Chapter 45 Marienne
Marienne
A week later
We’ve just returned from the village square—Tamsin carrying a paper-wrapped bundle of fresh bread like it’s a tactical assignment, and me doing my absolute best to stall without being suspicious. I’d dragged her to the flower stalls. Then the cheese vendor. Then the long way around the duck pond.
She’d given me a look halfway through that said I know you’re up to something, but to her credit, she hadn’t pressed.
Now, we step through the doors of Bloomhill, and the world explodes.
“Surprise!”
Well… “Surprise” and also “Ser Mum!” shouted at full volume by half the children and sheepishly echoed by the other half.
Tamsin blinks. Stares. Utterly frozen in the doorway, bread still tucked under one arm like a shield. “What—”
I lean close, grinning. “Surprise.”
Her eyes narrow, not in displeasure, just disbelief. “You knew.”
“Of course I knew.” I tug gently at her sleeve and lead her further in. “But it was the children’s idea.”
“You’re officially ours!” Yla beams, holding up a hand-painted sign that reads WELCOME HOME SER MUM!!!
“You’ve been ours,” Siven says, arms folded.
“There’s cake!” Callen adds helpfully.
The cake is… slanted. Possibly bleeding jam. Someone attempted decorative roses, but they’ve melted into something more impressionistic. It’s beautiful.
“It was Imara’s idea,” Liri whispers into Tamsin’s side. “We all helped.”
I look to Imara, who avoids my gaze in the very specific way she does when she’s proud and doesn’t know what to do with the feeling. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a little red at the cheeks. But she’s watching Tamsin.
Tamsin, who hasn’t moved. Who looks, well... Stunned.
Margot elbows her gently from behind, but even she is smiling as she says, “Better say something before they sing.”
Too late.
The children launch into a “song,” if it can be called that—some chaotic amalgamation of three different melodies and the word “Ser Mum” repeated like a battle cry. Yla bangs a wooden spoon against the table. Vess screeches in support.
Tamsin lifts a hand and rubs at her eyes. “You’re all unhinged,” she says hoarsely.
But she smiles when she says it.
Liri tugs relentlessly on Tamsin’s hand, all while asking, “Did we surprise you? Did we really get you?”
“You got me,” Tamsin says, dazed.
They tackle her in a group hug, and she staggers beneath the weight, pretending to grumble even as her arms curl around them instinctively. I don’t think she’s ever looked more out of place.
Or more at home.
And it makes something ache inside me. Something soft. Something permanent.
***
Later, when the children are sufficiently sugared and soothed, Margot corrals them with the skill of a seasoned general, and I take Tamsin’s hand.
“Come with me.”
She follows me out into the garden. It’s dusk now, that gentle blue stretch between sunset and night. The air smells like lavender and roses. Fireflies are already beginning to stir in the hedges.
“You’re not planning another ambush, are you?” she murmurs beside me.
“No,” I smile. “Just a gift.”
We stop beside the iron trellis where the roses are starting to climb again. I reach into the pocket of my gown and pull out the small bundle, handing it to her.
She slowly unwraps it.
It’s a dagger with a decorative hilt. Practical but lovely, not unlike the woman beside me. Engraved into the hilt is a single Bloomhill flower—five petals, curling slightly at the edge. Soft. Resilient.
Engraved on the blade is For my hearth.
Tamsin looks at it, then at me. Her expression is unreadable. Quiet.
“You really think I belong here?” she asks.
I step closer. “I think you always did. You just didn’t know it yet.”
She stares at me for a heartbeat. Then another.
And then she kisses me.
It’s not rushed. Not fiery. Just full of breath, of warmth, of home. Her hand finds my waist, gentle but sure. Mine settles over her heart, steady.
When we part, she rests her forehead against mine. “You’re ridiculous,” she murmurs. “And I love you.”
“I know,” I say, grinning. “I love you as well.”
A firefly lands on her shoulder. Another drifts between us, catching the moonlight. I let myself believe in good things. In second chances.
In something that lasts forever.