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

by Kyra Quinn

  From the bedroom, Jett gave a low whistle. “This lady had an obsession. I’ve never seen so many stolen sculptures and trinkets.”

  Indeed, the collection she’d amassed was impressive. He had to wonder what possessed someone to devote so much time and energy into curating something so pointless. Even if the random egg granted them access to the King, Viktor had never seen a purpose for art or literature when no one had time or energy to appreciate either.

  They made quick work of her small space. Jett tore apart the bedroom and washroom while Viktor searched the shelves and glass cases scattered around the rest of the cottage. When the shimmer of gold caught his eye, his heart raced.

  Viktor held his breath. His hands shook as he reached for the thin glass door of the case. He moved with the care and attention of a surgeon, afraid the slightest movement out of place might shatter the case and its contents at his feet. He closed his eyes as his hand wrapped around the cold gold sculpture, the gemstones rugged in his hand.

  He turned the egg over in his hands, his eyes still squeezed shut. He refused to risk descending into madness. Remiel needed him to survive this quest.

  “Is that it?” Jett’s voice appeared behind him. “Let me see it.”

  The weight disappeared from Viktor’s hands as Jett snatched the egg away. Viktor opened his eyes to see Jett holding the golden sculpture above his head and rotated it as he studied it with suspicion.

  “Not as grand as I expected,” he said. A small frown pulled at his lips. “For the amount of trouble we went through for this, I expected it to radiate magic.”

  Viktor shrugged, unsure what to say. The way Jett spoke of Hazel’s murder as if it’d posed some grand struggle for him sent a chill through Viktor’s bones. Greater good or not, the casual approach towards violence unsettled him in a way he hadn’t felt since his parents’ death.

  “The guards don’t patrol this far north. The Amazons handle Redwood’s defenses,” Jett said, shoving the egg in the pocket of his coat. “Let’s search for anything else of value and take our leave before we find ourselves in trouble with a hoard of women more terrifying than the Dark Mother.”

  Jett didn’t wait for a response. He flew out of the front door and into the darkness. A brisk gust of wind blew through the house and sent a fresh wave of goosebumps down Viktor’s arms. He cracked his knuckles and followed Jett out of the cottage and into the waiting darkness.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Secrets Surfaced

  Ludas offered one simple ingredient to the creation of humankind: love.

  -The Sacred Texts, 2:21

  I sat at the table in Aster’s kitchen and drummed my fingertips against the wood until the sun seeped in through the windows and rendered the nearly burned-out candles useless. Even when the rustling upstairs signaled Morrigan had woken up, I remained glued to my seat as if pinned there by the weight of Aster’s decision. The threat of tears burned my eyes, but they never came, almost as if I’d already drained my body of all the liquid sadness it could produce in the last few months.

  The angels slaughtered my father and William. Daeva had Remiel imprisoned in Shadow City. Viktor had taken off on his own mission months ago, and now Aster had abandoned me, too. At least they’d made it to safety before they died in my place. It was a small consolation for being entirely alone in the world, but it was the only one I had.

  Eventually Morrigan staggered into the kitchen, her eyes still red and hazy with dreams. She stopped in front of the table and glanced around. “Where is Aster?”

  I opened my mouth but quickly clamped it shut. How could I tell her Aster had abandoned us? I still hadn’t come to grips with the news myself.

  A long, tense silence hung between us. I watched as the light in Morrigan’s eyes disappeared like a candle left next to an open window. When she spoke, her voice sounded far away. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

  I hugged my arms close to my body. “She took off in the middle of the night. I tried to stop her, or at least figure out what her plans were, but she wasn’t in the mood to share much.”

  Morrigan propped her chin in her hand and stared out the window as if hoping to find Aster strolling through the gate. “I’m sure it has something to do with her soul gem. She’s spiraled more out of control each day without it.”

  I had no doubt Morrigan had nailed Aster’s motivations. Still, my wounded pride refused to allow her words of reason to comfort me. Regardless of where she’d gone or why she left, I was alone once more.

  I blinked. How could Morrigan handle Aster’s desertion so casually? Why did she seem so apathetic towards her lover’s abandonment?

  “Does she do this often?” I asked. “Take off without telling anyone?”

  Morrigan made a clicking sound with her tongue. “I don’t know if I’d describe it as often. But no, this isn’t her first time doing something like this. Vague and elusive describe Aster as accurately as petite or feisty.”

  “How do you tolerate this?” I asked, throwing my arms in the air. “How can you allow her to treat you this way and still love her?”

  Morrigan’s face softened. She sank into the chair next to mine and cupped her hands over mine. She leaned in close as she spoke, as if we were schoolgirls sharing a secret. “That’s how love works, dearest. If the depth of our emotions for others changed with their behavior from day to day, most of us would live long and lonely lives.”

  “She doesn’t act as if she loves you.” I regretted the words the moment they flew from my lips. The sparkle inside of Morrigan’s eyes faded. The smile slipped from her face. I winced and started to apologize, but Morrigan shook her head.

  “Aster has suffered much loss in the last few years. Pain changes a person. In her case, it hardened her against her own emotions. But she does love me. She loves both of us. I can see it in her eyes every time she speaks.”

  I pinched my nightdress together between my fingers and said nothing, afraid the words to cross my lips next might be as wicked as last. Morrigan had done nothing to deserve my bitterness. She had shown me nothing but kindness.

  “Love isn’t as romantic as the poets and theater make it out to be.” Morrigan sighed, her eyes still glued to the window. “Love is an oversimplified word used to encompass varying degrees of a swirl of other emotions. Lust. Empathy. Jealousy. Friendship. Fear. Anger. And, if you’re lucky, forgiveness.”

  A hollow laugh bubbled from my lips. “Morrigan, she abandoned us. She didn’t intend to leave so much as a goodbye. What makes you think she cares about our forgiveness?”

  “She does.” Morrigan locked her eyes on mine. “Aster doesn’t know how to communicate that or ask for it, but she cares. She had trouble communicating her feelings long before Chay died.”

  “Died?” I blinked. My thoughts whirled as I struggled to recall any of the little details Aster had told me about her sister. “I thought she was in Shadow City?”

  Morrigan’s face paled. She pressed her lips into a thin line and wrung her hands in her lap. “What’s left of her is, yes. But that isn’t Chay.”

  “What is it?”

  She hesitated, her expression pained. “Something else. A darker, twisted version of who Chay once was.”

  “Morrigan, what happened with Aster and Chay?” I pleaded. “Everyone hints at it but refuses to talk about it. You say I should forgive Aster, but that’s difficult when it feels like I’m the only one left in the dark in regard to her past.”

  Morrigan drummed her fingers against the table and fixed me with a hard stare. “This isn’t my story to tell—”

  “No, but Aster isn’t going to. And she’s not here to object, so I would be forever grateful if you would put things into perspective for me. How can I empathize with a struggle I know nothing about?”

  Morrigan sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. The silence between us stretched for so long I expected her to refuse. When she spoke, her eyes remained on her hands in her lap.

  “How did you co
me up, Lili?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “From your posh accent, I assume you were raised in Faomere or Faircrow?”

  Heat rushed to my face. “How does this relate to Aster?”

  Morrigan shook her head. “Being raised in the coven is worlds different from being raised in a finishing school or by doting parents. Especially if your mother happens to be Head Mage. Aster and Chay didn’t have an easy childhood by anyone’s definition. Madre is strict on us, but none more than her own kin. I still remember the time she made Chay walk across a bed of glass after she’d caught her sneaking out one night.”

  My mind flashed back to the woman I’d met in the Grove in Starbright, taller than Aster but with the same green eyes flecked by specks of gold. The sights and experience had consumed me so much I hadn’t stopped to question what sort of mother she’d been or how pleasant Aster’s childhood was. As Morrigan continued, the ropes in my stomach knotted and twisted.

  “Aster always had it a little worse, though. She never fit in the way her sister did. She was always searching for new dramatic ways to force Madre to notice her.”

  “Sounds like Aster,” I muttered.

  Morrigan gave a slow nod. “She was something else. She balked the coven’s rituals and traditions from the time she could speak. The way she behaved was unheard of for any blood mage in Starbright, let alone the Head Mage’s youngest daughter.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Small stuff at first. She’d ignore the rules about cleansing before conjuring or skip out on festivals and celebrations to thank the universe for our magic. She’d sleep through classes and stay out late.”

  “How did teenage rebellion turn into dancing with the dead?”

  Morrigan chuckled, the sound humorless. “The way it always does. A boy.”

  “But Aster?”

  “Aster’s sister met a boy from a different coven. And while Aster has no interest in men, she was always competitive when it came to Chay. Anything her sister did, Aster had to do bigger and better. So when Chay and her boy toy started testing the waters with darker magic—”

  “Aster had to take it darker.” A chill ran down my spine. “Is she the reason Chay is…”

  “Dead? Depends on who you ask. Only Aster and Chay know what happened that night. But the coven has their suspicions and theories. Most believe Aster performed the spell that cost Chay her life.”

  My heart sank. “Oh.”

  “Necromancy is a delicate and dangerous art. Most covens in Starbright, ours included, forbid toying with the veil between life and death. No matter what happened in the woods with Aster and Chay, the Elders ruled their actions illicit and immoral.”

  “Is that why she left the coven? To avoid punishment?”

  Morrigan held her arms open by her sides. “Aster is her own unique blend of trouble. We can speculate all we wish about her motivations, but the truth will probably die with Aster.”

  A thousand questions swirled around in my head. Who did Aster and Chay attempt to raise from the dead? Why? What did they hope to gain by performing forbidden magic? And what went wrong enough for Chay to end up in the Shadowrealm with Daeva?

  Desperate for a change in topic, I gestured towards the thick jade cloak draped around Morrigan’s shoulders. “Do you have a fancy magic stick like Aster’s?”

  Morrigan’s face split into a smile. “Easy to be cocky in your position. We don’t all have Archangel grace flowing through our veins.”

  My lips quirked despite the heaviness in my chest. “Don’t forget the demon goddess juice. I doubt I’d be as interesting without it.”

  Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Aster is rubbing off on you.”

  It wasn’t a compliment, but I took it as one. “Thank you. I’ve been trying to become more assertive.”

  Morrigan shook her head. “Don’t. Aster’s approach may work for her, but there’s power in yours, too. Some situations require a far more delicate touch than Aster or the wolf are capable of. The time will come where your unique skills are exactly what’s needed. Besides, Aster’s attitude doesn’t earn her many admirers.”

  “You love her.”

  “I loved her before she became the snarkiest bitch in Astryae, too. And I’ll still love her when her heart heals and we get through this rough patch. That’s what love is.”

  I didn’t want to believe her. Morrigan’s understanding of love struck me as more painful than magical or romantic. Viktor’s face flashed into my mind. My stomach clenched. “Who would willingly give their heart to someone who might break it?”

  Morrigan paused, her eyes locked on mine. “Have you never been in love before?”

  My cheeks burned as I shook my head. In Faomere, marriages were often arranged between strangers for social or political reasons. No young woman born into a family of status had the pleasure of marrying for love. “I don’t know. No? If this is what it’s like, why would anyone wish to be?”

  “Because the alternative is awfully lonely.” Morrigan laughed. “When you feel it for the first time, it will all make sense. It isn’t something we can explain or describe. The best poets and philosophers will tell you love is damn near impossible to capture in words. But the day will come when you meet someone who sets your world on fire, and you’ll never wish to go back.”

  I swallowed, unsure what to say. Did I want a handsome stranger to drop into my life and change everything for me once more? What if I found myself a helpless slave to my emotions like Morrigan, or cold to them like Aster? What if Morrigan was wrong and love turned out to be the worst thing to happen to me?

  Viktor’s crooked grin popped into my head once more. My stomach churned. I didn’t love him. Who could love someone so smug and reckless with the feelings of others? He’d bolted from Aster’s only hours after the kiss he’d called a mistake. Sometimes at night, I could still feel the stubble of his beard against my face.

  “Are you hungry?” Morrigan asked, ignorant to the turmoil she’d sparked inside of my mind. She rubbed her temples with her index finger and thumb. “I can fix us a pot of tea and a bowl of porridge. It might help my headache.”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but I think I could use a little fresh air. Do you mind if I go for a stroll around the neighborhood?”

  “Not at all, love. I can rest for a spell while you’re away. I’m not sure why, but I don’t feel well today.” She brought a hand to massage her shoulder, her face screwed tight with visible discomfort. “Stretch your legs for a few hours. When you return, we can eat a little something and get you ready to train.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Children of the Night

  And so the goddess Esyn cursed the man with an incurable thirst for human blood, strong enough to drive him to the brink of madness if ignored. Death could not cure the man of his compulsions; he had already died.

  -The Sacred Texts, 23:12 (Esyn)

  Aster avoided the urge to board the first ship for Killara. Though she knew little about the place dubbed ‘outcast island,’ anyone with an ounce of common sense wouldn’t march in unarmed. To escape with her life, she needed something stronger than swords or daggers. She needed magic, and only one place popped into her mind to search.

  She stood outside of the cemetery in Starbright and waited for dawn to break. The coven’s nocturnal schedule had never bothered her before, but she had never tried to sneak into her former home undetected. She disguised herself behind the trunk of an oak tree and strained her hearing for signs of movement. Her shoulder ached from the weight of the satchel, and not for the first time she cursed the decision to pack so many things. If things went well, she wouldn’t need half of it. The moment she replaced the soul gem she planned to head back to Carramar and resume overseeing Lili’s training with Morrigan.

  She glanced towards the Grove and shifted her weight from foot to foot. The shadowy graveyard was silent other than the occasional breeze rustling the fallen leaves or tweet from the bare branches above, and she
shuddered as she pictured the boxes full of bodies buried beneath the soil. She’d read in a book when the mortals still buried their dead, they dressed most bodies in their finest silks and satins. They surrounded the dead with prized possessions and letters of love from the surviving family. Symbols of prayer were often etched into the sides and the lid of the wood before the family lowered the box into the ground and covered it in dirt.

  Aster chewed the skin around her thumb and pictured a younger version of herself chasing Chay through the maze of statues and headstones. The cemetery never scared Chay, not even as small girls. Any time Aster reminded her what Madre said about disturbing the dead, Chay would cackle and say, “What are they going to do, reach up and grab us? They’re already dead, Aster. Nothing could disturb them more.”

  There was never a fire or a commute to Wyvenmere for Chay’s body. The coven searched for months, but no trace of her ever surfaced. Sober and unable to slow her thoughts, her sister’s final night in Starbright flashed through her mind. After years away, she still remembered the brilliant rainbow of light that engulfed Chay as well as she remembered her name.

  Aster tilted her head towards the sky and sucked in a deep breath as she centered herself. Trips down memory lane were a luxury she couldn’t afford. Her entire focus needed to remain on the task at hand. One step out of place and she’d face the heat of the entire coven.

  She toyed with the idea of explaining her predicament to Madre and asking for help but dismissed the thought as suddenly as it arrived. Her mother already refused to meet her gaze. If Aster admitted what she’d done and where she had lost the soul gem, she’d find no sympathy from Madre. When had her mother ever treated Aster as anything more than an inconvenience or embarrassment?

  The surrounding darkness softened as the sky lightened. A sharp breeze stung her cheeks and nose. Just a little longer. When the sun rose, the coven would retire to their bedchamber to slumber. She’d sneak in, grab what she needed, and disappear on the next train out of Starbright with no one the wiser.