Page 151 of Whisper of Nightmares

She places the vessel back on the heat and adjusts the vent, so the flame is only large enough to induce a light simmer.

And now comes the part Dagfinn warned her she would hate.

The waiting.

The brew has to simmer for six hours.

It’s not that Euphemia is usually impatient with her crafts. Most of her ales have to sit for days before they can be properly stored. She knows how to wait.

But she has never had to wait six hours to find out whether someone she cares for will come back.

Six hours.

Six hours between this bubbling copper vessel and Dagfinn opening his eyes.

Time is the last thing standing between her and him.

Her shoulders sag.

Euphemia takes a seat upon the chaise by the covered windows, bringing the journal with her. Even though she cannot read the words in it, looking through the pages and seeing all his drawings brings her a sort of comfort. Some of the entries look more frazzled and desperate, entire pages scribbled out or ripped at the seams. Euphemia can almost see him hunched over his desk, pen in hand, ink dripped across the table as he frantically scribbles all his thoughts and discoveries down. She can almost see the rogue tuft of hair that falls in his face. Almost see herself tucking it back, drawing his attention away from the journal for one fleeting moment.

Flipping through his entries, Euphemia almost feels like Dagfinn is right there with her already.

It’s strange how much comfort she can find in pages she cannot read. But his hands made these marks. His mind had filled these pages. Somewhere beneath all that ink is the man she has come to know.

And soon, if she has done everything right, she will not have to imagine him here anymore.

With that thought comforting her, the journal becomes as heavy as her eyelids, and Euphemia sinks back into the chaise and succumbs to exhaustion.

Chapter 31

One Last Dream

Sulfur and sea spray prickle Euphemia’s nose.

A violet haze surrounds her.

She knows she’s in the dreamscape before her eyes even open.

Under normal circumstances, she would be excited to return. But with sinking dread, Euphemia realizes if she’s here that means she has fallen asleep. The brew is still bubbling in Dagfinn’s study. But no one is watching it. No one is there tracking the hours. No one is there ready to deliver it to Dagfinn the moment it’s ready.

Determination rushes through her.

Nothing is more important than waking and returning to that study.

Euphemia is about to start considering her options on how to make that happen, when someone clears their throat behind her. She doesn’t need to turn around to know who the familiar voice belongs to. Still, she does. Because even knowing she should be desperate to wake, some selfish part of her is relieved to see him again.

She turns around with a flutter in her belly⁠—

Only, Dagfinn’s face is so downtrodden it sucks the elation right out of her.

“It didn’t work then?” he asks, barely containing the defeat in his tone.

It takes Euphemia a moment to realize what he has assumed her presence means.

“Oh! No—I mean, not no in that it didn’t work. What I mean is—” Holding up her hands, Euphemia stops herself, collects her thoughts, and tries again. “I think it will work. I’m in the middle of brewing it as we speak. Or, I was until I apparently fell asleep during the final process and ruined everything.”

Relief washes through him as she explains. “You’ve ruined nothing.”