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

by Kyra Quinn

  “You were right,” she said, her head hung towards her chest. “I’ve performed three cleansing spells, but I can still feel traces of the darkness within me.”

  Madre scoffed. “Good luck ridding yourself of it with a simple cleansing spell. I don’t warn you against things to ruin your fun. Magics far more dangerous than blood magic exists, and the price to use them is far greater.”

  “So I noticed,” she said, rubbing her chest. Horror spread through her as realization struck her like a hammer to the head. “Blood magic requires me to trade slivers of my soul. What did the magic from the necklace cost?”

  Madre’s face darkened. “Slivers of your memory. I can’t say which ones the amulet took, and since they’re gone from your mind, you won’t know. But each spell the amulet aided in stole another memory. Eventually, you’d forget your own name.”

  Aster sucked in a sharp breath. “And I can’t recover them?”

  “They don’t belong to you anymore.” Madre gave her a smile, but her eyes shimmered with tears. “They belong to Katix now.”

  “Why?” She reached into her pocket and pulled the amulet out, careful to pinch the chain between her index finger and thumb. The tear-shaped gemstone dangled towards the floor. “What use does a necklace have for memories?”

  “It once belonged to a demigod. Katix, the goddess of time and memory. She used the amulet to store the memories she took from her patrons and enemies alike.”

  “Why is her necklace here? Where is she?” Aster asked, dread twisting her stomach at the thought of facing off against another demigod so soon.

  But Madre shook her head. “No one knows for sure. Most people believe they returned to the Elysian Gardens ages ago and left it behind.”

  Her hands trembled as she dropped the amulet into Madre’s hands. “She can keep her dark magic. I’ve sampled enough of it to know I’m not much of a fan.”

  “What is happening to you, Aster?” Madre asked, her voice breaking. “You’ve always had a rebellious streak, but never like this. You’ve never stolen from me and lied to my face.”

  “I know.” Aster chewed the skin on her bottom lip. “I take no pride in what I did. It’s a long story, and I can’t explain everything now, but I had a minor issue with my soul gem. When I stole the amulet, I’d hoped it might hold me over until I figured out a way to access my own powers again. It was a mistake, but I didn’t have any other ideas. Without my powers, I felt naked. Helpless. I’m weak.”

  Madre’s expression softened. “No, Aster, you’re a mage. To separate us from our powers is to cut a flower from its roots. But I’ve cautioned you your entire life about what happens to mages who reach for too much power, or power they’re not owed. With your sister gone, I’d expect you to exercise more caution in what magics you attempt to wield. Any of them could carry you to destruction.”

  “This is about far more than my self-righteous quest for power, Madre. The fate of the world is at stake, and I can do little to influence it without access to magic. I’d explain more if I had the time, but I must get back and make sure Lili is all right. But when all this is over, I promise you won’t still consider me the family disappointment.”

  Thick tears rolled down Madre’s face. “Oh, Aster. I have never once thought anything like that about you. I only wish you’d make better choices with your life.”

  Aster leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her mother, the embrace awkward after years of hostility and detachment. She ran a hand over Madre’s brittle hair. “Have faith in me. I may not always make the best choices, but I have the best intentions in mind. I’ll come back soon, all right?”

  “You won’t,” Madre scoffed, but Aster could hear the smile in her voice. “Not unless you need something.”

  “What girl doesn’t need her mother sometimes?” She gave Madre’s shoulders a final squeeze, then detached and turned to leave.

  “Take care of yourself, Aster,” her mother called after her. “And no more playing with dark magic!”

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said, not turning around. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

  She made her way back out into the cemetery, her chest heavy. For years she’d demonized her mother, told herself she had nothing in common with the woman who’d given birth to her. But for as many differences as they held, they shared far more similarities than their amber eyes or the narrow, upturned shape of their nose. And despite her countless flaws, her mother still loved her.

  She found Remiel propped against a broken headstone. His eyebrows rose when he spotted her, his ocean eyes twinkling with curiosity.

  “Are we all set, then?”

  Aster lifted a brow. “I’m surprised you didn’t suggest we search out Viktor while we’re here. Clan Kinzhal’s tower is only an hour north from here.”

  “No.” The firmness in Remiel’s voice took her by surprise. “I am confident Viktor will find us when he is finished with his business with the clans.”

  She bit her lip. Her eyes flickered between Remiel and the outline of the city behind him. She had a strong suspicion she had missed something, but Remiel’s furrowed brows and tight lips suggested it wasn’t the best occasion to ask. She gave a weak nod. “All right. Let’s head back to Carramar before the next disaster arrives at our door.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Role Models

  When the shapeshifters asked Anja how they could repay her for her gifts, the goddess replied, “Honor me with your words and actions, and die a noble death. This is all the gratitude I require.”

  -The Sacred Texts, 141:34

  The idea came to Jett in the middle of the night. Viktor found himself pulled from a deep slumber by rough hands gripping his shoulders, his body jerking back and forth. He snapped open his eyes to find Jett’s face inches from his own, his eyes glistening with excitement.

  “I figured it out,” he said, breathless. “How you can convince the others to come back to the clan.”

  “How?” Viktor murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. The sting of his shoulders was the only thing convincing Viktor he hadn’t dreamed the conversation up.

  “Three of our people are imprisoned in the dungeons beneath Clan Sova’s tower. We need to break them out.”

  Viktor blinked, but the surrounding darkness remained. He couldn’t be certain he’d heard Jett, or that he wasn’t in the grips of some bizarre dream. What reason did they have to release three prisoners from their cells? Why would anyone show them gratitude for such an act? And what good did it do to create tension between the clans so soon?

  “The men in question held high ranks within Clan Kinzhal. If we secure their freedom, it will go a long way towards proving you have the clan’s best interest in mind.”

  Viktor exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. A swarm of questions flooded his mind, and some spilled from his mouth. “What are their crimes? What happened to the peace guaranteed by the accords?”

  “They only apply to the clans. Clan Kinzhal is no more, so the accords cannot protect the wolves.”

  Viktor swore under his breath. He had convinced himself for many years the wolves were better for his absence, that he had done the right thing in leaving with Remiel and never returning to the scene of his parents’ murders. But everywhere he turned, new evidence of his selfishness and the consequences of his actions waited to confront him. How could he blame the wolves for their contempt and disbelief?

  Jett had never answered the other half of his question, but he didn’t press the issue. It didn’t matter what the men had done wrong. If he had stayed in Starbright and done his duty, the wolves would have had protection from the other clans and their devious politics.

  “How do we do it?” he asked. “And when?”

  “Now.” Jett leaned into his field of vision, his lips pulled into a manic grin. “Clan Sova does most of their hunting at night. The tower should be empty.”

  “Should be? Shouldn’t we take a night or two to scope
the place out before we break in?”

  “No. Their sense of smell is almost as keen as ours. The moment they catch our scent they’ll prepare for attack. We need to strike like lightning.”

  Viktor sat up and rubbed his face. Alarm bells rang through his skull, but he disregarded them with a shake of his head as he struggled to clear his thoughts. A sane person would refuse Jett. His plan—or lack thereof—was reckless. Risky. But Viktor had run out of time to dwell on the high probability of their failure.

  “Give me a moment to wake up,” he said. “We’ll depart as soon as I’ve changed into something less conspicuous.”

  Jett opened his mouth, but they both went stiff as heavy footsteps appeared in the hallway outside his door. Viktor’s heart raced. He had no weapons nearby, no way to defend himself unless he shifted forms. How had anyone found them? Did one of the wolves he’d spoken to decide to seek vengeance?

  “Viktor?” a deep but feminine voice called.

  The knots in Viktor’s chest loosened. His pulse slowed as he wiped away the sweat near his hairline. Zorya. She’d returned.

  “King Dyius’s babysitter has located us,” Jett grumbled with a scowl. “This should make things more interesting.”

  Viktor didn’t loathe Zorya tagging along the way he had initially. If he and Jett planned to break into yet another dungeon and leave with their lives, a third set of hands struck him as a stroke of good fortune. He didn’t trust Zorya any more than Jett did, but they could use her help.

  He sprang from the bed and hurried towards the door Jett had left open behind him. He poked his head out into the hallway and called out, “Over here. Jett and I are in the west wing.”

  Zorya appeared around the corner a few moments later, her sword clutched between her hands. Shadows shrouded the hallways in darkness. Her multicolored eyes darted around the ruins as if waiting for the walls to cave in around them. She had pulled her wavy locks into an intricate mess of braids pinned to the back of her head. When she saw him, her mouth twisted into a frown.

  “The wolves left this place long ago. Why are you here?”

  Viktor shrugged. “Plotting. Trying to figure out the best way to bring them back home. How did you find me?”

  “Your fallen friend suggested I search here first.”

  His heart raced. “Remiel? Is he—”

  “He’s fine,” Zorya said, her voice short. “He joined the rest of your friends in Carramar.”

  “Why? Why didn’t you bring him here with you?”

  “He thought it might not help your cause to arrive with the person who stole you away from your pack all those years ago.”

  Viktor clenched and unclenched his fist. Remiel had made the right decision, but that did little to dull the ache of his grief. He had spent so many weeks searching for Remiel. Killed so many demons hoping to find the veil. But now Remiel was free, and the decision to stay away was his own. Did he resent Viktor for abandoning him? Did he hold his failure against him?

  Zorya seemed to sense his thoughts. She placed a hand on his arm and said, “Your friend is fine. They roughed him up down there, but I assessed him myself when we crossed into Astryae. His wounds will heal within a few days. The mental damage may take longer to fade, but he is strong. He said to thank you and tell you how proud he is.”

  Viktor shook his head. It was too much at once to process, let alone string together a proper response. He thanked her for her assistance, then shifted the subject to the mission at hand and forced Remiel to the back of his mind.

  “Your timing is ideal. Jett and I were preparing to leave the tower for a few hours.”

  Zorya’s frown deepened. “At this hour?”

  Jett must have overheard. He stepped out of the doorway and shot Viktor an icy glare. Even in the dead of night, his sword remained strapped against his back. “We plan to free a few prisoners. Interested?”

  Zorya’s eyes flickered between Jett and Viktor. She pressed her lips into a thin line. “Where Viktor goes, I go. That is the vow I made.”

  “To help us?” Jett took a step closer, his nostrils flared. “Or to report back on us to King Dyius?”

  Zorya tilted her chin, her eyes locked on Jett’s. “Whichever you deserve.” She whipped her attention to Viktor and asked, “What is this prison escape you speak of?”

  Viktor shook his head. “It is a waste of time to sit around discussing it, and we’re woefully short on that these days. Why don’t you come with us and find out?”

  Zorya sighed. “If anything happens to me, I will make sure your soul spends eternity in the Shadowrealm being tortured. With that in mind, lead the way.”

  * * *

  “This is the daftest idea you two have come up with yet,” Zorya whispered. Shadows hid her face from view, but Viktor didn’t need to see her to imagine the scowl etched into her features.

  “Talk to Viktor, love. He asked me for a fast way to establish himself here, not a smart one,” Jett hissed back. “I suggested we break them out last night, but he insisted we do things the messy way.”

  Viktor’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t expected Jett and Zorya to rejoice at his suggestion, but their lack of support troubled him all the same. Jett had lectured him on demonstrating strength and cunning, while Zorya had cautioned against drawing unnecessary attention to his presence or goals. It had taken all his willpower, but Viktor dismissed them both. He had to listen to the little whisper in the back of his mind urging him to do the right thing.

  They stood crouched in the trees outside Clan Sova and waited for the dawn to break overhead. Jett and Zorya tapped their fingers against their weapons, both eager for a confrontation. For the third time since their arrival, Viktor’s thoughts drifted to his father and how the great Norrix Kinzhal might have handled such circumstances. Would he break in and retrieved the prisoners as Jett suggested? Or would he agree diplomacy mattered more in the long term?

  A slow rumble of drums sliced through his thoughts like thunder. The hairs on Viktor’s neck rose. He stiffened his posture and strained his ears. His eyes drifted closed as he listened to the muffled rattle of chains and the whispers of the crowd. He snapped his eyes open and said, “Wait here. If I don’t return, tell Queen Moara I did all I could.”

  Jett rolled his eyes. “So melodramatic. Go on, then. Try this your way. When it goes to shit, we’ll be there to save you.”

  He sprinted through the forest, his chest filled with gratitude for the friends he’d made along his journey. It might not save him from his own stupidity, but at least he could die knowing someone valued him aside from Remiel. He had no real strategy after hours of turning the situation over in his mind, and now he had no time left to string one together. He had no choice but to hope Remiel had taught him to sell himself well enough to convince a clan full of Avians.

  Clan Sova’s grounds were filled with people, mostly Avians but a few other types of Fey littered throughout. A raised wooden platform stood in the center. Three men stood in shackles towards the back of the platform, their wrists and ankles bound by heavy chains and shackles. Dirt covered their sunken faces. The youngest appeared no older than Viktor’s age. He held his chin high, but his wide amber eyes betrayed his terror. In front of them, a shrill woman with a sharp nose wearing a fitted silver gown squawked at the crowd.

  “These men stand before you today accused of murder in cold blood. Witnesses say they stumbled upon these three men covered in blood, gorging themselves on the insides of young Lady Annabelle.”

  Viktor scoffed. “Well, that’s ridiculous. Wolves don’t feed on organs. Only the heart.”

  A sharp silence fell over the crowd. The woman on the platform narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  Viktor stepped closer. “What your witnesses claim makes no sense. Like most Fey, wolves must feed to survive, but they don’t feed on random parts of the human body or flesh. Wolves eat hearts, preferably the ones still warm and filled with blood when we sink our fangs in.” />
  “Who are you?” the Avian snarled. “What do you want?”

  Viktor gave a cold chuckle. “I assumed the second question was obvious by this point: I want you to release these men from their chains. They killed no one. But if they did, the accords prevent their arrest by any clan aside from their own.”

  The low buzz of chatter filled the crowd of onlookers. The Avian woman gave a bitter laugh. “Do you hear yourself? You expect me to release three murderers because you demand it? Absolutely not. Press your luck and I’ll make sure you join them on the executioner’s block.”

  “Where is Lady Iris?” he asked, careful to keep his tone even. He hadn’t wanted to bring her up, not so early into meeting the rest of the pack. “Ask her who I am and what I did for her in Wyvenmere. Clan Sova owes me this favor.”

  “You?” Her brow furrowed. “It’s true, then?”

  “Is she here?” he asked again, scanning the sea of faces for her features.

  The woman shook her head. “Not anymore. She stopped by to collect some of her things yesterday, but she couldn’t stay long. But you can’t be—”

  He took a step closer and dropped into a low bow. “Viktor Kinzhal. I am happy to announce Clan Kinzhal is in the early stages of reformation.”

  A furious whisper flew through the crowd. The Avian woman’s face hardened as she studied him, her expression torn between contempt and shock.

  “I saved Lady Iris’s life when the queen wanted to gift her with a rope necklace. In the spirit of peace and what I hope will amount to a beneficial friendship, I ask you do the same for these men.”

  “They murdered one of our own in cold blood,” she said, her voice cold.

  Viktor turned towards the trio of prisoners, all gawking at him with ashen faces. He pointed to the one in the center and said, “You. Tell us what happened.”

  “We didn’t hurt anyone,” he said, his voice catching. “We met up at the tavern and had a few drinks after dinner. It was pitch black by the time we left. I tripped over something sturdy. Thought it was a fallen tree until I smelled the sulfur.”