by V. St. Clair
His father didn’t seem to find anything unusual about his interest in magic. Then again, why would he? Hayden had already shown a love of learning and some native talent for the craft.
“There are limits to how many creatures even I can overpower at one time,” he allowed, though he glanced briefly at Hayden in a way that made it plain that he was thinking about how much less restricted he would be once he absorbed Hayden’s Source. “Additionally, when the defenses are activated, each of the creatures will be summoned back to the spot where I first called upon them to fight my enemies. If they were all clustered in the same spot, most of the estate would go unguarded.”
“Ah, I see.”
They walked in silence for a little longer, and Hayden watched quietly as he brought forth a few more wargs.
I wish there was a nice big rock out here that I could bash him in the back of the head with…
Of course, with only one functional arm right now that would be even more difficult, and besides, he would be astounded if his father didn’t have some kind of basic magical sense for when he was about to be attacked. He seemed to always know when Hayden was behind him, even if he didn’t make a sound during the approach.
“So anyone who miraculously breaks through all the other defenses around this place will still have to contend with dozens of monsters who are all bent on murdering anyone who isn’t supposed to be here?” Hayden asked, just for confirmation.
“That is correct,” his father responded with a ghost of a smile.
Hayden wished he had held off sending his letter for another day or two so he could have mentioned the hordes of slavering monsters his friends would encounter if they found a way onto the grounds, but it was far too late. The estate had never felt more like a tomb, but now Hayden was certain that he was going to die here.
21
A Meeting of Friends
Despite knowing that the Frost estate was virtually unassailable, Hayden still got his hopes up in the following days that someone would make a rescue attempt. It was hard not to let himself believe in the possibility that his father had sensed danger was coming and had amped up his security to meet it. It was then easy to deduce that since he was adding protection to the grounds themselves, that he expected his light curtain and the other exterior defenses might fail him. Add all of that to the timing of Hayden’s letter to Asher—and the fact that the alternative for him was a horrible death in the imminent future—and Hayden was desperate to believe that anything was possible.
But in the four days that followed, nothing remotely interesting happened. If people were gathered outside of the compound, hacking away at the defenses, they obviously weren’t making any progress, because he didn’t even hear the sounds of powerful magic clashing.
His father also seemed to have satisfied his momentary paranoia, because he made no additional efforts at increasing security from what Hayden could tell, nor did he appear evenly remotely worried. In fact, the man seemed to have gotten a few decent nights of sleep recently; the dark circles were gone from around his eyes and he looked more energetic than ever.
Hayden was occupying his usual chair in the library, reading the umpteenth book since he came to the Frost estate and trying to estimate how long it would take him to get through the entire library, when suddenly his father looked up from his work, glanced through the Black Prism and said, “Excellent.”
Figuring that anything his father considered excellent was a sure sign of doom for Hayden, he nonetheless asked, “Sir?” to indicate his interest.
His father turned his head as though just realizing Hayden was in the room with him. “I’ve overcome one of the few remaining obstacles that prevent me from reclaiming my Source from you.”
And also from reclaiming the entirety of mine, thus killing me. Funny, how his father liked to gloss over that part whenever they discussed the matter.
“Oh,” he said aloud. Hayden wasn’t really sure whether to congratulate the man to prove that he wasn’t afraid of death, or whether to be snarky in the face of defeat. Since he couldn’t decide which would be more impressive, he did neither, instead asking, “So what does this do to your timeline for fixing my Foci and having another go at the Source removal?”
He was proud of himself for sounding unaffected and only casually interested in the answer. He was determined not to die begging and crying on hands and knees, like so many other innocent people his father had murdered in the last decade.
“The issue of melding was my greatest concern,” the Dark Prism explained vaguely, “and now that I have addressed that particular issue, it will probably take no longer than a week to resolve everything else.”
Six more days to live. The countdown begins.
“I see,” Hayden replied evenly, turning pointedly back to his book to feign disinterest, though his eyes weren’t taking in any of the words or diagrams on the page in front of him. He wanted to get up and run from the room until he found Bonk, whom he could plead with to help him find some way to escape. There had to be something they hadn’t thought of yet, some glitch in his father’s defenses that would let them get away unharmed. He was only sixteen; no one should have to die that young.
But he knew, even as his mind conjured wild images of him chewing through the Binders on Bonk’s legs so he could unleash his magic and somehow get them both out of there, that there was no escape. If Bonk knew a way to get them out, he would have already volunteered it by now. The fact that they were still here only proved that there was no way out. He’d even tried using the violet prism to break the Binders on Bonk’s legs to no avail, wasting a precious fraction of his only weapon only to learn that the Binders used on a magical creature were not the same as the Binders used on humans.
I should just try to appreciate the last few days of my life as much as possible.
But how was he supposed to do that, when he was trapped inside his own house with a madman who was taciturn at best and psychotically homicidal on a whim? Sure, he could try to avoid his father for the next few days, but his only other sources of companionship were the other nine captives, eight of whom were wary of him and one of whom might have a mad crush on him.
No, there’s no time for fun. I need to make sure I’m as prepared as possible for ending my own life before he can get a chance at taking my Source.
It seemed like it should be easy, ending his own life before his father could, but there were several complicating factors: primarily, that Hayden was determined to try to defeat his father with the violet prism he possessed before he just resigned himself to death. That would make things much more difficult for him, because if (and when) he engaged his father in combat, the Dark Prism would do everything in his power to incapacitate him early, making it impossible for Hayden to take his own life even if he wanted to.
He had done nothing but study magic for weeks, but he still felt woefully unprepared. From what he had seen of his father’s abilities, the man obviously knew much more magic than he did, and had a monumental advantage with the Black Prism. Ideally, Hayden would find some way to get the Black Prism away from him and hide it, but he suspected that would be more difficult than beating his father to death with a tissue, since the man never removed his circlet from what Hayden could tell.
Setting down his book, Hayden watched his father from across the library. He was visible in profile, leaning over his worktable and peering through the Black Prism with one eye, sketching something in green pencil on the paper in front of him. He looked relaxed and focused, and if he noticed Hayden watching him he didn’t give any indication of it. With his features relaxed, the resemblance between them was quite striking.
I can’t do this right now.
Hayden stood up and walked calmly from the library without speaking. His father ignored him completely. When the door closed behind him, he picked up his pace and hurried down the second floor hallway, taking the stairs downward two at a time. He threw the front door open as he approached it and burst out
onto the grounds, inhaling deeply and relaxing marginally in the fresh air and sunlight. Standing out here like this, basking in the mid-day sun and listening to the gentle trickle of water running down the nearest fountain, he was almost able to convince himself that he was free, and that all of his problems had been locked away in the overbearing mansion behind him.
Walking idly around the garden paths, winding his way around topiary and fountains, he let his thoughts turn inward once more.
What would my life be like now if my father had never realized he had a son?
It was hard to imagine. First of all, his mother would likely still be alive, and there was a chance that Hayden would never even learn that he was magically-inclined. If that happened, he would never have ended up at Mizzenwald, would never have met Zane and his other friends, or Asher and the other Masters.
I’d never have met Tess.
That was painful to even consider, undoing some of the best (and worst) years of his life just to preserve his childhood memories. If someone had asked him when he was ten, he would have said without hesitation that he’d sacrifice anything and everything to get his mother back and return to the way things were. But now? Even if he could go back in time and make it so he never encountered his father that day and absorbed part of his Source, he wasn’t at all sure that that’s what he would do.
Somehow it was calming to know that he would still choose this fate, even though it meant a very short life expectancy in the end. There was something freeing about having it be a choice, rather than something forced upon him.
He rounded a stone bench and found Cinder perched on the head of a statue carved in the image of a dragon.
Surprised, Hayden stopped short and said, “Cinder?” feeling distinctly awkward. He remembered years past, playing fetch with Cinder and Bonk, confiding his problems to them when it didn’t seem there was anyone else for him to talk to. Now they were supposed to be enemies, but he couldn’t muster any bad feelings for his father’s familiar, even now, at the end.
Cinder regarded him neutrally, looking as regal and self-contained as ever while he surveyed Hayden from his perch.
“Well, this is a bit of a mess, isn’t it?” Hayden asked with a sad smile, sitting down on the stone bench and regarding the dragonling. “I didn’t really think things would end up this way for me.”
Cinder, naturally, said nothing to this.
“Did you know, all this time, that he was still alive somewhere?” Hayden asked. “Or did you think he was dead too?”
That was an interesting thought, and one that had just occurred to him. Had Cinder known that his master was locked away in the other realm, and was just biding his time at Mizzenwald until he returned, or had he believed his master to be dead and was just spending time at the place he chose to call home? There were still many unknowns regarding the limits of a dragonling’s power, so it was hard to say whether their magical senses could transcend realms. But if Cinder had known where the Dark Prism was waiting all that time, had he subtly guided events so that Hayden was fated to end up inside the schism and encounter his father? That was a chilling thought.
Unfortunately, while Bonk’s expressions were usually easy for Hayden to interpret, Cinder was quite opaque, and Hayden had no idea what the look he received right now meant.
That dragon could out-stare the statue he’s perched upon.
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore,” Hayden conceded. “I’ll just let my father rip out my Source, and that’ll be the ignominious end of Hayden Frost.”
This time Cinder vented what was unmistakably a derisive snort, and Hayden smiled.
“Alright, so I was lying, but it’s hard to get a reaction out of you sometimes,” he said. “I’ll still get my Source ripped out soon, but I won’t go quietly.”
Cinder didn’t look at all surprised by this piece of information. And why should he? He had spent years observing Hayden and learning to understand his motivations and his temperament. He knew Hayden infinitely better than his own father did.
I wonder how much insight he has shared with my dear Father.
If his father knew he was going to go back on his word and fight at the end, then things could get interesting very soon. On the heels of that thought he realized something else.
My father can’t know that I plan on fighting him, or he would have captured Tess and brought her here to threaten me with. He would want everything to be in place when he’s ready to try his spell again to make sure I’m compliant.
There was always the chance that he was just waiting until he was done perfecting his alignments before he brought her here, but Hayden forced himself to believe that Cinder hadn’t told on him and that the Dark Prism simply assumed he was young and too frightened to do anything but keep his word.
“Will you promise me something?” Hayden asked the dragonling, who was still watching him silently. “It shouldn’t interfere with your mandate not to act against my father’s best interests.”
Cinder inclined his head, cautiously willing him to go on.
“Please don’t kill Bonk.” Hayden had to pause here at an unexpected tightness in his chest that choked off the last word. He swallowed the emotion down and continued. “When he sees me fighting my father, I’m sure he’ll try to help in some way, and I know that you’ll have to interfere on my father’s behalf. But Bonk’s in Binders and he doesn’t stand a chance against you in a fight, so he’s not a real threat. But you know how he is; he won’t care that there’s no point in him trying to save me, and I know you all were friends and that you can’t actually want to hurt him, even if you think he’s ridiculous most of the time.”
Hayden paused to calm himself once again before continuing. “Just…just knock him out or something until it’s all over, and then there’ll be no reason for him to keep fighting. He can go back to Asher or Tess and they can look after him and vice versa. Please, Cinder. Bonk’s been the best companion I could have asked for, and I didn’t always appreciate him properly, but he doesn’t deserve to die just because he’s loyal to me.”
Cinder considered him for a long moment, his expression as unreadable as ever, though there was something else behind it that Hayden couldn’t quite interpret. Finally, the dragonling gave a curt nod, and Hayden exhaled in relief.
One less thing to worry about.
It was the only loose end he could really tie-up from where he was at, so it would have to do. He thanked Cinder and stood up, turning back towards the house with new resolve.
I need to keep studying.
He retraced his steps back to the library on the second floor, entering the room quietly and returning to his seat by the fireplace, though it wasn’t currently lit. His father gave no indication that he had noticed Hayden’s absence or his return, though Hayden knew that was all an act by now. He picked up his book and continued reading about an alignment that could melt metal.
An hour and a half later, he heard an explosion.
Hayden dropped his book in surprise, and Aleric snapped his attention away from his work and looked through the window. Hayden had no idea what had blown up; it sounded like something large, but the sound had also had an odd, muffled quality to it.
Another crash followed, less muted, and the distorted prisms that his father kept on the worktable shuddered slightly, along with the crystals on the chandelier.
The Dark Prism hurried to the window for a better look, and his eyes widened in surprise—one of the few times Hayden had seen that much expression on his face. Before he could ask what was going on, Bonk soared in through the still-broken window beside his father, clutching the violet prism in his talons.
Hayden and Aleric both watched his flight in unison, as Bonk coasted over to Hayden and dropped the prism in his waiting hands.
For a moment that seemed to stop time, Hayden and his father made eye-contact. The dangerous flicker of insanity flared to life in the latter’s eyes as they came to an understanding.
; The Dark Prism brought down the eyepiece of his circlet just as Hayden dove out of his chair and rolled across the floor behind a bookshelf. A moment after he’d left his seat, it burst into bright green flames that consumed the entirety of it and burned out within a few seconds, leaving only ash in its wake.
Guess he’s too crazy to remember that he wants me alive.
Hayden scooted back from the bookshelf as it exploded towards him, deluging him in heavy books, which slammed into him hard enough to leave bruises. He frantically turned the violet prism in front of his eye before the dust settled and cast Clone on himself three times in rapid succession, watching the copies of himself fan out.
Run around and cause confusion! he mentally commanded, leaping to his feet and doing the same so that it wasn’t immediately apparent which Hayden was the real one.
The ruse worked. Four Haydens were running around the room in different directions, and the Dark Prism had to pause for a moment to consider which to attack first. Fortunately, he turned towards the Hayden on the opposite side of the room from the real one, putting his back to him.
Hayden cast Pierce at his father’s back just as he heard a roar from the grounds that could only mean the magically-enslaved monsters had been called into play.
That means they’ve made it through the light curtain!
His heart soared at the thought that help might be coming, but he didn’t have long to celebrate, as his father whirled around so fast that he might have been waiting for Hayden to attack from behind, rebounding the spell and causing Hayden to cast Shield on himself just to block it.
“You can’t defeat me,” his father said calmly, twisting the Black Prism and silently casting something that shattered Hayden’s shield. “I always know when magic is being used against me. It is a spell that you could never hope to replicate.”
Awesome, Hayden thought ruefully, dispersing his clones and casting Break at the Black Prism.