The story of Boudicca, the notorious warrior queen who led a legendary rebellion in 60 CE against the Roman Empire in Britain. This book by acclaimed Wolf Den Trilogy author Elodie Harper follows Boudicca’s meteoric rise and devastating fall through the eyes of her youngest daughter, Solina, who seeks revenge against Rome.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Elodie Harper’s Boudicca’s Daughter, which releases on September 2nd 2025.
Boudicca—infamous warrior, queen of the British Iceni tribe, and mastermind of one of history’s greatest revolts. Her defeat spelled ruin for her people, yet still her name is enough to strike fear into Roman hearts.
But what of the woman who grew up in her shadow? The woman who has her mother’s looks and cunning and her father’s druidic gifts, but a spirit all of her own? The woman whose desperate bid for survival will take her from Britain’s sacred marshlands to the glittering facades of Nero’s Roman Empire . . .
The narrative arc and emotional heart of the book is Solina’s complex relationship with Rome, and what resistance means in the radically different world she finds herself in after her mother’s fall. After she is taken to the Empire’s capital by the ruthless Roman general Paulinus, she will have to decide what it truly means to be Boudicca’s daughter.
Forced to fight. Determined to succeed. Meet Solina. Boudicca’s daughter.
This epic and emotional novel is perfect for fans of Madeleine Miller’s Circe and Constanza Casati’s Clytemnestra.
1
SOLINA
The twisted branches flash past, swift as shadows, yet solid as spears. I don’t have time to feel afraid of falling or being struck by deadly low-hanging trees. Instead, I cling to Tan’s mane, my heartbeat racing to the thunder of his footfall. A horse gallops faster than thought, and nothing exists for me but the exhilaration of his speed. The force of it hits me like fire, filling me with joy. Around us the wild wood, stripped of its leaves, glows green from the moss that rolls over waves of roots and stone in a luminous sea. Then Bellenia’s scream rings out, startling Tan, sending the last of the birds scattering. I turn in the direction of her cry. My sister has managed to overtake me, weaving dangerously through a narrow gap in the woods, more reckless than I would ever dare to be. Before I can urge Tan to go faster, Bellenia’s horse Kintu shoots onto the path in front, kicking up clods of earth, blackening the way. I don’t have the guts to try and shoulder her aside—either of us could be snared in a savage tangle of roots and whip-like boughs. Anger fills my heart as my vision shrinks to Kintu’s powerful haunches, the dark rope of his tail, the gold of my sister’s blonde hair.
White sky burns through the thinning trees, the green glow fading, then we burst out onto the plain. Open space excites Tan, giving him another burst of speed. Bellenia is ahead but not out of reach. I shout at my horse, encouraging him to gallop faster, but Kintu is still swifter, and the two waiting figures grow more solid in the distance. Beyond them the target also looms, the curved husk of a wide, blackened log, upended in the boggy ground: a dark imitation of a Roman invader. I see Bellenia hold out her spear, poised, an image of grace before she throws. Iron sinks into bark and she wheels off, screaming in triumph. I raise my own arm, bracing against the weight of the weapon, urging Tan to gallop directly at the target. He shears off at the last minute, but I ride him so close I hit the chalk daubed at its heart.
Unlike my sister, I canter toward Riomanda and our mother in silence. They sit tall on their horses, watching. Tan’s breathing is heavy, sweat lathered into foam at his sides, his coat drenched. Bellenia is already dismounted, weapon drawn, leaving Kintu untethered, the horse’s sides heaving like bellows. I leave Tan, drawing the weighted wooden sword from my back. Not a real weapon but still banned, still reason enough to train out here, where the grey fingers of the sea reach into the land, and no spies will watch us.
“The aim is to disarm,” Riomanda says, raising her voice over the wind.
I glance over at Riomanda and my mother, sisters by marriage and two of the most formidable warriors of the Wolf Tribe. Rome has forbidden the Iceni from bearing arms, but my mother once told us this is like commanding the sun not to rise. She has brought my sister and me here to learn how to fight, just as she and Riomanda once learned, tracing the thread of their knowledge back through time to the god of our people, Andraste. Riomanda’s dark hair is tied in a knot of plaits, her face hard, like the one shaped in metal on the hilt of her knife. My mother, Catia, is cloaked in a wolf pelt, its fur grey as winter clouds. Her eyes are on Bellenia. As always.
My sister’s cheeks are flushed red, eyes bright with excitement as she waits for me. We circle each other. She strikes first, as I knew she would. The force of her blow jars up my arm, but I keep hold of my sword. Bellenia begins to shout, aggression transforming her beautiful face, making her look as vicious as the carved head of a carnyx.
“You are slower than a badger, Solina! Even if I cut off one of Kintu’s legs, I would still beat you!”
I circle her, dodging another blow.
“Are you silent like a Roman?” she taunts. “Perhaps you are not Iceni at all.”
I say nothing, knowing that will enrage her more, and keep my eyes on her blade. The next time she hits out, I dodge in anticipation, and she lurches forward. Before she can recover her balance, I knock her over, sending her sprawling into the mud. Then I pounce, resting one boot on her stomach, the other on her weapon.
“Who’s slow now?”
“You sneaky piece of shit!” she exclaims, angrily wiping the mud from her trousers as I help her to her feet. Then she catches my eye and laughs.
“I’m glad you both find fighting so amusing,” Riomanda’s voice is ice. “Solina, that is a poor way to win, without daring to strike a single blow. Bellenia, if you fight like a fool, you will fall like one.”
I look over at our mother. She says nothing, which is even more ominous. Eyes narrowed, she dismounts, murmuring something to Riomanda as she hands over the reins of her horse. She walks over to Bellenia.
“Raise your weapon.” My sister swiftly obeys. “You strike well but you lack sense,” she continues, drawing a wooden weapon from her own back. “Fight me now, without signaling where you will hit.”
I watch them both, envy burning in my chest. Nobody can handle a sword like our mother, not even Riomanda. Yet, somehow, when Bellenia faces her, my sister draws strength from the encounter rather than falling to pieces as I do. I watch my sister’s thrusts and parries grow bolder and know how much pride our mother must feel; I know exactly why she will never love me as much as she loves Bellenia.
They end their bout. My sister did not manage to score a hit, but still, she came close. Our mother’s face is lit by an affectionate smile. “Better,” she says.
I brace myself, knowing it is now my turn. “Solina,” my mother turns to me. “You fight like a coward. In silence. Without striking a blow.”
The unfairness stings. “And yet I just won.”
“You have no fire,” she replies. “How would you survive in battle?”
I hit out in rage. She blocks my impulsive blow with ease, then rains down on me, just as she did with Bellenia. But while this inspired my sister to fight back, it only makes me shrink, my moves becoming ever more defensive.
“Do you have no insults?” my mother shouts. “Where’s your passion? Where’s your fury? What sort of warrior comes to battle like a mouse?”
“Quasi tuba inanis!” I scream back, swinging the sword at her, nearly scoring a hit. I see her face flush red—not at the words, which she would not understand, but because I have spoken in Latin. She knocks the sword from my grasp as if it were a reed, then slaps me across the face.
“Never speak their tongue to your own with a weapon in your hand,” she says.
Shame floods through me, scalding my face. Latin is the language of our enemy, the language used by the centurion who murdered Riomanda’s brother. I want to apologise but cannot bring myself to do it. My mother’s face hardens at my lack of remorse, then she turns her back.
Excerpt reprinted with permission from Boudicca’s Daughter by Elodie Harper © 2025. Published by Union Square & Co., an imprint of Grand Central Publishing, a division of Hachette Book Group.
