Page 8 of Queen of the Hollow Hills (Eagles and Crows #3)

CHAPTER 7

W hile I was grateful for Fabius’s tutoring, the Romans were not my only concern. A rider arrived, braving the deep snow, days before Yule with important news.

I had only seen the man once or twice before. He arrived just before midnight with a sealed letter on which were stamped the wings of a crow, a secret symbol for the network of spies Corva had created. He handed me the note.

“Kamden,” I told the housecarl, “see to it our visitor has something to drink and a hot meal. Privately.”

Kamden nodded.

“Queen Cartimandua,” the man said, bowing to me, then followed behind the housecarl.

Cormag had been sitting in the workroom with Corva and me, all of us preoccupied with our interests. Cormag had been carving little wooden animals in anticipation of delighting his children. Corva had been working her blades on a whetstone. I had been struggling to read a leaflet Fabius had given me, one of many in his collection, which contained the tale of a man named Orpheus who had traveled to the Roman Otherworld to retrieve his lost wife. I tried to focus on the story, but my mind went again and again to the little ones growing inside me. Already, I felt the roundness in my belly and the first flutters of movement. It was hard to imagine that I would be a mother in a few short months.

Our silence had been broken by the message.

Cormag joined Corva and me.

I cracked the seal on the note and read the message scrawled within.

“Cam is dead,” I said, then handed the note to Cormag.

“Now, your maid will take her father’s seat,” Corva replied.

“Contested or uncontested, that is the question,” I answered. “She may ask for support soon if she finds herself unable to keep her position.”

“How confident is she that she and her father rousted the rebels from Setantii lands?”

“When she wrote to me after Samhain, she assured me everything was in hand.”

“And do you believe that, my queen?” Cormag asked.

“My crow whispers that some secret meetings are still taking place in Bell’s Harbor. We cannot yet determine if they are merely disgruntled men or if they would move to topple Ystradwel.”

“She must take her place and consolidate her power quickly,” Corva added.

“You cannot advise her to do so until word comes from her. Otherwise, you will give yourself away,” Cormag said, gesturing to the note.

“She will be greatly grieved,” I said sadly, feeling guilt in my heart. How long had we kept her from her father, only to have her lose him so soon? “We must wait for Ystradwel’s word, but in the meantime, make ready. We must act if forces move against her, winter or not.”

The others nodded.

“And now we wait,” Corva said.

Cormag nodded. “And now we wait.”

Word came from Ystradwel several days later. She apologized for the late delay, saying that while she knew the death was coming, she was unprepared for the weight of it on her heart. They had sent her father to the Otherworld by lighted barge, shipping him off to the deep once more where he would join her mother. Afterward, the priestesses of the sea goddess Chlíodhna had seen her crowned as a chieftain in a small, private ceremony. Thus far, the Setantii had been quiet, merely mourning Cam. There had been no sign of rebellion.

“She did not ask you to come,” Corva said, frowning at the note.

“No,” I replied. “She writes that the snow is deep, the winter is too cold, and because I am with child, she did not want me to risk it.”

Corva was not the only one who had bristled at the idea that Ystradwel had been seated as chieftain without me present. I should have also been at Cam’s funeral rites. It was unseemly that I had not been there.

I sighed. “I made one trip into the city to see if anyone had walnuts, and now the whole tribe is talking about my belly. Your little ones have caused me to be disinvited to ceremonies. I must say, I am very put out,” I told Cormag, giving him a mock scolding glance.

Cormag chuckled. “I am happy to accept that blame. But Ystradwel is right. The snow is four feet deep in the mountain passes,” Cormag said as he gazed out the window. “And you are starting to get very round.”

Fabius, who’d been sitting in the corner of my workroom, preparing my lesson, looked up. “Are you feeling brave this morning, King Consort?”

I glared jokingly at Cormag.

“I am only saying, my blackthorn queen, that Ystradwel had good reason,” Cormag added.

“That may be,” Corva replied. “But no other Brigantes chieftains were in attendance. Others could have made the trek. And our eyes in Bell’s Harbor report the affair was more like a queen’s crowning than a chieftain's making.”

“Maybe she heard the story of what happened to Julius Caesar and did not want others around,” Fabius said absently, causing us to turn and look at him.

“What happened to Caesar?” I asked.

“Well, after he smashed about your little island, about sixty of his dearest friends invited him to a ceremony where he was assassinated. Twenty-three stabs in total.”

“That math does not add up. Perhaps I should have found a different tutor,” Corva told Fabius.

Fabius mock-counted on his fingers, then shrugged, making Corva shake her head.

“I understood he had been assassinated, but…” I said.

“See, it’s not good to attend all ceremonies, my queen. Just ask Caesar.”

“He got what he deserved,” Corva replied.

“Cheers to that, Priestess,” Fabius replied, lifting his cup in toast.

I sighed heavily. “I really wish I had found some walnuts.”

“As do we all,” Corva replied, sounding mildly exasperated. “We’ve heard of nothing else these last weeks.”

“I sent to Mydils. If any arrive by port, they are yours,” Cormag told me.

I sighed once more, making the others laugh.

“In the meantime, let us plan for Yule,” I said, trying to distract myself from my conflicted feelings over Ystradwel’s choices and my never-ending craving for walnuts. “In my grandfather’s time, he would open the fort and invite the people for a bonfire and games, but the fort outgrew the festivities, so no more parties were held save offering an ale cart and cakes at the city center. I think we can do better if you’ve left me any silver,” I told Corva.

“I have seen your vault, Cartimandua. You have no shortage of silver. And I do not think you will complain when you see your three new trading ships this spring.”

“Let’s make the arrangements. A festival to begin a new era. We will hold it in the new square in the expanded fort. All are welcome, near and far, and a new sword for any who brings their queen a bag of walnuts.”

“Is that an official proclamation, my queen?” Fabius asked.

I laughed. “The direst of any I have yet proclaimed.”

While I felt unsettled over the news of Cam’s death, Ystradwel’s reassurances and my crows’ eyes in Bell’s Harbor told me that while the Setantii still showed signs of difficulty accepting they were a client tribe, not a kingdom, there were no signs of a full-blown rebellion. At the least, that was good news. The winter would keep things quiet. Come spring, however, I would need to be watchful.

With everything else peaceful, I turned my attention to the Yule festivities. The festival would bring people to celebrate from far and wide. There would be bonfires, music, games, drink, and food.

Over the next week, I had wood brought in for the bonfires, sent men to string up garlands, saw to it that a pair of yule logs—one for the Cailleach, another for Brigantia—were carved, and had the kitchen working hard baking loaves of bread and cakes in preparation for the event.

“We crows love our trinkets,” Cormag told me. “It is the tradition in Din Eidyn to gift small goods to the children. Would you mind if I arranged such a thing in Rigodonum as well? As a child, I remember it being my favorite part of the holiday.”

I set my hand on Cormag’s cheek. “I love that idea.”

Cormag kissed my forehead and then nodded. “I will ask Kamden to help me see to it.”

“And I will go rest unless I am needed otherwise,” I told Corva and Cormag.

“We have things well in hand, my queen,” Corva reassured me. “I even saw Hilda hurrying off with new fabric, Fabius right behind her, chattering on about scarves or bells or something. I am not the only one spending your silver.”

At that, I laughed then went on my way.

Fergus followed along beside me. Since the arrival of the new residents in my womb, the dog had become my constant companion, which wasn’t a problem unless Nettle was around. This was why, when I reached the door to Verbia’s door, I left the dog behind with guards.

I found Verbia sleeping inside, Nettle curled up on the bed at her feet.

I paused momentarily, waiting to see the rise and fall of her chest. She looked so tiny in her bed. She had grown so frail, so small. Winter was hard on us all, but Verbia… No one remembered a person living as long as she had.

Going to her bedside, I sat gently, patting Nettle’s head and watching Verbia sleep. When she did not wake, I went to the fire, added more wood, and lay another skin on her, pausing to kiss her cheek on my way from the room.

Still, she slept soundly. Nettle stretched out, her sleek black coat only interrupted by the briefest glimpse of her pink toes.

I slipped out of the room, finding Fergus and my guard waiting. We returned to my bedchamber, Fergus following along protectively as I went to the bed and pulled off my boots.

“Planning to watch over me, eh? Don’t mind the little people of the hollow hills. They do seem to creep about more these days,” I said, giving the dog a pat and lying down, my hand on my round stomach.

I closed my eyes, my mind whirling with all that still needed to be done for the Yule festival. But soon, those thoughts grew quiet. The children in my womb stirred softly, the same sensation much like when I carried butterflies in my hands as a child.

As I drifted off to sleep, an image came to my mind.

In Dardani lands, Eddin would hold Yule court for the first time in ages. I imagined him there, dressed in furs and an emerald-green tunic, his red hair like a holly berry, making him look like the god Cernunnos himself. He would sit on his throne, laughing merrily and playing his lyre…summoning the fertile queen of spring, a fair maiden dressed in violet, flowers decorating her long, black tresses.

I woke later that night when Cormag joined me.

“Cormag?” I whispered softly.

“I’m sorry, my blackthorn queen,” he whispered, pulling me close and setting his hand on my stomach. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“Your hands are cold,” I whispered. “Would you turn our children’s hair pale with frost?”

Cormag chuckled, pulled his hands back to blow on them, then pulled me close once more.

“I should get up. There is work to be done,” I whispered.

“No, my queen. Everything has been attended to, and it is very late.”

“What have you been busy with?” I asked.

I could feel Cormag smile as he burrowed his face into my hair. “Buckles and ribbons for girls, and whetstones for boys.”

“And if a girl wants a whetstone and a boy a buckle or ribbon?”

“I do not discriminate.”

I chuckled. “That is very good of you,” I said sleepily.

“Fabius is planning to put on some sort of performance for us. He would not tell Corva or me what he was about, but Conall looked worried.”

“I can’t wait to see…” I said, feeling myself fall back to sleep.

“Sleep now, my queen. Soon, we will come to the longest night of the year, but afterward, the sun will begin its journey home. As Brigantia’s womb grows, so does yours, my love. Children. That was the whisper of the hollow hills. You must rest. Sleep. Winter is here, but with the passing of the solstice, the sun regains her time in the heavens and ushers our little ones to life.”

“May the goddess hear your words and keep you, our little ones, and all we love safe.”

“All is as the goddesses will, Carti. Blessed may we be.”