"We can't be late," Garth said. He sounded worried. "We've got to find the toll bridge, or at least the ford. The ritual's going to be held on the town side, and if we're not there soon, we won't be able to see a thing!"
"What's there to see?" Zoli wanted to know.
"Ah, I can answer that!" Dean Porfirio said. "First, the girl herself wades into the river and as soon as she sees the sunrise touch the water, she recites the Prayer for a Prosperous Husband. Then-"
"Prayer for a what?" Even through the fog it was possible to tell that Zoli was looking at the wizard as if he'd broken out in a rash of parsnips.
"Prosperous Husband. That's the whole point of having a Maiden Morn, letting a girl send out the word that she's officially on the marriage market. Then, as soon as she finishes reciting the poem-"
Zoli stopped spang dead in the middle of the path and slapped her forehead. "So that's it!" she exclaimed. "That's why Ethelberthina's gone crabbier than an ogre with the itch: It's that stupid poem!"
"Doesn't want a prosperous husband?" Dean Porfirio inquired mildly.
"Doesn't need a prosperous husband, nor any other kind," Zoli said. "What a question! You know the girl as well as I-more to the point, you know her father. From the moment she was born, Mayor Eyebright was her first, best, and only example of a prosperous husband."
Dean Porfirio's brow darkened. "That bloated sack of lizard droppings had me assaulted and left for dead in an alley, once. And Ethelberthina still talks about how he kept trying to get his hands on her trust fund. Hmph! No wonder the child doesn't want to advertise for a husband, even if it is no more than an empty rituaclass="underline" She must think they're all like her father."
"Even me?" Garth asked in a surprisingly small voice for one who had single-handedly destroyed his share of dark legions, demon hordes, and effete high priests in his salad days.
"Of course not you." Zoli patted her husband's cheek. "It's not that Ethelberthina never wants a husband, it's just that she thinks it's stupid to make folks think that's all she wants."
"Unlike her sisters," Garth remarked. Everyone nodded. Ethelberthina's elder sisters, Mauve and Demystria, were famous in Overford song and story as being two of the most husband-hungry maidens ever to flutter a fan, drop a hankie, or bat a set of eyelashes at anything midway male. Recently Demystria had succeeded in her quest, using all her wiles and three bottles of Old Dragonbreath Reserve to extract a promise of marriage from a blacksmith's apprentice. Her whoop of joy shattered forty-eight neighborhood windows and her mother's best mirror.
"Ethelberthina's sisters would look quite natural in a pasture, chewing cud," said Zoli. "They take after their mother: No brains, but a baby-maker that works overtime. What's she up to? Seven kids?"
"Eight, and a ninth in progress." Dean Porfirio made a few mystical gestures and created a white-hot ball of light that immediately vaporized the surrounding fog for the radius of a good spear-cast. "Ah, there we are." He smiled up at the overhanging bulk of the toll bridge.
Zoli uttered a meaty curse. "Oh, wonderful. We've blundered right under the hideous thing. Now we'll have to climb back up the bank to cross on it."
"Don't bother; we're too late already," said Garth, pointing. The remaining mist had decided to move on before Dean Porfirio sizzled it into oblivion; the view across the Iron River was clear. From their vantage point on the Academy side, Ethelberthina's three friends saw the crowd of guests massed on the farther shore. Ethelberthina herself was already knee-deep, a crown of rosebuds perched at a tipsy angle on her head, her brand-new birthday dress kilted up between her legs but the long sky-blue cloak on her shoulders trailing heavily in the water. A plump, usually chipper child, she currently wore an expression popularized by dispirited captives everywhere. Behind her there hovered a large, obviously pregnant woman whose radiant smile more than made up for Ethelberthina's dejection.
"Stand up straight, dear!" the lady chirped. "You'll get your gown wet otherwise."
"Ah, Goodwife Eyebright," Dean Porfirio murmured. "But I don't see her husband anywhere."
"You wouldn't; this isn't about him," Garth said. "When he's not the center of attention, he stays away."
"Now are you certain you know all the words of the Prayer, darling?" Goodwife Eyebright went on.
"Yes, Mother." Ethelberthina sounded weary.
"You're sure? You wouldn't want to humiliate me in front of all our relatives. I don't mind working and slaving to give birth to you, and to make you a lovely home, and to cook and sew and clean up after you with not one word of gratitude. A mother doesn't expect gratitude. But if you wouldn't mind too much, my precious, could you possibly avoid embarrassing me?"
"Yes, Mother."
"Don't you use that tone of voice to me, young lady! I gave you a choice: I said you didn't have to do this. I told you that it didn't matter to me if my life became a living hell because all the neighbors would talk about how your sisters had their Maiden Morns but you didn't. A mother doesn't mind a little living hell. You agreed to this, I never forced you, you were the one who-" She began to weep without once slacking the pace of her ongoing rant until Ethelberthina loudly reassured her mother that yes, she would recite the Prayer letter-perfect and no, she did not deserve such a devoted parent, wicked and ungrateful child that she was. Goodwife Eyebright's tears dried up faster than a used-ox merchant's guarantees.
Garth looked at Zoli. "Well, that explains that."
"I'll say," said Zoli. "Poor child never had a chance. Who ever thought of motherhood as a deadly weapon?" It was a concept of startling novelty to a woman whose best defense had always been killing the other person first. "We should be over there, standing by her in her hour of need, giving her a little moral support. And we would be, too, if a certain wizard I could mention wasn't such a baby." She gave Dean Porfirio a significant look.
"You could always swim across," the wizard responded coldly.
"Dressed like this?" Zoli clanged a fist against her iron breastplate.
"It's not every woman who can bear four children and still fit into her wedding-day garb, eh, Dean?" Garth preened as if the credit were all his.
"Impressive," said a rough and rumbly voice that did not belong to Dean Porfirio. It came from just under the bridge and was followed by the sound of stone grating against stone as a squat, blocky shape came half-walking, half-rolling into view.
"Ah, good morning, Bursar Tailings," said Dean Porfirio.
"Morning is never good to my kind," the troll replied. "Not unless it's cloudy with a chance of showers. Sunlight tends to turn our skin to stone and work its way inward from there."
"It's nearly sunrise," Garth said. "What are you doing out-of-doors at this hour?"