Frost Prisms (The Broken Prism Book 5) (16 page)

Hayden tensed in preparation for having all of his other teachers thrown to the wolves, but all Sark said was, “Unfortunately, if any of them
were
helping him, I have found no proof of it.”

It was all Hayden could do to keep his mouth from dropping open. He could have sworn that one of the others had told him that Sark was in on their plans from the beginning even though he didn’t attend the meetings, which meant that he was lying to Calahan for seemingly no reason.

Maybe he still feels some allegiance to them, even if he’s sold me out.

Calahan didn’t look like he completely believed this testimony, because he added, “Are you certain, Kirius? You could earn yourself a substantial promotion if you were to give evidence against traitors.”

“I know, and I wish that I could. But I cannot lie in good conscience, and I didn’t see any of the others around him.”

“I find it hard to believe that Asher Masters isn’t up to his eyeballs in this. He has always sheltered the boy, stepping into his best friend’s shoes as a surrogate father figure since the moment he laid eyes on him.”

Master Sark shrugged and said, “He likely
has
been helping Hayden, but I can’t prove it.”

“Hmm…well, keep looking,” Calahan relented at last. “I’ll escort Hayden to a holding cell for the night, and we can begin the real work tomorrow morning.”

That doesn’t sound pleasant.

“Where are you putting him?” Sark sounded almost bored. “The fifth level?”

“No,” a nasty smile played across Calahan’s face, “the twentieth.”

Master Sark, who was halfway to opening the door, stopped in place and turned around so fast it would have been comical under different circumstances.

“The
twentieth?
” He looked aghast, which did nothing to bolster Hayden’s mood. “You’re not putting him into one of the Boxes, are you?”

Hayden had no idea what the Boxes were, though somehow he didn’t think it was the loose, plywood variety that he was imagining in his head.

“Why not? He is a criminal with dangerous powers, and the son of the most feared mage in the Nine Lands. It would be irresponsible to place him anywhere less secure.”

“Sure,
I’m
the danger to the Nine Lands. Weren’t you hanging a medal around my neck a few months ago?” Hayden asked sarcastically.

“You know I only did that to shame you into volunteering for a task you were clearly the only suitable candidate for, and if I had won the vote in Council that day we would have bodily thrown you into the schism with or without your consent.”

Hayden’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“You mean I have enough friends in the Council that they voted you down? Wow, Cal, not even your own people seem to like you very much.”

“Don’t address me so informally, you ungrateful whelp,” Calahan snapped at him, red-faced. “And don’t assume that anyone on my Council spared you out of affection or loyalty. They simply believed that the common people adored you so much that they would start trouble if they heard you were condemned to die against your will. But that love is fast evaporating since you’ve resurrected their worst nightmare and then disappeared these last few months.”

Hayden had noticed the inflection on the word ‘my’ when Calahan was describing ‘his Council’.
He really thinks these people belong to him…

“You’ve been trying to get me banned from using magic, imprisoned, or killed since the day we met. I’ll call you whatever I want,
Cal,
” was all Hayden said in response.

“Get up,” Calahan surged to his own feet and grabbed Hayden by the wrists, none-too-gently. “I’m going to enjoy the look on your face when I introduce you to your new home.”

Master Sark was still watching the pair of them in silence, an oddly neutral look on his face. For a moment Hayden thought he saw sympathy there, but was sure that he had made it up, given what he knew of the man.

If he didn’t want to see me suffer whatever Cal has planned for me, he wouldn’t have dragged me out of bed in the dead of night to turn me over to him while everyone else was asleep.

He tried not to think of what the others would assume when they woke up and found him gone. They might think he lost his nerve and ran away, but Zane would know better.

Unless Zane thinks I left without him and struck out on my own…

He liked to think that Zane would know better, but if there were no signs of a struggle and Hayden had simply vanished from the Trout estate…

All of my things are still there,
he realized with a wave of relief.
They’ll know I wouldn’t go anywhere without taking my circlet and weapons with me. Bonk will eventually come back from his hunt, and they might be able to use him to track me and find out what’s happened…

While he was thinking this, Calahan had pulled him out of the office and down a short corridor towards a strange set of doors that looked like iron gates on hinges. Behind the doors he could see a very small room, completely empty of furnishings.

Is that one of the Boxes?
Hayden thought with wonder.
It’s certainly small enough to qualify; it doesn’t even have a toilet!

With a wave of his wand, Calahan opened the iron gates in front of the room and pushed Hayden roughly inside. Hayden was surprised when the Chief Mage followed him in and shut the doors behind them.

“Oh lord, you’re not staying in here
with
me, are you?” He’d rather be in utter solitude than have Cal for company.

Calahan looked at him like he was stupid and said, “Don’t be ridiculous, Frost.” He waved his wand in an agitated sweeping gesture and Hayden’s knees buckled as the ground seemed to be pushing him upwards, fast.

“What’s happening?” he asked, terrified. He braced his hands against the walls to steady himself, though there was nothing to hold onto if the floor dropped out from beneath him.

“It’s an automated lift. You didn’t think I was going to walk you up twenty flights of stairs, did you?” The Chief Mage smiled nastily at his fright, and Hayden forced himself to relax.

“Are there people waiting at the top who just sit around all day, waiting to cast the magic in case someone needs to move from one level to the next?” That sounded like the most boring job ever.

The question earned him another unpleasant look from his captor.

“Of course not; it’s fully-automated.”

Against his will, Hayden was impressed. He could appreciate the sheer amount of magic it must have taken to make such a thing possible.

In less than a minute the lift slowed to a stop, and Calahan waved the doors open again. Hayden had never been prone to claustrophobia, but he immediately began to feel the effects of the cramped space on this higher floor. They were at the top of the needle-shaped building, with the smallest amount of free space available, and there was much less lighting up here. In fact, it was completely dark when they stepped off of the lift until Calahan activated a single torch along the wall, which cast light oddly through the circular foyer they had stepped into.

It took Hayden a few moments to realize that there was no magic on the interior walls on this level to make them appear opaque—in fact, there was probably magic in place to make them seem even more transparent, because the torchlight glinted off of crystal in all directions. It was still pitch-black outside, but Hayden could imagine what the view would look like during daylight, with a panoramic view of the world from the twentieth floor of the Tower.

Calahan didn’t push him, but made a sweeping,
After you,
gesture that motioned Hayden forward. Upon closer inspection, there were five closed doors off of the circular foyer.

“Which one is mine?” Hayden asked without interest, trying to savor his last few moments of relative freedom.

“That one,” Calahan pointed to the one directly in front of them, and Hayden walked slowly towards it. He considered putting up a fight, even now, but wasn’t sure what the point would be. Calahan was armed and he wasn’t, and even assuming he could overpower the man, what was he supposed to do—kill the Chief Mage and escape? Then he really
would
be a criminal.

Wondering what kind of horrible, cramped, smelly, torturous room he was about to enter, Hayden took a deep breath and opened the door in front of him. The room was dark, and Calahan did nothing to light it, so Hayden shuffled into the pitch blackness, feeling around carefully with his feet so he wouldn’t trip over anything.

The moment he crossed the threshold of the room it felt like he was punched in the gut. He gasped and doubled over, trying to figure out what had hit him and how he hadn’t sensed it coming. His Focus-correctors grew warm and heavy on his wrists, and Hayden dropped to his knees on the hard crystal floor and heard the sound of a door shutting loudly behind him.

The last thing he heard as he grabbed his stomach and fought the urge to be sick was the sound of callous laughter as Calahan got back on the lift and left him alone in the dark.

9

Unwelcome Surprises

Hayden was only able to mark the passage of time by the gradual progression of daylight filtering into his cell the following morning. The sharp pain in his body had faded to a dull ache, not enough to prevent him from moving around or thinking clearly, but enough to always be at the edge of his awareness, no matter what else he was focused on.

As the sun came up, Hayden pulled himself upright and slumped against a wall, little though he liked resting his body against a surface he could see through. His body was sore and sluggish after spending the entire night awake and in considerable discomfort, though he still hadn’t figured out what exactly this place had done to him.

Now that he could see, he took the time to examine his new living quarters properly. The floor beneath him was the same clear crystal as the exterior of the building, and despite the fact that he knew there were nineteen other levels directly beneath him, there must have been some kind of magic on the floor to make it look as though his room was hovering unsupported, because he could see straight to the grassy ground far below.

Hayden had never exactly been afraid of heights, but between the transparent walls on all sides and the deceptive flooring, he had the sensation of sitting in the clouds, waiting to plummet to his death at any moment. Sunlight sparkled off of the exterior crystalline walls and refracted around the room, casting brilliant slices of colored light all around. The effect made him feel like he was sitting inside a prism, which wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as he might have guessed prior to experiencing it. In fact, he was glad that he didn’t have any actual prisms with him, because looking through them would probably just give him a screaming headache right now.

Other than himself, the only other thing in the room was a bucket and a rope that hung from the ceiling. The former was obviously for using the restroom, and after experimenting with pulling on the second, he discovered that it signaled someone down below to come and empty the bucket. Otherwise he was left alone for the entire day, with someone appearing at three separate intervals to bring him food and water. He tried interrogating these infrequent visitors, asking what was going to happen to him, when his trial would start, if anyone had shown up demanding to see him…but no one said a word to him or even looked at him in response. He might as well have been invisible for all the good it did to speak.

If he had ever lived through a longer, slower day he couldn’t remember it. Whatever weird effect the room was having on him, it kept him feeling slightly nauseous and off-balance during every waking second. By evening, the sun glare in his room was so unpleasant that he just curled up with his face pressed against his knees, closed his eyes, and waited for it to get dark again.

That night he gave in to exhaustion and slept fitfully, feeling not-at-all refreshed when he woke up the following morning. It was another excruciating day of boredom and silence, though he tried to keep his mind sharp by mentally rehearsing all of the spells he could think of, first with prisms, then with wands, elixirs, conjuring chalk, and even powders—though the last was a short list. Around mid-day he finished his meager lunch of hard bread, cheese, tomatoes, and milk, and did a few experimental sit-ups, determined to keep himself in some kind of fighting shape on the off-chance he ever got out of here.

By the third day he felt himself falling into a routine. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing, but it gave him an anchor to sanity, which was something. He could still feel the discomfort that the room caused him, but found that he had grown accustomed to it and was able to ignore it at will. As the sun was setting that evening, he had abandoned hope of anything useful happening that day. He had already made a mental tick-mark to tally his third complete day of imprisonment when he heard the sound of the lift settling on the top floor.

Confused and a little tired, Hayden sat up straight and tried to recall whether he had received all three meals today. He thought he had, but maybe he was thinking of yesterday’s dinner? It was hard to tell when all his dinners were the same…

The door to his cell opened abruptly, and two men stood framed in the doorway. The one on the left was one of Hayden’s mute guards, who brought him food and took away his waste. The other was Master Asher, wearing his metallic red Mastery robes from Mizzenwald.

“You’ve got five minutes,” the guard informed the Prism Master, who nodded and stepped across the threshold into the room, allowing the door to shut behind him.

Hayden surged to his feet unsteadily and said, “About time! I thought you all were never going to figure out where Calahan put me!”

Master Asher closed his eyes briefly and shuddered as the effect of the room washed over him. It was then that Hayden realized that his mentor wasn’t wearing his circlet or any weapons on his belt. It might have been the first time he had ever seen the man completely unarmed.

“This place is wretched,” he opened his eyes and made a disgusted face. “Also, you look horrible.”

Hayden scowled and said, “Yeah, well if you’d been locked up here for three days without any decent food or a shower, you wouldn’t look so perky either.”

Asher raised an eyebrow and said, “They haven’t let you bathe?” When Hayden shook his head he added, “I’ll see to that. Even convicted criminals have basic human rights—and you are not yet convicted of anything.”

“Oh good,” Hayden said sarcastically. “I was hoping I hadn’t missed my trial.”

“No, it’s scheduled to start in another week or so,” Asher answered his sarcasm without amusement. “The Council is still finalizing its evidence against you and collecting witness testimony.”

Hayden frowned at that and paced the small room.

“I don’t suppose you all have caught up to Sark and kicked him in the teeth for turning traitor on me, have you?”

There was an odd inflection in his voice when Asher said, “Why would we attack our colleague for doing his duty to the Council of Mages and apprehending a Wanted man?”

“WHAT?” Hayden turned around angrily, unable to believe his ears.

“You were a fugitive of the law, and Kirius brought you in to face justice. What part of that would we punish him for?” Asher reiterated flatly, though he tapped his ear and pointed to the walls as he spoke, and Hayden suddenly understood.

The walls have ears. We’re being monitored.

Asher still had to maintain his cover, or else he would be arrested too. Even though he understood it, it aggravated Hayden to no end that they couldn’t even have a candid conversation right now. He had really been looking forward to someone being able to tell him what in the world was going on.

“If you say so,” he answered neutrally. “Anyway, why are you wearing your Mastery robes? I thought you all were postponing the next school year indefinitely until my father is neutralized.”

“The Council and the High Mayor’s office—in a rare joint venture—made an executive override and determined that we should carry on with business as usual.”

Surprised, Hayden asked, “Why would they do that with the Dark Prism still on the loose? Aren’t they afraid that he’s going to blow up the school with most of Junir’s magically-inclined children conveniently penned up inside or something?”

Asher scowled and said, “The High Mayor wants his taxes, and Mizzenwald is the single largest source of revenue for him in that regard. The Council wants us to continue training up young mages in the major and minor arcana while your father is still being peaceable, with the thought that it might take every mage we can get to fight him properly if he becomes aggressive once more. The risk of putting most of our magical future in one well-known place has been pointed out and ignored—more than once.”

Hayden was trying to think of something he could safely ask without giving away the fact that he had been in touch with the Prism Master since he left school.

“Is there any news on what my father has been up to since he came through the schism?” He already knew the answer, but since he wasn’t supposed to have any inside information at this point, he couldn’t ask any of his follow-up questions until they brought this out in the open.

“Actually, there have been reports of him helping injured mages with warped Foci. He has been reversing the damage that was done to them and enabling them to use magic again.”

“Why would he do that?” Hayden asked, in case Asher had come up with some new theories since they last spoke about it.

The Prism Master shrugged and said, “No idea. I’ve been trying to explain to the Council that I don’t think my old friend is up to anything good, no matter how pure his motives may seem right now, but they have been rather divided over the issue.”

The guard opened the door behind Asher and said, “Your time is up, sir. Please return to the lobby and your weapons will be returned to you.”

Master Asher sighed and gave Hayden one last cursory glance, his expression worried. Hayden was determined to look tough and unaffected, but inside he was screaming,
Help! Don’t leave me here for another week in this horrible place! Take me with you— we can fight off the guards together and escape!

“I’ll see you when the trial begins,” Asher said as he stepped back over the threshold and seemed to perk up immediately as the unpleasant magical effect of the room left him. “All of the schools will have representatives in the audience at a trial this important—at least one from each of the Great Nine.”

“Thanks,” Hayden fought against the wave of emotions that were welling up inside of him: the terror at being left alone here for another week, of losing the trial and being told he’d have to spend the rest of his life here, of never seeing his friends again. “I’ll see you in a week then.”

Asher nodded and then the door was closed between them. Once more, Hayden found himself utterly alone. The brief contact with another human being—the first time he had really used his voice in three days—was enough to sharpen the discomfort the room forced upon him so that he felt it more acutely. Now that Hayden knew he was being spied on, he was determined not to cry, beg, or betray any other sign of his emotions. Spiting Cal was all he had left at this point, the only control that was still left to him.

He curled up on the hard ground and closed his eyes, fidgeting with his Focus-correctors and waiting to fall asleep.

Things improved slightly the next day, courtesy of Master Asher’s visit. Hayden had no idea what strings the man had pulled on his behalf, or if he had simply threatened to sue Calahan for some sort of human rights violation, but Hayden was allowed out of his cell long enough to bathe for the first time since his arrival. He was also given half an hour a day—heavily guarded—to exercise on a lower floor, and there was even a pillow waiting for him in his room when he returned to it.

In some ways leaving the room made things worse, because the horrible feeling of wrongness hit him even harder after a period of time without it. Still, he came to enjoy his brief moments of freedom from the discomfort, especially as it gave him a chance to see other human beings and to remember that he wasn’t the only person left in the world, though no one else was allowed to speak to him. Even the pillow felt like a luxury, though his body still ached from sleeping on the hard crystalline floor.

Calahan must not think there’s any danger of me suffocating myself before the trial,
Hayden thought ruefully.

He spent the next several days composing a mental list of questions to ask the next person who visited him, on the off chance one of his other allies would stop by before the trial. First on his mind was Bonk, because the dragonling had not reacted well to Hayden’s unexplained absences in the past, and he could imagine his familiar laying siege to the Crystal Tower in a furious attempt to get to him. Sometimes, in his darkest moments, he cheerfully imagined Bonk tearing this entire crystalline building to the ground; he didn’t even care whether he was inside it when that happened.

But days went by without any other visitors, neither Bonk nor anyone else, and despite Hayden’s constant determination not to betray any sign of weakness that Calahan might hear about, he couldn’t help but feel forgotten and betrayed. All of these important mages had spent months—years, really—telling him that he was uniquely gifted, special, important to the world at large, that he was vital in the plans to bring down the Dark Prism once and for all. And now that he had been captured? ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ seemed to be the motto now.

Nearly two weeks had elapsed since Hayden began his imprisonment: two impossibly long, thoroughly depressing weeks. He was awoken early that morning by the sound of the cell door swinging open, as the sun was just beginning to herald the coming of dawn. A grim-faced guard was on the other side.

“You’re to shower, dress, and eat breakfast before your trial begins,” he said by way of greeting.

Hayden felt his heart sink into his stomach and suddenly he didn’t feel terribly hungry or anxious to leave his confinement. He knew that his trial was supposed to start any day now, but after having weeks to dream up all of the horrible outcomes that were possible, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to face the real thing. The only bright side was that he hadn’t known last night, so he was able to sleep fairly well.