by Kyra Quinn
I rubbed my eyes, but the image in front of me didn’t change. Remiel stood with his arms suspended over his head by thick iron chains. Bruises and welts covered his face. A dark ring circled his left eye. Dried blood covered his nose and mouth, his eyes narrow slits in his face. Shadows circled his body, the rest of his surroundings obscured by darkness.
“What amusement is there in keeping me alive for torture?” he asked, his voice raspy and strained. “Does Zanox afford you so few playthings you have nothing better to do with your time? I’d expected better treatment towards his Queen.”
The laugh that answered him sent a chill into my bones. Daeva. “You are so much like him it disgusts me.”
“Zanox?”
“No. Samael. Tell me, did he sire you?” Daeva’s voice dipped into a sultry purr as she stepped into view. A black tiara adorned with rubies sat on top of her midnight hair. Despite the damp and dim torture chamber, the demon goddess wore a floor-length shimmering onyx gown with tiny jewels embroidered into the bodice. She ran a finger down Remiel’s abused face and cocked her head. “Is that why you wish to protect Lili? Does his blood run through your veins as well?”
Remiel sputtered a weak laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Daeva’s hand flew out and struck his face like lightning. I clasped my hands over my mouth to stifle a yelp. Remiel groaned, but his smile didn’t falter.
“I do not need kinship to Samael to stand against you destroying Astryae.”
Daeva’s hand flew to her chest as she scoffed. “Us destroy Astryae? Sweet shadows, how can a creature so simple-minded survive for so long?”
“Is this the part where you blame Zanox, then? Wicked husband always up to no good?”
“Zanox has no desire to conquer or destroy Astryae. The Shadowrealm’s survival depends on Astryae’s. Why do you think I want to see that realm reduced to ashes? If I wipe out Astryae, I can end this miserable existence once and for all.”
Remiel opened his mouth to respond, but the liquid faded to black once more. A growl of frustration climbed its way up my throat.
“Can’t we give it more blood?”
Aster shook her head, her lips a thin line. “I have no more to offer it. I’ll need to make another trip into the woods.”
My thoughts raced as I paced a circle around the room. My mother had Remiel. She’d torture him until his body collapsed into dust. He’d urged us not to venture into the Shadowrealm. He’d pleaded for us to give him time to find a better option. Why hadn’t we listened to him? If not for me, he and Viktor would still have a peaceful life near the bluffs in Mulgrave.
“We can’t leave him there to die.” I whirled on Aster, my voice sharper than the edge of her blade. “Viktor was right. We must save him.”
Aster’s eyes narrowed. “Why, so we can rush right into the trap Daeva has set for us? Viktor will take care of Remiel.”
“And how has that worked out this far?”
Aster took a step closer and dropped her voice. “You forget yourself, Lilianna. You have little practical experience with magic, let alone combat. Your opinion is worth as much as a child’s in this discussion.”
Aster shoved past me and stormed out of the room. Heat rushed through my body and burned my cheeks. My eyes stung with tears as my fists trembled by my sides.
Morrigan sighed next to me. “Her pride won’t allow her to admit she doesn’t know how to save him. I can see it in her eyes, though. She wants to save him as much as you do.”
But Morrigan’s words offered little comfort after Aster’s cutting words. “Aster is the most selfish person I’ve ever encountered. I doubt she gives a damn what happens to Remiel, or anyone but herself.”
Morrigan shook her head. “You’re wrong. She may not show it, but Aster feels things as deeply as anyone else. I’m sure she’s beating herself up over this angel.”
She had a point, but it didn’t stop my blood from boiling. I slammed my fist against the table next to the cauldron. “She should. It’s her fault Daeva captured him in the first place. She has no one to blame for any of this but herself.”
Morrigan sighed as her shoulders slumped. “I won’t change your mind. At least not in this moment. When your thoughts clear, I hope you’ll remember how much Aster has done to take care of you. She may masquerade as a callous bitch, but her heart is as broken as your own.”
No matter how Morrigan tried to justify Aster’s words, bitterness continued to poison my thoughts. Morrigan couldn’t accept Aster for what she truly was. Her lovesick obsession left her blind and vulnerable. In all my weeks spent with Aster, I’d seen no proof she hadn’t bargained away her heart with her soul.
I stomped down the stairs and out the front door without a glance over my shoulder. Frigid air stung my cheeks despite the sun’s warmth on the top of my scalp. A pair of leggy boys raced through the courtyard and howled with laughter. I marched past them towards the gate and out of the complex. If I stayed locked up in Aster’s home any longer, I feared I might say something unforgivable.
CHAPTER SIX
Witch Bitch
To make a deal with darkness for power is to sell one’s soul. When a blood mage runs out of soul to sell, they will find themselves tortured for eternity by the same darkness that once offered them strength.
-The Sacred Texts, 32:12-13
A single ivory candle cast an intimate glow over the cozy den. The clock chimed twice when the front door swung open. The candle flame flickered as a gust of wind burst into the room. Lili staggered in from the pitch-black night outside and hiccupped. She threw her weight against the door, slamming it shut. A rosy tint colored her fair cheeks. Her hair appeared tangled and wind-tossed, her eyes glassy. She ran a hand through her shoulder-length honey locks and belched, then giggled.
“Someone had fun,” Morrigan said with a knowing grin.
Aster clenched her jaw and said nothing. Six hours. She had discovered Lili missing six hours ago. Goddess only knew how long she’d disappeared before Aster noticed. With no blood to perform a scrying spell and no way to contact her, Aster had been left to stew on her thoughts and pray Lili would return unharmed.
She had spent the first two hours of Lili’s absence pacing circles around the altar room, followed by another half-hour of pleading with Morrigan to perform the spell for her. Morrigan had, of course, refused. She had insisted Lili was fine, that she’d left to take a walk and clear her head. She’d led Aster downstairs and into the den to wait with a bottle of ambrosia. When the bottle ran dry, Aster clenched her hands together in her lap and watched the sun set from the windows as she prayed for Lili’s safe return.
Now that her prayers had been answered, a white-hot rage climbed from her chest up her throat. She flew from her chair to stand in front of Lili, who blinked back with glassy eyes. Aster’s nose wrinkled as she leaned in inches from Lili’s upturned nose. Alcohol lingered on her breath, the stale smoke clinging to her clothes enough to churn Aster’s stomach.
“Upstairs. Clean yourself and sleep.”
Lili swung her head, the motion too rapid and dramatic to convey anything but her intoxication. When she spoke, her words fell from her lips in a jumbled slur. “I won’t listen to you. You’re not my mother or my friend. You’re a selfish witch bitch who wants to take my powers for herself like Daeva.”
Red clouded Aster’s vision as her hands clenched at her sides. Her fists shook, but she stifled the urge to strike Lili in her ungrateful mouth. With her bloodshot eyes and sloppy speech, Lili had obviously had more to drink than she could handle.
But empathy didn’t lessen the sting of her words. Not when Aster had spent so many years repeating the same abuse to herself in the looking glass each night before bed.
Morrigan appeared by Aster’s side. She wrung her hands in front of her, her stare shifting between Aster and Lili. “I can take her upstairs and ready her for bed. I have plenty of experience with drunken girls after our time together.”
A
ny other time, Aster might have cracked a smile at Morrigan’s coy attempt to diffuse the situation. But after hours of waiting and worrying, it took all her self-control not to show them both to the door and lock it behind them. She didn’t have time to raise Lili and educate her on all the things her father had hidden from her. Her childish antics had the potential to cost them their lives and the war for Astryae.
“Get her out of my sight,” Aster snarled. “I have half a mind to throw her back into the streets and let her parents find her.”
Wise enough to know better than to push, Morrigan stepped towards Lili and wrapped an arm around her waist. Her face softened as she cooed for the drunken camphelem to follow her through the hallway and up the stairs. Aster briefly imagined Lili stumbling and falling over the railing in her drunken stupor. A cold smile pulled at her lips.
When the footsteps disappeared upstairs, Aster stormed into the kitchen and ravaged the cupboards in search of more alcohol. Too many people. She had too many people in her private space. How could anyone expect her to think straight with so much happening around her? She slammed the last cupboard shut and sank to the floor, her chest heavy.
The turns her life had taken in the last few years never ceased to amaze Aster. As a girl she’d always sworn to Chay she would make a life for herself outside of the coven. Her sister had laughed at the time and dismissed her words as the naïve ramblings of a child.
Who’s laughing now?
Something knotted in her chest as her sister’s face sprang into her mind unbidden. Chay, the coven’s golden child. While Madre hid Aster away from company and buried her with books, Chay’s perfectly straight smile was always on display. Where Aster stumbled over her words, Chay’s smooth responses came as easily as her laughter. Everyone loved Chay, Madre especially.
And Aster?
The coven’s indignation at her departure had no correlation to the value they placed on her presence. No one missed her company or treasured her sage advice. To the coven, and Madre, Aster was little more than property. A wild child to be tamed and controlled.
As if she’d ever let them. As if she’d ever let anyone try to hold her down. Chay had discovered that the hard way.
Aster’s stomach twisted once more. She shook her head as if the motion might banish the bells of her sister’s laughter from her memories. No time remained to try to make peace with the ghosts of her past. Not while the future hovered over her head like a storm cloud.
Morrigan returned a few minutes later, her steps light as she glided down the stairs. Aster pushed herself to stand seconds before the younger mage entered the room. A faint trace of a smile lingered on her lips.
“She is out like a candle,” Morrigan said, and gave a little blow for emphasis. “The moment her head touched the pillow, slumber pulled her under.”
“Good.” Aster folded her arms over her chest. “She was one more wrong statement away from finding herself in a more permanent sleep.”
“I’m not sure either of us could kill her if we wanted to.”
Aster’s eyes narrowed. Morrigan had a point. None of the spell or lore books included instructions on how to kill a camphelem. The reminder further soured her mood.
“Anything that lives can die. And if she keeps pressing her luck, I’ll be the one to discover how.”
Morrigan shook her head. “Is what she did tonight such an outrageous offense? I seem to recall a younger mage sneaking out of the Grove to the ginhouse near every night.”
Aster’s cheeks warmed. “That was different. I didn’t have a target on my back.”
“She’s had a traumatic few months. I’m sure she’s trying to cope with things as best she can.”
Aster shook her head, indifferent to whatever justifications or explanations Morrigan might conjure. “She appreciates none of the hard work or sacrifices other people have performed on her behalf. Let alone the blood spilled. Entitled little twit.”
Morrigan placed a hand on either side of Aster’s face and lifted her eyes to meet her gaze. “I can only imagine how difficult the last few weeks have been for you. A blood mage without her soul gem is like a bird without wings. We will find a way to fix this, all this, I promise. Have patience until we figure it out.”
Aster stormed out of the kitchen and into the den. It didn’t seem fair to hate Morrigan for her optimism, but Aster couldn’t entirely help it. Morrigan hadn’t gone an hour without her magic since their childhood. She had no idea how carelessly she spoke of the greatest daily torture Aster had ever endured.
“It’s late. Go rest.” Her voice came out sharper than she’d intended, and she winced. She reached up and stroked Morrigan’s hair. “I’ll join you after I finish my research for the night.”
Morrigan nodded, but the slight scrunch of her face told Aster her feelings were hurt. She shuffled up the spiral staircase without a word, her chin tucked towards her chest. When the door to Aster’s bedchamber clicked shut, her heart sank.
Morrigan had risked her own position with the coven to help Lili and Aster. She’d stolen supplies from the people she called family so Aster wouldn’t suffer without. No one alive deserved to deal with her sharp tongue less. A decent person would shower Morrigan in appreciation and affection.
But Aster had never considered herself a decent person. She reached beneath the table and grappled blindly at the underside of the wood until her hand clasped around the cold, narrow neck of a glass bottle. She pulled the half-drank container of ambrosia out and uncorked the top before inhaling the bitter drink like oxygen. Alcohol wouldn’t erase her problems, but it might make the weight of them easier to shoulder alone.
With Lili and Morrigan gone, the silence of the loft made Aster’s skin crawl. She snickered at the absurdity despite the racing of her heart. She’d lived alone for years, ever since Chay—
Chay. Her eyes burned. She’d intended to save enough blood for one final scry. Just long enough for a quick glimpse of the creature Chay had become.
She’d heard stories of the Tentoria as a girl, grim tales meant to frighten young mages into respecting the dangers of their abilities. Aster had always assumed the stories fictitious, borrowed from vampire history or dreamed up after one too many bottles of ambrosia.
But when Daeva claimed Chay’s soul for her own, Aster stood frozen in horror as her best friend and idol transformed into a soulless monster, something neither alive nor dead.
Aster swallowed another greedy gulp from the bottle, but the burn of the liquid as it slid into her stomach did little to detract from the heaviness in her chest. She’d lost Chay, and everything she’d once loved about her sister. She couldn’t lose Lili too.
She shot a glance at the bookcase against the wall and sighed. She didn’t need to open the book to know nothing inside could help her. None of it would tell her how to replace her soul gem or train her camphelem friend.
As much as it burned her pride to admit, they had no chance of survival if Aster didn’t find a way to replace her magic. Unless a new soul gem dropped from the sky, Astryae would be dependent on Lili and her immature powers for protection. They had a better chance of the gods returning to save them.
* * *
By the time the clock downstairs chimed three in the morning, Aster’s eyes burned. The chirp of the cicadas outside drowned out the sound of her thoughts. She ran her finger along the pages as she scanned each book and tried to ignore the pounding in her head. There had to be a way to replace her soul gem. Some spell she could perform to enchant a new rock. Anything but a bleak and short existence as a helpless mortal.
She only had three books left. Few of the dusty leather-bound books mentioned soul gems or staves at all. Those that did seemed to skimp over any actual information about them, as if every blood mage worth her weight in magic had an inherent knowledge of their creation and purpose at birth.
She had never thought to question where the soul gem came from after Madre pressed it into her hand. Her lessons had taught her so
ul gems were formed with a fragment of a mage’s soul harvested at birth and tucked away in the shadows to absorb their dark powers. She had never wished to know how the coven elders harvested the soul fragments. With how many questions she’d had about everything else in existence, why had it never occurred to her to wonder more about the source of her own dark magic?
The single ivory candlestick in front of her had all but burned down, the melted wax dripping on the surface of the wooden table. Aster groaned and considered crossing the flat to dig a new candlestick out of the kitchen, then dismissed the idea. She’d wake the entire house in the process, and not even Morrigan understood her current suffering.
“One more,” she muttered under her breath to herself. If she made quick work of it, there’d still be enough of the candle left to guide her upstairs to her bedchamber. She’d replace the light in the morning, when everyone rose for the day and the sunlight rendered supplies easier to find.
She grabbed the top book from the smaller pile in front of her and scanned the title. The Occultist’s Book of History. She snorted. Out of every subject she had studied in her time with the coven, history had captured her attention the least. Who cared to read a book about dead men and their mistakes? She had plenty of her own to make in the present.
She flipped the book open to the first page and zeroed in on the text, forcing herself to give the book the same attention she’d given the others. Boring or not, she’d find a kernel of wisdom buried in the lines. It never hurt to absorb new information, even if it didn’t particularly interest her.
Most of the stories in the first half of the book were familiar to Aster, old legends told to children of the coven as bedtime stories. The first chapter recounted the union of Cimera and Rhayer and the creation of Astryae. The author devoted two lean paragraphs to Zanox’s banishment, moving into the legends of the Feyfolk without pause. By the time she reached the story of Esyn creating the first sirens, her eyelids grew heavier by the moment.