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“I’m going to the training yards. Coming, Fergus?”

The dog looked between us, then turned and made his way back into the fort.

“Traitor.”

“He only stays with me because I spend more time in the kitchens than in my workroom.”

“Fair enough.”

I grinned, nodded to the man, and returned inside, again nursing the twinge in my back.

It felt like it was going to be a very long day.

CHAPTER 12

In the end, the day passed without consequence. No Corva. No Cormag. Only Fabius and his antics. Because my only interest seemed to be in food, today my lessons involved a lecture on Roman dining.

“The rich will eat while reclining,” Fabius said, leaning across his chair, “since the meals will take hours. Often, the dinners are arranged so that there are large couches for people to eat and relax. But do not be fooled. A banquet is to show off your wealth and taste, and to make political connections. There is an expected decorum,” he told me, then coached me through a typical Roman meal service, which typically had three courses, including some delights he’d had my cooks prepare to re-create the adventure. “Most large Roman banquets will occur on high holidays, like your Yule.”

“With or without the assassination attempts?” I asked, snacking on some spiced bread Fabius had the kitchens make.

“Often with, and if not, one is planned during the event,” Fabius replied.

I chuckled.

“But make no mistake, if you are invited to dine with Romans, they will watch your every move—to judge yourrefinement, wealth, and intelligence. If they see you as a barbarian, which is how most Romans see this island, they will treat you as such. But they have never met someone like Queen Cartimandua. Did such a refined lady as you really order her enemies' heads to be posted on poles?”

“Less refined than an assassination attempt, but still equally effective.”

Fabius shuddered. “And yet you eat so daintily,” he said, gesturing to the small bites of bread I chose with my fingertips as he coached me.

“As long as I remember not to slurp my soup nor mistake the rosewater on the table as a drink when it’s intended for finger washing.”

Fabius laughed. “Exactly. And at all times, be witty. Always.”

I grinned. “Even when plotting an assassination?”

“Especially when plotting an assassination.”

After overeating with Fabius, banqueting like a Roman, I fell asleep early that night. When I woke the next morning, I felt the chill from the stone floor and walls. Slipping from my bed, I shivered as I pulled on my robe, pausing when a terrible twinge ripped across my lower back. The pain made me gasp. Pausing until the pain passed, I fastened my robe closed, then went to the window, opening the casement to look outside, discovering the world was covered in white.

It looked like the first snow of the season, covering everything in a blanket of white. The first spring flowers I had seen in the fields beyond the fort were now hidden.

Cormag…

I could only hope he had reached Isurium Brigantum before the snow had come.

But commotion in the square below took my attention from thoughts of my husband. A trumpet sounded, and a moment later, riders came through the gate of the old fort. From myvantage point, I could not see who had come clearly, but I saw a green banner with a purple thistle emblazoned thereon.

“Eddin,” I whispered, excitement sweeping through me.

Hurrying back to my bed, I pulled on a pair of Cormag’s boots and went to the door, only to stop short. Was I going to greet the king of the Dardani in a robe and oversized boots? Instead, I flung open the door and yelled, “Hilda!”

“Prin—Queen Cartimandua. I’m coming. I was already coming,” the maid said, turning the corner. “By the twin goddesses, you must tell me when you expect guests, my queen. We’ve let you sleep the whole morning, and I have nothing set out to wear.”

“I was not expecting anyone,” I replied, feeling my back twinge again. I winced.

“What was that?” Hilda asked, eyeing me suspiciously.