by Sam Ledel
Daughter of No One
Princess Aurelia’s dreams of a life full of love and adventure become even more alluring when she meets village outcast Jastyn. Aurelia refuses to deny her attraction even after an unexpected attack on her family catapults her into the center of the Kingdom of Venostes’s sinister intrigues.
Jastyn Cipher despises the royal family. After all, they are responsible for the exile of her mother and their life at the bottom of the social rung. She refuses to acknowledge her attraction to Princess Aurelia even when she is forced to seek help from the royal family when her sister falls gravely ill.
While the circumstances of birth might keep them apart, fate seems determined to bring them together. When Aurelia is kidnapped, she and Jastyn must face their enemies, fae and human, if they want to survive.
Book One of the Odium Trilogy
Daughter of No One
Brought to you by
eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.
Daughter of No One
© 2019 By Sam Ledel. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-428-1
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: June 2019
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Barbara Ann Wright
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Map by Sam Ledel, Stacia Seaman, and Therese Szymanski
Cover Design by Tammy Seidick
By the Author
Rocks and Stars
Daughter of No One
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Bold Strokes Books and to my wonderful editor, Barbara Ann Wright.
I would be remiss if I did not mention the night on which Daughter of No One started. My middle sister, Paula, has always been an honest wall off which I can bounce my ideas. A few years ago, she and I were watching a musical, laughing and overanalyzing everything like we were big-shot critics. I shared with her my ideas for this story, which led to an evening of rapid-fire brainstorming that lasted long after the credits from the musical rolled. Without that night, this book would not be what it is now.
Thank you also to my youngest sister, Sara, for her encouraging words on early drafts. Your taking the time to read those means the world to me.
And, Alyssa, thank you for your endless love and support.
Prior to the Fae-Diarmaid Treaty—established by the honorable King Grannus and Queen Dechtire—the Kingdom of Venostes was governed by three laws. While time has softened their implementation, all those who reside within the kingdom are expected to abide by these laws without question. They are as follows:
No tolerance will be given to the mingling of human and fae. Any parties suspected to be in a relationship that is anything other than platonic will be subject to inquiry and if found guilty, imprisoned.
Any woman of the kingdom who bears a child before she is committed to a husband will be shunned, for she has borne an Odium Child—the bringer of any kingdom’s demise.
The Odium Child will also be shunned, as they are not a fit member of the kingdom.
May the gods help them meet a swift end.
Prologue
Jastyn Cipher walked under the dim light of the crescent moon. Normally, she did not tread through the Wood unless the moon was full or almost. But tonight, she had to escape. Today was her mother’s wedding day to Elisedd of Marcra, the royal kingdom’s horse master. She was happy for her mother, yet she could not find it within herself to feel the same joy. So, once the final candle was extinguished within their thatch-roofed home nestled in the outskirts of the kingdom, Jastyn slipped out and walked.
She had been wandering these woods since she was seven, exploring everything they had to offer. She even strolled them with her mother on occasion, when they would take in the warm midday sun. Other times, she walked with her friend Coran, the castle’s stable boy. Tonight, though, she went alone.
The trees towered over her, and she craned her neck to peer up into the thick branches. She took comfort in the presence of the trees, and her eyes were drawn to bunches of leaves glowing gently with fairies’ nests tucked deep within them. A hare rustled the moss near the base of a tree, seeking its burrow for the night. Whistling wind danced over her, spinning itself in her braid. Moonlight that reached the Wood floor she used as a guide, along with her saol, the small blue companion flame bouncing two feet ahead of her. With each step she took, it moved forward in turn. If she halted, so did her saol. It created a small circle of comforting light, though even without it she knew she would not be lost. Her saol was simply a minor conjuring she allowed herself after such a trying day.
As she thought back to the quick matrimonial ceremony, the moving of furniture, the hearth burning brighter with new logs, her steps carried her deeper into the woods. Now was when she needed somebody to talk to. A reunion with Eegit might calm her anxious mind. The hedgewitch had found Jastyn hunting tree-dwellers for dinner when she was nine, only a year ago, and had taken to the feisty girl with dirt on her cheek. Eegit seemed as ancient as time itself, yet was always filled with lively vigor. Jastyn passed many days in Eegit’s meadow, bringing her berries and small trinkets from the market. In turn, the hedgewitch taught her simple magic: mostly showy spells to amuse Jastyn on a long day.
Now, Jastyn passed a thin, trickling creek—where she spent summer days splashing about. This led to a larger river where the fisherman caught their fish for the royal market. The river widened behind her and eventually led to the sea at the edge of the kingdom.
Jastyn continued, the saol gliding along as she trod over thick grass and clusters of nuts left untouched by tree-dwellers. Mounds poked up from the earth around her, and she was careful not to disturb them and the gnomes living below.
An unfamiliar noise made Jastyn turn. It was too late for the deer to be out and not late enough for the wolves to begin their hunt. She froze, her saol doing the same and dimming itself at her uncertainty, the circle of light closing tighter around her.
She scanned the surrounding trees, now columns of pitch against an empty canvas on all sides. The saol grew smaller, then disappeared completely when there was another rustle, and a figure emerged from the dark.
Instinctively, she crouched low, grimacing for all the time she spent acquiring silly show magic instead of concentrating on her defensive skills. Yet, as the figure drew nearer, she thought less of defending herself as curiosity took over. Through the trees, a horse cantered out into a small clearing just ahead. Jastyn knew the clearing well: two petrified trees had fallen three years before on that spot. The village gossip claimed that rival fairy clans sought this part of the Wood for future dwellings. No compromise was reached, so the druids that lived in the yew trees petrified themselves and the surrounding land, leaving a graveyard of spoiled soil and scorched earth that no fairy or gnome could call home.
The horse was as black as the darkness it had come from. Astride it sat a man. His dark cloak billowed out on either side of broad shoulders. Jastyn could not make out his tribe. He did not wear the colors of the kingdom, yet she f
elt as if she knew him.
When the horse reared, she remembered. Her breath caught in her throat as the creature’s red eyes grew wide, and its hooves beat against the air, the rider’s gloved hands gripping tight to the reins. When its legs thundered back against the earth, she couldn’t hold back her gasp.
At the sound, the rider turned his head. The hood of his cloak fell over him, casting shadow over every inch of the space where his face should be. She dared not conjure her saol to get a better look. She began to recall the tales her mother had told her when she was seven summers old: tales of a fae who rode the wild lands of this country on a horse said to have sprung from the blackest rock, its eyes burning with the flames that light the gate to the Otherworld and its hooves trumpeting the arrival of Death’s chariot. This fae had never been witnessed so far from the Mountains of Ionad across the moors. And as the stranger walked his horse closer, Jastyn slowly stood. She tried to remember the rider’s name when he spoke.
“You walk these woods when many would not dare to.” His voice was low and hollow, but she sensed intrigue.
Jastyn pulled her shoulders back and willed her knees to quell their shivering. She swallowed, then said, “I know these woods well. I have walked them many times in day and at night with the company of the moon. I am not afraid.”
She wasn’t sure if she said that last part in defiance or more to encourage herself against the dark stranger before her. At her words, his horse snorted and shook its mane. The man tilted his head as if considering what the horse was saying.
“What is your name, girl?”
“I am Jastyn,” she replied, her voice steady.
“Your full name.”
The horse neighed, and Jastyn stepped back as its front legs reared. Her voice was smaller this time. “My name is Jastyn. Jastyn Cipher.”
The man was quiet for a moment. “You are an Odium Child.”
Jastyn flushed, but her eyes stayed on the man. “We do not use that term.” She repeated her mother’s words hotly, her voice rising. After a moment, she swallowed and forced her voice to be steady. “My mother chooses to walk in the light despite our situation, and we do not speak like that in our home.” Jastyn tilted her head up, reminding herself to be brave.
She was not sure if she heard the distant cackle of a magpie or if the mysterious rider was laughing at her remarks. She pulled herself up more, glancing behind her to chart her path back to the village. When she looked back at the man, he spoke again. “Luck walks with you, girl. To not know one’s own name at such a chance meeting as this. The gods must be up to something this eve.”
Confused, Jastyn replied, “I told you my name.”
At this, he moved the horse forward, its breath coming in white bursts that seemed to glow with red. “Brave, little one,” he said with another tilt of his head. “But no, you did not tell me your name. Not your true name. How could you, when you are gan ’athair?” He paused, and the horse took another step forward. “You must be quite foolish, young Odium, to wander these woods alone at night.”
Jastyn started to move backward, thankful she knew which trees to step between as the horse pressed closer. The man atop it sat straight and tall. “I’ve heard of you,” Jastyn said, speaking carefully. “You are not welcome in the Wood,” she told him, willing her courage to return to her so that she might use some small spell to ensure her safe journey home. As she spoke, the man pulled the horse to his left, which brought them both into a gap in the overhead branches where the moonlight could fall between them.
Jastyn’s eyes went wide as the moonlight landed for a moment on the man’s hooded face. No, not a face. Where it should be was… Jastyn’s mind seemed to freeze and run acres at a time all at once. She gasped and stumbled on a gnome hill. As she tumbled backward, the horse neighed and reared back, its front legs kicking into the night. Jastyn didn’t wait for it to land before she turned and sprinted through the woods. She didn’t look back at the beast or the clearing or the strange fae who lingered in the black woods.
Chapter One
Jastyn lay in a soft patch of grass in the expansive meadow she passed many afternoons in, her gaze dancing over the full clouds drifting lazily through a rare azure sky. The blue wool tunic she wore pinched at her elbow where she had it crooked in order to place one of her hands behind her head. She breathed deeply, enjoying the smell of the hawthorn trees and bright bilberry flowers lining the edge of the meadow. The late spring breeze made the dandelions sway around her. She smiled at this brief feeling of contentedness until her reverie was broken by a withered hand thrusting itself into her vision, fervently shaking a dead hare over her face.
“You call this a fair trade? It’s not worth a gnome’s nose in meat or fur!”
With a sigh, Jastyn sat up, leaning onto one arm. She brushed strands of hair from her face, the rest of it cascading down her back in a braid. She blinked at the hedgewitch who stood with one hand on her bony hip. Her animal-hide tunic hung loosely on her slim frame. Torn and mismatched leggings sewn together from wool and cloth scraps adorned her legs, and leather shoes Jastyn had gifted her three winters ago barely clung to her feet.
“Eegit, I told you the market vendors are on to me. It’s hard enough to get my own family’s share of food and supplies. Besides, I told you to let me hunt tree-dwellers for you. They’re just as good as ones found in the market.”
Eegit ignored her, shaking the scrawny rabbit closer to Jastyn’s face. “How am I supposed to cook up a Circling spell with offerings as measly as this?” As she spoke, her silver hair shook out in a wild mane on all sides of her wide and sallow face. Despite her age, which Jastyn still did not know for certain, Eegit’s dark eyes were bright with life. And even though she was several inches shorter than Jastyn thanks to a hunch, she was as spry as half the woodland creatures scampering nearby.
“Come on, Eegit.” Jastyn groaned, standing. She brushed off the pants she wore under a tunic, which fell to her thighs. A pleated belt, patterned with the yellow and blue of her village, looped around her waist, and the tail of it hung low off her left hip. She swiped grass off the hunting blade tucked in the straps of her right leather boot. “Don’t be angry at me.” Then she grinned as Eegit threw up her hands and walked over to a circle of round stones—arranged haphazardly in front of a one room hut built from fallen tree limbs—where a purple flame burned brightly. Eegit mumbled to herself as she grabbed the rabbit in both hands and, with strength that always surprised Jastyn, twisted off the creature’s head, which she tossed over her shoulder before dropping the body into the flame. It sputtered and glowed brighter for a few moments as Jastyn walked over next to her friend.
“I know you tried, child,” Eegit said as they stood watching the flame together. Jastyn turned to her, crossing her arms.
“Eegit, how many times do I have to tell you I am no longer a child? I reached my twenty-second-year last winter solstice. You remember.”
Eegit frowned, glancing up at Jastyn. Several holly leaves were tucked amongst her mane of silver, and clusters of berries sat at the end of a branch popping out from behind her ear. Eegit squinted, then grabbed Jastyn’s chin, pulling her closer. Her eyes roved over Jastyn’s face, seeming to count the freckles that lightly dotted her forehead and temples. They followed wisps of Jastyn’s strawberry-blond hair. After another minute, she said, “You look the same to me, child.”
Jastyn laughed and threw up her arms as Eegit bent and grabbed an antler from a pile of bones sitting outside the circle of stones. Shaking her head, Jastyn reached into her back pocket, pulling out a small, brown drawstring pouch.
“Well, would a child be able to take this from the apothecary’s stand when he wasn’t looking?”
She held the pouch up proudly. Eegit turned back to her, eyes wide. Then she hopped gleefully over to Jastyn, eager hands rubbing together.
“Crushed serpentine stone?” Eegit asked as she gingerly took the pouch from Jastyn, who couldn’t hide her smirk.
Eegit giggled and skipped over to her hut behind the stone circle. “Finally!” she hollered over her shoulder. “The merchants are so stingy with their minerals these days.” She disappeared into the hut, then re-emerged with a charred pot and a case Jastyn recognized as the one containing several dry herbs. As she crouched and opened up the case to browse its contents, Jastyn placed one hand on her hip.
“You still want to go after that spell, don’t you?” Jastyn shook her head. “They say it’s against the elements to try and bottle luck.”
“Nonsense,” Eegit replied, holding up several dried leaves in front of her face. She set the pot next to the stone circle. “That’s ancient superstition.”
“Besides,” added Jastyn, “I thought we were going to begin with more complex magic. You know, now that I’m of age.”
“Hush, child,” Eegit replied, dropping a few of the herbs into the pot, then tossing a bony rabbit foot into the purple flame, this time prompting a flicker of red before returning to its original state. “All in good time.”
“Speaking of time,” Jastyn said, glancing toward the sky. The sun had begun its descent, casting shadows around the edges of the meadow. “I had better return home.” She knew her stepfather Elisedd would be returning from the royal stables at sundown, and he didn’t like it when she wasn’t at home helping her mother over the fire. She didn’t want to risk another argument.
“Go on then,” Eegit called, mashing several dried leaves into her pot as she sat cross-legged.
