Page 28 of Whisper of Nightmares

In an instant, the countryside becomes as wild as the wolves known to roam it. Gone are the peaceful meadows and quaint roads she’s familiar with traveling back home. The lands of Northumbria are rugged and rock-strewn. Patches of yarrow and elderflower grow wildly. Cliffsides that look like they’ve been struck by lightning every day for thousands of years. Bogs that have likely felled hundreds of travelers over the last decade alone.

A storm weighs down the skies. Euphemia listens to the wind as it moans with ominous tremor, sounding more like fallen soldiers howling for revenge than a gust.

Euphemia ducks back inside and throws the shutters closed.

“Beautiful, eh?” Kelda calls from the front of the carriage, a smirk evident in her tone.

The polite smile that’s been scolded into Euphemia springs into place. “Yes. I’ve never seen so much…open land.”

Laughter belts from Kelda, and they fall back into the comfortable silence they’ve held for much of their travels. Carriage swaying. Wheels crunching. Euphemia in the solitude of the cabin while Kelda guides them across the unforgiving expanses of the country.

Over the last few days, they’ve had little time for conversation. During the day they travel. By night they sleep like the dead. Euphemia hasn’t even been dreaming; either her body is too exhausted, or the nightmare has momentarily lost her. Regardless, it’s the most peace and solitude she’s had in her entire life. Growing up in a tavern with three sisters meant she had little time to herself. And although Euphemia is not yet sure how she feels about these silences, they give her ample time to think about the stranger awaiting her in Thorfell. A husband-to-be.

She wonders who he is. How he might greet her. What he’ll think of her when he finds out she’s a mere commoner.

Days pass. They travel farther and farther up north.

Euphemia forgets what dry air feels like. Forgets how to move her legs, other than in the evenings when they stop to rest at an inn.

“How much farther is the journey?” Euphemia asks one night as they’re stabling the horse. She keeps her distance from the creature, untrusting of its nature, as Kelda removes the harness and tucks the horse into the stall for the evening.

With a fond pat on the creature’s neck, Kelda boasts, “Most travelers would need two weeks. But my trusty steed Alsvin will get us there in no more than ten days.”

Euphemia counts a tally with her fingers. “We’ll arrive tomorrow then?”

“That is the idea.” Kelda strides across the straw-strewn barn, pausing at the exit. “Come. Let us rest early so we might leave tomorrow before Sól begins her race across the sky once more.”

Unable to sleep much that final night, Euphemia lays awake thinking only of who her future husband might be. Someone as harsh as the northern lands? Or someone whose warmth exceeds even the fire in their room’s hearth? Unfortunately, she’s come to think he’ll be neither. Over these last few days, Euphemia has tried asking about him, but Kelda has remained tight-lipped. She insists Euphemia will simply find out once they meet. And when Euphemia asked why he hadn’t been the one to come in search of his own bride, Kelda had ended the conversation completely.

By the time Euphemia finds the slumber she seeks, it is restless and far too short. Kelda jostles her awake while the morning is still dark, and they load into the carriage before the sun has barely peeked over the horizon.

It takes longer than a half-day’s journey, but as nightfall approaches, Euphemia finally beholds her new home.

Thorfell Manor is as ominous as its name. A castle erected atop a treacherous cliffside that hangs over a churning sea. It is unyielding. Harsh. Powerful.

This will be the place where Euphemia will raise a family. The place where she will grow old. Both a beginning and an end. And she will share it all with a stranger named Dagfinn.

Rain pummels the side of the carriage.

Her heart races. Now that the manor looms before her, it’s difficult to imagine he can be anything but as windswept and rugged as their surroundings. Perhaps Euphemia can expect her future husband to be like Kelda, someone as sharp as a blade with mischievous cunning behind his eyes.

The carriage pulls to a halt.

The time for imagining ends.

Euphemia prepares to meet her new husband.

The carriage wobbles as Kelda descends and opens the door, letting in the overcast light and pitter-patter of rain. She does not offer Euphemia a hand as she exits, but Euphemia is determined not to make a fool of herself. Euphemia hoists as much of her skirts as she can into her grasp as she climbs out of the cabin.

With a sweeping, albeit apathetic motion, Kelda waves at the manor. “Welcome to your new home.”

Once Euphemia’s on her feet again, she stares up at the dark manor, taking in every aspect. Ivy strangles the graphite stone. Shutters dangle from broken hinges. Not a single candlelight emanates from inside.

Rain drips down the side of her face, and Euphemia tells herself that’s the reason for the shudder that runs down her spine.

“Regretting your choice already, little cloud?”

Euphemia blinks away the dread that was beginning to seep into her features and she turns her attention to Kelda. Over the last few days, she’s grown quite familiar with Kelda’s dry sense of humor and the way she seems to find joy in teasing others, so Euphemia is not at all surprised by the cockeyed smirk waiting for her. But there’s something underneath it, a hesitation that isn’t part of Kelda’s typical confidant manner which gives Euphemia pause.