Page 157 of Whisper of Nightmares

“But why did she believe marrying you would achieve that?”

This is the part of the story she wishes Kelda were here to explain, because it’s not something she herself entirely understands. It feels too fantastical. Too fateful.

Euphemia winces as she says something that sounds truly mad. “Because you were calling out my name in your sleep.”

Even Dagfinn looks surprised to hear it. “I was?”

She nods. “More than once. Apparently, a lot. It made your mother think that perhaps there was a reason you were calling out to a woman who lived halfway across the country. So, she came and found me and proposed a marriage.”

Dagfinn has more questions after that, and Euphemia answers all of them. How she met his mother. Why Euphemia agreed to a strange offer in the dead of night. What Kelda told her about him. What Euphemia’s family knows about their union.

And with every answer, his expression shifts between disbelief, amusement, and something that looks suspiciously like pride.

When he’s finally all caught up, Dagfinn leans back against the balustrade beside her.

His hand barely grazes hers, but neither of them move.

“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel,” Euphemia says through a throat constricted.

Turning toward her, he looks at her with something like offense.

Then, returning his gaze forward, they settle into a quiet calm, with only the sound of the distant waves to keep them company. Periodically, she catches him glancing at her as though he’s still trying to reconcile that the woman standing beside him is his wife.

They should be focused on getting her back to the waking world, but now she just hopes she stays asleep a little longer. She does not want to leave him after this.

But that’s just her being selfish.

She needs to get back to his study. Before Kelda can awaken and either pour out the draught or agree to Percival’s terms before anyone can stop her.

Euphemia glances at Dagfinn with something like regret in her voice. “I really should be getting back there.”

Dagfinn looks at her for a long moment.

“Of course.” He clears his throat and whatever emotion was in it. “What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing good.” Euphemia sighs deeply, already regretting what she’s about to say. She shoves off the balustrade and starts pacing. “But I imagine if this is like most dreams, then we just need to give my body a jolt and I’ll awaken.”

“A jolt? Like what?”

The hopeful part of Euphemia thinks that a kiss could do the trick. But she doesn’t dare suggest it.

“I don’t know yet. But I’m sure between the two of us, we’ll figure it out.”

They settle into the quietness of thoughtful minds at work. And she can see it so easily, the two of them spending their days in the study, discussing various herbs and their effects and how they might brew the next elixir they’re working on. Perhaps one to cure St. Anthony’s Fire. Perhaps one to allow them to talk more directly to ghosts. Anything they can set their minds and skills to.

Jostling her from her thoughts, Dagfinn rises from his perch as well.

“What is it?” she asks, following his gaze, but it only leads her off the cliff.

Dagfinn grabs her hand and starts to run. “Come on. I have an idea.”

They bound across the plateau, Euphemia barely keeping up with his larger strides.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he says, dragging her toward the ledge.

The last time she was here, it had been so dark that everything beyond the cliff was obscured.