by Cayla Kluver
Awards for Cayla Kluver’s debut book, Legacy
• Bronze medalist in the 2008 Moonbeam Children’s Book Awards for Young Adult Fiction
• Finalist in two categories in the National Best Books Awards 2008 sponsored by USA Book News
• First-place winner (reviewer’s choice) in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2008 for Young Adult Fiction
• Young Voices Foundation book of the month for January 2009
Praise for Cayla Kluver
“Anyone who says teens can’t write should meet 16-year-old Cayla Kluver…. Kluver’s writing is impressive, fluid and focuses heavily on social customs and deep, complex characters; the skill of the writing and the resulting story make Legacy one book that any fantasy fan should pick up at the earliest opportunity.”
—Cleveland Literature Examiner
“If you’re looking for a richly painted tapestry of words, a fantasy sort of book written as if Jane Austen were still alive and had decided to write fantasies involving princesses, then you’re sure to love Legacy.”
—Curled Up With a Good Kid’s Book, five stars
“Well-paced and well-written, Legacy has passages of idyllic prose, tensions between lovers, and a powerful narrative in the description of a tournament battle…. But there are enough story threads left hanging to ensure that book two, Allegiance, will be a fitting sequel and to ensure Cayla Kluver’s legacy as a stellar author and storyteller.”
—ForeWord Clarion Reviews, five stars
“Legacy is a breathtakingly beautiful story about one girl’s struggle to overcome the expectations of a kingdom and find her own happiness…. Full of political struggle, duty, legends, brilliant characters, and beautiful prose, Legacy will leave readers wanting more.”
—Chick Lit Teens (www.chicklitteens.com)
“First let me just say wow. I am in love with this book and with Cayla’s beautiful writing…. Legacy is a mix of King Arthur and Romeo and Juliet in a way…it’s now on my top 5 favorite books with Twilight and The Hunger Games.”
—La Femme Readers (lafemmereaders.blogspot.com)
Books by Cayla Kluver from Harlequin TEEN
The Legacy Trilogy
Legacy
Allegiance
and coming in late 2012
Sacrifice
CAYLA KLUVER
ALLEGIANCE
MAPS
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1: SUCCESSOR
CHAPTER 2: RETRIBUTION
CHAPTER 3: ROYAL PAINS
CHAPTER 4: WITHOUT GUARDS
CHAPTER 5: THE QUEEN
CHAPTER 6: BOYS AND MEN
CHAPTER 7: CONNECTIONS
CHAPTER 8: UNCLE KNOWS BEST
CHAPTER 9: A PINK ROSE
CHAPTER 10: DARK DAWN
CHAPTER 11: BROTHERS IN ARMS
CHAPTER 12: ANSWERS
CHAPTER 13: A MESSAGE FOR HER HIGHNESS
CHAPTER 14: GAMBLE
CHAPTER 15: HONOR IN WAR
CHAPTER 16: TO HELL WITH DISCRETION
CHAPTER 17: WAR AND TEA
CHAPTER 18: A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE
CHAPTER 19: THE END AT LAST
CHAPTER 20: ONLY ONE MAN
CHAPTER 21: CAPABLE MEN
CHAPTER 22: ESCAPES
CHAPTER 23: PRACTICAL DECISION
CHAPTER 24: DYING FOR THEIR KINGDOM
CHAPTER 25: TIME TO STRIKE BACK
CHAPTER 26: STRENGTH OF THE KINGDOM
CHAPTER 27: NO CHANCE FOR GOODBYES
CHAPTER 28: MY NAME IS LONDON
CHAPTER 29: THE DEAD & THE DYING
CHAPTER 30: ONCE A KING
CHAPTER 31: THE DUST SETTLES
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Q & A WITH CAYLA KLUVER
PROLOGUE
THE HALL WAS EMPTY EXCEPT FOR A CLOAKED figure who stood motionless upon a black marble dais. He waited, watching the doors at the far end with eyes as bright as emeralds and as threatening as livid clouds on the horizon. Hair red like the embers of a dying fire shrouded his features. The rest of his powerful form was rendered nearly invisible by the shadows, for even the light from the torches lining the walls seemed reluctant to approach him.
The doors opened, swinging inward to reveal the silhouettes of the young man he had summoned and the two guards who flanked him. The guards had been ordered to bring the youth to this place, for he could no longer be trusted.
Ignoring his escorts, the seventeen-year-old entered, walking tall and unafraid. He was completely defenseless, bearing no weapons, yet there was no hesitation in his stride. Without a sign of deference he stopped before the dais, glaring up at the formidable figure, but the man ignored this insolence and spoke instead to the guards.
“You are dismissed,” he murmured. “Leave us.”
The guards hurriedly obeyed, and he focused his attention on his troublesome charge.
“I trust you have rested well?” he inquired, feigning cordiality.
“Well enough.”
The man gave a slight nod, irritation etching lines in his otherwise smooth face.
“Now that you have returned to us, Narian, and have been given time to recover your strength, your training must recommence. Your foolish action in running away has already driven us to wage war with Hytanica. I must prepare you for the time when you will join that effort. You will be the one to bring Hytanica to ruin.”
“I will not lead troops against my homeland,” Narian declared. “I’ve told you what I know. I won’t help you destroy Hytanica.”
Sighing, the man, who was the master of this hall, moved to his left and descended the stairs from the dais to the floor.
“I feared you might say that,” he said, coming to stand before the young man, towering over him by several inches. “Have you forgotten to whom you owe your allegiance? The Hytanicans are enemies of Cokyri. They are your enemies.”
“The enemy treated me well,” Narian countered, clenching his jaw.
The man began to circle the boy he had helped raise, examining him, looking for a weakness. As he moved, he spoke, his voice chilling in its civility.
“A Cokyrian in need of punishment was brought before me today. He writhed in agony for hours under the torment of my hand, pleading for mercy, until I drew my sword and cut off his head. It rolled to the very spot where you stand. He was a thief, Narian. To show me disrespect is a far worse offense. Can you imagine what your punishment will be?”
“I am not afraid of torture or of death. You have seen to that with your training. Do with me what you will.”
“Such brave words from one who is so very vulnerable.” The Overlord came to a stop in front of his charge. “You are about to learn that there are many types of torture, one in particular that you are not prepared to endure.”
Narian tensed, bracing himself for whatever pain he was about to suffer, but the warlord merely watched him, a smirk curling the corners of his lips.
“I believe this will provide the proper incentive to obey.” The Overlord turned toward a door behind and to the left of the dais. “Bring in the prisoner,” he called, raising his voice but slightly, for the malice within gave it great resonance.
Narian paled as the door was flung open and a young woman whose face he knew well was pulled into the hall. A single guard accompanied her, grasping the manacles that bound her hands before her.
The Overlord strode to the girl and seized her by her tangled hair. She whimpered as he hauled her across the floor toward Narian, and a tear slid down her cheek.
“Don’t hurt her,” Narian said, shaking his head, and for the first time, there was a slight tremor in his voice. “Please, don’t hurt her.”
“Really, Narian. Begging doesn’t become you.”
&nb
sp; Releasing his hold upon the young woman’s hair, he hit her across the face. She collapsed to the floor, sobbing, hand to her mouth where blood had begun to trickle.
“No!” Narian shouted. “I said don’t hurt her!” His eyes flicked between his master and the girl while his mind raced, for this was something he had not anticipated. Then he took hold of his emotions and steadied his voice. “We can come to terms. Just don’t do her harm.”
“Terms?” the Overlord repeated, mulling over the concept. “You would gamble with her life?”
“No, I would gamble with your victory. If she is injured or killed, then nothing on hell or earth will persuade me to do your bidding.” Narian paused, expecting a reprisal, then continued when none was forthcoming. “My demands are simple. Give me your assurance that she will not be harmed, and guarantee that the Hytanican people will not be needlessly slaughtered.”
After a moment’s contemplation, the Overlord nodded. “Though I do not view you as in a position to negotiate, I will accept these terms in exchange for your willing submission to my authority.” He glanced at the prisoner, then motioned to the guard to retrieve her. “I knew you would once again see things as I do.”
The guard scurried to where the girl lay sobbing and attempted to pull her to her feet, but she cried out and jerked from his grasp. She reached toward Narian and tried to move in his direction, weeping and whispering his name, but he could only shake his head in silent apology. At a pointed glance from the warlord, the guard grabbed the prisoner by her upper arms and dragged her away. The Overlord then considered his charge once more.
“There are a number of offenses for which you should be punished—insolence, disobedience, flight—but I am willing to overlook those things. I fear, however, that you have forgotten the extent of my power, so for that reason alone, a reminder is in order.”
The Overlord stretched out his arm toward Narian and the young man stiffened, steeling himself against what was to come. Then he fell to his hands and knees, convulsing in pain, his body battered by his master’s magic. Although he struggled not to scream, his efforts in the end were futile, and his cries continued until the warlord relented, lowering his hand.
“That’s enough,” the Overlord admonished, as though Narian were accountable for his own agony. “Just remember when we resume your training that this is just the beginning of what you, as well as the girl, will suffer if you fail to accomplish the task that I have set before you.”
CHAPTER 1
SUCCESSOR
PALACE GUARDS LINED BOTH SIDES OF THE Throne Room, standing at attention in their royal-blue tunics with gold center panels, each holding in his left hand a flagstaff from which hung silks in the same colors. At the front of the hall on the marble dais, the King’s Elite Guard formed a double arc on each side of the thrones, with Cannan, clad in the black jerkin he wore as Captain of the Guard, standing closest to the right side of the King’s throne. The benches that had been placed in rows with a wide aisle between were filled with the opulently attired members of Hytanica’s nobility. Late-afternoon sunlight filtered through the high windows of the northern wall, casting a glow over the front of the hall as if extending an invitation. Except for the occasional sound of someone shifting position or a bench scraping the stone floor, the room was silent, as everyone waited for the coronation ceremony to begin.
Steldor and I, along with the other members of the royal family, were likewise silent. Although the antechamber provided ample seating, excitement kept us on our feet. At the opening of one of the doors leading into the Throne Room, we shifted simultaneously to watch Lanek, the King’s herald and personal secretary, step into our midst.
“The priest is ready to begin,” he informed us.
My dark eyes briefly met Steldor’s, but I saw none of the nervousness I was feeling reflected on his face. His composure surprised me until I realized that the stress of this ceremony was probably nothing compared to the pressures he would have coped with as a field commander leading troops in battle.
At the King’s nod, Palace Guards swung the heavy double doors open, enabling my mother and father to stand side by side on the threshold. They would be preceded by heralds, one of whom bore the kingdom’s standard, another a flag embroidered with the royal family’s coat of arms.
My father was dressed in gold and shouldered the Sovereign’s Robe of royal-blue velvet with an ermine collar. Upon his salt-and-pepper hair rested the Crown of the King, a diamond-embedded circlet of gold with four bejeweled crosses spaced evenly around its circumference. He carried the royal scepter in his left hand, on his right hand he wore the King’s signet ring, and the royal sword rested in the scabbard on his left hip.
Atop my mother’s honey-blond hair sat the Crown of the Queen, a golden band to match the King’s, but with a single bejeweled cross at the front. From the shoulders of her gold brocade gown swept a royal-blue velvet cape.
The assembled nobility rose to their feet as the trumpets sounded and Lanek stepped forward to announce the King and Queen. Although his short, stocky build made him difficult to see in a crowd, his booming voice always ensured he was heard.
“All hail King Adrik and his Queen, the Lady Elissia!”
My father’s soft brown eyes met my mother’s serious blue ones, and I saw him squeeze her hand affectionately before extending his arm to her for the processional. He then made his last entrance into the Throne Room as Hytanica’s ruler, his wife at his side. The aged priest who stood in front of the dais in anticipation of administering the oath to the King’s successor moved to the right to make way for their coming, and my father and mother mounted the steps to stand before their thrones, turning to face their subjects.
My sister, Princess Miranna, her blue eyes sparkling, entered next, clothed in a gown to match our mother’s with a tiara of gold and pearls encircling her strawberry blond hair. She curtsied to the sovereign before likewise climbing the steps to stand in front of the farthest of three regal armchairs that had been placed to the left of the Queen.
I waited for my sister to take her position and then began the slow walk down the aisle. Despite my efforts to quiet them, my hands were shaking, for my heart was laden with dread at the thought of the power Steldor would soon wield as King. I was clothed in the dress I had worn for my wedding but a week ago on the tenth of May, although a crimson robe was now attached at the shoulders to sweep the floor in my wake. Like Miranna, I wore a tiara of gold and pearls upon my head, my dark brown hair drawn up off my shoulders.
As I approached the thrones, a smile flitted across my countenance at a sudden mental image of what London would have looked like had he been standing among the Elite Guards. My former bodyguard had not yet returned from his search for Narian in the mountains, but I knew if he had been present, he would not have worn the requisite uniform. The thought of him standing in his leather jerkin among this ostentatious company struck me as comical. Reaching the dais, I curtsied to my parents before stepping up to stand in front of the armchair immediately to the Queen’s left.
The anticipation in the room heightened as I gazed at Steldor where he waited at the head of the aisle, magnificent in a black dress coat over a gold doublet that emphasized his muscular build and set off his dark hair and eyes. The scabbard that hung at his left hip was empty, but the dagger I had given him three months ago for his twenty-first birthday was sheathed on his right. A crimson cape, secured to the shoulders by gold clasps, pooled on the floor at his heels.
At the sounding of the trumpets, Steldor began the long march down the aisle, his boots beating a slow and steady cadence. He focused straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the gathered throng, his expression as fixed as those of the past kings in the portraits lining the walls to his left and right. Regardless of his demeanor, I knew from the tilt of his head that he was relishing this moment.
As Steldor drew closer to the thrones, the priest moved into the aisle, not speaking until my husband had halted ten paces from him.<
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“Lords and ladies of Hytanica,” he said, raising the volume of his nasal, tremulous voice so that all might hear. “I present unto you Lord Steldor, son of the Baron Cannan and husband of the heir to the throne, Princess Alera, who comes before you to be crowned rightful King over all the lands and peoples of Hytanica. Are all you assembled here this day willing to recognize him as such?”
A resounding “Aye” echoed throughout the Throne Room.
“And are you, Lord Steldor, willing to take the King’s Oath?”
“I am willing.”
The priest surveyed the nobility and, when he was satisfied that everyone was listening, nodded to Steldor, who dropped to one knee.
“Will you solemnly promise to govern the peoples of the Kingdom of Hytanica with justice, mercy and wisdom?” the priest inquired.
“I solemnly promise so to do.”
“Will you promise to enforce and maintain the laws of God?”
“I do so promise.”
“Will you restore the things that are gone to decay, punish and reform what is amiss, and confirm what is in good order?”
“All this I promise so to do.”
“Then arise and approach the throne.”
Steldor stood as the priest yielded the aisle. After tendering one last bow to his King and Queen, he mounted the steps of the dais, and Cannan advanced to remove the crimson robe that marked his son as the successor to the throne. My mother thereupon took the Sovereign’s Robe from the King’s shoulders. She waited as Steldor turned to face the nobility and then draped it over his powerful frame. As my parents moved to stand next to the Captain of the Guard, Cannan tendered the crimson robe to my mother so that she could place it upon my father’s back.
Steldor now cast his eyes over the nobility, poised to make his final pledge.
“The things that I have here promised, I will perform and keep, so help me God,” he declared, his voice impassioned.