Page 135 of Whisper of Nightmares

He grabs the tray out of thin air, stabilizing it before catastrophe could’ve spewed across the floor.

He smiles at her. And for a moment, she feels the ache in her chest ease. He had just needed time to recover and re-acclimate. That is all. And now things will be exactly as she hoped they would be.

But her own smile falters.

His hand grazes hers where the rest on the tray, so cold it reminds her of Ràn’s ocean.

Euphemia gasps and jerks her hand away.

This time, there is no saving it. Not when her movement is so sudden and startles him too.

The tray topples to one side. Steaming water sprays in all directions, dousing Dagfinn’s night shirt and Euphemia’s arm, though she hardly feels any heat from it.

Dagfinn, however, hisses like a geyser. Teeth clenched. A gargling cry caught in his throat that brings forth a stench of moss and decay.

“Dagfinn!” cries Kelda, rushing to his side.

Asvald comes to help, and the two of them support him as he hobbles back to bed.

“What happened?” Kelda asks, glancing at the fallen tray.

“I-I⁠—”

Euphemia’s mouth opens and closes. But she cannot put to words how everything about Dagfinn makes her feel like worms are writhing up and down her spine. Everything is wrong about him. His eyes should be crystal blue. His touch should a warm fire. His scent should be cedar and ashes.

Even the way he moves, like one shoulder is heavier than the other.

How can neither of them see it?

Perhaps that is the most confirmation of all.

Neither of them are unmoored by him, because he is as he always was.

Euphemia’s version of him is the wrong one.

“I’m sorry,” Euphemia mumbles. “This is just so much.”

Kelda pats her shoulders. A thought crosses her. She glances over her shoulder to Dagfinn before lowering her voice, “Perhaps you’re right. He doesn’t even know who you are. Maybe it’s best you take a rest for the night. We’ll try again in the morning.”

Euphemia nods, eager to excuse herself.

She stumbles down the stairwell, barely able to see. Barely able to breath, around ironclad grip on her heart.

Once the open passageways are before her, Euphemia runs—not even sure where she’s headed until she collides into her bedchamber.

The tears fall freely then. Shards of ice that carve heartache into her features. The weight of her despair drags her down onto the floor, her skirts pooling like a puddle around her.

And it’s there, in the darkness of her bedchamber, on the cold stone floor, that the sobs wear her down, and Euphemia falls asleep.

Only tonight, she does not know what awaits her on the other side of slumber.

Chapter 26

Her Dagfinn

Euphemia refuses to open her eyes.

She does not care if the nightmare comes and burns her to pieces.