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  Legend

  The Queenmaker Series Book One

  Nicole Zoltack

  Contents

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  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Other Books By Nicole Zoltack

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  Copyright 2018 by Nicole Zoltack

  Cover Artist: Wilde Book Designs

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1727163285

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To all those daring to rise up and be legends.

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  Prologue

  The fields of Pellindor in the year of 678

  * * *

  The wind howled, and rain beat against the tents. None of the armed men stood in their lined columns. In fact, not a soul could be seen at all. The storm had not ended the battle, merely paused it. Knights and warriors on both sides cowered away as if refuge from the storm would appease their souls before eventual death on the battlefield.

  Not all would perish but most would. Many would be wounded, scarred for life.

  Lightning flashed, and a rolling fog descended. One form, that of a tall, stately woman appeared through the mist. She moved gracefully although she did not appear to use her legs and rather floated above the rain-soaked field.

  Tents flapped in the biting wind, but she ignored them, undeterred, her path unerring as she approached the grandest tent that belonged to the leader of the forces. The downpour did not touch her, and if one were to see her, perhaps they would think her merely a specter.

  Earlier, once the storm arrived, the men fled from the battlefield just beyond the ridge, several officers had been in this tent, speaking with the duke. Now, the duke was alone, pouring over a map.

  The flame above his candle flickered as she approached. A hood was drawn low over her face as she silently poured a healthy amount of wine. She brought the goblet over to him, and he accepted without looking at her. He drained it in one turn, and she claimed it back to refill. More and more, she gave him wine until eventually, he turned toward her, his eyes glassy.

  “You aren’t a maid,” he said slowly, his words slurred ever so slightly.

  She dipped her head and removed the hood from her silver cloak with both hands.

  “Ula, my wife,” he exclaimed, holding out his arms to embrace her. “How is it that you have come to be in this terrible miserable place?”

  The woman said not a word but placed a finger to his lips. They joined together as a man and wife should. Afterward, Iden Berne, Duke of Dracian fell fast asleep.

  Without disturbing the man, the woman rose from the bed of blankets. Her silver cloak turned a brilliant white as her visage altered to that of her true self. She was not the duke’s wife after all. In truth, she was not human. She was Arduinna, the goddess of the moon, forest, and most importantly, the hunt.

  Her hands fell to her flat stomach, the silk of her simple silver gown soft against her palms. The child she now bore would become the one all had longed for, the one whose future would be the stories of legends.

  But even this goddess could not foresee the heartache, the despair, and the betrayal her child would face. None would walk a greater path nor a more terrible one.

  Chapter 1

  The castle of Niallan Whalen, Duke of Graytongue in the year 695

  * * *

  Already, Alena Devine’s arms ached, and her back strained. For more than four hours now, she had cleaned her lord’s stairs, polishing each until they shone. As nothing more than a maid, Alena would not dare complain, but she could not help sighing inwardly. Thousands of stairs polished, and her work was not nearly done. Every floor in the castle, more than one hundred, were waiting for her attention, and the duke was not a kind man. If he saw even a speck of dirt, he was liable to have her lick it up, and then have a boot shoved into her nose for her efforts.

  Such was life for the sixteen-year-old. She had never known any other life, never known her mother or father. Likewise, she had no friends. Even the other maids and servants avoided her. Alena did not understand why. She was no different than any of them, no lesser being, but they regarded her with the same disdain they showed the nobles behind their backs.

  Footsteps sounded down the stairs from above her, and Alena pressed her flesh against the wall, doing her best to ensure she was invisible.

  The person halted, and Alena could not help looking over her shoulder, away from the stone wall. Standing there was Kelwin de Barra, a squire not much older than herself. He had a too-long neck, beady eyes set too close together, and thin to the point of nonexistent lips that were currently twisted into a nasty scowl.

  “Why are the likes of you looking at me?” he asked, gripping her neck in a fierce hold that pinned her in place, forcing her to stare directly ahead at the stone.

  “I would not dream of looking at you,” she said, her body tightening, her fists trembling by her side.

  With great reluctance, she forced her fists apart. As much as she would like to fight back, she could not risk it. The duke, in an attempt to unite the lands in a bid for peace, was planning on hosting a joust in a fortnight’s time. If she were to be dismissed now, she would not be able to find employment elsewhere, and with the crowds of onlookers and tournament hopefuls already entering the duke’s territory, there would be no place for her to find shelter, and food would be scarce too.

  “If you think I don’t hear the servants talk, you’re wrong. You act like a lady, do you?” he asked, his hot breath blowing against her hair. He was standing directly behind her, still holding her neck, and she felt trapped. Her breathing hitched, and she closed her eyes, attempting to imagine herself elsewhere but failing to find peace in the exercise.

  “I am nothing but a maid,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Which means you must do as I say,” he said.

  She hadn’t thought it possible, but she stiffened even more. If he wished for a reply, she neglected to give him one.

  The squire said no more words himself. Instead, he laid his free hand on her shoulder and then started to let it slide forward toward her dress.

  Alena reacted on blind instinct. She stomped on his foot, slammed her elbow into his ribs, and threw her head back, slamming into his chin. The grip on her neck loosened, and she whirled around, the dagger she used to clean the muck from between the cracks in the stones of the stairs
beneath his chin.

  “I must do as His Grace demands,” she said through gritted teeth. “You are not a knight yet, and you never will be if you persist in claiming what is not yours.”

  He started to reach for her wrist, but she pressed the blade against the tender flesh at the side of his neck, careful not to apply enough pressure to cut him but also forceful enough that he could feel the dangerous tip.

  “I should cut off your nose,” he snarled. “Chop off your ears and pluck out your eyes. You won’t be such a temptress then.”

  Alena forced herself not to blink, but his words gave her pause. Temptress? Had she done something to cause him to believe herself interested in him? Surely not. He was merely blaming her because he felt less than that she had not willingly given herself to him. Had he attempted this with other maids? Had they allowed him to do as he willed? Did the duke know of this?

  Why should the duke care what was done to his maids so long as they completed their tasks in a timely fashion?

  Despite her dagger at his throat, the squire backhanded her. Alena bit her tongue and tasted blood. His hand fell to the wrist holding the dagger, and he twisted it painfully, but she refused to release her hold on the hilt until he slammed her knuckles into the stone wall. The dagger would have fallen to the floor with a clatter had he not plucked the blade from midair.

  “Maids should not have weapons,” he hissed. “Did you forget your sex? You are a female. You have no place on the battlefield. You are meant to do as you are told and nothing else. You will learn your place, and the duke will hear of this.”

  Alena lowered her head. The squire stomped his feet as he descended, specks of dirt and mud flaking from the bottom of his boots onto the stairs she had already cleaned.

  She bent down to resume her work when she realized that without the blade, she could hardly clean as thoroughly as the duke would demand. Blinking back hot, angry tears, Alena rushed up the stairs, down the hall to another smaller and more-used staircase that lead all the way to the top floor where the servants lived.

  The joined common area where the servants lived was empty. No surprise as they should all be working, as she should be. Alena sighed and started toward her blanket and then hesitated. She had no other means to clean the stairs.

  For a moment, she dithered, and before she could move, another approached.

  “Why are you here?” a sharp voice asked.

  Alena lowered her head but did not turn around. “I lost my dagger and cannot clean.”

  With quick, forceful steps, Donia stepped around Alena to face her. As the head of the maids, Donia was an older woman. Lines were ever-present around her lips but were especially pronounced now that she was scowling.

  “You lost it?”

  Alena did not dare to glance upward. “Yes. Forgive me.”

  “Why can you not go and find it?” Donia snapped.

  So much anger was built within Alena that she found herself blurting out, “A terrible squire who deserves to have that dagger used to chop off his hands took it from me after I would not allow him to take of me.”

  “Take your body,” Donia said. It was not a question.

  Alena nodded.

  “Why did you refuse him?”

  “Why should I give into him and his demands?” Alena argued.

  “If he were a knight, would you have allowed him?”

  Alena did not hesitate. “No.”

  “The duke himself?”

  “No,” she repeated, perhaps a bit more cautiously this time.

  “Why not? You are a maid. You belong to him.”

  “I remain a person,” Alena said, standing up tall, ignoring the sharp pain slicing down her spine.

  Donia gripped Alena’s chin and tilted her head to the side. Her lips pursed. “That is turning purple already. You cannot hope to hide that mark.”

  “I would rather that mark on my face than a mark on my soul for allowing him to treat my body as his to do with as he wishes.”

  “Maids do not have souls,” Donia said harshly. “You wonder why you do not fit in with the others. Yes, I know you do. I see you glance at the others when they are whispering, talking, laughing. The others all have made peace with their lot in life and so can find friends. They can find stolen moments of happiness. You wish for too much.”

  “A life of peace is too much to wish for?”

  Donia snorted. It was just as well that she was not a lady as the sound was most distinctly unladylike. “Everyone wishes for a life of peace, but that will not happen in our lifetimes.”

  “It might,” Alena protested. “You aren’t a seer.”

  “Neither are you or you would have foreseen that consequences of your actions upon this day. You will rue them. Mark my words.”

  Alena swallowed hard. “Are you going to dismiss me?”

  The older woman’s face was an immovable, indifferent mask that crumbled for only a second. “I will not, but the duke will certainly hear of this. The decision will be his.”

  The maid suppressed a gasp. For Donia to do such an act, it could risk her own position because the duke could believe her to be avoiding her duty and as such unfit for her role in his domain.

  “For now, you must not get into any more confrontations, Alena.”

  Alena lowered her head. She could not deny that she had gotten into other clashes, but the others had all been with maids or servants. Those matters had concerned her desire to be treated as a human and not merely as a maid. Why the others were willing to be treated as if they were less than dirt, she could never understand nor tolerate for herself or others.

  Granted, the way she had acted against Kelwin de Barra could not be tolerated. She knew this, but even so, her life must mean more than this. Her life must have more purpose than merely cleaning stairs, and yet, she was a maid, always a maid, nothing more, perhaps even less.

  “I was like you once,” Donia said, “so young and innocent. I used to imagine that the world could be a bright and happy place. No, no. At times, life is passable, others far more difficult, but we can only do what we must.”

  “Follow our orders,” Alena muttered, doing her best to keep her frustration and anger out of her voice.

  Donia nodded. “Preciously so.”

  Alena hesitated and then asked, “May I have a dagger to return to my duties?”

  The older woman appraised her critically and then shook her head. “No. I do not know if you can be trusted with one right now.”

  Alena gaped at her, shocked and disappointed. “How may I serve the castle then instead?” she asked.

  “Go muck out the stalls,” Donia said.

  Alena waited until after she left the room to mutter under her breath, “You found a way to punish me regardless.”

  Chapter 2

  The stench of manure, horses, other animals, and hay invaded Alena’s senses the moment she walked into the stable. A few makeshift stables were being erected nearby so that the overflow from horses of the tournament hopefuls and onlookers would have a place to eat and sleep. Every stall in the royal stable was filled. With a sigh, Alena started her work.

  Considering how many stalls there were and that every one was being used and needed to be cleaned thoroughly, Alena worked for hours. Her back, knees, legs, arms, and shoulders all ached, but she persisted. She had already erred earlier. She could not be found at fault again today. Donia would not be so lenient a second time, and the duke would hear about the events of earlier. The full consequences of her actions had not yet been established and for them to come from the duke himself… Alena swallowed hard and buried herself in her chore again so that she would stop thinking.

  The worst was having to clean out the stalls around the horses. For the first occupied stall, she had removed the horse, only for a stable boy to yell at her. She had wanted to ask him how he expected her to clean the stall with the horse inside, but she could tell he would merely tell her to manage, so she did the best she could.

 
An hour ago, two men had stopped by and removed horses. Alena had quickly cleaned out those stalls immediately. Being able to clean without having a horse’s rump in behind her was most ideal. Of course, she would guide the horse out of the stall and then back inside to face the rear so that she could clean the far side of the stall without having that to occur. If the stable boy were to object to that, well, she would merely ignore him.

  The horse in the particular stall she was mucking out was asleep. Her legs were buckling from her crouching, and she eased down to a sitting position, rubbing her thighs through her simple, humble dress.

  Loud voices sounded, and Alena jerked, startled. The men from earlier were returning. She had not seen their faces earlier, so she did not know who they were.

  “Who do ye think will win the tournament?” one asked. His voice was smooth, deep.

  “The tournament? Bah. The Duke of Graytongue is a fool of a man.” This voice was gruffer, harder, with an edge that Alena did not care for. She pressed herself closer to the side of the stall, hoping they would leave soon.

  “Ye are the fool if ye insist on calling the duke such in his own place. What if someone hears ye?”