Frost Prisms (The Broken Prism Book 5) (29 page)

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” Hattie’s voice was barely a whisper, and Hayden felt bad for the poor girl. It wasn’t easy for Hayden, living under the threat of death in his father’s—his—house, but it had to be even harder for her and the others, knowing they weren’t magically-inclined and couldn’t do much of anything to fight back or escape.

“It’s fine, sorry, I’m just a little jumpy tonight,” Hayden apologized, forcing a smile and trying to put her at ease.

It worked, sort of, or at least she returned his smile briefly before saying, “He wants to see you in the library.”

No need to ask who ‘he’ was. Hayden’s father was the only one around here that none of the others would call by name. They either weren’t sure whether to use Aleric, the Dark Prism, or whatever other pompous agnomen the man had dreamed up for himself. Or maybe they were just afraid of saying his name, as though he were a monster who could be summoned by name alone.

Hayden focused on the more important part of the message.

“He sent you to get me?
Why?
” he asked in alarm, trying to think of any reason for his father to want to see him that didn’t end badly. He was drawing a blank.

“I don’t think he wanted to come get you himself,” Hattie explained, taking the wrong meaning from his question. “He doesn’t like doing servant work, like looking for people, when he can have them brought to him and—”

“No, that isn’t what I meant,” Hayden interrupted. “I know he’s too arrogant to do something like going to find someone he wants to see or knocking on a door; what I meant was, do you know why he wants to see me?”

Maybe he’s embarrassed that I saw him lose all control of himself and wants to threaten me until he feels like he’s reasserted dominance.

That didn’t seem to fit his persona though. If he felt he’d been humiliated irreparably, he would just kill Hayden and have done with it. Otherwise he probably didn’t even care that Hayden had seen such a display of weakness, since Hayden wasn’t even really a person to him.

“I’m sorry, sir, he didn’t say.”

“Of course. Thanks for telling me,” Hayden waved her away with his empty hand. “You can go on back to whatever else you were doing; I’ll go see him in just a second.”

He shut the door as she turned away and stuffed the violet prism back into his pillowcase, withdrawing it and then returning it twice more before deciding to leave it behind. If he walked into the library with it, his father would either see it or sense it on him and it would be taken away from him. Hayden was betting that if the Dark Prism was really in a killing mood right now, he would have come barging into Hayden’s bedroom himself, rather than sending someone to calmly retrieve him.

For the second time that day, Hayden found himself walking into the library, and he was no gladder to see it this time around. The doors were closed, so he knocked before entering to announce his presence.

When he opened and shut the doors behind him, he was a little surprised by how dark the room was. Even at night, the library usually had the gas lamps lit, until Aleric was ready to call it a night on his research. Currently, the only light in the entire room was coming from a fireplace on the far side, where Hayden sometimes sat reading books if he was trying to get as far away from his father as possible when they were both in the room.

The firelight threw eerie shadows around the space, and Hayden shivered a little and stepped further into the room, telling himself that it hadn’t actually gotten colder since he was last here, that it was just a side-effect of his fear.

Aleric Frost was sitting on a hand-woven oval-shaped rug on the floor, just in front of the grate. He was staring thoughtfully into the flames, feeding the fire scraps of something Hayden couldn’t immediately identify. Not sure if the man had even heard him enter the room, Hayden approached warily and brought himself into his father’s line of sight.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked softly, because something about the entire situation seemed to warrant a quiet, almost reverent tone.

Without turning his eyes from the flames, the Dark Prism said, “Sit down,” though there was no malice in his voice, and for once it sounded more like a request than a command.

Curious despite his underlying worry, Hayden sat.

He knew he was inside his father’s reach if the man decided to go nuts and start physically attacking him again, but it would be painfully obvious that he was scared and trying to avoid punishment if he backed up any further, and sitting in one of the chairs while his father was on the floor was out of the question.

For a moment Hayden studied the Dark Prism at close range, who in turn studied the fire, still steadily feeding scraps into the flames. From up close, Hayden realized that the scraps of paper were actually pages from books. There were half a dozen empty bindings scattered around them, where his father had clearly already pulled out each page and fed it to the flames, like the tome he was now calmly ripping apart, page by page. The slow tearing was loud in the otherwise quiet space, and it became like nails on a chalkboard to Hayden after a few minutes.

He wanted to snatch the book out of his father’s hand and tell the man that books were expensive and that there was no good reason to disrespect a vessel of knowledge, but somehow he didn’t think the interference would be appreciated.

Instead he asked, “What book is that?” into the silence.

It took his father a moment to answer, but for once Hayden didn’t think he was being ignored or manipulated. Then again, wasn’t that the mark of a master manipulator, to make the victim not even think they were being messed with? But his father really did look tired and somehow more human and approachable than usual.

“I neither know nor care,” the Dark Prism answered calmly, still tearing off one sheet at a time and feeding it into the flames.

Okay…
Hayden was kind of at a loss for what to say next. After all, his father had been the one to summon him, not the other way around. Yet here he was, not even telling Hayden why he had called him here.

Maybe he wants to show me how truly horrifying he can be to innocent books?
Hayden suppressed a snort.

“You once told me that Asher was the only father you’d ever known,” Aleric said at last, apropos of nothing.

The completely unexpected topic nearly stunned Hayden stupid. He had no idea why the Dark Prism was bringing this up right now, and had to rack his brain to even remember
when
he had ever made such a comment to the man sitting beside him. Not here, certainly.

When we were inside the schism,
he realized at last, and immediately became more alert.

“Yes…” Hayden began invitingly. When no other comment was forthcoming, he added, “Do you remember much of that conversation?”
At the moment, I mean.
His father’s memories were more fluid and fleeting than anything.

“Some of it,” the man answered at last, still staring at the fire without blinking. Hayden wondered how he managed that without his eyes watering, and wondered whether he’d be temporarily blinded in the darkness of the library when he finally looked away. Somehow he just couldn’t imagine the legendary Dark Prism stumbling around in the dark while his eyes adjusted to ambient lighting.

If he remembers that, then he probably remembers all of the horrible things I said about him and his path towards evil. This could get awkward…

“I suppose he took an interest in you, being one of the few prism-wielders at Mizzenwald during your time,” his father continued thoughtfully.

“I was the only Prism major there, actually,” Hayden corrected, still unsure as to why they were having this conversation or what state of mind his father was in right now. It was always difficult to tell, but it was impossible tonight to determine whether he was about to be tricked, murdered, or if they were having their first semi-normal discussion.

“Not entirely surprising; natural prism-users are quite rare. It takes a unique level of awareness to be able to interpret light as magic.”

Hayden said nothing in response to this. He didn’t know what the man wanted him to say.

Finally, because the silence was becoming unbearable, Hayden blurted out, “I don’t think that was the only reason he watched out for me. I mean, I think he would have still had my back even if I wasn’t a Prism major,” addressing his father’s earlier point.

For the first time since he’d entered the room, the Dark Prism turned to face him. Hayden had no idea if he could actually make out the features of his face after staring into the fire for so long, but the man’s gaze was steady and he didn’t act like he was trying to blink his surroundings into focus.

One more mystical power my father possesses.

“And why is that?”

Now it was Hayden’s turn to break eye contact and stare into the fire, because it was easier to speak freely when he wasn’t watching his father watch him.

“He always felt partly responsible for what you became, even after most people stopped publicly shaming him over it. He thought he should have recognized what was happening to you and found a way to save you before you were too far gone to recognize friend from foe.” Hayden’s eyes began to water from the warmth of the fire and he blinked the moisture from his eyes. “He told me once that if you were still…” –
sane—“
like you were back then, you would have wanted him to look after me if you weren’t able to. He said you would have been proud to have me as a son.”

Well, there we go, I’ve just said about ten different things that are all triggers for him to go nuts and strangle me. Let’s see just how effective Cinder’s magic really was this afternoon.

He waited to feel some sort of pain, but it never came. Finally, he turned to look at his father again, only to find that the man was staring at him as though finally seeing him for what he was. It was an odd feeling.

“I never wanted a son,” the Dark Prism said at last. “I don’t even remember your mother’s name, or her face. She was nothing to me but a passing whim.” He didn’t say the words cruelly, just matter-of-factly. It still hurt to have himself and his mother marginalized like that.

“You were too busy trying to impress your own father,” Hayden answered instead.

And how much of this could have been avoided if that stupid, over-bearing jerk had just sprinkled some praise upon you?

A hint of the familiar danger flickered behind Aleric’s eyes, but it winked out so fast that Hayden wasn’t sure if it was really there, or just a trick of the light. Still, when his father spoke again, he said, “Do not speak of him again or you will regret it,” in a tone that brooked no argument.

Casting for a maybe-safer subject, Hayden said, “Asher never betrayed you, you know. He didn’t turn his back on you until he had no other choice. He abandoned his other research projects when you started working with broken prisms and has been working on finding a way to reverse the distortion in your mind ever since.”

Rather than acknowledge the spirit of this, his father said, “You call them ‘broken prisms.’ ”

Oh right, I probably should have said ‘modified prisms’ since he finds the term less offensive
,
Hayden realized in retrospect. The term had come to him out of habit.

“Yes?” he asked cautiously.

“Since returning to this realm, I’ve heard whispers that you have earned that title for yourself somehow: the Broken Prism. And yet, I don’t believe you have ever used them.”

At first all Hayden could think was,
Wow, that nickname actually stuck?
Then he explained, “It’s nothing to do with actual imperfect prisms, other than as a play on words. A couple of bullies who kept picking fights with me during my first year at Mizzenwald gave me the name because of my enormous Focus-correctors, implying that I’m defective in some way. The broken prism-user, you see?”

His father tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement.

“Most notable mages do not receive a secondary name until middle-age is upon them. I was considered quite young at nineteen, when others began referring to me as the Dark Prism.”

Hayden was a little surprised that people had used that name within his father’s hearing, as it had a negative connotation. Then again, he had no idea how the man actually felt about the name—perhaps he liked it.

“And yet you’ve received your name even before me,” his father finished without emotion.

“Not by design,” Hayden explained. “People only noticed me at all because of your legacy and the fact that I was the last surviving member of the Frost family—until you returned from the schism, obviously,” he amended. “Most of the attention I got was negative, and I kept getting thrown into stupid situations and blundering through them with talented friends and dumb luck. Somehow things snowballed and here we sit.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes longer. Hayden’s exposed arms were beginning to get very warm from sitting so close to the fire, but he didn’t dare move. His father had finished burning the book he had been tearing pages from, and hadn’t reached for another, much to Hayden’s relief.

“What did Cinder do earlier when he did that silent screaming thing?” he asked, since he might as well try to get as much information as possible while his father was feeling forthcoming.