They’d lived all their lives in their family’s generations-old timber-and-thatch farmhouse. It felt strange to simply walk up to a wide fancy wooden door in an elaborate frame, set into a massive expanse of brick studded with actual glazed windows made of many small diamond panes. There was a second door to the right, narrower and lacking the decoration, simply sturdy wood set flush with the brick; Aelfric guessed that it was probably meant for some pragmatic utilitarian purpose, and chose to open the carved and painted door.

In theory, the wagon carrying everything they’d packed for a sennight’s stay, and likewise the belongings of the Cristovals and Denisots, all clearly marked, should have arrived here yesterday and delivered it to the appropriate houses. Aelfric had to give the Queen credit for that: her plan left nothing to chance and no excuses.

Or perhaps the credit went to the Queen’s trusted handmaid Herlinde, who had simply appeared in Rosebridge over the winter, stayed for several nervewracking days, then left just as abruptly. Messages had soon been delivered to all three leading households by an official royal messenger, informing them that three specific marriages would occur. Housing had been arranged, and a wagon would go a day ahead with possessions to spare them that. On precisely this day, they were to have everything packed for the wagon to pick up; on precisely this day, they were expected to arrive at the duly-marked houses on Redsmith Lane before sunset. Herlinde would pay them each a visit that evening to confirm that all was still in order.

It hadn’t been said, but there had been a distinct undertext suggesting that it had better all be still in order. Or else.

Reactions from parents had not been uniformly positive, to say the least. Aelfric wasn’t entirely certain why. No family was likely to consent to a marriage in which the two parties did not bring roughly equivalent resources, in the form of the portion of their inheritance they were entitled to at that time. Within Rosebridge, there was no one else of comparable status and income to marry, and it would be necessary to look elsewhere. Probably, at least on the part of Einwulf Glaedwin, it was largely irritation at being told what to do.

Reactions from the prospective brides and grooms and their friends were more complex.

“Ximeno is a lot more cheerful about this whole arrangement than our father is,” Aelfric murmured, as they stepped through the door. “I wonder how the Denisots feel, this close to it.”

“For Leo’s sake, I hope they’re honestly good with it,” Richold said quietly. “At moments, I’m worrying how much I might have to protect Teoda from having it taken out on her.”

Aelfric looked back, and gave him a quick smile. “You won’t be doing it alone, if it comes to that. But he’ll calm down and forget that he ever objected. You’ll see.”

Richold returned the smile, but it faded as he closed the door behind them.

They’d stepped into a reception room, beautifully decorated and furnished, with a single door at the far end. With nowhere else to go, they went straight ahead and through that door. Past a curved flight of stairs up, they found only a pleasant, airy sitting room that looked onto a pocket-sized patch of garden, so they ventured up the stairs.

To one side was a dining room with a large polished table surrounded by chairs; to the other was a more formal-looking sitting room, gleaming dark wood and smooth pale leather and soft-looking multi-coloured fabrics. This whole house was so narrow there seemed only enough space for a single room at the front and one at the back, with the stairs up the centre. No wonder it was three floors tall to fit a very pleasant and well-appointed residence into such a limited footprint.

“There you are,” Melisend said, rising from a chair with arms carved into the shapes of hounds. “But where’s your sister?”

“We haven’t seen her,” Aelfric said; his sword and Richold’s both clattered on a sideboard table as he set them down too hastily and spun around. “She was with you. I had a little trouble with my mare and Rich stopped to buy something, and we lost you.”

Melisend raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh dear. She told us she was going with you!”

“Damn that girl,” Einwulf growled. “She made it plain enough she doesn’t care for this marriage, but disregarding the orders of the Queen is a bad idea likely to have consequences for the entire family and for her.”

“What if she’s lost, though? Out there alone in the big city, with no idea where we are or how to find us, and vulnerable to... oh, the gods only know what could happen!” Under stress, Melisend’s native accent began to creep through more strongly.

“This is Leofeva,” Aelfric said. “Between her getting lost and her spotting a chance to run off, I find the first one extremely hard to believe but the second one highly plausible.”

“I suppose we’ll have to think of something to tell that bloody hag Herlinde,” Einwulf groused. “She’ll be along soon enough, and we’ll be lucky if we don’t find ourselves in the dungeon or forfeiting the bridge or something.”

“She could have done something impulsively,” Aelfric admitted. “I’d expect her to have a plan, but she’s even less familiar with the capital than I am. There are, what, something like thirty thousand people crammed into about the same space as the core of Rosebridge, less than a square mile? It’s pretty overwhelming out there. If we were back in Rosebridge, I’d know where to look for her. I wouldn’t know where to start here. Ilduara’s been her closest friend forever, but they only just arrived so I don’t know how she’d know.”

“I could go ask,” Richold suggested. “They wouldn’t want Leo lost in the city either.”

Aelfric nodded. “You do that. Don’t get distracted with Teoda, please, and come straight back.” He frowned, thinking, while Richold dropped the pink-and-white posy of flowers on the table and darted back down the stairs. “At home, we’d have plenty of people around who would recognize her on sight. Here, she’s just another young woman with nothing to make her immediately stand out. I assume there’s a larger version of Rosebridge’s watch, but even if they listen to us, there’s nothing we can tell them except that there’s a young blonde woman in dark brown who’s gone missing.”

She’d planned this, he was sure of that. She’d chosen to wait until a moment when she had time to disappear in an environment in which she’d blend in. That didn’t make him less worried about her safety. How much money did she have on her? More increased the odds of being assaulted for it; less limited her options for what to do. She had no friends here. The sun was low in the sky, and they hadn’t eaten since stopping for lunch by the side of the road, or slept since well before dawn. What did she intend to do?

“Is there a cloister of Fritha in Blaecstan?” he asked suddenly. “Or a temple or something? Fritha’s a maiden goddess, she could have decided to go there and ask for sanctuary.”

“At least she’d be safe there,” Melisend said, brightening. “There must be one. On the outskirts, at least.”

“Yes, but how do we convince her to come back and be responsible and marry Josceran?” Einwulf said. “Men aren’t even permitted on the grounds of Fritha’s shrines, outside of the infirmary. I have no idea where it is. I’ve never needed it when I’ve been here.”

“I suppose I’ll have to go talk to her. Unless we can persuade Ilduara to do so, for Leofeva’s sake. She can’t seriously intend to take vows and stay there. What sort of life is that, growing plants and nursing humans and animals with no husband or children of your own?”

Aelfric hadn’t considered that aspect—and apparently their mother had forgotten that Leofeva was very interested in herbalism and medicine and had taken every opportunity she could to learn more about it. Not entirely surprising, since Leofeva had given up on asking and grown tired of the lectures, and had gone searching for sources of information by stealth instead. That included helping the elderly Rosebridge midwife Osgyth as often as possible, and quite likely she was a devotee of Fritha. Aelfric couldn’t recall ever asking, but the best healers generally were.

This was, to say the least, worrying. Leofeva might very well consider that life preferable to one that meant being married off to Josceran to solve a long-standing property dispute. Under other circumstances he’d have simply blessed the choice and supported her unconditionally. Under these ones... that was more complicated.

“Herlinde will either know where to find Fritha’s people, or have access to someone who does,” Melisend said. “It would be better to find her ourselves first, and not let Herlinde and the Queen know that Leofeva ever did this, but I’m not sure what else we can do.”

“The stablemaster was friendly and helpful,” Aelfric said. “I could go across the street and ask him if he knows where, or who we can ask. Didn’t Herlinde promise us a cook and a maid to generally look after domestic things while we’re here? Could we ask them?”

“I can try,” Melisend said, getting to her feet. She was still in the clothes she’d worn to ride since the sky had begun to brighten. The hem of her ankle-length creamy chemise, split at front and back to make it easier to ride astride, was soiled, and road dust showed on her long close-fitting sleeves. Her russet dress wasn’t her best, but it showed dirt less than her finer ones; as with any, it was split high up the sides for ease of motion while maintaining modesty, but the trumpet-shaped sleeves were shorter than more formal ones, reaching barely to her knees. Side laces held it snug over a figure more ample these days than her daughter’s, allowing it to loosen below her hips and across her breasts and shoulders. Her greying brown hair was braided neatly and coiled into a crown secured with tortoiseshell pins, though she’d discarded the scarf she’d had over it on the road and a few tendrils were straying from the braid.

She’d never have permitted herself to be seen in that condition in her own house. It said something about how unsettled she felt, how out of her depth, that she spared no thought for it.

Aelfric bowed his head to both parents. “I’ll be back in a moment, I’ll ask the stablemaster.”

It wasn’t a given that Leofeva had gone in search of Fritha, but the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. She was too intelligent to believe that she could simply make her own way unaided. She had no one in Blaecstan that she knew and could turn to on a personal basis. Fritha, on the other hand, offered immunity from marriage and an education in a subject that was of deep interest to her.

All these stairs were going to be constant exercise while they were here.

Richold met him in the entrance room just inside the door.

“Ilduara says she has no idea,” he said breathlessly. “I’m not sure I believe her. She didn’t want to meet my eyes. Ximeno says he has a lot of business acquaintances here, he can ask them to watch for her, but giving them any kind of description is going to be...”

“Virtually impossible, I know. I think she might have gone looking for a temple of Fritha.”

He watched Richold run through the same factors he had, and his younger brother nodded. “That sounds really likely. And if Ilduara knew that, it might explain why pointing out Leo could be in danger didn’t work. She might not want to say anything until Leo has had enough time to get there and claim sanctuary.” He frowned. “If she feels that strongly about this, should we even go after her and try to persuade her?”

Aelfric heaved a sigh. “I don’t know, Rich. I’d like to just let her go, but we don’t know how angry the Queen might be if one side of this triangle becomes impossible. There are no other viable alternatives for a Glaedwin-Denisot marriage and this whole plan of hers depends on binding all three families together equally. The Queen might just be mildly annoyed but she might also be furious and I’d rather not see our parents and us suddenly homeless and penniless or in prison. There are more heavy-handed ways to establish who owns that damned bridge. At least if we can find Leo and tell Herlinde and the Queen that we know where she is but can’t do anything, maybe they’ll be more merciful. Maybe the Denisots have a female cousin I can marry, although I don’t think so, or I can promise to wait for Ferrand and Ilduara’s first daughter, horrible as that thought is, or something. These aren’t just marriages, with or without parental approval. This is a royal command.”

Richold echoed the sigh. “You’re right. I hate it, though. I’m really grateful that it means Teoda and I can get married no matter what Father thinks, but I’d rather have everyone involved be happy, not just us and the Queen.”

“I know. Go tell them what Ilduara said. I’ll be across the street for just a...”

Someone banged on the door.

The brothers traded glances, and Aelfric heaved another sigh, said a prayer, and opened it.

Herlinde smiled at them, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was a rather handsome woman in her early middle years, the icy pale blonde of farther north, her body pleasantly curvy under her poppy-red overdress and white chemise with embroidered hems, but she was more intimidating than attractive, when it came down to it. In one hand, as always, she carried a staff a handspan taller than she was, intricately carved and painted and inlaid; from the top, feathers and beads and bones dangled.

“Oh, good, you arrived on time. I’d like to speak to your whole family.”

“Um... please, ma’am, come in,” Aelfric said, bowing to her and stepping back. “Our parents are one floor up.”

Herlinde swept past them directly towards the stairs. Clearly she was familiar with the layout. Aelfric preferred not to speculate about why.

“Ma’am,” Einwulf greeted her, with a superficial mask of courtesy—he even went so far as to stand up and bow to her, gesturing invitingly to a chair and waiting for her to sit before reseating himself. The brothers stayed on their feet. “My wife will be back in a moment. She’s gone to speak to the cook.”

Herlinde laced both hands around her staff with the base grounded in front of her. “And your daughter? Upstairs unpacking, perhaps? Call her down, please.”

Einwulf hesitated. “I would like to...”

“Leofeva has run off,” Aelfric said. A lie would only be caught quickly and lead to more trouble. “We only discovered it moments ago. At least, we’re fairly sure she’s run off, and not just gotten lost or something, although that’s not impossible. We’re doing everything in our power to find her and convince her to see reason.”

Herlinde’s pale brows drew downward. “Run off,” she repeated. “You had no hint of her feelings, and made no effort to keep watch on her?”

“She’s my sister, not a prisoner. She did tell us she didn’t want to marry Josceran. We believed that she had accepted the necessity, but the timing is suspicious. We probably know where she is. We just need a little time.”

“And where do you believe she is?”

“It seems very likely that she’s gone to the nearest temple of Fritha.”

Herlinde said nothing for a long moment.

“On Sunna’s Day, in four days’ time, there will be three marriages in the temple of Aelautha. That will relieve the King of an ongoing annoyance. This is the Queen’s gift to him. After Sunna’s Day, all three families will be one and will be responsible collectively for charging the required tolls to cross the Rose Bridge and for paying taxes accordingly. Since you were unable or unwilling to sort out this simple matter among yourselves, she has taken steps to do so.”

“We understand that,” Einwulf said. “We’re going to do our best to get Leofeva there on time.”

“I’m sure you will, and I will send someone to investigate, but you fail to understand me. There is no certainty that Leofeva will be found or will comply. Yet the marriages will happen.” Her gaze flickered over Richold, and settled on Aelfric in a way that made him suddenly very uneasy.

She freed her left hand and traced a trio of runes swiftly in the air, muttering under her breath in a language Aelfric almost understood, or at least the sounds were approximately familiar though he could make no sense of it. Finally, she banged the foot of her staff sharply on the floor.

The room tilted and spun violently. Aelfric stumbled on his way to the nearest chair; it felt like crossing the whole room, even though it was only two steps away. Richold sprang to steady him and helped him sink down heavily into it, eyes squeezed closed against the vertigo. He felt Richold’s hand on his shoulder in silent support, and was grateful for it as an anchor. His stomach heaved, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath; every joint throbbed, and his skin burned. Miles away, he heard his mother cry out, just shy of a scream.

Possibly it lasted a long time. Possibly it was only a few pounding heartbeats. It was impossible to tell. It passed, leaving him shaking and cold and disoriented. Or had it passed? Everything felt wrong.

“Witch!” Einwulf roared. “That’s my eldest son and heir!”

“How is that my problem?” Herlinde asked coolly, rising to her feet. “Seven days and it breaks, but what is witnessed and affirmed by Aelautha in her temple, no mortal power can change. Don’t lose this one.” She strode out of the room, back towards the stairs.