Page 133 of Whisper of Nightmares

There it is again. Another twitch of his fingers. Then his hand.

His other one starts jolting to life as well.

And Dagfinn bursts upright in bed.

The breath he takes is cavernous, his jaw yawning wide as a croak stretches from the depths of his belly sounding more like a dying breath than anything.

“Dagfinn!” exclaims Kelda, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing.

He sits there, slack-jawed and arms lip. His head is tilted to the rafters. Eyes drooping. And the first word Euphemia thinks is wrong.

She stuffs the confusion aside and leans forward to get a better look. “Dagfinn?”

His head twists toward her with sickening staccato.

His eyes are all wrong. Black pits that she fears she will fall into. There’s nothing beyond them. No recognition. No playful shine. No sense of the hope that he only just recently reclaimed.

She’s being unfair though.

Dagfinn has been asleep for months.

Been in Helheim, surrounded by death and darkness for months.

Of course they can expect things to be a little…different while he recovers.

A good wife would accept that.

Gently, Kelda lowers Dagfinn back onto the pillows, jarring his gaze from Euphemia. Shamefully, she is grateful.

This isn’t how she expected their reunion to be. Euphemia thought they’d see each other and a secret knowing would pass between them. Or perhaps confusion, even, as if he had never met her and therefore was surprised to see her in his home.

Anything would be better than the cold nothingness she felt in his gaze.

“He hasn’t spoken.” Kelda pats her skirts, anxiously, and looks up to Asvald. “Why isn’t he speaking?”

Asvald struggles for the words. “Give him time. He’s been gone awhile. He might need to learn a few things.”

Kelda nods enthusiastically and turns to watch her son again.

Fragile hope bleeds through her expression.

Like this is the last thread holding her together.

On the bed, Dagfinn simply stares up at the ceiling. His breathing is sticky and rattling and wrong.

But he’s awake now.

That’s what should matter.

Not her foolish heart wishing for more.

Not her mind worrying over the estate and their home.

Not her chest aching that she wasn’t the one to save him.

Euphemia wishes she could go back to sleep and start the day anew. But that would only hurt more, for her Dagfinn is here now. Not there. No longer a waiting companion whenever she rests.

She is so selfish.