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

by Kyra Quinn

  “I am sorry,” Jett said with a heavy sigh. “I would have never accepted the dukaz if I didn’t believe in our ability to come out on top. I never meant to put your life in danger.”

  “It isn’t your fault. No one forced me to come here and help you with the King.”

  “I did my damnedest to convince you to follow me.”

  Viktor hadn’t forgotten, but why rub Jett’s nose in his mistake? They had both made enough bad decisions in the past week to last a lifetime. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced towards the thick iron bars of the cell. “Remiel trained me not to allow my emotions to influence my decisions. I should have known better than to make the mistake I did tonight.”

  “You pitied them. It’s an understandable reaction. Had we kept our promise, the queen would have taken Lady Iris’s life instead.”

  “She didn’t deserve to die for a reckless mistake,” Viktor said, though his tone lacked the conviction it had held earlier in the evening. “Iris’s actions were reckless, but they didn’t come from a place of malice. The Avians share their souls with birds. They value nothing more than freedom.”

  Jett nodded. “I have plenty of experience with the Avians. Clan Sova and Clan Kinzhal didn’t always have the best relationship. Where our clan emphasized the importance of family and loyalty, Clan Sova idealized the individual and their personal liberties and journey. It caused more than a little tension when it came to writing the laws. Had we left it up to Clan Sova, the clans wouldn’t exist today.”

  Viktor had encountered a handful of Avians over the years, but he’d never bothered to research the other clans much. With Clan Kinzhal out of the picture and his new home far from Starbright, he’d never found a reason to care much about their history or affairs. With Jett’s explanation, his mistake stood out to him like streaks of blood against the snow. He propped his elbow against his knee and cradled his head in his hand to hide his face.

  “Do you think the people know their King is a demigod?” Jett asked, leaning his head back against the wall.

  Viktor shrugged. “Not sure it matters much either way. The Fey may have moved away from religion, but most of the passives are still devout followers. They’d rally around the royals more if they realized divinity sat on the throne.”

  “It’s mad how the passives pick and choose what they regard as divine. We blow through countless resources on Temples and statues we decree holy in the name of the gods. They worship angels and ignore the fact that shapeshifters are blessed with the blood of Anja in their veins.”

  Anja shouldn’t have turned us into monsters if she wanted the world to accept us. But Viktor didn’t voice the words. It was bad enough to doubt their patron goddess in the recesses of his mind. To speak such betrayal into existence would score him no points in the afterlife.

  “Do you fear it?” Viktor asked. “The afterlife?”

  Jett shook his head. “Whatever is waiting for us is what we have earned through our actions here in Astryae. I’d like to think I did enough good deeds in Anja’s name to escape an eternity of torment in the Shadowrealm.”

  Viktor hadn’t noticed any souls being tormented during his time on the other side of the veil—no deceased souls, anyway—but he also hadn’t spent much time exploring the land of the damned. Then again, he’d spent no time in the Gardens. For all he knew, an eternity there offered equal misery.

  Footsteps appeared in the hallway. Viktor and Jett both jerked up as two pairs of boots stopped in front of their cell. Four guardians stood on the other side, each armed with an elegant sword holstered to their hips. They glared at Viktor and Jett with unconcealed disdain.

  “It is time,” a deep voice boomed from the guard in the center. “Sunrise is minutes away now.”

  A key slid into the lock, and the iron door gave a sharp squeal as the guards wrenched it open. Two stepped into the cell towards him and Jett. The guard grabbed his arms and ripped him to his feet. His thin lips curled into a sinister smile.

  “Let’s go upstairs and send you to meet your makers.”

  * * *

  The guards marched Viktor and Jett through up the stone staircase and through the twisted corridors. They surrounded Viktor and Jett from all sides, two in front and two behind in case either of them attempted anything rash. Their footsteps echoed through the hallways like the drums of battle. Viktor’s heart hammered against his ribs so hard he wondered if it might burst free or run out of stamina before they reached their destination. He stole a glance outside one of the windows they passed. The blushed sky threatening sunrise tightened his throat.

  “Excuse me,” a familiar voice cut into the rhythmic march, and the butterflies in Viktor’s stomach fluttered with a hope he didn’t dare to acknowledge, “but I’d like a word with the prisoners before they meet their fate.”

  Their procession came to a sharp halt. One of the guards in front rubbed the back of his neck and exchanged a panicked glance with the other.

  “Your Highness, I’m not sure your mother would approve—”

  “Don’t concern yourself about my mother,” Ambrose said, his eyes narrow as he glared at the guard. He cracked his knuckles against his hand. “Worry more about how you’ll support your family if you’re dismissed from your post. Or worse.”

  “Of course, Y-Your Highness,” the guard stammered, stepping away from where they stood captive. “Say whatever you need. We can wait.”

  Ambrose lifted his chin and let his pale blue eyes wander around the hallway. When the guards didn’t take the hint, he huffed and folded his arms over his chest. “Alone, gentlemen. I wish to speak to the prisoners in private before their execution.”

  The corners of Viktor’s lips tugged as he watched the guards’ eyes nearly fall from their sockets. Sweat dripped down their foreheads in sheets. All seemed to sense the High Prince had questionable intentions, but all also knew disobeying them could mean losing their jobs or lives.

  After a pregnant pause, the first guard spoke. “Of course, Your Highness. We will wait for the prisoners in the south hall when you’re ready. Take your time, of course. But not too much. Your mother—”

  “I can handle my mother,” Ambrose said through gritted teeth. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  They stood silent until the guards rounded the corner and their footsteps disappeared down the hallway. Ambrose pursed his lips and waited for their footsteps to fade. He leaned in inches from Viktor’s face. His lips split into a conspiratorial grin. “You two look like shit. No sleep in the dungeons I take it?”

  “What’s this about?” Jett demanded, eying the prince with open skepticism.

  Ambrose pouted. “That’s no way to speak to the man here to save you.”

  “Save us?” Viktor’s body tensed, afraid to give into hope only for it to explode in his face once more. “How? Has your father changed his mind?”

  “Even if he had, he’d never cross my mother. A few of your friends have arrived to help spring you from the jaws of fate. They’re waiting for you by the servant’s entrance. But we don’t have much time. My mother is expecting the guards to lead you out into the courtyard any second now.”

  Lili. He cautioned his hands to remain steady, but his breath caught in his lungs. Only Lili and Aster could have found them in Wyvenmere. He didn’t know how or why they’d done it, but he didn’t much care at the moment. All that mattered was getting out of the palace before danger consumed them as well.

  “Lead the way,” he told Ambrose. “If we manage to survive this, I will owe you my life.”

  “Yes, well, from what I’ve heard a lot of lives are in your hands. Astryae needs your team to survive.”

  They hurried behind Ambrose down the darkened corridors. Viktor’s feet itched to break into a run, but they stood out as suspicious enough without racing through the halls of the palace. He kept his head down as Ambrose had instructed, careful not to meet anyone’s gaze. One peek at his copper eyes would blow his identity and their chances of escape.
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  “Your girlfriend is a unique flower,” Ambrose said, likely more to normalize their appearance than out of genuine interest in his life. “Not what I expected from the catalyst for the end of times. I’ve found my short time with her...inspirational. Artists spend countless hours praying to Ludas for a muse like her.”

  Viktor didn’t know how to respond. His first reaction was to correct the assumption that he and Lili shared anything more than friendship—well, friendship, a shared sense of obligation to their world, and one drunken mistake. But the tone of adoration the prince spoke with made Viktor hesitant to correct him. Whatever Lili had done, she’d left a lingering impression on Ambrose.

  “The gate is up ahead,” Ambrose said when they rounded a corner, relieving Viktor of the pressure of finding a response. “A little further—”

  “Is there a reason you’ve taken our prisoners to the wrong gate, son?” a deep voice boomed from behind.

  The three of them froze. Ambrose turned slowly, his face ashen. “Father. I can explain—”

  “Check outside the gate and bring me anyone you find lurking,” the king ordered Zorya, who stood a few feet behind him with her sword in her hands. “We can always add more executions to our morning.”

  “Father—”

  “Silence!” King Dyius roared. “I will deal with you after, Ambrose. Take these prisoners to the courtyard or join them on the execution block.”

  Zorya shot Viktor an apologetic glance, then spun on her heels and marched back the way she’d come. Viktor opened his mouth to call after her, to plead with her to allow Lili to live, but his voice caught in his throat. King Dyius’s lip curled over his teeth and shot them a poisonous glare. He followed after Zorya without another word.

  “Fuck!” Ambrose roared after his father disappeared. He slammed his fist against the wall, his face twisted. “You have my sincerest apologies, gentlemen. Mother may take my head for this.”

  Viktor and Jett said nothing. Ambrose marched them back down the hall towards the proper gate, his shoulders slumped. He wanted to pity the High Prince, but panic smothered his empathy. Lili and Aster had tried to rescue him, and it had cost them their lives. For the first time since the queen announced her verdict, relief at the finality of death filled his chest. At least he wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of his mistakes any longer.

  * * *

  “My people,” King Dyius beckoned to the sea of people gathered in the courtyard. Viktor braced himself for a lengthy speech to rally the support of his patrons, but the King hiccupped. The pink apples of his cheeks and stumble in his step suggested he had already gotten half-drunk. “These sorry excuses for men stand before you today accused of treason and the impediment of your Queen’s laws. How do you, the people, find them?”

  The guards had positioned the five of them—Viktor, Jett, Lili, Aster, and a lanky young man Viktor didn’t recognize—in a row on a wooden platform hovering several inches above the crowd of spectators. A man cloaked in a thick black robe stood in front of the two rope nooses strung from a high wooden beam behind them. Viktor’s mouth burned with the desire to apologize to Lili and Aster for involving them in his mess, but the King standing on the platform a few feet away forced him to swallow the words. Pink and orange rays of light peeked through dark clouds threatening rain.

  “Guilty!” the mob cried, their eyes wild and faces ravenous. “Guilty! Guilty!”

  King Dyius raised a hand to quiet them. “As do we, my fine people. With your blessings, I sentence these traitors to death! Let the hanging commence!”

  The crowd erupted into a chorus of cheers. Viktor’s stomach churned. The angels had a point, however small, about how corrupt their society had become. King Dyius had provided the bloodthirsty mob with no details of their alleged crimes, but they didn’t notice or care. If the morning ended with bodies swinging from ropes, they’d go home satisfied until the next set of public murders.

  “Wait!”

  The crowd shuffled until it split in two, a narrow path cleared in the center. Ambrose marched through the sea of bodies towards the gallows. Hemani trailed behind him, her unkempt hair bouncing with each step.

  “Have you lost your mind?” King Dyius sputtered, his blush deepening. “I should hang you with them for this treason—”

  “Father!” Ambrose roared, his voice echoing through the courtyard. King Dyius fell silent. “The prisoners still had time left in their dukaz, and Hemani’s spiritual nonsense has finished working itself out. Listen to what she has to say before you make a decision you’ll forever regret.”

  King Dyius snorted. “You think I care about some war between the realms? Or that we need these duplicitous bastards to save us? If trouble finds Astryae, we will handle it as we always do.”

  “Listen to her!” Ambrose pleaded, his hands in front of his chest. “This is your only chance to do the right thing.”

  Lili lifted her head, her mouth covered in blood where someone had hit her. She locked eyes with the King, and Viktor’s heart raced. “We are guilty of nothing more than trying to protect our homes and the innocent people who live there. If that is what passes for treason these days, the world truly has gone mad.”

  “Your Majesty,” Hemani said, stepping through the dirt closer towards the gallows. “I would not risk appearing before you if I didn’t think this news would please you. I pray you’ll give me a chance to deliver it.”

  King Dyius lifted a bushy brow and stroked his chin. He glanced towards the crowd who whispered and waited eagerly for the king to make his decision. He studied a few of their faces, then groaned. “Very well. What is it, madwoman?”

  “Not out loud.” Hemani’s eyes darted towards Viktor and the others. “If they know what waits in their future, it could change their actions and the outcome. May I have permission to tell you in private, Your Grace?”

  King Dyius hesitated. “Be quick with it. These fine people are still waiting for us to carry out justice.”

  Hemani scurried up the wide wooden steps to his side. She stood on her tiptoes and cupped her hand over her mouth as she whispered in the king’s ear. Viktor strained his ears, but he could only catch the occasional hushed word. He heard his own name mentioned, then Lili’s, but none of the rest of the words made sense when he attempted to string them together. When King Dyius lifted his head, his eyes twinkled.

  “And you’re certain?”

  Hemani offered a warm smile. “As certain as I am of my own name. Their fates are written in the stars.”

  King Dyius blinked. “After all this time…”

  Lili’s eyes darted between the King and Viktor, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, but Aster shook her head. Viktor didn’t recognize the scrawny man on the end, which seemed a shame if they were to die together.

  “If you kill them now, none of this will ever come to pass,” Hemani warned. “But if you spare them, so long as the other wolf doesn’t screw anything up, you can count on that seed blossoming by the year’s end.”

  King Dyius turned to his guards. “Release them from their chains. There will be no execution here today.”

  He marched over to where they stood as the guards removed the shackles from their wrists and ankles. He rubbed his chin as he studied them, his gaze favoring Lili and Viktor.

  “I’m reversing my vote in the dukaz. Zorya will serve you until whatever war you speak of has ended. I will double the guards’ forces throughout the rest of Astryae and instruct everyone to prepare for an incoming attack.”

  Viktor’s mouth hung open as he struggled to find a response. Whatever the eccentric old woman had whispered into the king’s ear caused a sharp turn in his opinion. But why? What did they know about his future?

  “Queen Moara won’t like this,” King Dyius continued, “and the nobles may complain, but I trust you won’t let me down.”

  “We will try not to,” Jett agreed, rubbing the imprints the cuffs had left around his wrists. “But we
can’t offer any promises. From what we’ve gathered, this war is inevitable.”

  “Yes,” King Dyius agreed, “but war isn’t everything there is to life. If your days are limited, spend them wisely.”

  His words seemed to hold another implication, though he couldn’t guess at it. He had no idea how to interpret half of what he’d witnessed in Wyvenmere.

  King Dyius turned his gaze to Lili. “If the world is in as much danger as you say, I’d suggest you waste no time.”

  Lili’s chest puffed, her gaze still suspicious. “Of course, Your Majesty. We appreciate your benevolence.”

  King Dyius snorted. “You’re as terrible at compliments as my wife. Speaking of, I’d suggest you leave before she realizes things didn’t go to plan. Blessings for your travels, young renegades. Do whatever you must. Save our world.”

  No pressure. Not like Viktor had the literal weight of the world on his shoulders or anything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Impossible Odds

  To speak or act in anger is to murder one’s own chance at happiness.

  -The Sacred Texts, 24:46

  “Is this another trap?” Aster asked. They scurried back through the castle’s dim corridors like rats, the slap of their footsteps echoing against the marble floors. “How did the old woman change the king’s mind with a few whispers?”

  “Do we care?” The tall boy, who no one had bothered to introduce to Viktor or Jett, grumbled from a few steps behind. “As long as I don’t find myself trapped in a box for the next century, I don’t care what the creepy old hag said.”

  Viktor stole a glance at Zorya, who sulked beside him like a child denied a treat. Had she heard whatever Hemani told Dyius? Did she resent the king forcing her to accompany them?

  The more the sky outside lightened and sunlight poured into the open windows, the less imposing the castle itself appeared. The gold and brass frames around the portraits of Astryae’s late royals glittered. Intricate depictions of the gods were painted on the tiles of the arched ceiling. A heavy brass chandelier with a dozen unlit candles dangled from the center. Servants ducked their heads together in whispers and giggles as they passed. Sparrows perched on the stone walls outside sang a welcome to the new morning.