Chapter 7Lavinia woke to find somebody poking her in the ribs. She groaned, turned over, and pulled the pelt over her head.
‘Time to get up, love,’ said a warm, matronly voice.
The princess shook her head. She’d stay in bed as long as she liked, even it did smell like bad breath under the covers.
‘Now, Lavinia.’ Amata ripped back the pelt. Morning’s chill was like a punch in the face. This winter promised to be bitter.
She rubbed the grit out of her eyes and yawned. Reddish light peeked from behind the curtain. Just a little longer, she signed.
‘Up, I say!’ said Amata. She was already dressed in a stately woollen stola, her iron-grey hair swept back in a tight bun. ‘No child of mine will be a lie-abed. I’ve much to teach you.’
Oh no, not another weaving lesson.
Amata’s cheeks flushe
