Page 127 of Whisper of Nightmares

One final conversation. One last chance to say she was sorry. One more whispered I love you.

Tears stream down her face, blurring her vision, but she listens on.

“I came to save you,” Dagfinn confesses, casting one sheepish glance over his shoulder toward Euphemia. Then he bows his head at his father again. “But I do not know how.”

“You should not be here.”

Dagfinn nods.

His father pats the top of his hand. “I am not the one who needs saving. You did everything you could. Now it is time I rest.”

They share one final embrace. When they part, the goodbye is far too small for everything it needs to contain.

And then Otho’s spirit disappears.

Dagfinn stands from the bed, the rushes and flowers muffling the sounds of his feet.

He crosses the room, notices Euphemia’s wet cheeks, takes her face in his hands, and wipes away her tears.

“I am sorry you did not receive a better farewell.”

Her lip quivers. The thoughts that keep echoing in her mind thrash against her skull until she can no longer contain them. “I don’t understand. Why did you get to say goodbye? Why could you⁠—”

She cuts herself off too late.

It’s not a fair question to ask.

Dagfinn deserved this moment. She doesn’t want to tarnish it.

She tries freeing her face from his grasp, but he holds her firmly. Dagfinn continues wiping away each new tear.

“I do not know why he was able to see me but your father couldn’t see you. But I suspect it might be because I have been in the realm of death much longer than you have. I am trapped here like they are. I am just as much a part of this place as any soul here.”

Self-pity vanishes beneath a sudden rush of panic.

“You’re not dead though. I’ve seen your body.”

His eyebrow crooks at that. “Oh, you have, have you?”

She ignores the wryness in his voice. “Yes. You’re only sleeping.”

Hearing her words makes him flinch.

Something like guilt crosses his expression. It reminds her of the look he flashed her while he was speaking to his father, and the words her was saying.

“What did you mean you came here to save him?”

Dagfinn buries his face in his hands.

Euphemia thinks back on all the memories she just observed. The sleepless nights in his study. The scribbled notes. The strange tinctures. She tries to line them up with what he told her: that his father was ill and he wanted to help. She thought that meant he had tried helping him while he was ill. And she thinks that’s still true, to an extent.

But the way the memories had unfolded, it was clear he had continued working long after his father died.

When she saw him collapsing outside of his study, she thought it had been accidental.

“Dagfinn, did you…curse yourself?”

Dragging his hands down his face and beard, he sighs. “I didn’t mean to curse myself. Not at first. I was only trying to perfect a potion that would allow me to sleep less. While he was ill, I worked in my study tirelessly, searching for a cure. But I kept falling asleep at my desk. And it felt like every precious moment I lost meant I was failing him. I figured, if I could just sleep less…”