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

by V. St. Clair

  Deciding to test things further, he said, “Will I ever be the most powerful mage in the Nine Lands?”

  A pause, and then, Yes.

  Well, that’s encouraging, he thought to himself, intrigued. My father may finally be proud of me for a change.

  No, the voice startled him by reading his thoughts.

  “No?” Aleric asked out loud. “That doesn’t make any sense; he’s wanted me to be perfect since the day I was born. Why wouldn’t he be proud of me if I’m supposed to become the strongest mage in the world?”

  Either that was too complicated of a question, or the invisible voice just didn’t care to answer it, because everything around him was silent. Thinking that it might have finally left him alone, he decided to ask one more thing, as a test. If the voice didn’t answer, he would consider himself free and keep looking for the bright-thorn.

  “Am I going to bring glory and greatness to the Frost family like my father has always hoped?”

  “No,” someone said out loud from directly behind him, and Aleric whirled around in surprise, heart racing in his chest.

  He was facing a boy no older than him, tall but not as powerfully-built as he was. The boy was wearing a prism circlet around his head to mark him as a natural prism-user, though Aleric had never met him in his life and was pretty sure that he had been introduced to all the prism-users from the other Great Nine schools. Still, there was something familiar about the boy, despite the eerie golden eyes that marked him as a figment of the Forest’s magic.

  “No?” Aleric asked the apparition. “You’re saying I will become the most powerful mage in the Nine Lands and somehow not bring glory to my House?”

  “You are not the greatest of the Frosts,” the boy explained tonelessly, though there was something gloating and smug in his features, something almost haughty. “I am.”

  Now Aleric knew why he looked vaguely familiar. The angles of his face bore a resemblance to other members of the Frost family, including Aleric himself.

  “You think that just because you’re a distant cousin of the main line and you happen to leech off of our family’s name, that you will amount to anything compared to me?” he snapped angrily. “I’m from the direct line, the only true scion of the Frost family; you’re so insignificant I haven’t even heard of you before!”

  “Who are you yelling at, and do you want any help?” Asher was suddenly behind him, slapping a hand against his shoulder and startling him so badly that Aleric almost jumped out of his skin.

  The boy had vanished, along with the curtain of hanging flowers and most of his other immediate surroundings. Now they were standing in a well-mown copse surrounded by trees, with a bright-thorn bush clearly visible in front of them. Asher and Master Antwar were standing beside him looking perplexed.

  “Asher, great gargoyles, you almost gave me a heart attack,” Aleric exhaled heavily. “I was stuck in a magic-trap of some sort, but you two must have broken through it. About time you guys showed up, by the way.”

  “Well, you were taking your sweet time about things so Antwar eventually convinced me to get off my butt and come check on you.” His friend grinned, pushing the eyepiece of his circlet upwards and out of the combat position, so that the prism inside it was now pointing upwards at the sky on top of his head.

  “I told you not to go wandering off on your own, Frost, and you deliberately disobeyed me. I’ve come to expect that sort of careless disregard for the rules from Masters here, but you usually pride yourself on being a model student.”

  Stung by the barb, Aleric said, “Sorry, sir, I didn’t hear you tell me not to go. I must have already gone through the fold that took me away from you guys.”

  Master Antwar looked skeptical but simply said, “Well then, go get your bright-thorn so that we can be finished here.”

  Asher and Aleric complied without further prompting, approaching the electric-blue bush together. The latter withdrew a knife from the belt of his pants and began cutting away evenly-sized twigs. The former hadn’t brought any cutting implements, and simply dug in with his bare hands, breaking off chunks of the stuff wherever he could and staining his hands with the bright blue liquid from the plant.

  “I’d loan you my knife, you know,” Aleric pointed out genially.

  “I don’t mind getting my hands dirty—it’s not like I do my own laundry,” he wiped the blue sap on his pants to illustrate the point, so that now both his hands and his clothing was glowing electric blue. “Besides, it might be helpful to have glow-in-the-dark hands for a day or two…never know when I’ll lose track of them.” He shrugged.

  “Sometimes I think you might actually be crazy,” Aleric laughed as the Prism Master clucked his tongue and told them to hurry up.

  “Thanks, I think,” Asher smiled winningly.

  They returned to Mizzenwald as a group, allowing Master Antwar to perform the translocation since he was the only one of them with a Mastery Charm and it was much easier for him to perform the magic. Between one blink and the next, Aleric found himself back at school, standing in the main courtyard with the others, squinting in the light of the setting sun.

  Sunset already? What time is it?!

  “What time is it?” he asked out loud, thinking that his father would skin him alive if he was late to dinner tonight. He was supposed to be finished with this assignment in plenty of time to get ready for his big meeting with Susanna Kilgore.

  “About a quarter til seven,” Antwar checked his chrono. “Why? Do you have somewhere to be?”

  “Yes, and only fifteen minutes to get there.” Aleric lowered his prism in front of his eye and looked rapidly for the two transverse, complex alignments that would allow him to translocate himself within the school grounds. He found them almost immediately and channeled his will, casting the magic to bring him straight back to the dormitory he shared with Asher.

  He started pulling his clothes off in a frenzy and donned more formal attire: pale blue pants and matching top, each trimmed with black in the Frost colors. Fortunately he had pressed the slacks earlier in the day, and they had been hand-tailored for his size so they fit nicely. The shirt was rigid and hard to move in, with a trail of black buttons running diagonally from the left shoulder to the right side of his waist, which he fastened hurriedly. There were ornate ‘F’s sewn in black around the cuffs of each wrist, surrounded in a banded border. For business occasions or very formal ceremonies, he would don the robes over his suit, which were an inversion of the colors on his shirt and pants and made the look slightly less…pale blue.

  He checked his reflection in the mirror, brushed the last of the white flower buds out of his hair, and was already through the complex magic required to translocate himself from Mizzenwald to the Frost estate before Asher had even returned to the room.

  Mere minutes ago he was standing in the Forest of Illusions being taunted by hallucinations, and now he was staring up the main pathway at the iron gates that guarded the entrance to his family’s home. He started up the path at a brisk walk, wishing at times like this that there wasn’t magic protecting the estate to prevent people from translocating directly inside the gates. It’s not like they were expecting to be attacked anytime soon…

  The servants were obviously told to expect him, because they had the main gates open for him before he reached them, greeting him politely and welcoming him home. Aleric ignored them, too tense with nerves and anticipation of something he had been dreading for an entire week to be polite to the hired help.

  The inside of the grounds looked the same as ever. Statuary rose up from fountains that trickled water and drew the eye, leading to a garden with a winding cobblestone pathway meandering through it on one end. In the opposite direction was the fire-pit and outdoor seating, though currently the silk tents were pulled down and stored in the garage; they likely wouldn’t throw any outdoor parties until the height of summer.

  As he approached the main entrance, the door was opened from the inside by the doorman
, who greeted him cordially.

  “Are the Kilgores here yet?” Aleric asked bluntly, sparing no time for pleasantries.

  “No, sir, but they are due in at any moment.”

  Well, at least something has gone right for me today.

  He continued past the doorman and stepped into the marbled foyer of the Frost estate. With a thirty-foot ceiling, it would have looked impressive even without the grand staircase winding around the far edge to the second level, or the portraits of every living member of the Frost family lining the walls. The estate was always tidy and free of dust—the housekeeping crew saw to that—but tonight it looked immaculate.

  Mother must have had them up cleaning for days to prepare for this dinner. No pressure, Aleric.

  He shook the thought and turned down one of the two main hallways, headed west. More portraits adorned the walls on either side of the hall, this time of all the Frosts who came before him and had already passed. The aisle was wide enough for artistically-placed but rarely-used sofas to be spaced along both walls, overlooking the grounds on the south end through ten-foot windows. Being one of the most highly-trafficked halls in the entire estate, this was also where the Frost family displayed their accumulated awards and trophies.

  Someday I’ll have my own accomplishments highlighted in this hall: medallions for valor and skill and all the rest of it.

  He turned into the formal dining room, assuming this was where the dinner would be held, despite the fact that it was designed to hold forty-eight people and there would probably only be five of them at the meal.

  Both of his parents were there to greet him; his mother driving the housekeepers to distraction with last-minute adjustments to insignificant details, and his father staring out the large windows with his hands clasped behind his back, facing away from Aleric.

  “You were very nearly late,” his father spoke to him without turning away from the windows.

  “I was delayed at school,” he explained. “Jerald tells me I made it in before the Kilgores, even so.”

  His father didn’t respond, but fortunately his mother filled the silence by looking over his appearance and giving it an approving nod.

  “You made a good call on your attire; the robes would have been excessive. Make an effort to animate your face during the meal; you tend to look brooding when your features are relaxed.”

  “I’ll remember,” Aleric assured her, having heard the same advice more times than he could count by now.

  “What delayed you at school?” his mother inquired politely, with the same level of interest as one would have for a casual acquaintance or a business associate. If there were two less expressive people in the Nine Lands, Aleric shuddered at the thought of ever meeting them.

  “A practical exam for Prisms. We were in the Forest of Illusions, and time is hard to track in there.”

  His mother nodded in agreement and asked, “How did the exam go?”

  For a moment, all he could think of was the disembodied voice whispering lies in his head, of the boy who mocked him about not being the greatest Frost…

  “Successful,” he answered her question simply, before adding, “Mother, are there any Frost relations I haven’t been introduced to yet—any minor cousins with a tenuous link to our name who might be natural prism-users?”

  The question must have been unusual enough and surprising enough that even his father turned away from the window to look at him at last.

  “No,” his mother answered without hesitation. “Why do you ask?”

  Then the voice was lying after all. Mother is the most politically-savvy, well-connected woman in the Nine Lands, with a nearly perfect memory. If she says there’s no one else, then I believe her.

  “No reason,” he shrugged the notion off, and before anyone could speak further on the subject, one of the servants entered the room with Susanna and her father, Eldric Kilgore, in tow to announce their presence.

  Cowen and Adorina Frost stepped forward to shake hands with their guests, with Aleric following properly behind them. His eyes settled on Susanna, a slip of a girl with long red hair that had been painstakingly curled by some poor servant at the Kilgore estate. She was wearing a floaty green dress that was clearly trying to play up her non-existent curves.

  She only comes up to chest-height on me.

  Aleric smiled politely and inclined his head over her hand, before offering her the seat across from his at the table.

  I can’t do this…I don’t want to do this…

  “You’re in your second year of school at Valhalla, I believe?” he asked her with feigned interest after the initial greetings were exchanged, wracking his brain to remember details about her and her family. She blushed at being addressed directly and nodded. “How are you enjoying your classes so far?”

  “Elixirs and Conjury are really good,” she explained in a soft voice that was practically shaking with nerves.

  Poor girl, Aleric thought with real pity. This is awkward enough for me at sixteen. I can only imagine what her father said to intimidate her into trying to impress me for the sake of the family at the age of twelve.

  “I got to advance to the level-three in both. I’m not so good at Powders or Prisms, though,” she admitted, before flinching in reaction to a nearly imperceptible wince from her father.

  The man is nothing like Master Kilgore.

  The Master of Elixirs at Mizzenwald looked big and imposing, but he was fairly compassionate and easy to talk to, if a little gruff. His brother Eldric looked like he might slap the poor girl when they got home for revealing that she wasn’t good at something in esteemed company.

  Out of sympathy for her, Aleric said, “I’m not as good as I’d like to be in Conjury or Scriptures; we all have our strengths and weaknesses where magic is concerned.”

  Susanna looked relieved that she hadn’t ruined things right at the outset, and Aleric knew his mother well enough to sense the approval in her politically guarded features.

  “I’ve heard that you’re excellent at most of your subjects though, Prisms especially,” Susanna offered.

  “I work hard at school and in my various research projects,” he allowed, side-stepping the compliment.

  Eldric Kilgore joined in the conversation by asking, “What subjects do you have research projects going on in right now? Prisms, obviously…”

  “Yes,” Aleric turned his attention from Susanna to her father, feeling besieged. “I’m also doing quite a bit of work in Powders with Kirius Sark,” he added.

  “Aleric and Kirius recently published their groundbreaking work on the Law of Transversion,” his mother added neutrally. “Perhaps you’ve seen it?”

  Eldric shrugged and said, “I’ve heard of it—haven’t read it in detail yet.” He ran his eyes over Aleric again as though reappraising his value.

  “Any other projects in the works at the moment?”

  How many things does he expect one person to work on in one year? Aleric thought grumpily. My published work with Sark revolutionized the field of Powders, and he already expects me to have another major discovery underway?

  That was the way research seemed to work, making it a fairly thankless field of discipline. No one cared about what you discovered in the past, it was always about what was next. It was one of the reasons he couldn’t imagine himself ever staying at Mizzenwald and becoming a Master for years and years—aside from having to teach a bunch of talentless children to become useful mages.

  “No, not at present,” he responded politely. “And yourself?”

  Eldric arched an eyebrow and said, “Oh, I’ve always got multiple irons in the fire, if you know what I mean.”

  Of course I know what you mean; I’d have to be stupid not to understand a simple analogy.

  Aleric smiled benignly and the first course was mercifully brought out at that moment, sparing him from making further conversation for a few blessed minutes.

  Dinner seemed to last forever, but at least he managed to get
through the entire thing without either offending anyone or letting his terminal boredom show. His father walked their guests to the door at the conclusion of the meal, discussing arrangements that Aleric was trying not to think too hard about, while his mother remained behind in the dining hall with him.

  “You did well,” Adorina Frost gave her only son a curt nod of approval. “Did you like Susanna?”

  “She seems like a nice girl, but she’s still twelve,” Aleric responded, sinking back into his seat and resting his head in his hands.

  He heard his mother’s footsteps approaching and looked up just as she took a seat beside him, in the chair that was normally occupied by his father.

  “I forget sometimes, how unlike your father and I you are,” she said elliptically, raising a hand to smooth a strand of his blond hair. “You’ve always been this way, you know—so emotional. I always thought you would grow out of it and become more like us.”

  Cold and dead inside?

  “Apparently temperament is not hereditary,” his mother continued.

  “Did you actually love Father, or was it simply a marriage of convenience?” Aleric had no idea where he got up the nerve to ask that alarming question, but once it was out of his mouth there was no taking it back.

  Rather than become offended, his mother considered it sincerely before answering.

  “Love is such a tawdry thing, and I was never the type to sit around drawing hearts or mooning over a handsome boy at school,” she admitted evenly. “Your father was presented to me as a match when I was eighteen, and I knew immediately we would be well-suited to each other, despite his lack of magic. It was an advantageous marriage from my perspective, joining a Great House superior to my own, and Cowen gained a huge amount of social networking through me.”

  That was true enough. Aleric’s father had never had an excellent memory, and it was getting worse with age—a subject he was extremely volatile about. His wife’s excellent memory and good connections was a huge boon to him.