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

by Kyra Quinn

  The doors behind us flew open with a groan. The elderly woman from the hallways scurried into the room with more haste than I’d expected a woman of her age capable of. Her pupils swallowed most of her irises, her eyes wild. “Your Majesties!”

  “Hemani!” King Dyius scolded. “What the shadows do you think you’re doing?”

  The woman wiped beads of sweat away from her forehead with her arm. Her wild eyes flickered between us and the royals. “My sincerest apologies, Your Grace. I-I need to speak with these visitors.”

  The King rolled his eyes. “They haven’t come for the ramblings of a madwoman. Their presence here does not concern you.”

  “But it does! Forgive my intrusion, Your Majesty, but the visions are already changing with the arrival of these three. If I could speak with them for—”

  “Zorya, remove this heretic from my presence,” King Dyius said, his cold eyes narrow as he glared at her. “Throw her in the dungeons with the shifters until she remembers her place.”

  “No!” Hemani jumped back. She pressed her hands together in front of her chest and shot a pleading glance at Queen Moara. “Please, please listen. The survival of our world may depend on the decisions made tonight.”

  The queen hesitated, her lips slightly parted. Her eyes shifted between her husband and the raving old woman, torn.

  “Forgive me, My Grace,” Zorya spoke. The queen’s face relaxed as she continued. “Is there any real harm in hearing what Hemani has to say before we lock her away? We may find entertainment in it.”

  King Dyius glowered. He crossed his arms. “Very well. I should think we’d enjoy watching the snow melt more than this nonsense, but I will allow it. A good chuckle is what we need before the execution.”

  The word twisted my heart as if he’d shoved a dagger through my ribs. Whatever the old woman had in mind, it wouldn’t save Viktor. Unless we found a way to overpower a castle full of armed soldiers and royalty, Viktor’s death was scheduled for sunrise.

  The elderly woman crept towards us. Her thin, chalky lips twisted into an unnerving smile. “Do not fear me, my children. I have no plans to cause you harm.”

  But the pitch of her voice caused the butterflies in my stomach to flutter. My throat burned with the urge to ask Aster what type of Fey the King had granted permission to toy with us. In a room full of murderous royals, however, did not strike me as the best time or place to betray my ignorance.

  She pointed a long, yellowed nail at Seth. “A child of the night,” she cooed. “It isn’t often we find your kind in these parts. But you aren’t like the others, are you?”

  Seth stiffened and straightened his spine. “I am far from the first animi in Astryae, but we are indeed the rarest breed of vampire.”

  “And you,” she said, her eyes now glued to my face. “The camphelem. I should have felt you coming from miles away. Your presence creates the greatest rift in the balance between the realms Astryae has ever known.”

  I lifted my chin. “With all due respect, that is through no fault of my own.”

  “Of course not,” she said with a smile. “You never asked to live. But here you are, and the universe is in chaos nevertheless.”

  “Get on with it, you old bat,” the King grumbled.

  Hemani chuckled, her attention returned to Seth. “Come, dear boy. Bend down and let me see your face.”

  Seth shot Aster and I a pleading glance, but neither of us spoke in his defense. We were both too curious what the woman might do or what strange powers she possessed. When neither of us made a move to help him, Seth folded himself in half and bent down to the old woman’s height.

  Hemani reached out and gripped the sides of his head. Her claws dug into the flesh of his skin. Her eyes rolled back in her skull and disappeared. Strange words in a foreign, guttural tongue flew from her lips in a jumbled mess. Seth cried out, but the woman tightened her grip.

  I had seen enough. I moved forward to yank the woman off Seth, but she released her hold before I reached her. Her body trembled as her eyes returned to normal. “Poor boy. I cannot imagine the suffering you’ve endured. No wonder you spend your days tucked away with a pair of dishonored demons.”

  Seth jerked away. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

  “No, child, your future is vivid. You will never know peace so long as you remain entangled with the demon brothers. If you wish to find any hope of happiness, you must sever the toxic ties of your past.”

  “Sure thing,” Seth said, but his tone made it obvious he wasn’t convinced.

  “Have heart, dear. Change is closer than you realize.” Her business with Seth finished, Hemani turned to Aster. “May I?”

  “I’d rather not—”

  But Hemani had already reached up and grabbed her head before Aster could finish speaking. She yelped and tried to wiggle out of the old woman’s grasp, but Hemani’s magic came with a hidden strength that seemed to hold Aster in place. By the time Hemani released her, sweat trickled down her neck. She gasped for air, her eyes wide with fury.

  “What did you do to me, you bitch?”

  Hemani pursed her lips and shook her head. Her shoulders slumped as if Aster had strapped a weight onto her back. “So much misery, all in the name of power. It led your sister to her destruction, but you can’t stay away from it, can you?”

  Aster paled. “You don’t know—”

  “But I do, child. You showed me.” Hemani’s mouth split into a grin once more. “You’re hurting, but take solace in knowing your magic will return to you.”

  “How?” Aster asked, her voice breaking.

  Hemani shook her head. “Wait for it. Stop chasing the magic and allow it to return to you when fate allows. If you don’t, you’ll lose the only person who has ever loved you for the monster you are.”

  Aster scowled, but the woman had already turned to me. She reached out a hand and said, “Come to Hemani, child. Let us ask the fates what they have in store for you.”

  I had no desire to go anywhere near the creepy old woman. The way her eyes swept over me was enough to make my skin crawl. Every ounce of common sense I had told me to grab Aster and fly her out of the cursed halls of the castle. Viktor would have to save himself. But my feet shuffled forward as if under the woman’s spell. Ambrose gave me a small nod of encouragement. I swallowed and closed my eyes, lowering my head towards her open hands.

  A flash of white-hot pain shot through my skull the moment she touched me. I screamed, but no sound left my open mouth. Images of my life flashed through my head like a row of portraits or photographs, each glimpse no more than a second. My chest ached as the dark magic forced me to relive the worst moments of my life in rapid succession. My lungs burned for air. My knees buckled, my head suddenly woozy.

  When Hemani released me, salty tears streamed down my cheeks. She offered me a sad smile and placed a hand on my arm. “I could only glimpse bits and pieces of your life, dear. From what the spirits told me, you are protected by the power of your mother’s love and selfless sacrifice.”

  I snorted. “Then the spirits don’t know much about my mother.”

  “Oh, they do, daughter of Daeva. And their hearts break for you as much as mine does. But your adventure is far from over, my dear. You are not defined by the sins of your parents.”

  Her kindness left me at a loss for words. When her eyes met mine, I detected no flicker of hatred or disgust. She understood who and what I was and didn’t reject me. In any other setting, I might have cried or thrown my arms around her.

  “What did you see?” I asked instead. “About the war? Do we win?”

  “I need time to commune with the spirits,” she said, her gaze falling to the floor. “The visions—they weren’t clear—”

  Aster groaned. “Time is the one thing we don’t have to spare.”

  “Indeed,” the queen said, her voice clipped. Her hands locked onto her protruding hipbones. “This was fun, but our opinions remain unmoved. The execution shall proceed
at dawn as planned. Now get out of my sight before the rest of you join him.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Aster silenced me with a subtle shake of her head. No matter what I said, the queen had made up her mind. If I pressed too hard, she had the power to ensure I joined him in death. Without some act of divine—or evil—intervention, Viktor’s life expired at sunrise.

  * * *

  We stayed awake the remainder of the night plotting elaborate extractions for Viktor. Each time we settled on a strategy, Seth would perk up to point out some hole in our plan we hadn’t noticed. Most of my strength had replenished with Aster and Seth’s presence, but I didn’t trust my juvenile powers enough to take on a trio of demigods. Not without an infallible plan and a lot of backup.

  Seth and Aster posed as a young married couple long enough to rent a room for us at a hostel in Wyvenmere. Music drifted up through the aged wooden floorboards. Food from the kitchens below perfumed the entire building, the herbal aroma filling me with a hunger for Maryanna’s familiar meat pies and Father’s dining table. A trio of candles flickered in a brass candelabrum on the small wooden desk in the room. We sat piled on the small bed in the center of the room, the fireplace in the corner still unlit.

  “Interesting cast of characters back there,” Seth said once we’d settled in.

  Aster snorted. “I’ll say. Since when did the demigods have an interest in the politics of Astryae?”

  My heart froze, and I prayed I had misheard or misunderstood her. “Demigods?”

  Seth frowned. “That isn’t good. Of all the enemies to make, angels and demons pale in comparison to the wrath of a demigod.”

  I swore under my breath, then took a greedy gulp of stolen wine from the bottle Aster had pilfered from the palace for us to split. When the warm liquid burned its way down my throat, I passed Seth the bottle and wiped my mouth on my arm. “How are you in combat? Aster’s comment earlier was in jest, correct?”

  Seth accepted my offering and winced. “As in physical combat? Trading blows and such?”

  “We aren’t going to outfox the king in a game of marbles,” Aster said with a roll of her eyes. “If his guards catch us, things may get bloody.”

  Seth traced the rim of the bottle with his pointer finger and shook his head. “I wouldn’t say fighting is one of my talents. Never had to much, besides the occasional scuffle with a vagrant or one of my half-siblings. Being undead renders me a bit harder to kill than your average Fey. Not many try their luck.”

  “No wonder you don’t give a damn,” Aster said, snatching the bottle from his hands before he’d taken his turn. Her amber eyes flickered in the candlelight. “Queen Crazy can’t exactly murder what’s already dead, can she?”

  “Is it considered taboo to ask how you died?” I asked. It occurred to me it might not be the best time for such personal questions—Viktor’s execution crept closer with each minute—but the few sips of wine had left my head light.

  Seth scowled. “Some Shadowfey may not mind sharing, but most of us prefer to avoid it. And Queen Moara strikes me as the sort of woman to have already considered that. I’m sure she’ll cook up some unique eternal torture.”

  “Gods, she sounds like my mother,” I said, half in jest. “When did we hand Astryae over to the monsters to rule?”

  Aster took a generous gulp from the bottle, shrugging. “For all we know, the demigods have always ruled in secret. History says law limited the throne to mortals for the first few centuries, but our records are wrong as often as they’re right. After all, the tales are all penned by creatures with emotions and agendas of their own.”

  Seth snorted and leaned back against his chair. “And here I thought I was the most cynical creature in Astryae. Never have I encountered a creature so paranoid she didn’t trust historical texts.”

  Aster smirked and winked. “You’ll thank me for my skepticism later. After we save Viktor and dream up our next bad idea.”

  But no matter how many hours we spent with our heads huddled together, no simple solutions came to mind. Our short trip to the palace revealed it to be more heavily guarded than Shadow City. Zorya, Aster explained, also had the ability to use death magic to drain the life from her enemies with a glance. Never mind the fact that I would have bet my right lung Zorya’s muscular arms could snap Aster in half with no more force than a hug.

  “What if I fly down and swoop him out when they move to execute him?” I asked, my thirteenth suggestion of the night.

  Aster, as she had every other time, shook her head. “The last time you flew, you fell from the sky and injured damn near every bone in your body. Now is the worst possible time to gamble on your wings cooperating.”

  “I’ve got it!” Seth clapped his hands in front of his chest. “We kidnap the executioner and send me in his place.”

  “To do what? Kill him yourself? Once they lead him out of the dungeon, every eye in Wyvenmere will stay on him until the moment life leaves his body. None of us can save him from there.”

  “What better time is there?” I asked. “We can’t get into the dungeons, either. They’d kill us before we ever made it down the first hallway.”

  Aster glanced down at her all-black ensemble. Her nose wrinkled. “We don’t blend in well with the locals, do we? If I had my stave, I could—”

  I reached out and covered her cold hands with my own and squeezed. “We will figure it out. If you believe in nothing else, have faith in us. It might make all the difference.”

  “I doubt a demigod would fall for it, anyway,” she said with a small, sad smile. “Their powers extend far beyond anything I can do.”

  I drummed my fingers against my thigh. We had run out of booze, which only increased my frustration. I raked my fingers through the tangled knots of my hair. My hands trembled. Viktor’s life couldn’t end here. Not like this.

  Until my eighteenth birthday, I had grown up with the belief I was nothing more than another weak, powerless woman trapped in a man’s world. Father or one of his hired hands had made most of my decisions for me. I’d always assumed I knew the ending to my life’s story: Father would marry me off to whatever man he deemed suitable. I’d spend the rest of my days with no power or voice, confined to a house like a common prisoner unless escorted to the market by my husband or a trusted associate of his.

  “How is it possible,” I asked, my voice shaking, “the three of us possess powers strong enough to bring the forces of the angels and demons down our backs, but we are still powerless to save Viktor?”

  Aster shook her head. “Have you not heard a word we’ve said, Lili? They. Are. Gods. No matter how strong we may fancy ourselves, our powers will do nothing to protect us against theirs.”

  A sharp knock at the door caused me to choke on my response. Aster and Seth exchanged panicked glances. She held up a finger and motioned for us to remain quiet. She crept from the bed and tiptoed over towards the thin wooden door. “Who is it?”

  “Excuse me.” A throat cleared from the other side. “If you’ll excuse my intrusion, I can assist in saving your friends.”

  Aster’s hands trembled as she pushed the door open. The younger man from the palace—presumably the High Prince—stood a few feet away, his hands pinned behind his back. He’d changed out of the elegant robes and golden shoes he’d worn at the palace. Instead, a simple pair of trousers and a thick jacket covered his lean, defined body. In the dim light of the room, no one would spare the prince a second glance. He stood out no more than any other patron in the hostel.

  “Why should we trust you?” Seth asked before I had time to recover myself. “Are you not a demigod?”

  “I am. But Hemani’s visions have yet to fail us. If she says it’s important to fate for the boy to live, live he shall.”

  “How?” I asked, afraid to allow myself to hope. “How can we save him?”

  The prince leaned in and smiled. “Allow me to fetch another bottle of booze and fill you in on the plan.”

  CHAPTER TWEN
TY-FIVE

  Divide and Conquer

  The wrong decision is often the easiest to make.

  -The Sacred Texts, 6:45

  “What a bloody fine mess this is.” Jett scowled. “If this is the state of the world today, it’s best Astryae burns.”

  Viktor sighed and leaned back against the cold stone wall of his cell. Jett sat on the ground across from him, his legs outstretched in front of him. They hadn’t spoken much outside of the occasional grunt since the guards had tossed them in the dungeons. Viktor wanted to blame the two guards positioned outside the cell, but Jett had been anything but subtle about his anger.

  Of all the unpleasant places Viktor had visited, the dungeons of Wyvenmere had soared close to the top of the list. The slow, steady drip of water from a cell further down the row threatened to drag him into madness. Stale vomit and mold filled his nostrils with each breath. Thick iron bars imprisoned them, the other cells empty. A single torch hung against the wall outside their cell and illuminated only the immediate area.

  “They broke their own rules,” Viktor said for the third time since their capture. He massaged his temples, but the pounding behind his eyes didn’t ease. “How could I predict the goddess of justice and order would do something so unreasonable?”

  “Moara is a demigod, not some naïve peasant girl. She knows we let the Avian escape. And now she plans to execute us for a mistake I warned you against.”

  Viktor hung his head towards his chest. Did they deserve it? Anyone on the outside would have a difficult time dismissing a decision from the demigods as unjust. Perhaps Moara had seen through their noble intentions to the buckets of blood on their hands. Demons or not, the gods tended to frown upon murder performed in cold blood. Maybe an execution was no less than the price they deserved to pay for their sins.