Page 138 of Whisper of Nightmares

At that, his father’s eyes widen. “What? That isn’t possible.”

Dagfinn throws his arms in the air. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it is. So why don’t you skip the bullshit and tell me what you know.”

A hush falls over the room.

A lifetime of emotion washes over Otho’s face.

It’s clear whatever he’s about to share will cost him greatly.

But it will cost Dagfinn more if he doesn’t.

Wincing through the shame, Otho finally tells him. “Look, when I inherited Thorfell, I didn’t question anything. I just accepted my duties and led as best as I could.” His gaze drifts out the window, his voice becoming distant. “But a few years back, Percival brought it to my attention that there was a clause in the original deed that had never been fulfilled. A debt owed to the family who had been slain here.”

Dagfinn’s head shakes slowly. “I thought they all died.”

“Most of them did. The father and mother were butchered in the sitting room. But one of the servants grabbed the small children and fled. They never found her, nor the little whelps. Would’ve been young though, maybe three and four years old. I doubt either of them even remember that life.

“But Percival convinced me it could be a problem if anyone came looking into the deed. So, we forged a new one. We removed the Walsham family name from it and I buried the original in the garden.”

Slowly Dagfinn rises.

His hands are trembling.

“This is the legacy I have inherited?”

“You were never meant to know. No one was,” his father says, as if that fixes it. As if it removes the weight of generational harm.

Otho’s image flickers.

He stares down at himself, a lightness to him that hadn’t been there before.

“I never thought I’d be able to get that off my chest.”

And then, Otho Varinsson vanishes.

This time, Dagfinn doesn’t get to say goodbye.

This time, it doesn’t look like he wants to.

Dagfinn turns his back to the bed and slowly lowers himself to sit. He buries his face in his hands.

Euphemia crosses the room and sits beside him.

“You know,” he says. “When he died, I was told everything of his was now mine. This manor. This room. This bed. I was meant to wear his clothes. To sleep here, right where he died.”

His throat chokes out a sound that Euphemia has only ever heard herself make.

His hands fall from his face and Dagfinn stares at them, head shaking. “I was meant to live his life, to carry out his legacy. And all I remember thinking is I can’t do any of it without him. I didn’t want to. I didn’t feel like a leader. I didn’t want the responsibility. And I think that’s partly why I wanted to bring him back. I wanted him to lead.”

Slowly, he glances over to her.

Euphemia lets a soft smile flutter the corners of her lips.

He tries to return the smile, but it looks more like a wince.

His gaze falls back to his hands. “I loved my father. I always will. And I can’t say I won’t miss him every day.” Dagfinn pauses for a long moment. “But I think I will make a damn good baron. I think I can do right by our people.”

Euphemia gives a gentle squeeze to his arm. “Far better than Thurstan or Percival would be.”