Page 45 of Whisper of Nightmares

When Asvald’s eyes slide down, she assumes it’s to examine the heap of linens in her arms. Instead, his gaze keeps sinking until they land on her bare toes. Damn the people in this household and their all-too-keen gazes!

Euphemia scrunches her toes instinctively, trying to hide any remnants of the dirt that she might’ve missed.

If he does notice the poor state of her, he says nothing about it.

“If you insist, Lady Euphemia.” With practiced deference, Asvald tilts his head. “There’s a washroom behind the kitchen. And I’ll ask the staff to bring you rags for the week.”

Euphemia flashes him a grateful but mortified smile.

He clears his throat. “In the meantime, Lady Kelda has requested your company in the great hall for lunch.”

“Lunch? Surely, it can’t be—” But as her gaze sweeps toward the window, she finds the curtains still closed.

Asvald walks over and draws the curtains back, allowing a blinding force of sunlight into the room.

“It was a long journey,” he says kindly.

She supposes it was. Although, Euphemia still hadn’t expected to sleep through half the day because of it. She’s never slept that long in her life. Not even when she was unwell as a child. It had always been the expectation to rise with dawn and to help around the tavern. Being the second oldest, she’d always had a job to do.

Memories of her home and childhood make her chest twinge. For a moment, she wonders how her mother and sisters are faring without her. Who’s tending to the ales and preventing Ismene from locking herself in the garden. If the bride price will be enough to get them through the tough winter to come.

She can almost see their smiling faces, the relief they must all feel knowing foolish Euphemia isn’t around to ruin everything for them anymore.

When tears prick her eyes, Euphemia shakes them away. “I’ll join Lady Kelda in a moment.”

Asvald bows his head again. “I’ll let her know.”

As he heads for the door, worry whispers in Euphemia’s ear.

“Wait! Won’t you…be accompanying me?”

He halts, shoulders tensing as if he has to force himself to do so. “I have other tasks that require me.”

“But how am I to find my way? I’m not familiar with the manor.” She had been in such a frenzied state following the wedding ceremony that she hadn’t paid much attention to any of her surroundings as she was guided to her bedchamber. She is sure to become lost is if she dares venturing around on her own.

The tension in his shoulders eases. He crosses the room, swings her bed chamber door open, and points across the hall. “See the sconces on the walls?” He checks for her nod before continuing. “Follow the ones that are lit. They’ll lead you back to the great hall.”

Euphemia opens her mouth to insist she would rather have an escort, but Asvald disappears down the hall before she has the chance.

She eyes the sconces as her door slams shut.

Follow the light, he had said.

A simple instruction.

Euphemia sets the crumpled pile of linens on the foot of her bed—she’ll simply have to wash them later. She makes her way toward a chest on the other side of the room, props it open, and hastily grabs the topmost garment. A dark kirtle the color of mulled wine. She slips it on over her chemise and ties the cords at her sides.

As she approaches the door, apprehension constricts her throat.

Follow the light, she repeats.

Throwing the door open, Euphemia steps into the hallway, hopeful that this time the light won’t abandon her to the darkness.

Chapter 11

Terms of a Union

As Euphemia steps into the hallway, a draft whistles by her. The flames in the sconces flicker. The unsettling nature of her dream lingers, churning her stomach with unrealistic fear. If she stands too long in this dark corridor, the shadows start to look less like shadows and more like something solid.