Chapter 16 Tamsin
Tamsin
I ride alone, the report tucked stiffly into my satchel like something I regret carrying.
The path to the Eldermire Court winds through the hills like a noose. The sun is too bright. The silence too loud. And all I can think about is what she said last night, over tea.
“You’re a hearth.”
Gods.
I should’ve said something, should’ve brushed it off with a scowl or a clever line. But her voice—soft and sure and far too close—lodged itself somewhere beneath my ribs and hasn’t left since.
I don’t deserve poetry. Not from her.
I pull my horse to a stop at the outer gates of the Court and flash the sigil. The guards know me. They nod me through without question. I dismount in the shade of the east wing, remove my gloves, and smooth the sealed report tucked into my belt.
Not my folio. The folio is too honest. The report is honest, too, but polished.
I square my shoulders and enter the hall.