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Corva went to retrieve the weapon from her horse. She looked it over, her eyes scanning the piece. “I am sure no one is surprised that this isnotParisii design. In fact, it looks like something from Éire,” she said, handing it to Cormag.

My husband flexed the bow in his hands. “Elm.”

Corva dug into her satchel and pulled out the ration bag. She took out the round of bread and broke it in half, smelled the ingredients, then broke the crumb of the bread and rubbed it between her fingers, considering. She frowned but said nothing.

“At least one thing is certain,” Conall said, covering the body once more. “He wasnotParisii. In the very least, we can rule them out.”

“He did not act alone. Someone sent him. This is not one man with a grudge against Cartimandua. This is someone sent to kill a queen,” Corva replied.

“It is no news to me that I have enemies,” I said, looking at the dead man. “But an assassin is…unexpected.”

Wrapped in his heavy cloak, Fabius joined us. He eyed the man. “Your assassin?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Hmm,” Fabius mused, then took the round of bread from Corva’s hand and took a bite.

“Wait!” Corva said, but Fabius frowned and handed it back to her.

“Disgusting. Too much sea salt…and it tastes like fish.”

Corva’s brow furrowed, and she took a bite of the bread herself. “I taste… It’s not salt. It’s kelp.”

“Odd,” I said.

She nodded. “Conall, will you have the men take the corpse to the dungeon? I wish to study the body further,” Corva told the guard, who nodded.

A moment later, a horn sounded, and the gates to the fort opened. I was surprised to see Onnen, along with two other priestesses of Brigantia, their white robes whipping in the wind.

“Onnen,” I called in greeting.

Onnen dismounted carefully, one of the other priestesses steadying her as she stepped onto the frozen courtyard stones.

“Queen Cartimandua, we received word of the attempt on your life and the injury to King Consort Cormag. I wanted to come and see both of you,” she told me, but then her eyes drifted to the body.

“The assailant?”

“Yes.”

Onnen nodded slowly. “That is two attempts on your life in the last twelve moons, my queen. Would you rival Bellnorix? He sometimes had one a month.”

I laughed. “My grandfather was too stone-hearted to be killed by a mere arrow.”

“Indeed, neither blade nor illness would win him over. Only time.”

“Come. We are done here. Let’s go inside,” I said, then turned to Cormag. “You should rest.”

“As should you.”

Corva reached out to take the bow from Cormag. “May I?”

He nodded and then handed it to her.

Onnen paused to meet her gaze. “Priestess.”

“Holy Mother,” Corva replied, giving her a short bow.

Onnen shifted her gaze to Fabius. “You are the Roman I have heard of.”