Page 48 of Whisper of Nightmares

For a moment, she simply stares at her plate, unmoving.

The moment passes.

“Deserted, you say?” Kelda speaks languidly, something deadly in her tone. “Which battle did you say that was?”

Euphemia bites her lip.

Her mother and her had practiced this lie a hundred times. After her father’s death, they knew the constable would come around asking about her father’s whereabouts, and they needed an ironclad story to ensure the family was cleared of all suspicions.

But to regurgitate that lie now? To her recently establish mother-in-law, and a woman who seems on the brink of snapping at any given moment?

It feels like a trap.

Like Kelda is testing her.

“I can’t recall,” Euphemia says, drinking deeply from her mug again. “So many battles these past years.”

“Indeed.” Kelda smirks. “And your neighbors, did they loathe him before he deserted?”

“Of course not! My father was one of the most beloved men in town and the people turned on him like they toss out food that’s gone rotten.” The caustic sound of her own voice startles her. Euphemia clamps a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean⁠—”

But Kelda waves away her embarrassment with her knife. “You did. And I rather liked seeing that side of you.”

“You did?”

“Aye. It’s not like you’re saying anything false? All across England that’s all anyone can live for these days, spreading rumors and lies and watching them catch like wildfire. It makes me sick.” The way she speaks, it sounds personal, like she’s been on the receiving end of one or two of those rumors herself. Kelda clasps her hands behind her head. “The truth will never condemn you in my home, little cloud.”

Euphemia swallows the lump in her throat and takes a bite of meat—not mutton, she realizes. Something gamier. Boar, perhaps? Badger?

“With that in mind,” Kelda continues, those bright blue eyes of her piercing through the blonde wisps of hair that have fallen in front of her face, giving her a wild and deranged look. “Tell me, where is your father now?”

Euphemia chokes, this time losing the battle with propriety and spitting the food back out.

No one has ever second-guessed their story. Not even the constable who spent all of one afternoon asking each of the daughters and their mother when they last heard from their father before declaring him a deserter and moving onto to the next problem that needed addressing.

And Euphemia can feel it in the air. This moment and everything that hinges on it. It will change everything.

But what is Kelda searching for? Does she want to see if Euphemia will uphold loyalty to her mother and take this lie to the grave? Or is she testing her capability to be honest?

Both her mother’s and Kelda’s voices slam against her skull like bats trying to flee a cave. It’s dizzying and dreadful, and Euphemia knows no matter which she chooses, she’ll upset one of them.

But Euphemia has chosen this life. Chosen Kelda and her family. So there is really only one choice.

Calmly, Euphemia sets her fork beside her plate. “My father didn’t desert the war.”

Feigned shock stretches Kelda’s eyebrows toward her hairline. “No?”

“No. He—” Euphemia swallows, blinking in time with her frantic heartbeats. She has to force the words out before doubt has the chance to snatch them away from her. “The truth is, he died.”

Something like satisfaction whispers across Kelda’s face as she settles back into her chair and folds her arms. “In the war?”

“No.”

Kelda lets the silence settle. Lets Euphemia sit in the discomfort of it. Lets her chest ache with something akin to fear as she awaits the question she knows will come next:

“How?”

Tears pool in her eyes. Like the truth is trying to flood out of her. And the more she holds it in, the more it burns.