up to unfasten the plain, utilitarian pin that held Comorra’s cloak closed at her shoulder and replace it with the ornament from the box—the very same brooch that had sent Clare spiralling through time to this world.
“I fear this is not such a world,” the king continued. “But I am comforted. The Raven Goddess watches over you, Comorra.”
Comorra’s glance flicked over to where Clare stood watching. Clare put a finger to her lips again, terrified that the princess might call her out, but Comorra simply nodded, smiling ever so slightly, and turned her eyes back to her father.
“May she keep you ever safe.”
Clare grinned as Comorra exclaimed with wonder at the intricately wrought ornament. The Iceni evidently revered beautiful things, and of course the brooch was exquisite. Catching the light from the ring of torches, the garnet sparkled dramatically in its setting. At the front of the crowd, near the royal family, Clare saw Llassar grow tall with pride. She herself felt a certain giddy thrill to see the princess so pleased.
But then a shiver ran down her spine. She turned to see Connal staring at her—or rather, at the space she invisibly occupied—a faint frown on his brow. Clare found that she was holding her breath as his piercing gaze swept back and forth through the space where she stood.
But then Comorra smiled at him and his expression cleared. He gazed at her with obvious and abundant affection, and Comorra returned his look with one of her own that was halfway between bashful and smouldering.
Whoa , Clare thought. She’s seriously crushing on him …
Clare could hardly blame her. Connal was, to put it mildly, rock-star gorgeous. The young Druid’s chestnut-brown hair was shot through with deep red highlights that gleamed in the torch fire. And like many of the other men, he wore almost as much ornamentation as the women. Gold glinted at his earlobe and a silver torc shone at his throat. A long grey cloak was thrown back over his shoulders, revealing a finely woven tunic fitted smoothly over the contours of his muscled chest, and buckskin trousers were laced tight around his calves above his bare feet.
Connal moved with an animal’s sliding grace as he stepped toward the princess. “I speak for the Druiddyn to convey their blessings upon you, Comorra, and my own. Your father speaks truth when he says Andrasta holds you in her hands.” He touched the jewelled brooch on her shoulder, and Clare could have sworn she saw Comorra shiver with delight. “You are beloved of the Raven. Your mother has called upon the goddess to protect you and she has answered. That is all the protection you should ever need.”
“It should be indeed, Connal.” Comorra grinned and then glanced at her mother. “But as my mother would no doubt agree, I will keep my sword close, just in case!”
They all laughed at that, with Boudicca’s harsh mirth ringing out above the other voices like the cry of a carrion crow. Then everyone who had swords drew them from their scabbards and thrust them into the night sky, as if they would tear it open to bring daylight pouring forth.
It seemed that the brief ceremony was all the formal solemnity the Iceni could take. They rushed forward and surrounded the royal family, hugging and pounding on backs until the whole thing began to look like a rugby scrum. Comorra and her family were swept out of the grove in the direction of some kind of feast, Clare guessed—judging from the mouth-watering smells of roasting meat wafting toward them from that direction.
As quickly as it had filled up, the clearing emptied out, the whirlwind of revellers vanishing beneath the shadows of the trees and leaving only their whoops and hollers in their wake. Clare sagged against the rough stone, giddy with the contagious excitement of the Iceni. Lightheaded, she closed her eyes for a moment and tried to steady her breathing and slow her rabbit-fast heart. It worked—right up until the moment she
“I fear this is not such a world,” the king continued. “But I am comforted. The Raven Goddess watches over you, Comorra.”
Comorra’s glance flicked over to where Clare stood watching. Clare put a finger to her lips again, terrified that the princess might call her out, but Comorra simply nodded, smiling ever so slightly, and turned her eyes back to her father.
“May she keep you ever safe.”
Clare grinned as Comorra exclaimed with wonder at the intricately wrought ornament. The Iceni evidently revered beautiful things, and of course the brooch was exquisite. Catching the light from the ring of torches, the garnet sparkled dramatically in its setting. At the front of the crowd, near the royal family, Clare saw Llassar grow tall with pride. She herself felt a certain giddy thrill to see the princess so pleased.
But then a shiver ran down her spine. She turned to see Connal staring at her—or rather, at the space she invisibly occupied—a faint frown on his brow. Clare found that she was holding her breath as his piercing gaze swept back and forth through the space where she stood.
But then Comorra smiled at him and his expression cleared. He gazed at her with obvious and abundant affection, and Comorra returned his look with one of her own that was halfway between bashful and smouldering.
Whoa , Clare thought. She’s seriously crushing on him …
Clare could hardly blame her. Connal was, to put it mildly, rock-star gorgeous. The young Druid’s chestnut-brown hair was shot through with deep red highlights that gleamed in the torch fire. And like many of the other men, he wore almost as much ornamentation as the women. Gold glinted at his earlobe and a silver torc shone at his throat. A long grey cloak was thrown back over his shoulders, revealing a finely woven tunic fitted smoothly over the contours of his muscled chest, and buckskin trousers were laced tight around his calves above his bare feet.
Connal moved with an animal’s sliding grace as he stepped toward the princess. “I speak for the Druiddyn to convey their blessings upon you, Comorra, and my own. Your father speaks truth when he says Andrasta holds you in her hands.” He touched the jewelled brooch on her shoulder, and Clare could have sworn she saw Comorra shiver with delight. “You are beloved of the Raven. Your mother has called upon the goddess to protect you and she has answered. That is all the protection you should ever need.”
“It should be indeed, Connal.” Comorra grinned and then glanced at her mother. “But as my mother would no doubt agree, I will keep my sword close, just in case!”
They all laughed at that, with Boudicca’s harsh mirth ringing out above the other voices like the cry of a carrion crow. Then everyone who had swords drew them from their scabbards and thrust them into the night sky, as if they would tear it open to bring daylight pouring forth.
It seemed that the brief ceremony was all the formal solemnity the Iceni could take. They rushed forward and surrounded the royal family, hugging and pounding on backs until the whole thing began to look like a rugby scrum. Comorra and her family were swept out of the grove in the direction of some kind of feast, Clare guessed—judging from the mouth-watering smells of roasting meat wafting toward them from that direction.
As quickly as it had filled up, the clearing emptied out, the whirlwind of revellers vanishing beneath the shadows of the trees and leaving only their whoops and hollers in their wake. Clare sagged against the rough stone, giddy with the contagious excitement of the Iceni. Lightheaded, she closed her eyes for a moment and tried to steady her breathing and slow her rabbit-fast heart. It worked—right up until the moment she
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