Page 25 of Whisper of Nightmares

The story does something strange to Euphemia, but it also seems to take its toll on Kelda.

Her eyes do not gloss-over like most. Nor does her voice become constricted with emotion. But Euphemia notices that whenever Kelda says his name, there is a softness to it that she did not know the woman possessed. Every time she breathes life into his name again, Kelda blinks wildly, as if a lifetime of memories are flashing before her eyes and she needs to capture—remember—each and every one of them.

Resituating her stance, Kelda clears her throat. “My husband and I were fair. We took care of our people and our lands as best as we could. The people of Thorfell are content and well taken care of. Some are even our close friends. But to the noble houses, we are outsiders still. Even our son who is English-born. The noble houses, they would rather their daughters marry true English noblemen. Not Danish. Not outsiders.”

Euphemia knows a little about being an outsider herself.

But just because she can sympathize, does not mean this is the correct path for her, let alone for them. Kelda does not know who she’s inviting into her home. A cursed woman who would only bring them misery.

“I am flattered by the offer, Lady Kelda—” Kelda blows between her lips as if to say the title is ridiculous. Euphemia ignores her. “But I am not a suitable bride for your son⁠—”

“Let me ask you this then—” The words seem to spill out of Kelda like an ale knocked over. There’s a desperation in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Once your family awakens in the morning and finds you’ve not returned, what do you think will happen?”

Euphemia opens her mouth to say something but realizes she has no answer to give. She hadn’t yet thought that far ahead, and Kelda gives her no reprieve to do so now.

“What about when your father disappeared? How long did your family grieve? Did your sisters and mother move on with ease? Or were they troubled by the suddenness of his departure?”

It feels as though Euphemia’s been dipped in molasses; slow understanding sinking in.

“We were all troubled by his disappearance, obviously.” It comes out a little more defensively than she means to, but Kelda is too caught up in her own questioning to notice.

“More importantly, did your neighbors allow them peace to grieve his loss? Or did they make things harder? Did the rumors spread like wildfire? Did those rumors make it more difficult for your family to endure?”

Euphemia is stunned into silence, assaulted by the memories. The town hadn’t even known the horrific truth about her father’s passing. They’d simply believed him to be a deserter. Still, no one had let them grieve in peace. The months that followed were some of the hardest Euphemia and her sisters have ever endured. The family was shamed for his desertion. Fewer folk visited the Saint’s Hearth, making coin scarce. They were scrutinized and investigated, all the while Euphemia had been harboring a secret large enough to condemn them all to the gallows.

Taking Euphemia’s silence for what it is, Kelda inches nearer, voice as gentle as a cloud. “And once the town discovers you have disappeared, my little cloud, how will your family be treated then?”

The horror of that understanding makes Euphemia’s eyes bulge.

How had she not even considered it? The rumors would be staggering. And after a night like tonight? After Euphemia had accosted a man in their own home? Her family would surely suffer. Rumors circled them like vultures already. This would be the last one needed to cast them into destitution.

“I hadn’t considered it,” Euphemia says weakly.

Kelda nods. “I thought not. It is why you need a more permanent solution.”

Fingernails dig into Euphemia’s palms. Here she thought she had everything figured out, thought that all they needed was for her to disappear. Turns out, she had been wrong. Abandoning them now would leave them to face a vicious and superstitious mob instead. But staying will only put them in danger from the nightmare as well. Already, it’s set their apple tree ablaze. One spark, and they could lose their home while they’re slumbering inside.

Mob or nightmare, her family seems doomed either way.

Unless…

What they need is protection. Something to restore the reputation they would lose by the disappearance of an unlikable daughter.

“You should ask Cybele instead. She would make a beautiful bride.” It splits her in two to say it.

Before Kelda can respond, Euphemia whisks past her one final time. Saying goodbye to hope. Something tugs deep in her chest as she does. A hollowness that grows with each passing step until a chasm has yawned inside her, so immense and aching she’s forced to stop. Euphemia reaches up for it, hand grasping at the pit in her stomach, trying to press the edges back together, to keep herself whole when⁠—

The hand she’s clawing with twinges.

She looks down at the scarred flesh. Warmth builds within the mutilation. Small at first, so she can almost ignore it. But the heat keeps gathering until it becomes uncomfortable. Unbearable. Until she is wincing and hissing through her teeth and clutching her hand.

“What is it?” Kelda rushes over.

Euphemia has no words for her. Alarm is screaming too fiercely in her bones, for the pain can only mean one thing.

Frantic and fried, Euphemia’s gaze tears the surrounding area apart. She scans every nook, every shadow, searching for the creature her scars alert her to.

And there, down the road that leads out of town, away from torchlights, away from civilization, something sparks in the darkness. A single violet flame. Growing. Swelling as the beast clip-clops toward her.