The novice escorts me to the refectory. Bishop Cuthbert is there, leaning on his staff as if he will walk out at any moment. I kneel for his blessing.
“Shall I send for the abbess?” I ask.
“No, Your Majesty. Shall we sit?” Cuthbert looks at me with a sad expression. “God sent me a vision.”
“About the Picts?”
“The war is over.”
“And my husband, the king?” I ask, though I know the answer already.
“He is dead, Your Majesty, and the army destroyed.”
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