and go back to school to face whatever the Fias had in store for him. Either way, the endless walking and cold silences with Oliver was wearing, and he would be glad when it was over.
When they could finally see the Forest up ahead they stopped early for the night, taking shelter in case any sorcerers had made it to the outskirts and were looking for mages to ambush.
