Page 34 of Whisper of Nightmares

Presses it into the lock.

Euphemia forgets all the secrecy surrounding him. She doesn’t even notice the way Kelda’s hands are trembling. All she is focused on is the cold sensation that washes over her.

This is it.

The moment she’s been waiting for.

Preparing for.

Dreading and anticipating.

On the other side of this door, she’ll meet her husband for the first time. And she knows what will be expected of her then to secure their union. An act of flesh and blood so beautiful, it can only be shared between man and wife without becoming sin.

Euphemia swallows the lump forming in her throat.

This is a rite of passage.

One night of surrender until it becomes her new normal.

She can do this.

A heavy thud brings Euphemia back into the tower.

Kelda steps back, hand still on the key in the doorknob, and slams her shoulder against the door again. And again. For the first time, Euphemia notices her contorted expression, emotion twisting her sharp features with something akin to hope and dread.

And on the final blow, when Kelda’s shoulder bursts the door wide like a battering ram, Euphemia remembers something else. Ceremonial words uttered by Asvald. Something about bringing an end to that which binds him.

Kelda stumbles inside.

Moonlight and a cold draft spill into the stairwell.

Euphemia cannot see into the room from where she stands. The veil on the deception remains unlifted. If she were a different woman, she might turn back around.

In the deep crevices of her mind, she hears the nightmare’s whinny. She has yet to learn how to ignore its call.

Euphemia steps into the room.

From behind Kelda, there is not much to see. A fire glows dimly in one corner of the room. Two large windows are responsible for the ample moonlight. A few bundles of twigs are arranged in clusters that hang from the walls like strange decorations. And centered on the wall opposite the hearth is a bed, a supine figure stretched beneath the furs.

All she can spot is a tuft of autumn hair spilled across the pillows.

Heart thumping in her chest, Euphemia takes a step forward, wanting a better look.

But Kelda pushes past her, frantic.

“No. No. No! That was supposed to work.” Kelda falls to her knees at Dagfinn’s bedside, searching his face this way and that.

Seeing her like this, hearing the desperation in her tone, gives Euphemia pause.

“Why didn’t it work!” Kelda bellows so loudly, Euphemia staggers back.

This feels like a moment she should not be present for. Something private shared between family.

Then she remembers, Euphemia is family now.

Dagfinn is her husband, and she has every right to know what’s wrong with him.

Euphemia dares a step forward. “What didn’t work?”