A Year of Ravens by Kate Quinn EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author: Kate Quinn
- Language: English
- Genre: Ancient Historical Fiction
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“A miserable peace is better than war.”
— Tacitus
The Queen
Stephanie Dray
PROLOGUE
We were both queens. We both wore crowns of fiery red hair. We both stood
so tall that we towered over the Romans who came to subdue our lands. We
both tried to protect our people.
But she is a hero to the Britons while I am despised.
Boudica.
You’ve heard her name. Of course you have. Everyone has. And when
you’ve heard it spoken, you’ve heard the hushed awe of her admirers or the
grudging respect of her enemies. You’ve heard her legend. And you may
think you know the story of the proud rebel queen who humbled the
Romans, burning and slashing her way to eternal glory. But you cannot
know her story without knowing mine.
And mine begins as it will likely end, with ravens.
For ravens made me a queen.
Or so it seemed to me during my twentieth winter, when they circled the
air over a dozen fresh graves, their harsh avian cries an eerie echo of those
who had died of fever, including my royal family. In my grief, I felt the
ravens’ dark eyes upon me like the expectant gaze of the gods. Felt it again
during the festival of Imbolc, celebrated in honor of our high goddess, for
ravens are the first birds to nest when the lambing season has begun.
They flapped above us from their perches on the rocky outcroppings—
the bridestones—while we brandished torches to banish the dread crone of
winter and summon forth the maiden of springtime. Then we flung garlands
into the river, where a woven boat filled with winter flowers awaited me.
And I prepared to take the oath that would bind me to my people.
Descended of great kings, I was young and radiant and beloved by
everyone—a thing I took much for granted. But then it is easy to be loved
when you’re a young and beautiful queen, for the people make you a vessel
into which they pour all their hopes . . . and you have not yet had the chance
to bitterly disappoint them.
So while I swore my oath, I did not worry about keeping the love of my
people, for I had never been without it. What I worried about was whether I
would be a good queen. I was no warrior, even if I was long and lean of
limb, and the mystery of how to become the earthly incarnation of our high
goddess still eluded me. Brigantia. She was the maiden, the mother, and the
crone. She was the patroness of poetry, craft, and healing. In kinship with
her, I would take a white snake as my companion animal.
But her omens that year I did not understand.
It had been a strange and devastating winter that made me fear for the
survival of my people; now the thaw had come, and the river ran swiftly,
more treacherous in its depths than we could have anticipated when I
stepped into that woven boat.
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