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Fabius gave her a deep bow, flinging his cloak flamboyantly. “Fabius Tiberius, Great Lady. On the stage, I am known as Fabius the Fabulous.”

Onnen raised an eyebrow at him.

“Fabius was an actor in Rome,” Corva explained.

“A player of comedies and tragedies, High Lady,” Fabius explained.

“Andwithimportant ladies, which landed him in Gaul with a price on his head,” Corva added.

Fabius gasped in protest. “You will ruin my reputation before a lady of obvious importance.”

“Onnen is High Priestess of Brigantia,” I explained.

“Priestess, I have learned of your Brigantia. She is much like our Juno, with a pinch of Venus,” Fabius said with a smile.

“I know little of the Roman gods,” Onnen told him dismissively then turned to Cormag. “Let me see to your injury, King Consort,” Onnen said, escorting Cormag back inside.

“I—” Fabius began.

“That was a warm greeting,” Corva whispered to Fabius, clapping him on the back. “Onnen is the nice one. You have not yet med Môd.”

I chuckled, then followed Onnen and Cormag inside.

“What will you do with the body?” I heard Fabius ask Corva.

“We will take him to the dungeons, strip him, and look for markings,” Corva replied.

“Oh, dear,” Fabius said in surprise. “Priestess Corva, it is a bit early for such idiosyncrasies, is it not?”

Corva heaved an exasperated sigh.

I chuckled and then hurried to catch up with Onnen.

“Who was it?” Onnen asked me.

“It was not the Parisii. That is the only thing I am certain of. Someone made every effort to make it appear as though it were—his clothes, a ring, his coin.”

Onnen let out a soft “hmm,” then added, “May bright Brigantia be thanked you are alive, but I will check on the babes. It is too much excitement. Any pain or blood?”

“No, Holy Mother.”

“Your cheek.”

“The fletching of an arrow that narrowly missed.”

“Damned close.”

“It was.”

“And you, King Consort? Should we expect Mael Muire to come to reclaim you from hostile Brigantes lands?”

“A man must protect his wife and children. She knows that.”

“Well spoken. Now, Cartimandua, send your servants to fetch me a warm, spiced mead and minced pie. If I must ride to Rigodonum in the cold on Yuletide, the least you can do is afford me some of your leftover treats.”

“Would you like a parcel with a ribbon and buckle? I think the children have left a few.”

“Indeed, I would,” she said with a smile. “You keep the assassins, my young queen. I will keep the ribbons and sweets.”