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

by Kyra Quinn

  She wrenched the gate open and stepped into the graveyard. A perfect layer of undisturbed powder covered the ground. A pair of crows sat atop a marble statue of an angel and watched her with their heads tilted so far to the side Aster felt a dull ache in her own neck. She pushed the gate closed and stood silent for a moment as if waiting to be welcomed home. But the dead continued to slumber beneath her boots, indifferent to the passage of time or travels of the living.

  When she was confident no one would notice her presence, Aster slipped into the cemetery and made her way towards the stone mausoleum the coven hid beneath. Thick moss covered the walls and glass domed roof.

  Aster exhaled a sigh of relief when she reached the empty common room. She held her breath and listened for movement from the bedrooms, but only faint snores down the darkened hallway answered. The coven’s movements were as predictable as the seasons after so many years in their company. If only the rest of her journey were as simple.

  She ran her fingertips along the polished wooden tables as she made her way to the west corridor. It was anyone’s guess where Madre had buried the amulet she needed. The Grove housed hundreds of pieces of rare and forbidden artifacts throughout its many rooms. Which room Madre had determined the most appropriate for a magic as dark and powerful as the amulet’s was anyone’s guess.

  Aster’s footsteps echoed through the empty halls, each breath into the silence loud enough to rouse the dead outside. Oil portraits of long deceased mages with stone expressions lined the walls, the pillar candles in between them extinguished. Her gaze caught on the massive framed portrait of Saint Agatha, her dark almond eyes ever watchful over the coven.

  The lore said Saint Agatha had served as a handmaid to the Archangel Neriah during her time on Astryae in service to the Goddess Esyn. Agatha, a spry young mage at the time, had found the injured angel near a cave in the north and carried her back to her coven. To thank her, Neriah chose Agatha as her handmaid to assist her while in Astryae. When the gods summoned Neriah home, she bestowed upon Agatha the title of Saint as a show of gratitude.

  Aster snorted, as she had when Madre first told her the tale. If all angels were as deplorable as the stories made Neriah appear, it was no wonder so many covens worshipped Zanox or Daeva and the shadows. Agatha gave decades of her life to prove her devotion to the gods, and the only thanks she received was an honorific title no one cared about until years after her death.

  All the doors along the corridor were closed, bedchamber sealed while mages slumbered within. As a girl, the echoes and shadows of the empty passages had petrified Aster. Chay would beg, bribe, and threaten until Aster mustered the courage to sneak out and follow her into the cemetery to play. These days, the emptiness didn’t intimidate her. Instead, a dull ache filled her chest as she thought of all the wonderful daytime experiences the rest of the coven would never have.

  She had intended to search the weapons’ room or prowl through Madre’s study. Instead, a crack of light at the end of the shadowy corridor caught her eye. Her breath caught in her chest. Her heart raced as she crept closer to the heavy metal door to the vault.

  In the sixteen years she’d lived in the Grove, Aster had never once seen anyone enter the vault. The door had always remained locked by both thick metal bolts and magic. The mages sometimes mused about what dark treasures might lurk on the other side, but only Madre had laid eyes on the contents.

  She stepped closer to the flickering light, her breath shallow. A cold chill danced down her spine. She swore under her breath and reached over her shoulder for her katana. At least when Madre caught her, she’d have a distraction.

  The sword close to her chest, Aster leaned forward and pushed the door open further. The walls of the concrete vault were filled with magical artifacts, most of which Aster had never seen. She slid her foot between the crack to enter, but her heart stopped when she caught sight of Madre’s familiar crimson cloak. She stood with her back to Aster, her hands raised to the ceiling.

  “Hear me, Zanox!” Madre cried, her head tilted towards the stone ceiling. “Hear me and come forth! There is much we must discuss.”

  * * *

  Aster stood with her foot half inside the doorway to the vault, frozen with fear. Noxious clouds of crimson smoke filled the room. Aster bit her lip and swallowed, begging the cough tickling the back of her throat not to erupt and betray her position. Her eyes watered. She wrapped her arms around her waist and held her breath.

  When the smoke cleared, Zanox leaned against the concrete wall inches from where Madre knelt. A sadistic grin lit the god’s face as he towered over her. He pressed his talons together in front of his chest and purred, “My, my, what a bold woman you are. Few would trifle with the levels of dark magic required to summon me.”

  Madre rose to her feet, her movements slow. “Why have you unleashed the Forsaken?”

  “Me?” Zanox pressed a hand to his chest and scoffed. “What gives you the impression the Forsaken are my handiwork?”

  “I have no time to play games with you, Zanox. The mortals are a breath away from grabbing their pitchforks and starting the next Age of Atonement.”

  Zanox let out a low whistle. “Pity. Humans are so overzealous sometimes.”

  “They’re terrified!” Madre’s shrill voice rattled the shelves full of objects lining the walls. Zanox lifted a brow, and Madre’s shoulders slumped. She hung her head and spoke in the soft, resigned voice Aster had only heard her use towards Chay. “There are reports of disappearances and demon attacks in every village and town between here and Mulgrave. Two of my own mages vanished from their beds last week.”

  Zanox tilted his head. “That is a shame, but I fail to see how it concerns me.”

  “Your soldiers did this,” Madre insisted, her voice breaking. “Why?”

  Aster held her breath and slid her foot out of the crack in the doorway. She shot a desperate glance down the hallway she’d followed to reach the vault, but her feet refused to budge. Alarm bells blared through her thoughts. The slightest movement carried the risk of detection. She had no doubt Zanox would recognize her, and she had no desire to discover what he’d do once he spotted her.

  Zanox gave a sadistic chuckle from the other side of the door. “You summoned me here to question the will of the gods?”

  “Not the gods,” Madre said, her voice hard. “You. Why are you doing this to Astryae? What do you want from us?”

  Footsteps echoed through the vault. Aster imagined Zanox pacing a slow circle around Madre, sizing her up the way a hunter might assess his target. “Have you any idea what you sacrificed to summon me here? That amulet is imbued with some of the darkest magic known to man. It consumes far more than a few drops of blood or a small shard of your soul.”

  Aster’s hand flew to clasp her neck. What risks had her mother taken to bring the god of chaos into her vault? After a lifetime of chastising Aster and Chay for their imprudent choices, how could Madre have done something so foolish?

  But her voice betrayed no remorse or trepidation. “Do not take me for a fool. I have practiced dark magic long enough to understand the consequences. The price is worth it if it brings me closer to the truth.”

  Zanox chortled again, and Aster had to dig her nails into her palms until they stung to resist the urge to throw open the door and punch the demonic bastard in his smug face. “I admire your sense of adventure, sorceress. It’s clear where your daughter inherited her fighting spirit. But what will you offer me in exchange for the answers you seek? Why should I care about the plights of your people?”

  Aster took a step back. The world around her spun. Her mouth burned to cry out for her mother, to plead with her not to give Zanox anything. No good would come of making clandestine deals with the darkness.

  Madre let out a heavy sigh. “Take whatever you want. Just tell me how to protect my people and make this stop.”

  Zanox said nothing, and for a moment Aster allowed herself to hope the god might refuse her mother’s requ
est. She leaned closer, cautioning herself against getting her hopes too high.

  Zanox cleared his throat. “Tell you what, love. How about we figure out payment later? Your magic is strong, but it won’t last forever. I suspect our time together is almost up.”

  “You want me to owe you?” Madre whispered. “Why?”

  “It pleases me. Do we have an accord?”

  Please say no. Please say no. Aster pressed her clammy hands together in front of her pounding heart. Her throat tightened until she struggled to breathe.

  “Consider me in your debt. Now why have you sent the Forsaken?”

  Zanox gave a whimsical giggle. “Straight to business, eh? Very well. I told you the truth when you asked me the first time, sorceress. I had no part in summoning the Forsaken to the surface. This is the first I’ve heard of it. I believe this is a plot of my dear wife’s design.”

  “Why? What does the Dark Mother want from us?”

  “The same thing the angels are after. Daeva is searching for her infamous camphelem daughter. I believe she’s friends with your own girl.”

  Madre made a strangled noise. “Are droves of demons sent to drag her back to the Shadowrealm the best way to lure her into returning?”

  “She tried kidnap, but the girl shares her defiant nature.”

  “So what, she plans to wreak havoc on innocent citizens until she locates her daughter?”

  “Lilianna cannot hide forever. No matter how many wards her witch bitch friend draws for her, no matter how many people she draws to her side to protect her, Daeva will get what she wants. She always does.”

  Smoke poured out into the hallway once more. A loud crack like thunder split the air. Aster dropped to her knees and covered her ears. The walls and floor shook. Smoke burned her nostrils and tickled its way down her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut and hoped none of the mages would emerge to investigate the noise.

  When the smoke cleared, Aster uncovered her ears and listened for Madre’s stream of profanity or prayers. A crushing silence answered. She pushed to her feet and took a small step towards the door. She peered through the crack, expecting to find Madre digging through the shelves.

  Her mother’s body laid sprawled across the concrete floor. Her right hand clutched a silver chain. An onyx gemstone in the shape of a teardrop dangled from the necklace. Madre’s dark hair fell over her ashen face. Aster’s hand flew to her mouth to muffle her gasp.

  Scrolls and treasures laid scattered around the vault. Aster kicked them all to the side of the room as she raced towards her mother. When she reached Madre, she dropped to her knees and pressed her fingers against the side of her neck. A faint pulse fluttered beneath her fingertips.

  Aster checked twice to be sure, then allowed her head to drop to her chest. Madre would survive whatever dark magic she had encountered. Aster’s hand fell to her mother’s, fingering the thin silver chain.

  “Please forgive me, Madre.” She pushed her mother’s thick curls out of the way and pressed her lips to her forehead. Her hands trembled as she tugged the necklace free from Madre’s grasp. She sprang to her feet and raced out of the vault, back through the hallways and out of the Grove before Madre woke to discover her betrayal.

  * * *

  “Sweet shadows, I hate boats.” Aster let out a low moan as another wave of nausea gripped her intestines. Two days at sea had only intensified her dislike for the ocean. She tilted her head towards the dark, treacherous sky and exhaled a shaky breath. Saltwater misted her face. Her stomach lurched with each new wave their shoddy wooden ship sailed over. Each crack of thunder forced Madre’s conversation with Zanox back into her mind. How could her mother have made such a foolish mistake? And what sort of illicit favor would the god of chaos force her to perform in exchange?

  Aster brought her hand to her chest. The amulet’s weight hung from her neck like a noose, the gemstone heavy against her sternum.

  She had almost backed out of boarding the ship in Mulgrave. The best vessels and most experienced captains knew to both fear and respect the ocean’s unpredictability. She had turned to leave, but something about the amulet’s weight pressing into the center of her chest strengthened her resolve.

  If the amulet had the power to summon Zanox, it had the power to protect her from whatever waited in Killara. If the ocean didn’t kill her first.

  She had slipped a generous handful of coins to the captain of a small trade ship bound for Killara in exchange for safe passage. The cramped wooden vessel carried crates of goods and a dozen hairy men, none of whom seemed to prioritize bathing. Most of them sported thick, bushy beards and trails of faded black ink spiraling down their meaty arms. They had snickered when Aster dry heaved over the side of the boat. Their stale ale and body odor overpowered the salt of the open sea.

  By the time the ship docked in Killara two days later, Aster had no desire to set foot on a ship again for as long as she lived. Waves crashed against the rocks as she stumbled away from the docks. If not for the eyes of the men burning into her back, she would have thrown herself to her knees and kissed the sand beneath the starless sky.

  Winter had left Killara untouched. Even without the sun, heat glued Aster’s shirt to her body with sweat within minutes. Humidity choked the air. Gas lamps lined the narrow dirt roads, most of them broken or switched off. Aster shuffled through the darkened ghost town with her hands clenched. Adrenaline raced through her system, the sound of her heartbeat drowning out the percussion of waves slapping against the shore.

  She waited for the ship to disappear before slipping the amulet from beneath her dress. She’d kept it hidden away since the moment she swiped it from the coven, afraid anyone who caught sight of it might try to steal the power as their own. Her hands trembled as she admired the onyx shard of stone. The tip of the teardrop felt sharper than glass. How could such a tiny stone contain more power than her soul gem? And why had no one else in the coven tried to steal it?

  She had no desire to keep the forbidden trinket. It had taken three tries for her shaky hands to close the clasp the tiny hook in place. When she had succeeded, her body had turned to stone. A surge of foreign energy had filled her bloodstream. Darkness clouded her vision, and her chest had sizzled beneath where the stone rested. Fire burned through her body until the pain had disappeared as suddenly as it had arrived.

  Aster stuffed the amulet back under her top and scanned the slumbering village. The lore hadn’t mentioned where to find the mysterious caves full of blood stones. Or what trials to expect along the way.

  Fate had a twisted idea of humor, hiding a dangerous ancient magic among some of Astryae’s most deadly citizens. She chewed her lip and studied the lush landscape and weathered limestone buildings. Wherever the caves hid, it couldn’t be among so many prying eyes. Not when so many outlaws and criminals called the island home.

  As she made her way through the town, however, Aster couldn’t help but admire the lush green leaves and a rainbow of flowers surrounding her. Indifferent to the grow or harvest seasons of the rest of Astryae, the surrounding plants stood thick and firm as they danced in the evening breeze.

  A manic giggle jerked Aster’s gaze to a two-story building painted a pale shade of yellow. Torches blazed on either side of the weathered red front door. Candlelight flickered through the frosted windows, the inside packed with patrons. A crooked wooden sign hung next to the street, only the word ‘tavern’ decipherable thanks to the poor lighting.

  But the laugh hadn’t come from inside the building. A trio of men stood in the street outside the tavern. Two stood with their backs to Aster. The third pressed his body against the side of the building. He held his hands up, but the other two men advanced. The taller one cackled once more.

  Aster clenched her teeth. Five minutes on the island and she’d already found trouble. She willed herself to ignore the man’s struggle and leave him to his fate. Her sister would have never diverted her attention from her own mission to interfere in a complete stranger�
�s life.

  But Aster wasn’t Chay. She threw her hand behind her and snatched the katana from her back. She rushed towards the tavern and shouted, “Hey! Leave him alone!”

  All three men froze, and for a moment she worried the amulet had cast some spell. The man against the wall furrowed his brows. Unkempt dark hair fell over his almost translucent skin, covering his ears and falling around his shoulders. The ends shone silvery, his roots dark. His face betrayed no creases or wrinkles. He stood only a few inches taller than Aster. His tawny eyes scanned her from head to toe, his lips parted in disbelief.

  The other two figures turned. Aster’s knees buckled. Two pairs of midnight eyes swept over her, the bemusement on their faces identical. Demons. They towered over Aster and the other man, all three draped in velvety crimson cloaks.

  The taller of the two monsters wrinkled his nose. “And who the bloody hell might you be?”

  “Better question,” the other demon added, “what’s a lone blood mage wandering the streets of Killara for? Hasn’t anyone told you?” His lips curled into a chilling smirk. “This island is full of monsters, girl.”

  Aster clutched the katana closer to her chest. “No one said anything about demons.”

  “Relax,” the taller one cooed, “we aren’t here to hurt anyone. No need for the weapons and hostility. Since when is it a crime to enjoy a drink between friends?”

  Friends? Aster’s gaze flew to the man against the wall. Only then did she notice the ring of red encircling his topaz eyes, or the four sharpened fangs glistening behind his lips. Her hands trembled. How had she not pieced it together sooner?

  “You’re a child of the night,” she whispered. Not a question, but a realization.

  The vampire flashed a boyish grin. “And you’re clever. That still doesn’t tell us why you’re here.”