Page 41 of Whisper of Nightmares

But to Euphemia, this feels like another one of her personal failures.

She can’t even get marriage right.

What would her mother say?

She shoves the thought out of her mind.

Eventually, Euphemia starts to drift. And for the first time since leaving her home, from the threshold between consciousness and slumber, a distant whinny reaches her. A call draws her down where the nightmare—and something else—awaits.

Chapter 10

A Mare of the Night

When Euphemia opens her eyes, it’s to a hazy, violet sky.

A lush meadow surrounds her, though the hollow sound of ice cracking echoes in the distance.

Her breath fogs before her face, but her bare feet are warm where they press against the damp, wine-red grass. She starts walking, unaware of where she’s going and careful not to scrape her toes on any of the tree roots that jut from the earth like coiling snakes. The trees themselves are ancient, withered things, their gnarled branches groaning and twisting overhead before disappearing into the violet haze above.

No birds sing among them. No insects hum in the grass. Not even the distant signs of human life—voices, church bells, carts. Nothing.

Yet the meadow seems alive.

The grass shifts gently around her, though there is no breeze.

Up ahead, she finds a river of liquid amethyst winding through the trees, glowing faintly beneath the strange sky. Its surface is perfectly still, not so much as a ripple disturbing it.

And standing over it, lapping at the cool waters, is the creature that haunts Euphemia’s every waking moment.

A black horse shielded by simmering flames.

A scream gathers in her throat, but by God’s saving grace, she manages to hold it back.

The nightmare, it would appear, has not yet noticed her. It continues drinking from the brook.

Despite its display of peacefulness, Euphemia knows the beast for what it really is.

A creature of death and damnation.

And yet…

She inches closer.

A single step.

Just close enough to gaze more intently at the nightmare’s velvety hide.

With it so thoroughly distracted, this might be the only chance she ever has to search it for answers she’s never been able to find before. Something that will tell her why the creature stalks her. Why it came for her that dreadful night. And most importantly, how she might rid herself of its obsession.

She hasn’t the slightest inkling of what she’s searching for though. A royal decree with her name on it? A brand scorched into the nightmare’s haunches?

She finds neither.

Although, as she draws nearer, there are a few peculiar details she’s never noticed before.

The creature stands upon three legs—not four. It’s the sort of detail Euphemia thinks she would’ve remembered. But she counts them again. And again. And she’s certain the nightmare is missing one of its legs from the knee down, only the skeletal joints remaining.

Starker than that are the patches of rotting flesh carved into its back and hindquarters. Euphemia’s stomach flips at the stench of sulfur and something pungent, a mixture of rotting mulch and flesh.