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

by Kyra Quinn

  Lili shook her head and took a small step away. “Not that I can recall.” She bounced on her heels and drummed her fingers against her leg. “The tickle in the back of my throat has returned. Does that mean I’m...hungry?”

  Aster had read plenty of books on Fey and their feeding habits, but she had no practical knowledge of how to advise Lili. She had never experienced a hunger for anything but food. Her mouth fell open, but no wise words followed.

  Luckily, Seth took over when he caught sight of her blank stare. “Possibly. You also have demigod juice inside of you from our time at the castle, and that’s bound to give you some restless energy to burn. Aster and I’s presence may help to temper it, but you’ll need to feed to replenish yourself.”

  Lili winced and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Will it...will anyone die?”

  “Not unless you desire it. Once you understand how to feed, you’ll also understand how to control it and use it to your advantage. Of course, first we must figure out what exactly you feed on…”

  Aster glanced down at her soiled dress and wrinkled her nose. She’d wager a guess all Carramar had smelt their arrival. “Why don’t you two set to work on solving that mystery while I soak for a spell and change out of these rags?”

  No one had to ask Lili twice. She turned to Seth and broke into a grin stretching to her eyes. “Do you mind?”

  “Mind?” Seth laughed. “I love an excuse to dance and connect with new acquaintances. Come, love. Let’s teach you how to focus your feeds.”

  Aster gave a small wave, and Seth dragged Lili out of the kitchen and back out the front door. They soon disappeared and left her alone. Comfort didn’t come. She leaned against the sink and cradled her head in her hand. If they were humanity’s best hope, the world was doomed.

  * * *

  When Seth and Lili first set off, a physical weight lifted from the center of Aster’s chest. She stood in her altar room, alone for what felt like the first time in months and exhaled a sound of relief. Finally, for at least a moment, she could hear her own thoughts.

  Not that she didn’t care for Lili and Seth as much as she ever had any of the mages in the coven. Lili had become like a sister to her, and Seth’s talents with people and animals impressed her more than she’d ever admit. But she had moved to Carramar and found her own space for a variety of reasons. At least fifty percent of those reasons centered on the privacy and silence she craved. Neither came easily in communal spaces.

  Her contentment only lasted for minutes. She leaned against the mezzanine and cradled her head in her hands. The quiet had its advantages, but loneliness always found her. It normally took a few days longer to reach her, but the ambrosia and mistweed had ripened her for an emotional outpour.

  “Goddess help us all,” she whispered into the empty room. Madre’s voice appeared in the back of her head, a fleeting whisper reminding her prayers were stronger when directed to a particular god or goddess. But which goddess had her coven prayed to? She hadn’t humbled herself enough to grovel for the gods’ attention in years. Not that anyone would hear her pleas or care. She had prayed for her sister’s safe return every night for seven months after her capture. No one ever answered. As far as Aster could tell, no one cared.

  If Astryae had no better hope than a group of misfit Fey and a vampire, Aster didn’t have much confidence in their odds of success. They had survived the Shadowrealm on sheer dumb luck alone. No one could dance around disaster forever. If they continued to press their luck, the reapers would come ferry them all back to the Shadowrealm. Escape was impossible without a body to return to.

  She moved to grab a book from the table, but a sharp stab through the center of her chest forced her to her knees. Her breath came in ragged waves. Her body trembled. Sweat dripped from her face like raindrops. Her head spun, her vision blurry.

  The amulet. She had almost forgotten she’d slipped it over her neck. Madre had warned her of the dangers of borrowing the dark magic to supplement her own. Her hands shook as she reached for the thin chain hidden beneath her dress.

  When her fingers touched the metal, however, her flesh sizzled. She yelped and jerked her hand back. Angry red blisters bubbled on her fingertips as if she’d reached into a fire. She couldn’t bring herself to think about what her chest had to look like, let alone what it had done to her soul.

  Aster’s brain flipped into panic-mode. She dragged herself across the mezzanine towards her altar, the pain increasing with every movement. She gritted her teeth and reached her arm up for the table and fumbled for her books. One of them had to know how to remove the cursed amulet. If she didn’t figure out how to get it off, she could feel the dark magic threatening to take her over.

  “Come...on...come on,” she growled through clenched teeth. Her hand brushed over her knife and candles, the almost empty matchbook and the crystal she’d used to track Lili. The books, however, remained out of reach. Her fingertips grazed the cracked spines, but she didn’t have the strength left to push herself up higher. She crumpled to the floor and groaned.

  The warmth continued to spread through her body. It moved from her chest up her neck and into her face, down her legs until it reached her toes. The pain disappeared after a few moments, but the warmth remained like the embrace of a warm bath.

  So this is what it’s like to die. She didn’t know how she’d expected it to feel. She had ended more than a few lives, but she had never put much time into pondering her own end. She had hoped for something more noble and praise-worthy, but she knew what she deserved better than anyone. The warm fade into oblivion struck her as a kindness.

  Faces flashed before her eyes, glimpses of moments reduced to memories. Morrigan smiling over her shoulder and blowing her a kiss until the butterflies in her stomach all fluttered their wings at once. Lili, and her childlike excitement about magic that Aster had always both admired and envied. Strong but gentle Viktor and the way he’d dug his paws in and refused to allow her to harm a child under any circumstances. Madre’s scowl as she criticized every life choice Aster had ever made.

  But it was Chay’s name on her lips when her world went dark. Her sister flashed a devious smile, and Aster followed her into the darkness.

  * * *

  “If this is the afterlife, this is a bigger disappointment than my existence.” Aster folded her arms over her chest. “What is this? Where are we?”

  She had expected to find herself in the pits of the Shadowrealm, hopefully with Chay by her side. Instead, Aster woke to find herself surrounded by vibrant red canyons. Water gushed down a waterfall above and into a wide river to her right. The sun sat high overhead, the glare blinding.

  Hemani took a step forward and scowled. “I have had my eye on you since we met, mage. That necklace of yours holds an ancient, dark magic best not trifled with.”

  “So I noticed.” Aster scoffed. She did her best not to betray any sign of emotion, but her voice cracked when she spoke. “Am I dead?”

  Hemani grimaced. “Not yet, no. You aren’t far from it, but you have some powerful allies on the other side.”

  “My sister?”

  “Your ancestors, dear. You descend from a long and proud line of blood mages, many of whom pushed the envelope in their own ways during their lifetimes. When the time is right for you to join them, they will welcome you with open arms. But not yet. Not when you and your friends still have so much left to accomplish.”

  “Do we win?” Aster asked.

  “I cannot say with certainty. The visions I glimpse of the future are never guarantees, but possibilities. I can only tell you that your role is far from over, Aster Morelli. If you want to live long enough to fulfill your destiny, you must stop with these reckless decisions. You are not your sister, and it’s time you stop mimicking her bad behaviors.”

  Aster shifted her weight and dropped her gaze to the red dirt. “How did you know?”

  “I saw it when I touched you, dear. As soon as you three left, I returned to my cha
mbers and contacted the spirit realm to ask them to watch over you.”

  A million questions buzzed through Aster’s head. Did Hemani mean The Elysian Gardens? Or the Shadowrealm? If her ancestors were half as ruthless as she and Chay, she had a feeling they didn’t find a home with the angels in the afterlife.

  “What do I need to do?” she asked.

  “Return the stolen necklace and cleanse yourself of its darkness as best you can. Learn to find your strength in more meaningful ways. You won’t get another second chance at life, child.”

  It sounded like the sort of thing Madre would say. Out of all the conversations she wished she could avoid, the apology she owed her mother ranked high on the list. She couldn’t remember what all she’d done wrong, only that she had upset Madre more times than she cared to count.

  “When I tried to remove the necklace, it burned my fingers. I have no idea how to get it off.”

  “The amulet fuses to its owner until the person relinquishes its power.”

  A chill spread down Aster’s body despite the sun’s generous warmth. “You realize that tells me nothing, right? The damn thing is sewn to my neck.”

  “Therefore we don’t play with powers we don’t understand. You need to place your hand over the amulet and verbally relinquish the power. Only then will the chain release.”

  The simplicity of her explanation made Aster’s cheeks warm. How had she not thought of such a thing herself? Verbal incarnations were the mortar that held most spell-work together. “That’s it?”

  Hemani offered a gentle smile. “Don’t skip the cleansing rituals. This darkness lingers long after you’ve purged yourself of the initial source. And stay away from forbidden artifacts.”

  “Where are we?” she asked with a skeptical glance towards the waterfall. “I don’t recognize this place.”

  “I’d hope not.” Hemani chuckled. “You’re in limbo. The world between worlds. The endless empty. This is where those with no soul to claim go when they die.”

  “This is the in-between?” Aster asked. She rubbed her arm as if in response to a sudden chill. “It’s sunnier than I imagined it.”

  “Don’t underestimate it. The sun only disappears for an hour each night. Here, there is no one and nothing. You are stranded alone with your own thoughts for the rest of eternity. Some refer to death as the great equalizer, but they’re wrong. Death plays favorites.”

  A lump formed in Aster’s throat, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn’t imagine ranking high on anyone’s list of favorites. Even Madre had preferred Chay. “How do I get back to Carramar?”

  “Close your eyes and wait for the pain to return. When it does, remove the necklace and get rid of it.”

  It sounded almost too simple, but she had nothing to lose by trying. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited, eager. A gentle breeze brushed her skin. The vibrant sun burned red against her closed eyelids. The ground beneath her feet spun until her stomach cramped. Her feet lifted from the ground until Aster found herself in the darkness once more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Repentance

  It is better to earn forgiveness than to beg for it.

  -The Sacred Texts, 1:19

  The week-long trip from Wyvenmere to Starbright had felt like the longest and loneliest journey of Viktor’s life. He shifted into wolf form the moment he reached the forest outside of Wyvenmere, eager to escape the relentless chattering of his thoughts. He should have never trusted the queen, should have never agreed to do her bidding under any circumstances. Now he had no choice but to finish what he started.

  As a wolf, the weight of his human guilt blew away as the wind whipped through his fur. The heaviness in his chest lifted. He no longer cared about Jett’s deception or the queen, or anything but the frozen soil beneath his paws as he ran. His brain didn’t purge his human memories, but it forced them to the back of his mind, behind survival and hunger and the visceral sensations of his body. For the moment, at least, he could turn his thoughts off and exist as one with the universe.

  But the peace couldn’t last forever, and it didn’t. Dread crept into his body and slowed his limbs the moment he crossed into the woods outside of Starbright. Ice crunched beneath his paws, and his thick coat of fur did little to protect him against the blistering winds. He peered up at the inky sky, and once more he wondered if he’d made a mistake in returning home.

  Home. The word echoed through his mind as he prowled through the frozen forest. Too many years to count had passed since the last time he thought of Starbright as home. Even in his human form and mind, he had few memories of the place outside of the ones that came to him in his nightmares. He didn’t imagine he’d find it much homier in his current circumstances.

  He needed to shift. To straighten his head and come up with some plan. He had never thought to ask Queen Moara how to win the other wolves over to his side, and now he had no one to ask. Jett was probably sloshed in a tavern in Carramar. Moara had ordered Zorya into the Shadowrealm. For the first time in a long time, Viktor had no one to share the weight of responsibility with. The realization left him apprehensive.

  Clothing and shelter needed to take priority. His wolf form could withstand the bitter temperatures, but he had no desire to spend another night exposed to the elements. He’d rest for the night and spend the following day focused on finding allies.

  Viktor had no close allies in Starbright, nowhere he could turn to ask for help. So he followed the only path he knew through the woods. The one that led him straight to the gates of what remained of Clan Kinzhal’s tower positioned in the east corner of Starbright. When he reached the gates he froze, his heart pounding in his chest.

  He had no idea what he’d expected to find. No one had lived in the tower since the death of his parents. He had prepared himself for cobwebs and dust, maybe layers of overgrown moss and vines twisting their way up the building. It had never occurred to him he might find the building in the same condition it appeared in his nightmares.

  The stones on the top half of the building were still black where the flames had licked them. Thin wooden boards covered the smashed windows and missing roof. Weeds and tall blades of grass poked through the undisturbed layer of powder in what had once been the gardens. He paused and listened for any signs of movement. Silence answered.

  Viktor’s heart sank. A small part of him had hoped he might find Jett lurking around or Zorya awaiting his arrival. The silence confirmed his isolation. He had no desire to find himself alone with his thoughts, but he had run out of ways to avoid it. He had to face the emptiness of Remiel and Jett’s absences, sober and alone. He had to slow down long enough to grieve Celia’s death.

  He checked the street around him one last time for late night stragglers or guards. When he sensed no one, he clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed. His legs buckled beneath him as his body twitched and convulsed. His thick coat of fur disappeared, replaced by bronze flesh covered in gold ink and goosebumps. Ice stung his bare toes.

  His teeth chattered as he forced the gate open with his shoulder. The metal squealed. He wanted to take his time and study the tower, to stand in the gardens and summon every memory he could of his time spent within its walls. His lack of clothing and the frigid temperature around him, however, had other plans.

  Viktor dashed for the door and prayed no one would notice the naked man bolting through the tower’s grounds. His pace slowed when he reached the front steps. His heart pounded. The massive gold doors stood ajar, as if no one had returned to the tower after the fires ravaged the inside. Not that he believed that for a moment. Any thief worth his salt would have looted the place ages ago.

  A flood of memories rushed him the moment he stepped through the doorway. He pictured a younger version of himself, this one carefree and unburdened by the weight of trauma, laughing as he slid through the marble hallways in a pair of socks his mother had finished knitting hours before. His mother scolded him, but the smile on her heart-sha
ped lips and the twinkle in her eyes exposed her amusement. Tons of people had once filled the hallways at all hours of the night.

  No. Not people. Wolves.

  He wandered through the long-empty corridors, his fingers outstretched to brush against the charred bits of wallpaper left. He recognized the double doors to his parents’ bedchamber in its blackened condition, the spiraled brass doorknobs covered in smears of smoke residue. He couldn’t bring himself to open the doors or step inside, not even long enough to search for something warm to wear. He didn’t have the strength to lay eyes on the bed where he’d once curled up next to his mother for comfort from bad dreams and bumps in the night.

  Home. The word echoed through his mind once more as he stumbled into the room he’d once called his. The bed still sat unmade in the center of the room. A handful of toys littered the floor. Despite the fire’s damage to the rest of the tower, his bedchamber appeared untouched by the destruction or the passage of time.

  He lumbered towards the bed, the mattress now too short and narrow to fit his adult frame. He curled his knees into his chest until his body formed a small ball, pulling the thin blanket over his chest and arms. No matter how many nightmares plagued his sleep, his body and mind demanded rest. As arduous as his journey had been, the real work had yet to begin.

  * * *

  When the sun broke through the cracks between the boards on the windows and ceiling the following morning, Viktor pulled himself to his feet and trudged into town with as much determination as he could summon. The knots in his stomach twisted and tightened with each step through the snow. How did Moara expect him to convince strangers to give up their way of life? How could he convince them to follow him into a battle they may never return from?

  The streets of Starbright were packed with Feyfolk and passives. Shopkeepers flipped over their signs and opened their doors. A heavy chemical perfume lingered in the surrounding air, and Viktor’s nose wrinkled as it burned his nostrils. It took him a moment to notice the guards positioned at every street corner. His eyes squinted until the five rings engraved on their breastplate faded into view. Not King Dyius’s guard. The Clans.