Chapter 41 Marienne
Marienne
The sky is paling as dawn approaches. Soft, rose-washed, and damp around the edges, like someone’s breathed too hard on the edges of a painting.
We stand outside Bloomhill’s main entrance. I’m still wearing my practice blouse, still stained with blood and sweat and cellar dust. Tamsin’s arm is wrapped tight around my waist, though she swears she can stand without help.
I don’t believe her. But I let her pretend.
Beside us, Imara sways slightly, wrapped in a too-large cloak one of the court guards offered us as they escorted us out of Viremont’s estate. Her ceremonial white robe peeks through the opening, stained at the hem with soil.
She hasn’t spoken since she cried herself quiet in our arms.
And now, I hold my breath like I’m waiting for the ground to fall out from beneath us.
Tamsin stiffens beside me. “Riders,” she murmurs.
Horses crest the final bend in the path toward the manor. Dozens of them. A flash of velvet cloaks, dark armor, the gold-and-ash colors of the Eldermire court. My stomach twists.
And then—
I see them.
Small shapes. Familiar ones.
Margot rides up front, her face pale and streaked with what might be dried tears, her shoulders squared like a general. And flanked on either side of her, nestled between courtiers and knights...
The children.
All five of them.
Yla is the first to spot us. Her sharp little cry rings out like a bell, “Imara!”
Imara’s breath catches. And then, her face breaks into something soft and trembling. A smile. A real one. Tiny, uncertain, but there.
Yla vaults from her horse before it’s even stopped moving. Callen and Siven follow suit, stumbling on the landing. Imara stumbles toward them in turn, and the four of them collide in the middle of the drive like a falling star.
Callen’s arms wrap around her. Yla holds onto her waist like she’ll never let go. Siven presses their forehead to hers.
“I thought—” Callen tries. “We thought—”
Imara doesn’t say anything. Just presses her face into Callen’s shoulder and lets herself be held again.
Liri climbs down more cautiously, guided by one of the court envoys. She looks around once—and then makes a beeline not for me, but for Tamsin.
She throws her arms around her leg. Buries her face against it.
Tamsin stumbles slightly. Her hand hovers midair for a moment before she rests it on Liri’s small back, curling her fingers tight.
I kneel.
My arms are open before I’ve even realized I’ve moved.
And then Siven is there. Yla. Callen. Liri. Even Imara leans into the edge of the circle. They pile into me, warm and shivering and sobbing and safe. I wrap them all in the cloak I’m wearing, gathering them like petals to my chest.
Margot approaches with Vess in hand. She doesn’t say anything. Just clasps my shoulder, hard and trembling.
I take Vess from her arms, press a kiss to her temple. She buries her face in my neck, arms winding tight around me like she thinks I’ll vanish again.
I rest my head on Imara’s curls. I don’t care that they’re damp. That she’s dirty. That my blouse is torn and my hair is a wind-tossed halo.
They’re here.
They’re mine.
And I am never—never—letting them go again.
I glance up at Tamsin. She’s still standing guard, shoulders squared, blood drying on her shirt. Her jaw is set, her stance unwavering.
But her eyes are on us.
Soft.
Watching like she can’t quite believe it’s real.
“Are we safe now?” Callen whispers, so quietly I almost miss it.
I nod. Press my lips to her temple.
“Yes,” I say, even though I’m not sure yet. Even though the Court still waits to decide if we are worthy of what we’ve claimed. “You’re home. That’s what matters.”
Because we are.
And whatever comes next—shame, apology, trial, decree—I know now we will face it together.
***
I light the last candle on the tea tray and exhale, letting the silence stretch around us.
The children are finally asleep.
Gods willing, they’ll stay that way.
Tamsin leans back in the settee across from me, her shirt pulled off and folded neatly beside her.
The blood on her shoulder is mostly cleaned now—thanks to Margot’s steady hands—but the gash remains, red and tender and awful.
She bears it with that stubborn, knightly quiet of hers, but I can see the way her jaw pulses.
I wish I could do more.
Margot’s beside her, fussing with a fresh bandage. The way she scolds her is gentler than usual, though—almost fond.
“Next time,” Margot mutters, “you let the baroness get stabbed instead. She heals faster than us humans.”
Tamsin huffs a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I roll my eyes, grateful for the levity, no matter how thin it feels.
I sink into the armchair across from them and tuck my legs beneath me. The fire crackles. The clock ticks. And for the first time in what feels like days, the manor is alive.
Still, yes.
But breathing.
“I scrounged what I could. Tea, some bread, a wedge of cheese. And the last of the blackberry tarts… don't ask how long they’ve been sitting,” Margot says.
Tamsin lifts one with two fingers like it might bite her. “I thought this was one of the children’s failed experiments.”
“That’s because you’re used to rations and battlefield stew,” Margot mutters, already picking at some bread.
“I like stew,” Tamsin says, half-defensive.
Margot snorts. “Gods help us.”
I take a sip of my tea. It’s a little over-steeped and slightly too hot, but it burns in a way that feels grounding.
“I thought I’d lost everything,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
Both women go quiet.
“I mean,” I correct, “I had. For a moment, it was gone… And I thought—I thought maybe I’d ruined it by being too much. Too soft. Too foolish to see what was happening in my own manor.”
“You’re not foolish,” Tamsin says.
Margot hums. “You’re the reason any of us are still standing.”
I shake my head, gently. “No. You are the reason we made it out of Viremont’s estate in one piece. You alerted Eldermire. You got them to listen.”
Margot waves a hand like she’s brushing off smoke, but her throat works around the words she doesn’t say.
Tamsin sets down her teacup. “And you saved Imara, Marienne. You saw what no one else did.”
“It was really thanks to Siven’s dream-walking. I only had a dream,” I say softly. “You trusted me anyway.”
Tamsin meets my eyes. “Of course I did.”
The silence swells again, but it’s not empty this time.
It’s… full.
Margot clears her throat and stands.
“Well,” she says, brushing crumbs from her skirts, “I suppose this is the part where I grumble about you both waking the whole house with your dramatics.”
“That sounds right,” I say, smiling.
She walks past me, pauses, and then reaches down to squeeze my shoulder.
Then she looks at Tamsin.
“And you. You’re not going anywhere,” she says. “I don’t care what the Court says tomorrow. This house needs someone who won’t flinch when things get bloody. Someone who knows how to hold a sword and a child.”
Tamsin blinks.
Margot nods at her, firm. “I mean it. You’re one of us now.”
And then she’s gone, muttering something about needing a proper sleep and “godsdamned knights with martyr complexes.”
I stare into the fire for a long moment.
“She means it,” I murmur.
“I know.”
“She doesn’t say things like that.”
Tamsin leans forward slightly, wincing as she adjusts her shoulder. “I think she does. Just not out loud.”
I glance at her wrapped shoulder, then back up. “Does it hurt?”
“Only when I breathe.”
I laugh, breathless.
“Come on,” I whisper, standing slowly. “Let me tuck you in before midday finds us both like this.”
She follows.
Because that’s what she does now.
And gods help me, I think it’s what I do, too.
***
The moonlight spills like cream across the coverlet.
Tamsin sits on the bed, stripped down to the essentials, one arm still stiff from the bandages. The worst of the damage is gone—my blood saw to that. What remains will mend with time and that infuriating discipline she clings to like armor.
She watches me with a mixture of suspicion and long-suffering fondness as I fluff a pillow and shake out the blanket like it’s the most natural thing in the world to tuck in a grizzled knight with blood on her collar.
“I can manage,” she mutters, brow furrowing.
“Of course you can.” I smooth the blanket over her lap. “But that doesn’t mean you have to.”
She huffs—a sound that sits somewhere between protest and disbelief. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Tucking you in?” I say sweetly. “Immensely.”
Her jaw flexes, eyes narrowing in mock warning.
But she doesn’t stop me. Not when I press the quilt to her chest, not when I smooth the edge just so.
The lines around her mouth have softened, her shoulders no longer drawn so tight, as though even her bones are beginning to believe the danger has passed.
I perch on the edge of the mattress beside her, close enough for our knees to brush. The fire across the room burns low, throwing amber flickers along the walls.
“Tamsin?”
She hums, barely audible.
“In regards to what Margot said earlier… about you staying.” I tuck my hands into my lap. “I was hoping to formally request your permanent reassignment. Here. At Bloomhill. If you're agreeable to it, of course.”
Her brows lift. “Here?”
“Yes.” My voice softens. “Here. With the children. You’ve been… a remarkable presence in their lives. They’ve grown rather fond of you.”
A long pause.
“Only for the children?” she asks, low and rough, a note of something unreadable beneath it.
I lift my gaze to hers. There’s a glint of mischief in her eyes, but beneath it… hope. Fragile and real and far too precious to tread upon lightly.
And something deeper still.
“… For me as well,” I admit.
Her expression shifts, softening around the edges.
“I’ve grown rather fond of you, too,” I continue, the words trembling out. “After all… what’s a home without its hearth?”
The smile that pulls at her mouth is small but devastating.
She leans forward, slowly, and her lips find mine with a tenderness I hadn’t known she possessed. Not urgent. Not demanding.
Just sure.
A steady heat.
A yes.
I sink into it like warmth after a storm, letting it anchor me. Her good hand slides to my waist, not pulling me closer, not asking for more—just there. As if to say: I’m here. I’m staying.
When we part, our foreheads rest together, breaths mingling.
“You make it very hard to be stoic, you know,” she murmurs.
“I do have a talent for that.”
She chuckles, throat deep. “If I say yes to this reassignment… will there be more tucking in?”
“Daily.”
“Then it’s the easiest command I’ve ever taken.”
I kiss her again, softly. Not as a thank you.
As a promise.