Page 55 of Whisper of Nightmares

Kelda’s gait falters.

Wind catches the stray flaxen strands escaping her braids, and Euphemia could swear her eyes nearly gloss over.

“This is my home.” The widow resumes her strides. She reaches the stable doors and pushes them wide. “Come. We have arrived.”

“Arrived?”

The word has barely left Euphemia’s lips when something cold twists through her chest.

Inside, the horses nicker and shift where they stand. Euphemia recognizes Alsvin among them, along with another horse as dark as coal.

“Aye.” Kelda grabs a saddle from the wall. “I thought we might go for a ride before the rain starts again.”

But Euphemia can no longer hear her words.

She’s trapped in the doorway by a memory: rearing hooves, blazing fire, the nightmare bearing down upon her.

Horses didn’t always terrify her. Before the nightmare, she had found them to be as enchanting as sunsets.

But now…

Now just being near one drowns her in dread.

She keeps looking to the shadows, fearful that the figure might be lurking nearby as well.

“Euphemia?” Kelda has stopped saddling the black horse, staring at her. Anyone else might have missed the horror that’s petrified Euphemia in place. Kelda does not. She sets the saddle down and props a hand on her hip. “You have ridden before, haven’t you?”

When Euphemia doesn’t immediately respond, she mistakes her silence for ordinary fear.

She throws the saddle onto the horse’s back and begins securing it. “Oh, it’s nothing to be afraid of. They’re docile creatures if handled properly and with respect.”

Kelda pets the black horse’s nose and Euphemia screams.

“Don’t!”

Kelda jerks her hand away as both horses spook.

They stomp their hooves and release frightened whinnies that fill the stables with dread. It takes Kelda a moment to settle them again, but as she does, Euphemia starts backing away. Heart pounding. Feet squelching in the damp soil.

Kelda looks up. “What is it?”

“I—I’m sorry.” A whimper catches in Euphemia’s throat. She fumbles for a lie that she knows won’t be convincing enough for a woman with the knowing. “I’m suddenly not feeling very well. Enjoy your ride.”

Then she’s running back toward the manor, back to where no horse can follow. She cannot hear Kelda’s shouts over the trotting and neighing and inferno that swells in her skull. They flood her senses until she can no longer tell the difference between what is real and what exists only in her head. Between past and present. Reality and memory.

Euphemia rushes into the manor and slams the door closed behind her.

She stays there, her back pressed against the cold wood, until she hears Kelda and her horse trotting down the gravel road.

Only then, in the dark and quiet, can Euphemia reassure herself that she is safe.

Only then does her chest finally ease.

Only then does she realize she is alone—well, perhaps not entirely. Asvald is likely somewhere in the manor as well, doing God knows what.

She still can’t quite figure out what Asvald’s exact position is. In the short time since Euphemia has been here, Asvald has been called an advisor, a reminder of home, he’s been a server at their meals, and the man who has offered to wash her linens. He seems to take on any role required of him. Come to think of it, Euphemia still hasn’t seen another servant around Thorfell at all, though it does not surprise her anymore. Given what Percival said about Kelda selling her belongings, Euphemia is beginning to understand the larger picture here.

Without Dagfinn and a legitimate claim to their assets, Kelda is bleeding funds.