Chapter 9 Marienne
Marienne
That night, I pick the softest story I can find.
It’s called, ‘The Ghost in the Garden.’ It's about a lonely girl who befriends a spirit that lives under a rose bush. It has flowers, friendship, a light haunting—comforting, in a melancholic sort of way.
The girls are not impressed.
Imara immediately asks to read it herself. Callen leans against her shoulder and hums a hymn that clashes with the mood. Yla raises her hand and says, very seriously, “Can I go outside? Moonblossom wants to test her edge under starlight.”
“No,” I say, smiling despite myself. “Moonblossom may rest.”
Vess is curled on my lap, but she keeps letting out little huffing sobs. I run a hand down her back and glance at Imara, who’s already reaching for her. Vess clings like a bat and buries her face in Imara’s neck.
It would be sweet, if not for the sudden silence that follows. An eerie, too quiet sort of silence.
“Where’s Liri?” I ask.
Yla points upward.
Liri has climbed to the top of the bookshelf like a tiny moonlit gargoyle. Her nightgown glows faintly in the lantern light. Her toes curl over the edge like she might leap.
“Darling girl,” I say as gently as I can while I stand, “Would you like to come down?”
“No,” she says.
Fair.
I sigh and step closer.
“Liri,” I try again, placing my hands on my hips. “What if I gave you a whole candied bloodfruit? Two? The big ones.”
Her curls bounce as she shakes her head. “No, thank you.”
That’s when I hear the door creak open behind me.
And I know, before I turn, that it’s her.
Tamsin.
Of course it’s Tamsin.
And of course I’m standing here in a nightgown and heels, trying to negotiate with a bookshelf sprite.
“Should I come back later?” she says, voice dry.
I don’t turn around. “Not unless you brought a ladder.”
There’s a pause. Then the soft sound of her boots on the floorboards.
“She won’t come down,” I murmur. “She’s frightened of something. Or overstimulated. Or... perhaps she just enjoys being at a higher vantage point.”
Tamsin steps beside me, her arms crossed. “Do you want help?”
“Yes,” I say, too fast. “No. Maybe. I was just about to—”
Before I can finish, she steps forward.
“Liri,” Tamsin says, firm but not unkind. “Climbing is dangerous.”
Liri’s lip wobbles.
“I need you to come down. Now.”
Her eyes brim with tears.
“Don’t,” I whisper, stepping beside her. “You’ll scare her.”
“She needs boundaries.”
“She needs comfort.”
“She needs both.”
Liri sniffles. And—to our mutual astonishment—stops crying.
Well then.
I reach into a nearby tin, holding up a glistening red cube. “Bloodfruit? Just one. If you come down for me, little bat.”
“You can’t bribe children like dogs,” Tamsin mutters beside me.
I arch a brow. “Oh, dogs hate candied bloodfruit.”
Tamsin exhales through her nose. Her version of a sigh, I think.
She steps forward, slow and deliberate. Her tone changes—less command, more invitation.
“Liri,” she says, quiet. “You’re braver than most adults I know. But I’d feel better if you were safe.”
Liri blinks.
“Will you come down?”
There’s a beat.
And then Liri leans forward—wobbles dangerously—and jumps.
Right into Tamsin’s waiting arms.
I almost gasp, but she catches her easily. Liri buries her face in Tamsin’s shoulder. Her tiny arms wrap around the knight’s neck.
Tamsin looks stunned. Then… something shifts in her face.
Not softness, not quite, but something warm.
I bite back my own sigh. My heart feels ridiculous in my chest.
When she sets Liri down and the child runs off to join her sisters, Tamsin turns to me.
“You’re bleeding,” she says.
I glance down. My heel has rubbed raw. I hadn’t noticed, it’s such a small amount of blood.
“Of course I am,” I reply with a fluttery laugh. “It’s nearly bedtime.”
She looks at me for a long moment. “You should sit.”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
She nods, almost respectfully. Then she steps aside, letting me pass.
I think, maybe, we’re getting better at this. At each other. Even if we have no idea what we’re doing.
Liri peeks at me from across the room, her curls still tousled from the bookshelf.
“Will you sing again?” she asks.
My throat tightens.
Not because I’m tired. Not because I should say no. But because she asked.
She asked.
I smile and sink to the floor beside the bed where they’ve all begun to nest.
“I’d be honored, little one.”
Vess wriggles from Imara and back into my lap like a kitten. Callen pulls the quilt over them both. Yla places Moonblossom beside her like a plush toy. Imara pretends not to listen. But her eyes soften.
Siven stares at me like I might summon Selene herself.
I begin to hum a lullaby I barely remember learning. A minor key with a lift at the end. It's a song for dreamers. For those who fear the dark but dare to sleep anyway.
Sleep now, my wild ones, the stars will not bite,
The moon keeps her secrets and guards you through night.
Dream of the castle where no one shall weep,
And I’ll hold the silence while you fall asleep.
My voice fills the corners of the room gently, brushing against old stone and quiet magic.
One by one, they settle. Sighs and shifting limbs. Vess clutches the sleeve of my gown. Yla is already snoring faintly.
And there, just past the threshold, I feel it.
Her.
Ser Tamsin.
I don’t look up. I don’t want to scare her away. But I know she’s still there. I can feel the weight of her gaze like armor across my back. Listening. Watching. Still and silent, as always.
She lingers longer than I expect.
And then she’s gone.
I lift my eyes to the doorway just in time to see the last sliver of her cloak disappear around the corner.
Gone without a word.
But she stayed. She listened.
It’s enough.
I press a kiss to Vess’s forehead before settling her into her crib. Then Callen’s. Then Yla’s tangled hair.
Imara opens one eye. “You’re bad at lullabies,” she mumbles.
I grin victoriously. “And yet you’re still half-asleep.”
She hums in reluctant agreement and closes her eyes again.
I tuck the blanket tighter around them all. Then I rise, heels in hand, steps light.
The manor is quiet. I walk softly down the hall, humming the tune to myself, and wonder—just a little—if Tamsin ever had lullabies.
Or if anyone ever sang for her at all.