Son of Saints: A Dark YA Fantasy Adventure: Renegade Guardians: Book Two

by Kyra Quinn

  Aster took a step back and prepared to run, but the taller demon lunged forward and wrapped a bony hand around her arm. “Why don’t we take her somewhere we can find out?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Fading

  Cimera did not move to strike down those who followed Zanox into the darkness. She left the fallen with a simple warning: stay out of their way or perish.

  -The Sacred Texts, 1:44-46

  Morrigan flew into the kitchen the next morning as if flung from her bed by a ghost. Her dark curls bounced as she sprinted into the room, Aster’s powder blue silk robe half-tied around her narrow waist. Instead of a greeting, Morrigan froze in front of me. Her amber eyes glistened with tears.

  I had spent most of the night seated at the kitchen table, my mind too troubled to rest. A dull ache throbbed in my temples. My limbs felt heavy with fatigue. The sky outside the window had lightened, but the sun had yet to rise for the day. I sat with my knees folded into my chest as I tried to piece together the events of the past few weeks. Without the chirp of Aster’s voice or her steady stream of profanity as she worked, the snug maisonette had become lonely.

  “I need to leave,” she said. “I realize Aster wished for me to remain here with you until she returned, but this cannot wait.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “The coven...one a mage sent word this morning of trouble. Trouble of the Aster variety, to be specific.”

  “What has she done now?” I groaned. “How is this girl always involved in some form of chaos?”

  Morrigan shook her head. “The letter didn’t go into specifics, only that Madre is livid. I need to get back to the coven and try to mitigate the damage before Aster ends up with a bounty on her head.”

  A small gasp flew from my mouth before I could catch it. “Her own mother would order her execution?”

  “Even if Madre didn’t order the kill herself, the Elders could always decide Aster poses too much of a threat to the covens and their way of life. Aster embodies the blood mage stereotypes the covens fight to dispel.”

  I snorted and leaned against the table. “What, mouthy and disobedient? I’ve met plenty of girls like her without magic in their blood.”

  Morrigan giggled. “True. But this is far from Aster’s first act of rebellion. Has she told you about the time she set fire to the sacred gardens behind the Grove?”

  She hadn’t, but the revelation didn’t surprise me. Everywhere Aster went, destruction seemed to follow. “How much trouble is she in with the coven?”

  Morrigan’s face darkened. “Enough for Willow to summon me, so the news can’t be good. I’ll fill you in on everything when I return.”

  I nodded and swallowed back the urge to ask her when she might return. Morrigan hurried from the kitchen, her feet thudding against the stairs as she ran back to Aster’s bedchamber to collect her things. I wrapped my arms around my waist as a dull ache settled into my stomach. What did I care if Morrigan left or when she returned? I’d hated Aster for suggesting I needed her supervision.

  Yet the rustling of clothes and drawers upstairs filled my chest with dread. When Morrigan left, I’d have no one. Everyone in my life had either abandoned me or died. What if the demons came back for me? How would I protect myself alone?

  Hours after Morrigan performed her translocation spell and disappeared back to the coven, I sat alone on the floor of Aster’s altar room and flipped through the books she’d left strewn across the table. The throbbing of my head increased with every page turned. I skimmed over the lines of text and tried to imagine what in them might have convinced Aster to leave. I wanted to believe the best in her, that she’d found some clue to save Astryae but hadn’t wanted to endanger my life to chase it. But where had she gone? And why didn’t she take Morrigan with her?

  If she’d found some clue buried in the pages of the dusty old books, I didn’t see it. I reread each line twice, once in my head and once a quiet whisper into the empty room. By the halfway point, I almost pitied the time Aster spent locked away with her books. I’d heard sermons in the Temple less dull than the history of the first mage coven.

  My thoughts drifted back towards the parade of tutors and private instructors my father had ushered in and out of the manor in my youth. No matter who he employed to teach me, I’d never found the same joy in studying Aster had. I could still hear my thirteen-year-old self asking Father, “Why should I care to learn about men who died centuries before my birth? The information is outdated now. Their lives have no impact on mine.”

  Slamming the book shut, I rose to my feet and slammed it on the table. My heart ached to speak with my father. To thank him for all the time and money he’d invested into my upbringing and education. How foolish I’d been to take his kindness for granted. He deserved a better daughter, one who appreciated his cold but caring nature and didn’t cost him his life.

  My legs wobbled as I made my way towards the staircase as if my knees had turned to rubber. I gripped the metal railing and leaned against it as my head spun. The surrounding room faded from focus. I sank to my knees at the top of the staircase and lowered my head to the ground, afraid of what might happen if I lost balance on the way down.

  Food. When was the last time I’d eaten anything? Morrigan had taken over the meal preparation after Aster left, but I had had little appetite. I placed a hand on my stomach, but no rumbles or twists of hunger answered. My will to eat disappeared with Aster.

  “You’re an adult now, Lili,” I chided under my breath. “How do you expect to stop the world’s end if you can’t feed yourself?”

  Viktor’s voice popped into my head as I spoke, his voice blending with my own to deliver the insult. No wonder he and Aster had left me behind. What seasoned warriors wanted the dead weight of a useless little girl strapped to their back?

  I pulled myself to my feet, disregarding the shaking of my limbs. If I didn’t wish to spend the entire war hiding on the sidelines, I had to prove myself useful to the rest of the team. Viktor and Aster didn’t see eye to eye on everything, but I sensed their unspoken respect for each other each time they fought together.

  By the time I reached the kitchen, I’d settled on the bare bones of a plan. If I used the time alone to train, I’d develop a better grasp over my powers before the others returned. Even if I never developed Aster’s grace with a sword, I had the ability to heal injuries in battle and fly. I had as much to offer the team as anyone else.

  I dug through Aster’s cabinets and counter for a quick bite. War preparations had consumed us for weeks, limiting Aster’s trips to the market in town. The bread on the counter sported blotches of deep green and grey fuzz, most of the fruit shriveled and black.

  The food in Carramar often made me miss my childhood in Faomere the most. In Carramar, Aster said most people had little time for the elegant meals everyone gathered around a table for outside of holidays and formal affairs. While the merchants in Faomere prized themselves on their exotic collections of spices and ingredients, meals in Carramar were often guzzled in the kitchen in between more important tasks. Aster said in the wealthiest estates, few hired kitchen staff outside of special occasions.

  I settled on the only thing edible in the kitchen—a ripe blood melon and a strange fruit the size of my fist—and made a mental note to dig around Aster’s bedchamber for funds to visit the market with. I’d reimburse her later.

  I sank my teeth into the pale yellow peel of the foreign fruit. Bitter citrus juice flooded my mouth as I chewed, the inside soft beneath the crisp peel. My nose wrinkled as I forced myself to swallow. Either the fruit had spoiled like everything else in the kitchen, or people in Carramar lacked an appreciation for flavor.

  I forced the rest of the fruit down in five bites and moved onto the blood melon. The rich crimson inside tasted almost like water, the hint of flavor almost unnoticeable after the strong flavor of the first fruit. I devoured the melon as if someone might take it away, eager to regain my strength enough to head into
town and buy something worth eating.

  When the last of the food had disappeared inside of my mouth, my stomach sank as the weakness in my limbs remained unchanged. Had I not consumed enough? Was I coming down with some illness? I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead, wincing as the movement sent an exaggerate ache through my arm. No sign of fever or chill. So why did my body feel as if I’d fought a steam train and lost?

  I glanced towards the stairs and considered lying down for a brief rest but dismissed the idea almost instantly. Aster and Viktor battled through fatigue and illness. A real warrior stood strong in the face of challenge.

  Puffing my chest, I marched to the stairs to change out of the borrowed nightdress and into a pair of slacks. After so many years of Father’s hired help dolling me up in heavy gowns and steel-boned corsets stealing the breath from my lungs, the loose-fitted blouses and slacks Aster had found for me still felt strange against my skin.

  I pushed the final button on the white blouse into the slit and pushed the sleeves to my elbows. My hands still trembled, but I forced myself to pay them no mind. I had bigger things to trouble myself with.

  Viktor and Aster hadn’t developed their talents by sitting inside waiting to be rescued. They faced their fears and rushed into battle head-on, confident in their ability to come out on top. If I wanted the people I cared about to stick around and not abandon me or die, I had to develop the same self-discipline and resolve. There was no place for sheltered little rich girls in war, even girls with Archangel blood in their veins.

  * * *

  Carramar seemed to miss Aster as much as I did. The sun remained hidden behind thick, dark clouds threatening to deliver more winter weather. The chorus of birds in the barren branches of the trees had vanished, likely following Aster out of Carramar in search of warmer weather. None of her neighbors moved about the complex. Only the pounding of my heart assured me I was still in the land of the living. With Morrigan and Aster both gone, the empty maisonette had become too quiet for comfort. Every creak of the floorboards or settling of the walls sent a fresh wave of cold sweat down my face.

  After what felt like endless hours of silence, I slipped into a thick wool sweater and a pair of slacks. I swiped Aster’s worn scabbard from her bedchamber and strapped it to my upper thigh. Fatigue still lingered in my body, but I laced my boots and set off towards the thick woods outside of the iron gate surrounding the row of narrow brick homes. Aster’s physical presence may have departed, but her voice still whispered in the back of my mind about the importance of discipline and proper training.

  I had always told myself I enjoyed time alone. As a girl, I spent more time in my bedchamber or strolling through the gardens behind the manor than I ever did in the common rooms. Only Father and I lived in the manor as far as the official paperwork decreed, but he’d turned most of the rooms on the lower floor and in the basement into bedchambers for the various hired help. No matter how often I threw myself on my bed and buried my face in my pillow to lament on how alone I felt, I never was in the manor. The warmth of company and conversation always lurked beyond the door.

  But Father died. What had become of the manor and the servants? Had the angels burned the estate to the ground when they failed to capture me? Did the angels slaughter the kitchen staff and footmen in their wrath? My stomach twisted in on itself. If Father and William’s blood on my hands didn’t hurt enough to think about, the possibility of dozens of lives lost in my name caused my knees to buckle.

  “How many more will die so you can live?” a demonic voice whispered in the back of my mind. A shiver ran down my back as I fought to shake away the haunting words and ground myself. No matter what it took, I refused to allow anyone else to trade their life to spare mine.

  My fingers wrapped around a dagger Aster had left, the handle cold beneath my skin. I closed one eye and squinted towards my target, a deep X inside of a circle carved into the peeling bark of an old hazel tree. The blade felt heavy in my hand, the target impossibly far away. Aster or Viktor could have hurled the tip through the target’s center with their eyes closed. Their hands didn’t tremble every time they held a weapon.

  “Get it together, Lili.” I sucked in a deep breath and cracked my neck. My worn black boots rooted into the soil below as I focused my gaze on the target. I leaned back and moved my arm back and forth as I lined the tip of the blade with the center of the X. The world around me faded from focus as my attention locked on the task at hand. The knife’s weight disappeared as I pulled my arm back and flung the weapon.

  The dagger spun and plummeted into the grass a few feet from the target with a thud. I sank to my knees, my limbs shaking as if I’d run the distance of Carramar. Hope deflated inside of me as I smashed my fist into the snow. Damn it. I’d come no closer to success on my hundredth try than I had on my first. Aster would have buried her head in shame.

  A growl of frustration climbed from my throat as I pulled myself up on shaky knees. With the blood of an Archangel and a demon goddess flowing through my veins, I still couldn’t accomplish the most basic of tasks. What use would Aster and Viktor have for someone who couldn’t throw a knife with any precision? No wonder they had opted to leave me behind.

  “I’m not Aster,” I grumbled under my breath as I marched through the thick layer of white powder and retrieved the dagger. “I need to play to my strengths, not try to mimic hers.”

  I had never excelled at throwing daggers into targets the way Aster or Viktor could, but months of training had exposed a few unique talents of my own. My once scrawny and unused limbs had thickened with muscle. I moved with more speed and stealth than Aster’s stubby little legs could manage on her best days. The clumsiness had disappeared from my step, a newfound limberness and agility left in its place.

  But the realization offered little comfort. Remiel, Aster, and Viktor all had years of combat experience and weapons training. Aster’s coven had educated her in more than classic literature and basic life skills. Compared to the others, my well-to-do upbringing and enthusiasm for nature and animals didn’t add much value.

  I glanced down at my shaky hands, hands that had performed feats I hadn’t imagined possible months before. Powerful demons had fallen with what amounted to a snap of my fingers. Wounds had sealed beneath my fingertips. Maybe I couldn’t throw a knife with perfect precision like the more experienced fighters around me, but how many of them could end or save a life with their touch?

  Without thinking, I sliced the dagger over my forearm with a quick, clean motion. I gasped as white-hot pain shot through my arm. My grip on the dagger released. It fell to the ground next to drops of crimson spilling from my arm onto the ivory blanket of snow. My jaw clenched as a bitter acid flooded my mouth. Hopefully Aster hadn’t dipped the blade in poison.

  I closed my eyes and slammed my uninjured hand over the wound. As I’d practiced with Aster, I tried to focus on what a strong and healthy arm would feel like instead of the searing pain beneath my fingertips. I swallowed and forced myself to ignore the sticky warm blood coating my hands. The skin beneath my arm wiggled, and for a moment I worried I’d made a mistake. I snapped my eyes open, half-prepared to find a bigger problem than the gash I’d given myself.

  Instead, the injury on my arm had all but vanished. Only a tiny white sliver of a scar remained, the skin smooth as if I’d sustained the injury years before. A tiny smile pulled at my lips. Maybe I wasn’t the best with a blade, but I made a damn fine healer.

  A rush of dizziness filled my head seconds later. My knees buckled as the energy seemed to drain from my body. The world around me went dark as I collapsed to the snow, and for a split second I wondered if blood still stained it.

  But as consciousness faded from my body, I didn’t think about the snow or the weakness of my limbs. Viktor’s face remained burned into the back of my eyelids, his imaginary embrace waiting for me as it always did when slumber claimed me.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Another Little White Lie


  As the sky is always quiet before the eruption of thunder, the man with little to say often holds the deadliest secrets.

  -The Sacred Texts, 53:11

  The days blurred together as Viktor and Jett hiked across Astryae in search of the royal palace. Dried clumps of mud caked the bottoms of their boots. Snow had seeped through the cracks between the leather and soles of his shoes and soaked his socks. His hands and feet had gone numb with cold despite the sun’s warmth against the back of his neck.

  “I still bet we’d reach Wyvenmere faster by train,” Viktor grumbled under his breath.

  “Faster isn’t always safer. The demons won’t be our only problem if anyone catches wind of our stolen treasure.”

  Viktor clenched his teeth. He still didn’t understand why Jett insisted on performing tricks like some trained pet to curry the King’s favor. It was hard to imagine they’d earn much respect from the man by groveling at his feet, especially covered in dirt and sweat from their travels.

  “And we can’t carry the egg as wolves?”

  Jett shook his head. “Too big. Even if we could, arriving to the castle nude might send the wrong impression.”

  Viktor clenched his teeth but marched on. “Any more surprise stops, then?”

  “Not unless you have a few of your own planned.” Jett shielded his eyes with his hands and stopped to glare out across the endless field of snow ahead. “We should reach Raymere by nightfall. We can rent a room and rest for the evening if you don’t have the strength to continue.”

  Viktor clenched his jaw at the subtle taunt embedded in Jett’s offer. “I’m fine, old man. Worry about yourself.”

  Jett barked a laugh. “If you insist. Without stops, we should be able to make Wyvenmere by lunchtime tomorrow.”

  Viktor stifled a groan. The steam trains could have taken them from the Nephilim’s town to the station a few miles from the King’s castle in only a matter of hours. A wolf might have made it in half the time. The longer they trekked through the mud and snow, the heavier his steps became.