Page 22 of Whisper of Nightmares

She sticks to the wall as she strides for the door, hoping to stay concealed in the shadows. But her mother spots her anyway.

“Oi! I thought I told you to head to bed. And what was with all that ruckus anyhow?”

Euphemia keeps her head down and says the one thing she knows will squelch her mother’s concern. “I thought I might go to church. Repent for…earlier.”

With no further protest or interference, Euphemia opens the door, leaves the Saint’s Hearth, and abandons her former life behind.

Chapter 7

We Help Each Other

Outside, the ache of loneliness seeps deeper than ever before. There’s something colder about it. More permanent. Before now, Euphemia had hope that one day she might regain her mother’s approval. Feel loved by her again. Appreciated.

Now that hope is lost.

Euphemia swallows the ache like it’s a splintered bone, and she starts walking. Where? She hasn’t the faintest idea. Wherever her feet will carry her, she supposes.

Thorfell her mind whispers.

But that’s absurd, a foolish thought Euphemia quickly shakes away. She doesn’t even know a thing about Thorfell Crag, nor how to find it. Not to mention, if there is one person she hopes never to cross paths with again, it would be Kelda. Such an unsettling woman…

Although, Euphemia also doesn’t love the idea of leaving her here. Alone with her unknowing family. She has no choice though. Euphemia can only hope that Kelda’s intentions take her somewhere other than Euphemia’s family, and that after tonight, she’ll leave their tavern and never return⁠—

It is at that serendipitous moment that the unsettling woman with all-too-knowing eyes steps out from the shadows and into Euphemia’s direct line of path.

“Devil take you!” Euphemia clutches her chest, leaping back. Her breaths are erratic things she tries and fails to regain control of. “What are you doing out here? I swear, you were just—” Euphemia glances back toward the Saint’s Hearth, notes the dim glow of firelight still fluttering behind the windows and their close proximity. Lowering her voice into a harsh whisper, she asks again, “What are you doing out here?”

“Getting some fresh air.” Kelda’s shoulders bob beneath the fur pelt draped over her shoulders. “And you? Where are you off to at such an hour, little cloud?”

Euphemia’s jaw clenches. “Don’t call me that. And it’s none of your concern.”

Recognizing the truth in her own words, Euphemia marches past the woman. She doesn’t have to entertain this conversation, and she most certainly doesn’t have to do so right outside her mother’s tavern. But as Euphemia becomes a flurry of swishing skirts and stomping feet, Kelda leaps after her, matching her strides.

“Ah, but I am making it my concern, little cloud,” she says with saccharine satisfaction. Despite being much shorter than Euphemia, she manages to maintain the gait without a single huff. Kelda reaches across to Euphemia’s pocket and gives it a tap. The heavy lump of coins jingle, bringing a sly gleam to Kelda’s knowing gaze. “Who knew one night of pouring ale could be so profitable.”

Euphemia’s steps falter.

The insinuation hangs heavily between them and Euphemia realizes with plummeting dread that Kelda knows. There is no way for her to know though. No one saw Euphemia steal her sister’s dowry except Ismene. Unless Kelda had been spying on them. But that seems unlikely as well. The chest is tucked safely in the back where no guests are allowed, and Kelda was clearly already outside. She couldn’t have seen.

The longer Euphemia remains silent, the sharper Kelda’s grin becomes. Sharp enough that her fake tooth glistens in the moonlight.

A game is afoot here. One that Euphemia is tired of being part of without knowing the rules.

Abruptly, she spins on the woman, stopping in the moonlit street. “What do you want from me?”

Kelda stops, but that wicked, mocking grin remains. “Me? Want something from you?”

“Don’t—” Euphemia silences her with a finger. “I may come from a simple life, but I am no fool. You have been following my family all day—perhaps longer. And now you’re cornering me in the dead of night. There is a reason, I am sure of it. And if you are as respectable as I think you might be, you will tell me that reason, Kelda Varinsson, instead of continuing to toy with me like a cat and mouse.”

By the time Euphemia finishes, her chest is heaving, already raw from…everything.

But something about speaking her mind feels good too. Reparative. Especially as she watches the delight in Kelda’s eyes flicker.

The façade finally falls and it is just two women standing in a dark road in the middle of night, each with their own secrets held tightly to their chests. But at least now there are no more pretenses.

Kelda’s head tilts as she slowly drags her gaze up and down Euphemia. Those unnervingly knowing eyes snag once on Euphemia’s pocket. They note her heaving chest. The wetness in her red eyes.

In an eerie, almost singsong voice, Kelda finally breaks the silence by saying, “You are running from something, little cloud.”