While the royal residence was on the outskirts of the city in one direction and Fritha’s cloister in another, Aelautha’s temple was closer to Fritha’s infirmary, in the centre of the city.

That meant that they had to walk maybe half a mile or so, which was within the range Ferrand could handle without much trouble if they kept the pace moderate. It would have been less in a straight line, but the maze of streets made that impossible. Giefroi, to no one’s surprise, didn’t join them when they all gathered from the Glaedwin and Cristoval households on the narrow walk at the edge of the street; no one suggested any attempt at prompting him.

Melisend and Einwulf didn’t know Josceran had woken up in Aelfeva’s bed with her; Richold did, but he’d just grinned and said nothing.

Melisend and Vituccia, while they and Ilduara helped Aelfeva and Teoda get ready, had between them inserted a conversation about sex and pregnancy and the management thereof. It had included a pragmatic recommendation to avoid pregnancy to allow time to get settled into a new kind of life, in complete defiance of the traditional wisdom that a child on the way in less than a year was a blessing. It was a lot to remember; Aelfeva was grateful she had the option of asking questions later once it felt more applicable, but she did make note of the herb combination that, ingested daily, would prevent conception.

The alterations to the rose-pink dress that had been Leofeva’s were done, and there was no way to tell that it had been a hasty improvised job. The pink overdress now had a swathe of buttercup-yellow across the middle, arching into points upwards and downwards at the front, which just looked like it had been designed that way to add a contrasting colour. Her long blonde hair had been braided with ribbons and flowers in pink and red and yellow; her glass bead necklace didn’t entirely match, but she was wearing it anyway. Sadrilde had batted at the ribbons and stole a flower to play with, until she got bored and wandered off on some business of her own.

It felt like a lot. She’d never in her life put this much effort into how she looked. Make sure she was clean and neat and presentable, yes, and dress appropriately for the situation, but all this?

Despite that, and the nervousness that she was going to move the wrong way and wreck something, she still found herself hoping that it looked good and suited her.

And she’d rather liked the appreciative way Josceran had looked her over.

This was Sunna’s Day, a celebration of the height of summer and the sun herself, and most of that happened outdoors in the light of the sun. There were many people out and about, including a few teenagers with baskets of flowers who were handing them out freely to every young woman they saw—sometimes getting a small coin back if someone could afford it, perhaps a young man hoping to impress her, but never asking and never complaining if one wasn’t forthcoming.

Aelautha’s temple took the form of an old-fashioned wooden great hall, ringed by a fence of crisscrossed wood and hedging low enough to look over; there was a small strip of space between wall and fence, largely symbolic of the gardens and poultry yard that would traditionally be present.

Waiting on a bench built against the wall, under the overhanging thatch roof, was a woman with braided blonde hair, clad in mossy green; pacing near her was Leofeva, who spotted them and bolted in their direction.

She wavered a few steps away, eyes flicking between Ilduara and Aelfeva, and something made her settle on the latter. Aelfeva caught her for a tight hug.

“You look amazing, but you’re absolutely sure about this? Really?”

“Yes,” Aelfeva said firmly. “I’m sure.” For the first time in days, she actually was. That little fearful voice still nagged at her, but she could more or less ignore it. “I promise. Thanks to you, everything is going to work out all around and we can all be happy.”

“Oh, I hope so. I think I missed a lot that was important. Dara tried to get me all caught up yesterday, but...”

“You know the parts that matter. Don’t worry about the rest. Just learn as fast as you can so you can come home to Dara.”

“I will.”

“And don’t be scared of talking to our parents. They’re starting to... at least get resigned to not entirely understanding or approving. They’ll just be glad you’re safe, at this point.”

“Well, that’s a... oh.” Leofeva’s eyes widened and she dropped back a step.

At the same time, Einwulf said, quite clearly, “Go home and sleep it off.”

Aelfeva blinked, and spun in place to see what was wrong.

Giefroi was still wearing the same clothes he’d had on the previous day. Arms crossed, he surveyed them with a scowl.

“You’re actually going to go through with this.”

Josceran caught Leofeva’s arm and gently drew her back so he could place himself between her and his father, and Leofeva’s escort, forehead furrowed, moved closer to her; Ferrand stepped in front of Ilduara and Teoda, and Guillen and Richold flanked him.

“Yes,” Ferrand said. “And looking forward to it now, instead of resigned to it.”

“You reek of ale,” Einwulf said. “And you look like you slept in a ditch. You have no right to spoil the day for all of our children with your venom and your poor manners. If you can’t be happy that your sons are happy and see justifiably bright futures for themselves, then go away.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Go inside. Nothing important is happening out here, all that matters is what’s ahead.”

Aelfeva caught Josceran’s eye, let her gaze flicker to her sister, then back to his; he nodded, and shooed Leofeva and her escort towards the temple enclosure, while Aelfeva lingered to usher Melisend and Vituccia into motion. Her mother resisted, and Aelfeva suspected she remained angry over the possibility that Giefroi had a hand in her friend’s unpleasant death, but a reminder that Leofeva needed a hug and reassurance that she wasn’t being disowned redirected her attention. Guillen more or less herded his sisters, his betrothed, and Richold ahead of him, while his father paused in the gate, beside Aelfeva—perhaps equally unwilling to risk Einwulf being alone.

“I don’t know,” Einwulf growled, “how both of your sons grew up to be good men despite the example they had, but they did, and they’re more than welcome into two families that can appreciate them. At least they’re both able to actually feel love, unlike you, even if you’re offended by who they’ve chosen to marry. You’re nothing but a petty self-absorbed bully with a vicious temper, and if you’d like to give me an excuse for hauling you up on charges here in Blaecstan, I won’t be too intimidated to speak up and neither will the judges here, so go ahead. Seeing you finally face justice, even if it’s only a fraction of what it should be, would make me grin like a fool for at least a month. Everyone is out of tolerance. No one is listening. Go back to your townhouse and sleep it off.”

Giefroi snarled an insult involving sheep and stepped closer to sling a punch; it was so obvious, so far in advance, that Einwulf simply moved aside and it missed him by a wide margin.

“Go away,” he repeated contemptuously. “You’ve done more than enough damage.” He turned his back on Giefroi to join Ximeno and Aelfeva. “Come on, there’s a celebration waiting for us once we finish this technical fiddly bit.”

Aelfeva gave her father a hug, first. “Thank you for sticking up for all of us.”

“Any of you are worth ten of him. Inside. Let’s go.”

She smiled and went in ahead of him and Ximeno to rejoin Josceran.

Aelautha’s temple had the traditional central hearth, not the newer fireplace to one side, and wide benches along the sides, the sort that had once been used for sitting during the day and the entire household sleeping overnight.

The hearth was a large one, and had a multi-tiered pedestal in the centre for offerings, holding among other things a deep pottery bowl glazed in reds and yellows. High above, the thatched roof allowed the smoke from the eternal fire to filter out.

For the goddess of traditional hearth and family, it seemed appropriate.

Apparently they weren’t the only ones getting married today, which wasn’t really a surprise. It was considered an auspicious day, after all, a promising way to start a new life together.

That left the Glaedwins, Cristovals, and the two Denisots bunched together on the benches at one side.

Aelfeva didn’t make it to the spot between Leofeva and Josceran before she heard her name spoken. She was quite certain who that was before she even turned to look.

Herlinde looked her over with a faint smile. “I suspect I know the answer to what I was about to ask.”

“Leave it,” Aelfeva said quietly. “Please. Somehow you made something right that was wrong.”

Herlinde nodded, and tilted her head. “I’m not entirely certain I could undo it if you asked.” Her gaze went to Leofeva. “Thank you for giving us specific dates. That helped considerably.” She glanced across the assembled families. “No Giefroi Denisot? It doesn’t matter, and I don’t care.” She handed Aelfeva a purse of plain brown leather. It was heavy, and it jingled. “Your queen’s gift, to assist you in any alterations necessary to control traffic over the bridge and collect tolls properly. Anything left you can use between you, since you had limited time to make plans.”

“We already knew there’d be no excuses,” Aelfeva said, passing the purse to her father to hold for them. “And we have no intention of trying to make any. But we’re grateful for the help.” With any luck, once they started paying the toll tax reliably, they’d drop below Radegunde’s uncomfortable attention.

Herlinde simply nodded again, and strode away to talk to another group of families. Were they facing some similar arrangement? Aelfeva hoped it worked out as positively for them.

Aelfeva dropped into the spot waiting for her. Josceran caught her hand and squeezed. That helped, but she was still feeling a little shaky.

“Can we run away?” Aelfeva whispered to him.

He chuckled, his breath warm against her jaw just in front of her ear. “Does it matter?”

No. It didn’t. They’d already decided, already said their real vows. They were already married. This was just formality, and they’d made it past Giefroi and Herlinde. It really shouldn’t take very long to finish this.

And then the high priestess of Aelautha, a mature and curvy woman with greying blonde hair in intricate braids, called Teoda and Richold up to the hearth. Her fiery-red overdress and the visible edges of her yellow chemise bore more embroidery than Aelfeva had ever seen on any individual, even the young queen.

Einwulf and Ximeno went with them. Each took the left hand of their respective child, and placed them together, Teoda’s hand over Richold’s—a token gesture to establish that their families were in agreement. Then the two fathers retreated while the priestess wrapped a red cord around those joined hands. The ceremony was simple: the bare essential words and brief personal additions, a shared kiss. The high priestess dipped three fingers into the pot on the central pedestal and pressed them against first Richold’s forehead, then Teoda’s, and declared their fortunes and fates joined now and forever in the eyes of Aelautha.

After which it was Aelfeva and Josceran’s turn.

Josceran got up and offered her his hand, drawing her closer than really necessary. “Know something?” he murmured in her ear. “I used to wish you’d been born a girl so I could marry you.”

She blinked; he winked at her. She bit her lip but glared at him, hoping that would be enough to convey exasperation. Probably it did, since he grinned at her before escorting her with perfect solemnity to the hearth.

She didn’t know what Herlinde had meant about possibly being unable to undo the spell already. That didn’t matter either. This, right here, was what Herlinde had said would make it last forever: witnessed and affirmed in Aelautha’s temple.

Vituccia took her place beside Josceran.

The priestess gave her a questioning look.

“His father cannot be here,” Vituccia said steadily. “His mother is dead, but she was a beloved friend. I’m taking her place for Josceran. Her other dear friend will be taking her place for his brother Ferrand.”

The high priestess hesitated, glanced in Herlinde’s direction for an instant, and raised a single shoulder in a shrug of sorts. “That is quite acceptable in the spiritual sense, and the legal sense is not my concern.”

Einwulf closed a hand over Aelfeva’s and guided it to rest on Josceran’s, with Vituccia’s under it, then both he and Vituccia retreated.

“I take you as my wife,” Josceran said, voice as steady as his left hand in hers. There was really no need to add to that, not after everything.

Aelfeva took a deep breath. This would have been enormous even if it was the marriage alone, let alone her own additional factor. “I take you as my husband.”

As soon as the words were out, the lingering fear went away, leaving only relief.

Josceran gave her a brief, chaste kiss.

“In the eyes of great Aelautha,” the priestess said, pressing three damp fingers to Josceran’s forehead, then Aelfeva’s, leaving a faint scent of rosemary and less easily-identified herbs, “you are now joined, your fortunes and fates intertwined from this point on. May she bless you with health, wealth, and fertility.” She unwound the red cord and presented it to Aelfeva across both her hands.

Aelfeva thought she thanked her, and the cord was in her hand when she followed Josceran back to the bench so Guillen and Ferrand could have their turn, with Ximeno and Melisend as family representatives. She knotted the cord around her belt, which was actually Leofeva’s fancier one, so she wouldn’t lose it.

That was all. Binding in the religious and legal senses, though lacking the community one so far.

Near the door, a younger priestess sat behind a wooden table with a pile of parchment and a pot of ink and a quill; her yellow chemise and red dress bore much less embroidery. She asked for Richold and Teoda’s names, wrote them neatly into spaces on the parchment, and turned it for the two of them to sign. When she handed Aelfeva the one with her name and Josceran’s, Aelfeva took a closer look at it. She was fairly sure that it had somehow just been stamped onto the parchment—comparison with Teoda’s showed that they were identical except for the freshly-written, still-wet names and date. Interesting, and she wondered how, but it seemed like a sensible solution that would save time. It simply said that the two people named accepted all the responsibilities and rights of marriage together, and included a line at the bottom that it was witnessed in Aelautha’s temple in Blaecstan.

Beside the table, a more junior priestess, this one in yellow and orange with a red apron over it, her dark hair in elaborate braids, stood with a basket; Melisend and Vituccia each dropped coins into it. The young priestess thanked them, and smiled at Leofeva, inclining her head in a greeting, perhaps from one acolyte to another.

“Now what?” Richold asked, the fingers of one hand entwined with Teoda’s. “With no party, it feels a little... I don’t know, anticlimactic? I mean, we have what we wanted, but the whole sennight in Blaecstan was all for just this much. I think I see why we always have a big party even if it isn’t strictly necessary.”

“We can’t do friends and neighbours,” Ximeno said, “but Einwulf and I have made a few friends recently, and there’s a friendly tavern with several excellent options for drinks and light food and a resident trio of no-longer-travelling minstrels who will do anything from epics to jigs. As parties go, it may be small, but we can try to make up for it with enthusiasm.”

“Will you join us?” Vituccia asked Leofeva’s escort.

The green-clad woman smiled, but shook her head. “I appreciate the invitation, but I should get back to the cloister. Leofeva, if you aren’t back by the time we bar the gates at dusk, you’ll have to explain to the Eldest Sister where you were overnight, but I see no reason you can’t stay with your family for the rest of the day.”

“We’ll make certain she gets back in time,” Aelfeva said. “And thank you.” Presumably that meant that the woman saw no further risk to their new acolyte being forced into marriage and no need to watch over her.

“I’ll be there,” Leofeva said. “You aren’t getting rid of me easily.”

The woman laughed. “Good. Fritha smile on all of you. And if you would, could you perhaps tell Osgyth that Eadwynn sends greetings?”

“I’ll tell her,” Ilduara said. “Thank you.”

Leofeva’s escort, presumably Eadwynn, waved off the thanks from her and from others, and walked away, calling a greeting to someone without pausing.

“Everyone there has been very friendly,” Leofeva said. “There are a few who don’t talk much and prefer to spend time by themselves, but they’re still nice.”

“I suspect,” Ferrand said, “there’s a higher chance of anyone wanting to learn about healing being someone who likes people. I’m not sure how anyone could do the job well if they didn’t.”

“That’s true.”

Guillen slid an arm around him. “You can tell us all about it, over a drink, while we’re sitting somewhere instead of standing. Where are we going?”

“It isn’t far,” Einwulf said. “They’re expecting us. Even if we can’t do this properly, we can plan for the real party in Rosebridge as soon as we can arrange it.”

“I can’t be there for that one,” Leofeva said. “I’ll have to make up for it today.” She caught hold of Aelfeva’s hand and Ilduara’s. “So let’s make it amazing.”