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

by Kyra Quinn

  Fate, however, had other plans. Mid-stride my wings locked up behind me. I plunged through the air down towards the tall green treetops, my scream trapped in my throat. No. No, no, no. Not here, not now. But no matter how hard I gritted my teeth and tried, my wings refused to flutter. The wind pushed up against me as I tumbled to the ground. I tried to position my hands in front of me to ease the impact of my fall, but my arms remained pinned to my sides.

  A thick branch smashed into my shoulder, another whacking me in the face. I tumbled through the barren branches like a child’s doll tossed from a rooftop. My skin burned from the wind. A chill seeped through my clothes and into my bones. The small, scared little girl inside of me longed to pray to Cimera or Namis for help, but I knew too much of the world to find any comfort in the delusion of prayers into the void. My arrogance would be my undoing, just as my father had once warned. If I had listened to Aster and waited for her to return, none of my current tragedies would have occurred.

  My legs slammed into the snow first, followed by my back and shoulders. Red spots danced in front of my blurry vision. Pain shot through every inch of me as if I’d landed on a bed of broken glass. Copper liquid filled my mouth. A guttural sound escaped my lips, but I couldn’t find the strength to scream. Each breath sent a stabbing pain through my ribs and into my lungs.

  My eyelids drifted closed, too heavy to hold open any longer. The last thing I saw before I surrendered myself to the darkness was Aster’s face, her cheeks stained with tears when she learned of my death. I had to hope she’d forgive me someday, when the hurt faded. Maybe she’d understand. I had only wanted to live up to her high expectations.

  * * *

  Even unconscious, Daeva tortured me. The singsong of her voice penetrated the darkness of my slumber. She forced Remiel’s cries of pain into my head and reminded me only my surrender could free him. She taunted me until I longed to tear my brain from my skull, to do whatever I could to free myself from her haunting words.

  “Will she die, Orinia?”

  A taut voice cut into my thoughts. I tried to roll over, but my body had turned to stone during my slumber. A small moan escaped my lips, my eyes still closed.

  “Shh! Get out of here, Nikaia! How many times must I tell you?” a gravelly voice answered.

  “I’m sorry!” the first voice answered, rising in pitch. “It’s just...there are whispers around town. They say you’re trying to cure a witch.”

  Sage and soil burned my nostrils. Every bone in my body from my skull down to my toes felt shattered beneath my skin. My head pulsed with pain. Gods, what had I done?

  “Hush, child. Don’t you listen to the nasty rumors around here,” the raspy voice answered. “This here ain’t no witch. Anyone with a lick of sense knows witches don’t fly.”

  A soft thud answered, likely a foot stomped against the ground. “What sort of Fey is she? Because no human could fall from the sky from the height she did and survive.”

  “Does it matter? She is a child of Cimera like you or I, and she needs help.”

  A strange warmth filled my chest as she spoke. I couldn’t hate the child for fearing me. As a girl, I would have reacted the same way to a woman tumbling from the sky. I wanted to thank the woman for her kindness, but neither my mouth nor eyes opened. My consciousness continued to linger between slumber and lucidity. Though I sensed the woman’s hands on my legs examining my injuries, her hands felt as light as clouds tickling my skin.

  “Run along and ask if your mama needs help with anything, Nikaia.”

  “And leave you alone with it?” the girl asked, her voice dripping with terror. “Orinia, we have no idea what it is or how it got here. What if it wakes up and attacks you?”

  The old woman only chuckled. “Does she look like she’s in any condition to cause any harm? Stop filling your head with the nonsense these folks around here believe. The Fey are no scarier than we are. Every race has blood on their hands.”

  “But—”

  “No more, child. Respect your elders and listen the first time you’re given instructions.”

  The girl sighed, and I could almost picture the defeated slump of her shoulders. I parted my lips and said in the faintest of whispers, “I-I am not F-fey, and I have eaten no one.”

  “Please, pay my granddaughter here no mind,” the old woman soothed. “Her father has poisoned her against the outside world in hopes she’ll never leave the village.”

  “It’s not like she’d admit to eating people,” the girl whined. “She still needs you to heal her.”

  Under any other circumstances I could have healed myself in the blink of an eye. Morrigan had placed special emphasis on learning to master my ability to mend wounds and ease pain, stressing the importance of the edge it provided our team in battle. But my eyelids remained swollen shut, my powers only a memory.

  “Would you hush? Get on out of here before I eat you myself, child.”

  The girl growled, and footsteps shuffled against the ground. After a few moments, the woman laid a gentle hand on my arm. “It isn’t personal. Folks ‘round here never know how to act in front of newcomers. Especially not Fey.”

  My chest knotted. I wasn’t Fey, but I couldn’t call myself human, either. Not anymore. Would anyone care if I told them I’d grown up in Faomere as a mortal girl with a mundane human existence? Did it matter if the first traces of magic in my blood hadn’t appeared until my eighteenth birthday?

  The woman reached down and cradled a hand behind my head. She pulled me up and pressed something hard and smooth against my lips. A warm liquid flooded my mouth and rushed down my throat as she cooed at me to drink more.

  “There,” she said, setting me back down. “The medicine should kick in soon.” She pushed a strand of hair away from my face. “I’ll dig around the village while you rest and try to find you somethin’ proper to wear. Imagine, a pretty young thing like you dressed in trousers.”

  I waited for the heat to rise into my face, but it never came. Whatever remedy the woman had slipped me rendered me motionless. Within moments, spots of light danced on the backs of my closed eyelids. The pounding of my head eased as my body melted into the bed.

  “Rest, child. Whatever troubles you’ve endured, you’re safe here,” the woman’s voice slipped into the fog of my thoughts. “Surrender to slumber. We can chat more when you’re feeling better.”

  The woman’s voice continued to whisper as images flooded my mind. Warmth filled my body, and I pictured sitting around Aster’s table with Viktor and Remiel while we guzzled down bottles of ambrosia and traded stories. The bells of Aster’s laughter and Viktor’s subtle taunts lulled me into the darkness.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Blood Magic

  And so magic, forbidden by the gods since the dawn of existence, seeped its way into Astryae. Though some were granted access to divine powers by the gods, countless others turned to blood or death magic to satisfy their dark urges.

  -The Sacred Texts, 49:19

  “You expect to find the camphelem here?” Seth’s nose wrinkled. His eyes flickered around the frozen forest. A starry sky hung overhead.

  Aster rolled her eyes. A sharp breeze grazed her arms, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Frost bit at her nose and cheeks. Numbness had set into her fingers and toes minutes after stepping out of her front door. When she spoke, her teeth chattered. “Not Lili. Ingredients.”

  Seth stared at her as if she’d suggested they might find riches buried in the snow. “For what?”

  Aster shook her head as her eyes scanned the snow for fresh tracks. Under any other circumstances, she would have delighted in explaining her brilliant plan to perform a tracking spell to lead them straight to Lili. She took pride in her talents and her knowledge, and rarely missed an opportunity to share either. But it was too damn cold to find the energy to care about Seth’s ignorance.

  She crept forward, her movements slow as she turned over every rock and stick she found with he
r eyes. Winter’s grip on Carramar had strengthened during her short trip away. No matter where her eyes fell, all they found was snow and ice.

  “This is hopeless.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “We won’t find anything alive in this fluffy white nightmare.”

  “It might help if you told me what we seek,” Seth growled through clenched teeth. “I can’t assist much without some idea of what we’re after.”

  Aster hadn’t had occasion to perform a tracking spell since the night of her sister’s death, but bi-weekly use in her early teen years had committed the steps to memory. “Six petals from a yellow rose. Two small vials of blood. Three pieces of myrrh. A possession the target has come into contact with. A map no one will miss. Oh, and a blessed crystal.”

  Seth blinked. “And we’re supposed to find all that out here? In the middle of the woods?”

  “I have most of it at home. All we need is the blood and the six rose petals.”

  Seth scoffed. Evidence of winter’s grasp fell from the sky in tiny white flakes. “Not the best season for roses, is it?”

  “Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Bite me, witch bitch.” He smirked. “Is there some substitution? Another plant?”

  Aster snorted. “This is what your kind will never understand about magic. It’s not akin to baking. You can’t swap ingredients in and out based on what’s convenient. The spell demands exact measurements and ingredients, or the entire thing falls apart. Or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  Aster shook her head as a chill ran down her neck. “It doesn’t matter. We won’t make any mistakes. Dig around and see if you can locate any roses or creatures we can bleed out with little effort. Move as fast as possible. Wherever Lili is, she’s in danger.”

  Seth shot a helpless glance around the forest. “And you’re certain this is the easiest way to find what we need?”

  “Even if we sneak onto properties to search private gardens, I am certain winter spared none of them. At least in the woods our fruitless efforts aren’t a criminal offense.”

  A small smile tugged at the corner of Seth’s lips. “Never took you for the type to care. You struck me as a proud deviant.”

  She shrugged. “Most days. When the fate of the world rests in the balance, though, I find it best not to take too many chances.”

  “Does the color of the rose matter?”

  “Would you shut up and help me find the damn thing?” Aster snapped, her voice as cold as the ice beneath them. “Time is of the essence here. If we lose Lili, we lose our only hope of surviving this war.”

  Unlike Lili or Morrigan, Seth didn’t recoil at the bite in her tone. His expression turned to stone, but something flickered in his eyes too fast for Aster to decipher it. “I know what’s at stake. What I don’t understand is why we’re trotting through the woods hunting for flowers in the ice instead of finding the missing girl.”

  Aster’s hand flew to her hip. “And where do you suppose we search for her, hmm? Neither of us have wings or the mobility she does. With the angels and demons after her, it’s anyone’s guess where she fled. But if you have a better idea, please. I’m all ears.”

  “I have talents of my own.”

  “And how do those relate to our current predicament?”

  “Take me to the nearest flower shop or elegant private garden. I can convince the owner to lend us a hand.”

  The certainty in Seth’s voice gave Aster pause. Her eyes narrowed. “What do you plan to do to them?”

  He chuckled, the sound cold. “Nothing you need worry about, love. Not to nag, but can we afford to waste time bickering?”

  Aster’s jaw tightened. She didn’t trust Seth any more than she trusted anyone else, but he had a point. They had no idea how long ago Lili had gone missing, or how far from Carramar she’d wandered. If the demons or angels got their hands on her Aster wouldn’t be able to save her.

  “Fine. You can pay a visit to the flower shop in the northeast side of town. I doubt they have what we need either, but it’s worth a try.”

  “And you?” he asked.

  Aster tapped the glass bottle hanging against her hip. “There is still the matter of obtaining enough blood for the spell. It might be best if I handle that part without the help of a vampire.”

  Seth rolled his eyes. “Again, not a blood sucker. But to save time, I’ll allow it. Shall we meet back at your place?”

  Aster agreed. She provided Seth with quick verbal instructions for the sole cozy flower shop in Carramar. Though she had her reservations about letting Seth out of her sight, she didn’t pity his task. From the rumors she’d overheard around town, the owner was an elderly widow with a penchant for holding visitors hostage with conversation. Slaughtering a few woodland creatures sounded far less challenging to cope with.

  When Seth’s back disappeared in the trees, Aster sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes. She disregarded the chill of the air against her skin and focused her attention on the faint sounds of the forest around her. The blankets of ivory powder beneath her feet muted her surroundings, the wind a faint whisper.

  There. A branch snapped to the left of her, and Aster’s heart raced with excitement. She reached for the blade strapped to her leg, her movements slow and quiet.

  Please don’t be a rabbit or a bird. She needed enough blood to fill the bottle at her hip to the brim for the spell to work long enough to find Lili. The dagger in her hand remained steady as she crept forward in the noise's direction. Enough animals had died at her hands for the guilt to no longer trouble her much after a kill. Still, the sooner she had enough blood, the sooner she could return from the cold.

  She let out a small exhale of relief. For the first time in years, the gods had smiled on her. A lean sable buck stood frozen a few feet from her, his eyes wide with surprise.

  He turned to run as Aster hurled her dagger through the air. The dagger’s tip landed square in the animal’s neck. The deer’s tail flailed as he made a sound between a wheeze and a grunt. She threw herself forward and pressed her weight down to bury the blade further in the deer’s neck. Her hand shook as she pulled her weapon away, the animal’s hide and muscle taut around the blade. His legs buckled as he collapsed to the ground. It took a few moments for the twitches in its body to cease. When it was over, the buck’s empty amber eyes stared at nothing.

  Aster closed her eyes and exhaled a ragged breath. “I am sorry, friend. Thank you for your sacrifice,” she whispered to the creature dying at her feet. A strange sensation crept into her bones and twisted her gut. Not guilt or remorse, but a sense of foreboding. The entire thing had happened too easily. The deer had wandered straight into her path out of nowhere, and he had hardly put up a fight as she plunged her blade into him. If Aster had learned anything in life, it was that nothing good came easy.

  “Imagine finding you here,” a warm voice appeared as if summoned by the power of her suspicions. “Aster Morelli.”

  Aster’s eyes flew open. A man with feathery onyx wings stood before her, a flaming sword clutched in front of his broad chest. Long blonde curls fell around his ashen face. A fitted charcoal suit and tie covered his long, muscular body. His face appeared as if someone had carved it from stone. His lips curled into a smirk.

  “Angel.”

  “How observant.” He scowled. “So you are the infamous blood mage bold enough to raise the dead and cross through the veil between worlds. I expected you would be taller.”

  She shot him a glassy glare. “I’d always imagined angels would be handsome, but here we are.”

  He bared his teeth. “Cheeky. You know why I have come, witch.”

  “Did we have plans?”

  “You cannot hide her from us forever. Samael will find his daughter.”

  Excitement exploded inside of Aster. She bounced on her toes, eager to fight or flee. The angels hadn’t found Lili. They didn’t know Aster had lost her yet. “I’d say I’ve done a damn fine job of it.”

  The ang
el sneered. “The camphelem has powers you cannot predict or control. She could destroy your entire precious little world in the blink of an eye.”

  “Like you plan to do?” Aster’s voice turned cold. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take, Feathers.”

  “That seems unwise when you have so little to defend yourself with.” The flames around the angel’s sword swooshed as he twirled the weapon. “Tell me, heretic, is this where you wish to die?”

  Aster wiped the sweat from her palms on her cloak and lifted her chin. She fought to keep her voice even as she said, “If you wanted to kill me, you should have done so when you first arrived. Now you’ve lost the chance.”

  The angel lifted his sword, but Aster slammed her hand against the amulet beneath her top and closed her eyes. She prayed to Daeva or Cimera or Zanox, anyone who might help her escape. She would sacrifice whatever the amulet demanded for the protection of its dark magic.

  The ground beneath her feet rumbled. Her feet lifted from the ground, her heart racing. The angel swung at her, but his blade stopped inches from her face as if he’d struck an invisible wall. Her body spun until the trees around her disappeared into a soft blur. Waves of nausea gripped her stomach. She opened her mouth to scream, but her voice remained stuck in her throat.

  Before the seeds of panic inside her mind bloomed, her body slammed against a cold white blanket of snow. A slow laugh of relief bubbled from her lips. The thick iron gate surrounding her home stood a few feet away. Aster braced her hand against the ground and tried to push to her feet, but a sharp wave of pain stabbed through her skull. The amulet sizzled against her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. Tightness gripped her chest, her head woozy.

  When her pulse slowed and her breaths came easier, Aster rose to her feet with the slow trepidation of a child learning to walk for the first time. When her knees didn’t collapse beneath her, she fingered the amulet and said a small prayer of thanks to whatever dark magic had saved her life. The metal burned her fingertips.