Page 122 of Whisper of Nightmares

She has built so much hope upon this one impossible possibility. What happens if it crumbles beneath her?

She supposes there is only one way to find out.

They turn down the final corridor.

Ash doesn’t make it more than a single step before he halts beside her.

His attention snags on the walls. On the sconces. On the runner. And then on the wide oaken door at the end of the hall, its strange locking mechanism gleaming in the dimness.

His chest rises and falls more quickly. Something flickers in the depths of his eyes. Recognition.

“I think I know this place.”

Euphemia stays quiet, watching his every move with breathless anticipation.

Ash’s steps stagger forward, as if pulled by some unseen force.

The flames in the sconces flicker as he passes, but he hardly seems to notice them. His gaze is fixed ahead on the one thing Euphemia has spent all night hoping he might see.

Ash arrives at the door.

Euphemia drifts beside him. Ready. Present.

The air stills.

He reaches for the mechanism.

The horse skull covering his face begins to tremble.

Euphemia can deny it no longer. The truth has been waiting at the edges of her mind all night. The name has been there too, begging to be spoken.

And now he remembers it too.

“Dagfinn?”

The runes around the doorframe glow bright red.

A moment later, the strange door is flung off the hinges. Wind gushes through the corridor like a wound torn open. Euphemia braces herself against the windowsill, skirts snapping around her legs, but Dagfinn hunkers down into a wide, warrior stance, fists clenched as he fights the gale.

And then⁠—

The horse skull slips.

It tumbles from his face with a clatter.

Euphemia forgets how to breathe.

But when his face is revealed, it is not one she recognizes. A thick beard twisted with small braids covers his chin, obscuring the features she had been so ready to identify. She stares at this man, bewildered. Searching. Letting her gaze linger.

Then she sees him.

Beyond the facial hair Kelda has kept so neatly groomed in the waking world.

She sees hair tumbling over his shoulders as warm as an autumn harvest.

She sees broad shoulders and a tall frame.

But it’s his eyes. Though she has not seen his eyes on the other side of waking, the blue pierces through her and she knows.