Aelfeva knew she should be in bed. She couldn’t sleep in tomorrow. She needed to talk to her sister, and she needed a clear head to do it.

She wasn’t going to be able to sleep.

The pocket-sized back garden was obviously meant only for the house residents and perhaps a guest or two to sit and simply be outside where the light was better, or maybe to let a small dog run around a little on the short grass between the flower beds. It would be enough for a couple of goats for milk, or a couple of pigs for meat, or a small flock of poultry, or at the very least a reasonable vegetable garden, but any of those would mean consistent care. Then again, this probably needed the same degree of care for all those flowers, and possibly two or three sheep or goats rotating through to keep the grass that short plus raking it to clean up after them.

With the wood-and-wicker furniture stacked as compactly as she could into one corner, it gave her enough space to swing her weighted wooden sword. Being back in her own clothes felt strange, but trousers and shirt were more practical for this. At least, in theory they should be. The shirt was too loose across her shoulders and she had to roll the sleeves up to her elbows; the trousers fit strangely over her wider hips and narrower waist, and she had to belt them tightly to keep them in place. Unlike the cut and lacing of an overdress, this offered no support for her breasts, and adding a leather jerkin over the shirt was too uncomfortable to even contemplate. Finally, remembering something Leofeva had done at one point, she fetched two of the linen strips meant for loincloths and wrapped them around her chest, tucking the ends in. That wasn’t entirely comfortable either, but that might just be because she hadn’t done it properly. It was better than nothing, and it was something she could push away while going through the familiar exercises. Just like she could push everything else away for at least a short time.

While she’d told her mother she just needed to settle her thoughts, it seemed unlikely that anything would. All of the confusion and fear and tension were probably going to get worse long before they got better. But at least she could try for a short respite, and possibly wear herself out physically enough that she’d be able to pass out.

“Would it help to have someone to swing at?” Guillen said quietly from the doorway behind her.

“Tight quarters. We’ll have to mind the fence. And furniture. And flowers.”

“I’m sure we can manage that.”

“How did you know?”

“Dara caught a glimpse out her bedroom window and realized what you were doing, so she came and told me. Rich let me in.” Guillen came all the way into the garden, swinging his own practice sword casually in one hand, though he paused to hang a heavily-swollen wineskin with a white ribbon around its neck from the leg of one of the stacked chairs. “Although there is the question of whether it’s rude to thump on a girl.”

“How about getting thumped by one?”

“In all seriousness, I don’t want either of us hurt because we misjudged. Any idea whether you’ve lost any strength or reflexes or anything?”

“Practice moves still feel natural. There are going to be some things that are different, but probably not big ones.”

“So warming up slowly should mostly cover that and we can adjust. All right.”

They’d spent so much of their lives doing this that it should have felt as comfortable and natural as an old pair of shoes.

It did, and it didn’t.

Guillen finally backed off, laughing. “Truce! You can’t quite hold your own in a direct grapple and your reach is a bit shorter, but damn if you aren’t faster and more agile and good enough to use those to compensate.”

“Trying to figure out how to,” Aelfeva amended. “I could get there with more time and practice, I think. What’s with the wineskin? I’m assuming wine, not water.”

“I managed to charm the cook. She seemed to assume it was for a pre-wedding drink.” Guillen wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of one arm. “Do we invite our audience there to join us?”

“Our what?” Aelfeva spun to look in the direction of his nod.

In the next garden over, both Denisot brothers had their arms crossed on the fence so they could watch. Next to Josceran, sitting on the top of the fence, was a long-furred white cat that appeared to be observing all of them with interest.

“You two ever consider saying something?” Aelfeva asked them.

“Guillen noticed ages ago,” Ferrand said. “It seemed a shame to break your concentration. This is how you deal with being stressed, and we’re all stressed but you’ve got the worst of it.”

“Besides,” Josceran added, “I’ve missed watching you two pummel each other a lot more than I’ve missed getting pummelled by either of you.”

Aelfeva rolled her eyes. “Well, get over here.”

Josceran gave Ferrand a boost over the fence; Guillen caught him on the near side, pulling him in tight against him while Ferrand caught his balance. Josceran tossed Ferrand’s cane across and pulled himself up and over without much visible difficulty. While helping at the mill and with the sheep did mean some physical labour, Aelfeva was quite sure he hadn’t been strong enough to do that before. The cat jumped down on the Glaedwin side of the fence.

They didn’t bother unstacking the furniture, just sat on the short grass. The cat climbed onto Josceran’s lap uninvited.

Aelfeva reached over to offer the cat her fingers to sniff; the cat did so only briefly, then rubbed a cheek against them. Aelfeva obligingly began to rub the cat’s chin.

“Very striking,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pure white cat before, or one with a coat so long and soft and thick.”

“Her name’s Amber,” Josceran said. “I didn’t want to leave her behind.”

Possibly Richold was keeping a covert eye on Aelfeva: without a word, he joined them, and Josceran and Ferrand simply moved to either side to make room.

Which meant they were missing only Teoda and Ilduara, and it would have been difficult to come up with an excuse to get them out of the house at this hour, even just two doors down to be with old friends.

Split between them, the skin of fruity wine wasn’t going to be enough to get anyone drunk, but that was probably a good thing. It went around the circle several times before anyone broke the companionable quiet—but Ferrand did steal a quick kiss from Guillen before letting him have the skin, on one round.

“You yelled at me for not saying anything for one whole day,” Aelfeva grumbled. “You two were keeping something to yourselves a lot longer than that.”

“Literally everyone except you noticed,” Ferrand said. “Of the friends we’re safe with, at least. It honestly did not occur to me that you needed it spelled out in small words.”

“Although in retrospect,” Guillen said, “considering how often you’ve had to have it pointed out to you that someone was very blatantly flirting with you, we probably should have realized that. We aren’t doing anything that’s actually illegal, but not everyone is going to be very accepting.”

“Like parents,” Aelfeva said.

“Especially like parents,” Ferrand sighed. “So, it is what it is. I’m not happy about marrying the wrong Cristoval, but we’ll manage. At least we’re both still us.”

“So am I,” Aelfeva said, but she said it with no particular heat. That wine had more of a kick to it than she expected, although she seemed to be the only one to feel it. “I think. I’m not actually sure right now who I ever was, but I’m probably still whoever that is.”

“I think I understood that,” Ferrand said. “More or less.”

“I think,” Guillen said, “just as important as talking to Leofeva, you need to figure out what matters to you and what you want. I’m not saying that what any of us want is being given much weight in this whole mess, and your options are extremely limited, but I do think that the rest of us all at least have a clear idea of what it is we genuinely wish we could have. I’m pretty sure that right now, you have no idea, but then, I’m honestly not sure you ever did.”

“Speak for yourself,” Josceran said, accepting the wineskin from Aelfeva. “I’m not entirely sure what I want, either, although I could probably make a better effort at answering the question than Aelf could.” He ran his free hand down the back of the white cat, from her head all the way down to the base of her tail; she purred and arched into it. He took a swallow of the wine, and handed it to Richold. “I think that thinking about what you really want and value isn’t something that most people do until a situation comes up that forces them to. Obviously some do, like Rich and Teoda, but most of us.”

“We just got lucky,” Richold said. “What we want happens to more or less line up with what’s expected, but that isn’t why. I’d love her just as much anyway.”

Josceran nodded. “We know, Rich, and I think everyone else is happy that at least you two get to have that. I don’t doubt in the least that you honestly do know what you want, but I’m not sure you’re typical. But figuring out you’re in love with someone that you can’t marry and it’s going to piss off your parents and get some social disapproval probably counts as being forced to evaluate priorities, since it means weighing being in love against the complications.”

“Spending your life being a dutiful son,” Aelfeva sighed, “and living up to expectations and being responsible doesn’t seem to. I honestly don’t think I have ever really wanted anything. Not, like, wanting a holiday to come or wanting the horse that I’m training to figure out what I’m asking for, or even wanting the people who matter to me to be happy and have what they want. I mean big things that are about me. Goals or aspirations of my own. I just do what I’m supposed to. I don’t think I’ve ever had to figure out what I want to do before. I don’t know if I even know how to do that.”

The white cat stood up, stretched, and stepped carefully off Josceran’s lap onto Aelfeva’s. She held still until the cat settled herself, purring and kneading gently at Aelfeva’s leg.

“You’ll get it,” Guillen said. “I wish you had more time to figure it out, but if you had more time, I think you’d probably put it off. The only person who can do it is you. But I can promise you, you are not alone, no matter what.”

“Trying not to make it any worse for each other,” Ferrand said, “doesn’t just mean that we all do our best not to make life hell for whoever we’re marrying. It means we all look out for each other as much as we can.”

“Just like always,” Guillen agreed. “Just in a bigger, more serious way than ever before.”

“I told you,” Richold said quietly. “I’m behind you no matter what.”

“I’ll keep trying,” Aelfeva said. “And I’d better do it quickly. Jos? Is being here with just us and a skin of wine enough for you to feel up to talking about whatever happened up north?”

Josceran shrugged. “Hard to talk about, in any company and with or without wine.”

“You keep saying things like that,” Ferrand said. “It’s getting a bit maddening.”

“You asked if Herlinde cursed me to not be able to talk about it,” Aelfeva said suddenly. “Is there something keeping you from being able to talk about that?”

Josceran said nothing at all, but the white cat bumped her head against Aelfeva’s hand and the purr redoubled.

“You actually can’t?” Richold said, eyes wide. “Now I want even more to know what happened!”

“You and me both,” Ferrand said. “It certainly explains how you know a lot about what Herlinde can do.”

Josceran shrugged. “Never encountered her before.”

“And I suppose there’s also no way to break that,” Guillen sighed. “Or no way you can tell us what it would take to break it. Well. That’s a further bit of ghastly news.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Josceran said. “It’s not as bad as you think it is.”

“I really don’t believe you on that one,” Ferrand said.

“I’ll stop asking,” Aelfeva said. “There’s no point, if it isn’t your choice, and that has to be frustrating. Although I do wish you could tell me why your cat seems to be responding to this conversation.”

“What can I say?” Josceran said. “She’s special.”

“She’s a trollcat,” Ferrand muttered. “There’s something wyrd about her.”

“She’s adorable,” Aelfeva said. “Even when the barn cats are friendly, they aren’t this friendly.”

Josceran laughed. “She can be wyrd and adorable. And she’s more friendly when we have a fair degree of privacy. Like we do right now, with everyone else sensibly in bed.”