by V. St. Clair
The Broken Prism:
Forest of Illusions, Volume 3
V. St. Clair
Magistra,
If you believed my last missive to indicate anything more than casual interest, then you have mistaken me entirely and are not worthy of further consideration. Let us assume, for now, that you are not the simpleton that your latest response suggests.
I have studied what your people call ‘sorcery’, and acknowledge both its merits and its shortcomings. My interest in an exchange of knowledge and technique is quite singular, and is not on the table for discussion. If you can accept this, then I believe a mutually beneficial situation is possible between us. If not, then—to put it frankly, stay out of my way. I don’t need your sorcery, though I do desire it. Any attempt to impede me, and your red tower will become the greatest funeral pyre the world has ever seen. I don’t doubt that books will be written about it in future generations—possibly by me, if I’ve the time or inclination.
I await your response,
Frost
1
The Onyx Prism
Hayden lifted the axe over his head one final time and swung downward with all his might, arms aching from the repetitive motion. The log split evenly down the center and the two halves fell away from each other onto the snow-covered ground. Sighing in relief, Hayden dropped the axe and sat down on the tree stump he’d been using as a woodcutting table.
“Is that the last of it?” Zane approached from the direction of the house, walking the well-trodden path they shoveled out in the six-inch deep snow. He was bundled up from head-to-toe in a series of thick fur jackets and wool pants that made him look like a giant walking yeti. Only his nose and eyes were visible beneath the fur-covered hood warming his head.
“Yes, for now,” Hayden pulled his own borrowed coat back on, shivering as the sweat from his shirt mingled with the cold air and froze to him. “May I humbly request that your family not light any more fires this year, before my arms fall off?”
Zane chuckled and bent down to pick up the last two pieces of firewood, holding them awkwardly in his arms as the two of them set off through the backyard, following the worn trench in the snow to the woodpile behind the house.
“If it didn’t get so cold in the house at night, I’d agree with you,” his friend said. “I told you last year that I hate chopping firewood more than any other chore my mother can dream up for me.”
“Yes, but I’m the one doing all the woodcutting here. You just carry it to the pile afterwards,” Hayden groused, whistling to summon Bonk to him. His familiar popped his head up from beneath a snowdrift, apparently not bothered by the cold in the slightest.
“But look at how much stronger you’ve gotten in the last month or two,” Zane said bracingly. “You’ve actually got muscles now, instead of looking like a gangly string-bean. Keep this up and you’re going to have all the ladies after you at school.”
Hayden rolled his eyes and said, “I don’t want all the ladies chasing after me at school. After spending the last five weeks listening to your sisters argue over whether the color of their dresses wash out their skin tone, or if high-waisted trousers are more flattering than low-waisted ones, or whether their hairstyle makes their faces look ‘horsey’, I’m tempted to run off into the neighbor’s apple orchard and look for another dragon to battle to the death.”
Zane laughed out loud and said, “Now you know how I’ve felt all these years, being the only boy stuck in a house full of girls.”
“I never knew there were so many weird things that girls thought about until now. It almost makes me miss the I.S.C., where all I had to worry about was being beaten senseless by my enemies,” Hayden opined wistfully.
“Fair enough,” Zane agreed, “but surely there are some girls at Mizzenwald that you want to impress?”
The way he said it made Hayden think he had someone particular in mind, and Hayden stepped into the warm kitchen and began pulling off his wet outdoor clothing. As much as he loathed chopping firewood, he had to admit that he appreciated the warmth of the house from the fireplaces.
“Who do you mean?” He turned to his friend, finally able to see him properly as Zane shed the last of his coats and hats, soggy with sweat.
“Oh, no one really…” he trailed off casually. “But there are some girls you don’t mind hanging out with, right? Like Tess, for example.”
Hayden’s thoughts immediately went to her, as they sometimes did when he was trying to fall asleep and wondering how his other friends were spending their winter holidays. He would be back at Mizzenwald with them in less than a week; the thought brought a smile to his face.
“Well sure, Tess is alright. She doesn’t talk my ear off asking me whether skinny pants make her look fat. When Florette asked me that same question last week I told her they made her look skinny, which was apparently also the wrong answer.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“Yeah, Flory’s the worst about that stuff, probably because she’s the youngest. Sera and Maybelle aren’t too bad most of the time though, so maybe the others will grow out of it too,” Zane opined hopefully. “But anyway, about Tess…”
Before he could finish his thought, Zane’s mother walked into the kitchen and said, “Oh good, you two are finished. I was getting ready to come out and get you.” She had an odd, tense look on her face for some reason.
“Don’t tell me there’s some other horrible chore you want us to do today,” Zane groaned, not sensing his mother’s unease. “At least let us eat something before you send us back out into the snow.”
Hayden ignored his friend and said, “Is everything alright, Mrs. Laraby?”
Zane’s mom looked like she wasn’t quite sure how to answer, so she avoided the question and replied, “You have a visitor, Hayden.”
A visitor? Who would come to Calypso in the snow just to see me?
His mind went immediately to Tess again, and a smile tugged at his mouth. It would be nice to see her before term started; he missed her quiet, unassuming companionship, and how easy she was to talk to. He nearly ran through Zane in his eagerness to greet her, hurrying into the living room and stopping dead in his tracks.
It wasn’t Tess who sat on the Larabys’ couch, wearing golden robes with black clothing underneath. It was Magdalene Trout from the Council of Mages, mother to two of Hayden’s least favorite people at Mizzenwald.
“Hello, Hayden. I’m Magdalene Trout, from the Council,” she stood up, extending a hand to shake his.
“I remember,” he shook hands and turned his attention to Zane, who had just tromped into the room behind him to see who their visitor was. He took one look at Magdalene’s golden robes and became oddly formal and stiff, moving to stand in the corner like a badly-stuffed taxidermy victim.
Ignoring Zane’s presence, their guest focused on Hayden and said, “Are you still interested in visiting the Frost estate?”
Hayden’s mouth dropped open dumbly. After writing numerous letters all winter and getting nothing in response, he was beginning to think that they were going to deny him permission to see his father’s estate after all, even though they agreed to it last summer in Kargath.
“Of course I do,” Hayden assured her. “I’ve been writing to the Council and the High Mayor for weeks, but no one has answered so—”
“Everyone has been quite busy fighting the northern sorcerers who have landed on our shores,” Magdalene cut him off with an imperious look on her face that reminded him immediately of her two sons.
“So the sorcerers have finally attacked?” Hayden was momentarily diverted by the change in subject. “There have been rumors going around for weeks, but no one seems to kn
ow for sure what’s going on in town.”
She frowned and said, “Yes, they have sent several small landing parties to the coasts of Osglen and Wynir, trying to gain direct entry into the Forest of Illusions. So far we believe that all groups have been repelled successfully, but it’s only a matter of time before they send an army.”
“When that happens, is the Council going to take the Masters from the Great Nine to fight for them?” Hayden voiced the thing he had been worrying about for months. “It doesn’t make sense to take them all, or else there’s no one left behind to teach us high-level magic, and if the war goes on for a long time then—”
“It is not customary for the Council of Mages to consult with underage students for tactics during times of war,” Magdalene cut him off with a curt glance. “If you want to see the Frost estate, then come with me. I will deposit you at Mizzenwald when we are finished.”
Frowning at her unwillingness to deal with him like an adult, Hayden asked, “Can Zane come with me?” He’d promised he wouldn’t go haring off to dangerous places alone, and the house where the Dark Prism kept his base of operations undoubtedly qualified as dangerous.
“Absolutely not,” Magdalene rejected his offer immediately. “The approval was granted to you alone. We don’t just casually allow people to tour the estate of the Dark Prism, and if you weren’t the heir of the manor then you would not be allowed within its walls either.”
After Zane gave him a nod to acknowledge his effort, Hayden relented and said, “Fine. But I am bringing Bonk,” and went upstairs to pack his things before she could offer any argument.
In truth, he wasn’t terribly sorry to be going alone to the Frost estate. For the first time in his life he would be walking the halls of his ancestors, on the side of his family that he knew almost nothing about. This one time, at least, he wanted to be alone.
Bonk was waiting for him in the living room by the time he finished packing, and his familiar perched upon his shoulder while he said his farewells to Zane’s family, who had gathered in the room to see him off.
“Thanks for having me over for the holiday, and for making me feel like part of the family,” he told them sincerely.
“Of course, Hayden, you are part of the family,” Zane’s mother came forward and hugged him. It made him miss his own mother.
“Any time you want to work on next year’s firewood pile, stop by.” Zane’s dad grinned at him, and Hayden made a face that caused the rest of them to laugh. Still, despite the fact that he hated chopping wood in the cold, and listening to all of the ridiculous things Zane’s sisters rattled on about all day, he found that he would miss both after he returned to Mizzenwald. It seemed strange that he would miss things like that, but maybe it was really just the normalcy and the sense of family that he would long for.
“Come along, Hayden,” Magdalene Trout chivvied him, gesturing for him to hold hands with her. He did so, feeling weird at the thought of holding hands with Oliver’s mother, and before he could even exchange an amused look with Zane, she gripped her Mastery Charm and the translocation took hold, spiriting him away from the warm house in Calypso.
His escort released his hand upon landing and began walking along a wide driveway that was tiled with stones, wide enough to accommodate a carriage and horses. The driveway cut through an enormous lawn, heading up the gently-sloping hill towards an elaborate iron-wrought gate that was gilded in gold. Hayden turned in every direction to look at the grounds, which had a commanding view of the town in the valley on one side and good hunting land on the others. He even thought he glimpsed a small lake through a large gathering of trees, but couldn’t be certain. The estate itself was only partly visible beyond the golden gate, because the rest of the compound was closed off by a large brick wall.
“Don’t dally outside—it’s cold,” Magdalene called to him from up ahead, and Hayden jogged to catch up to her so that they approached the gilded gate at the same time.
“Did my family have their own carriage?” he asked her, eyeing the tiled driveway impressively. “Their drive seems big enough to allow for one.”
“They did and still do. The carriage is in the garage, where it will remain until you reach adulthood and decide whether to keep it or sell it.”
Hayden raised his eyebrows and said, “What’s a garage?”
“It’s a place to store carriages,” Magdalene explained flatly, as though that should be obvious.
“You mean there’s a whole room that doesn’t do anything but hold carriages?” Hayden couldn’t imagine that kind of phenomenal waste of space.
Magdalene didn’t dignify that with a response, instead drawing a purple powder from her belt and throwing a pinch of it at the gate. She snapped her fingers and the gate creaked opened far enough to allow them entry.
As Hayden stepped inside the gated yard, he marveled at his ancestors’ wealth. He had been told before that the Frost family was fairly affluent, both magically and in the non-magical community, but he hadn’t appreciated just how well-off they were until now. The tiled driveway made a wide circle around a stone fountain, passing the front door and looping around on itself where Hayden was standing so that carriages could come and go easily. The lawn that was enclosed by the walls was more neatly-trimmed than the part outside, and there was a hand-ball court on one end and a table and chairs set out near the other. The manor itself was framed in the front by well-manicured trees and shrubbery.
“This is…huge,” Hayden stopped in his tracks and tilted his head back, trying to take in the entirety of the house in one look. It was two levels high and almost as wide as Mizzenwald; there were probably fifty rooms inside. The exterior had intricate designs carved into it around the windows and doors, and two sculptures of dragonlings framed either side of the stairs leading to the main entrance like gargoyles. Bonk studied his marble counterparts as though trying to decide whether they were real or not.
“Many of the old families have manors like this,” Magdalene told him gently, motioning for him to follow her inside. Hayden was tempted to ask if the Trouts had a similar estate.
“It looks like someone has been keeping up with maintaining the grounds,” he observed mildly.
“Of course, or the manor would fall into disrepair long before you could ever hope of taking possession of it.”
Hayden stepped out of the cold, shutting the door behind him. He was standing in a white marble-floored foyer, and on the maroon walls all around him were large rectangular spaces where the painted wood was slightly darker than the rest, as though paintings used to hang there. Beneath each spot was an etched placard with a name.
“What happened to all the paintings?” Hayden asked, his voice echoing in the cavernous foyer. He would have liked to see portraits of his ancestors, to have some idea of what they looked like so he could search for similarities in his own features. He eyed several ornate vases on pedestals that were currently empty of flowers.
“I don’t know; it was like this when we took possession of the house,” Magdalene explained softly. “Perhaps your father didn’t like having reminders of the people he betrayed staring him in the face all the time, so he took them down.”
Frowning, Hayden continued to follow her through the entryway and into a massive dining room with plush burgundy carpet and a table that could seat forty people easily.
“This is the formal dining hall, generally reserved for important dinners with prospective business partners,” Magdalene explained, gesturing around the room. “Your grandfather had a very lucrative apothecary business that was expanding across the Nine Lands, and he often invited associates here for meals and to talk business.”
It felt strange having this guided tour of the place; it made him feel oddly voyeuristic, like he was interfering in things he had no right to. He couldn’t imagine actually growing up here as a child, and wondered if he would be as arrogant as the Trouts if he had.
But I do have a right to this place, Hayden told himself. All of
this is mine now…
He tried to imagine actually living here as they moved into the next room. If the place was ever fully rid of the Dark Prism’s dangerous things, would he come to reside in this massive mausoleum all by himself? He shuddered at the thought of how eerie it would be, roaming these hallways and trying to maintain a place so large all on his own…
“Did my family do all of the upkeep on this place, or did they have a support staff?” Hayden interrupted whatever his guide was telling him about the sitting room they were standing in (one of four, apparently).
“They had dozens of personnel on retainer for the running of the estate,” she explained. “Cooks, cleaners, personal attendants, someone to answer the door…”
“They paid someone to stand beside the door all day and open it for whoever showed up?” Hayden couldn’t decide if that would be the best or worst job in the entire world.
“You don’t know much about the Great Houses, do you?” Magdalene asked with a trace of a smile.
“Not really. My mom and I weren’t ever rich,” he admitted without shame, thinking that his mother’s entire house probably could have fit inside the large dining hall of this one.
“I’ll let you in on a secret then,” her smile broadened. “The most important thing about being wealthy is to make sure that other people realize how wealthy you are. If you can afford a cook but not a doorman, that sends a message to your peers regarding the limits of your capital. If you are fully-staffed and can afford to fete your acquaintances in the formal dining hall…well, that tells them something too.”
Hayden frowned and said, “So basically, rich people do everything they can to impress other rich people, to show that they’re…richer?”
Magdalene actually laughed, which made her look much friendlier than usual and said, “Yes, that’s right. If you can impress potential business associates or customers, they see what you have and say ‘I want that for myself. If I do business with this person, maybe I’ll become like them.’ Much easier to make favorable deals that way without actually promising anything.”