Page 174 of Whisper of Nightmares

Euphemia feels every stare like a flame pressed to her skin.

Their judgment scrapes against a wound she refuses to let them see.

She reminds herself why she is here. Why their plan must work.

Let them look. Let them wonder. Let them believe she is exactly what they expected a countess to be.

Euphemia bows with practiced coyness. A demure smile. Lowered eyes. A woman who knows precisely how little she is expected to say. It is a moment she’s been preparing for her entire life. It chafes something inside her, a groove that’s been worn in over time. For now though, she is happy to give them what they expect.

Anything to see Percival and Thurstan fail.

Percival rushes through his next words. “Yes, a belated congratulations to the happy newlyweds. Let us proceed then, shall we?”

Dagfinn holds out his hands. “Slow down, Percival. I’m afraid you haven’t introduced us to your guest.”

Dagfinn gestures to where Thurstan is sitting as stiff as a plank.

He looks so unlike the disheveled carter she remembers that Euphemia hadn’t even noticed him when they entered.

He wears a brown vest and matching trousers that appear to be sewn from a finer cloth than anything she’s ever seen him in. The garments fit poorly at the shoulders, as though borrowed, not tailored, and Euphemia has no doubt that they came from Percival’s own wardrobe.

But even dressed in fine clothes, Thurstan cannot hide what he is.

His hands are still rough from labor. His nails are dark with dirt he could not scrub away. Sweat beads along his hairline. If she were closer, Euphemia knows he would still smell of hay, manure, and the earthen bundles he handles.

Percival may have dressed him like a gentleman, but Euphemia sees the frightened laborer underneath.

When the room turns toward him, Thurstan looks anxiously about before belatedly standing and offering out his hand.

“The name’s Thurstan.”

It is not lost on anyone in the room that he did not address Dagfinn by title. As though even speaking it might grant Dagfinn some authority he has not yet earned in Thurstan’s eyes.

Dagfinn accepts the hand, giving it a firm shake. “Dagfinn Varinsson. A pleasure. Well, perhaps a nuisance, if I’m being honest, since I’m told you’re the one who’s come to claim my land.”

Euphemia recognizes the bait Dagfinn’s just laid out.

Thurstan doesn’t take but a second to take it.

He leans back in his chair with smug glee. “Interesting that you’d choose that word, when it’s your family who’s stolen from me.”

Percival, sensing his time has come, resumes his speech. “Yes, which brings us to why we are gathered here today.”

Percival turns from Dagfinn and faces the crowd. He does not need to ask for their attention. They are already leaning forward, hungry for the story they’ve been promised.

He holds up the deed as though it were a relic.

“I present to the people, the deed to Thorfell Manor.” He holds it up for everyone to see. “You all know Thorfell Manor. You all know the Varinsson name. And you all know that Lord Otho passed away last year without seeing the estate formally placed into his son’s hands.”

A few voices murmur agreement.

“In the family’s state of grief, I allowed the matter to rest. I waited. I sent word. I offered patience.”

The air in the room grows hungrier.

Euphemia bites the inside of her cheek. She has to remind herself to stay calm.

The corners of Percival’s mouth barely twitches. “Handling the deed was not an issue. It’s not uncommon when a family faces loss and they have an heir that will presumably inherit everything. However, as the months went by, I attempted to contact Lord Varinsson numerous times to complete the paperwork. Each time, I was assured by Ms. Kelda Varinsson, his mother, that the matter would be addressed shortly. I was told her son had fallen ill and could not see to it just yet. Being the kind gentleman that I am, and understanding of the family’s continued suffering, I exercised patience and reassured Ms. Kelda that we would see to it when the time was right.