Page 112 of Whisper of Nightmares

Circling.

Swimming around them.

Between them.

It brushes against her leg. Something slick and vine-like. Her first thought is of the snakes in Náströnd. But surely, they can’t swim? Even if they could, this creature felt bigger. Thicker than a human body.

Whatever it is, it wants them to know it’s here.

It wants them to be afraid.

If that is the case, then Euphemia is already in its clutches. Fear grips her so fully, her hand is locked in a death-grip around Ash’s. The conversations they need to have are gone. The pain of seeing him at her father’s death evaporates.

All that hums in her skull is swim.

Survive.

Live.

Ash gives her hand a squeeze, a small reassurance considering she has no idea what they have stumbled into. But she reminds herself that he has been here a long time—almost a year, if he is her husband. By now, Ash has surely seen every inch of this realm. He knows every pocket of despair and horror. If anyone can get them through this, it’s him.

Ash leans his head toward hers, timing his voice with the cresting of a wave as he whispers against her ear, “You see it up ahead?”

Her stomach surges to her throat.

See what?

A monster?

Another creature of death?

If Euphemia makes it out of this alive, she swears she will find a way to never dream again.

Mustering a cask full of courage, Euphemia brings her gaze to where he’s indicating. But it’s no creature he stares at. It’s a building. A palace of bone and venom.

What is Náströnd doing here? she almost asks, but thinks better of it.

She nods instead.

The ocean hums in anticipation.

Another wave tangles itself between them, nearly pulling them apart.

It’s at her ribs now.

It’s rising too fast.

As the wave subsides, Ash buries his skull into her hair again. She almost thinks she hears him indulge in the scent of her for one fraction of a moment before saying, “When I say run, you⁠—”

Laughter, echoes around them, childlike and venomous.

It encloses them like a circling shark.

Euphemia presses closer to Ash, tucking herself under the protection of one of his arms as he somehow manages to unsheathe his sword with the other. But what will that do against something they cannot see, she wants to scream.

Especially when the figure of a woman rises from the ocean, her body made entirely of the sea. Curves of water ripple with seafoam around her hips. Fish swim where her ribs should be, most of their scales missing, while some are made only of bones. Seaweed dangles from her watery head like a tangled nest.

For the briefest moment, Euphemia swears the fish bear sharp, toothy grins at her.