Clouded Purity - Book 2 of The Trial

Clouded Purity - Chapter 9

Prism's angry growl pierced the solitude of Ghayle's garden, and she pulled away from him, regarding him curiously. He stepped away from the log, furiously pacing.

"That night . . . that day . . . Master Vinh and his bloody apple tree," Prism muttered.

"The memory was more bitter than you expected? I don't understand your reaction. You wanted to see that day," Ghayle replied quizzically.

Prism faced her and said, "Sometimes we have to face our demons."

"Pertinent words."

"I speak metaphorically, not literally. Facing the darkness of the past can help bring clarity to the present."

"Interesting."

"I refuse to let my words justify your actions!" Prism roared, stepping toward her, his fists clenched in wrathful agony.

Ghayle shrugged. "Then don't. I own my actions, you don't. I don't need you to defend me, or to justify me in any way, but I don't think that's why you're upset. You hate yourself for that night. Why?"

"I could've done things differently," Prism said ruefully. "I could've run away with Grim. I could've owned the truth and told Master Vinh everything, asking to be punished accordingly. He trusted me to be faithful, and instead I rewarded his trust with the naivety of a child, thinking everything could just return to normal without any consequences."

"Who would you be now if you'd done things differently?" Ghayle asked. "Could you guarantee happiness?"

"I would've spent those years with Grim. We would've been happy, at least until the demons came," Prism said with less confidence than his words implied.

"How can you be certain of that?" Ghayle asked. "How can you know that? You are you now, and you were you then, but you then, and you now, are not the same." She stood and circled Prism, her appraising gaze sweeping over him. "Your choices evolved you, crafting a heroic narrative, in my opinion."

"I didn't know what I wanted," Prism said. "I guess I still don't."

"Your world changed in ways you could've never predicted. It always does. Even when you can see everything happening at once, predicting the future is as difficult as anticipating the pattern of ripples on a pond during a downpour," Ghayle stated.

"Can I see Grim again. Please?" Prism begged, hating himself for the way he whimpered, sounding all too much like the boy he'd left behind long ago in that hotel room. "Please . . . I need to touch him again."

Ghayle regarded him with empathy, not judgment, and reached out her hand. "Of course," she said.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Grim knocked on the door to his father's study. As soon as the acknowledgement came, he opened the door and slipped through the crack, closing it softly behind him. Duke Selfaeth seemed to be growing thinner every time Grim saw him, and he drank more often, too. A weight hung from his shoulders, distorting the picture of the poised nobleman Grim had always admired.