Page 165 of Whisper of Nightmares

Maryam frowns, her eyes glistening. “A little, I suppose. I remember being taken away from somewhere, clinging to someone’s hand I don’t even remember while she held my brother in her arms and we ran. I guess I just thought it was the war we were fleeing.”

Dagfinn and Kelda exchange a heavy look.

“What of your brother?” Euphemia asks, not knowing that she is the only person in the room who doesn’t know the answer.

A somber weight fills the great hall.

“George died of illness when I was maybe ten years old. Fever spread through the church fast. Not many survived. The nuns and friars all died. I was brought to a monastery in Thorfell shortly after. I didn’t even know I had lived here before.”

“I suppose that explains why no one knew of you,” Euphemia says.

Kelda adds, “These are times of war. Children come and go in the monasteries quite often, especially after a siege.”

Memory sweeps her away then, and they let her drift in it for a moment. A different time that likely feels like a lifetime ago.

“Regardless,” Dagfinn says, finally breaking the silence. “My family owes a debt to you. One that I intend to fulfill as best as I am able.”

A scornful laugh bubbles from the back of Maryam’s throat. She gestures around them. “You think I want all of this?”

For a brief moment, worry ripples through Dagfinn. He holds her gaze though, prepared to do what’s right. “If that is what you wish⁠—”

Another acidic laugh. She swats at him as if he’s her own child. “I don’t want any of this, you fool. Kelda is my friend. You’re like a son to me. I’m not going to throw you out on the streets just so I can live in a fancy manor that once belonged to a father and mother I don’t even remember. What would be the point in that?” She chuckles darkly to herself. Then glances between Kelda and Dagfinn. “I like my humble life. You don’t owe me a thing.”

A gust blows through the great hall, rocking the antlers and nearly snuffing all the candles.

Euphemia doesn’t know if anyone else notices it.

But she does.

A low moan that carries something ominous on the wind.

Euphemia made a promise.

But if Maryam is being too stubborn to accept anything, what else is there she can do?

“There must be something we can do for you,” Euphemia pleads. “Something that would settle the spirits here.”

With a mixture of terror and curiosity, Maryam looks around the room again. When she doesn’t find anything, she folds her arms over her chest. “You’ve already agreed to help me repair my cooperage and home. I think that should be enough.”

“We were already doing that though,” Dagfinn argues, a hand absentmindedly stroking his chin.

“That’s all I need,” Maryam says with some finality. She stands from the table ready to leave.

It feels wrong to let her settle for something so small comparatively, even though Euphemia knows a family business is no small thing. Her cooperage is her survival. Her life. Just as the Saint’s Hearth was once Euphemia’s.

And it’s with that reflection that she finally has an idea.

“I’d also like to help connect you with the Saint’s Hearth again. Perhaps with others in Nottinghamshire, as well. I’m sure people there are in constant need of troughs, buckets, casks, and all of that.”

Maryam gives a proud and confident nod as if to say there is no greater, more important profession in the world.

And this partnership could be perfect. A way to unite both of their communities. A way to begin to rebuild and help heal some of the damage wrought upon these lands.

Glancing to Dagfinn, Euphemia can tell he sees it too. A sense of pride forming in the way he holds himself. He doesn’t have to fill his father’s shoes. Nor his grandfather’s. His legacy will be his own to forge, one with Euphemia at his side.

“It’s not enough though,” Dagfinn says. He pushes from the table and starts pacing the room. When the idea comes to him, he looks as luminous as the sun. “A stewardship then. For your son, Heathcliffe.” Seeing Maryam’s dubious expression, Dagfinn continues. “There’s a cottage and some land at the edge of the cliffs. No one’s living there, nor tending the fields. He would be taking nothing from us. If anything, he’d be removing a burden.”

It takes Maryam a long time to consider, but eventually, she agrees.