Page 68 of Whisper of Nightmares

Without hesitation, Asvald retreats to the closet.

Euphemia descends the final step. “Where are we headed?”

“Into town, of course. The people should meet the baron’s new wife.”

Asvald returns just in time to catch Euphemia’s wide-eyed stare as she glances between them. “Is that wise? After everything Percival said about⁠—”

Kelda blows through her lips. “Of course it’s wise. Percival likes to speak out of his, well, other end. He thinks frightening me will win him my land⁠—”

“Dagfinn’s and Euphemia’s land,” Asvald corrects.

To Euphemia’s surprise, Kelda actually looks sheepish, though she wishes she wouldn’t be.

Through a tight-lipped smile, Kelda pats Asvald’s shoulder. She inclines her head to Euphemia. “Forgive me. I misspoke. They are your lands now, of course.”

“Oh, Heavens.” Euphemia feels her chest tightening. “You did not misspeak. They are as much your lands as they are mine. Please know that I would never try to take that claim away from you.” Her gaze flicks up to Asvald. “Nor from you.”

The slightest glimpse of relief washes over Asvald.

Kelda, however, grins that foxlike, toothy grin that exposes her fake tooth and suggests she expected nothing less from Euphemia.

And as they exit the manor and climb into the carriage, Euphemia is overcome with a sense of pride at the thought that she might be slowly winning the two of them over.

Carriage wheels crunch on loose rock and dirt. The sea air blows through the window, gentle on the sunny day. But all Euphemia can think about is the dream she cannot make sense of, and the locked room she cannot enter.

Alas, that conquest of the strange mechanism will have to wait.

The laughter of children chases after the carriage, the little ones bobbing on their feet to see who might be inside.

The carriage comes to a stop.

Euphemia braces herself for the outrage Percival warned about.

This time, Kelda sits in the cabin with her, so the two of them wait as Asvald descends from the driver’s seat to open their door.

“Are you frightened?” Kelda asks.

Euphemia starts to say no but remembers who she’s speaking to. “A little. Yes.”

“Good. It would be foolish not to be.”

“But you said⁠—”

“I said Percival was trying to scare us, which is true. But he wasn’t being wholly dishonest. There are some in Thorfell Crag who grow uneasy under the changing leadership. Truthfully, they are the same folk who have been uncertain about us for a while.” Before pain can latch on, something brightens in her expression, a spark of life that Euphemia doesn’t think she’s seen in the woman before. “But we have friends in Thorfell, too. Not everyone is so hateful of the Varinsson name. You have nothing to fear here.”

The cabin door opens. First, Asvald helps Kelda out of the carriage. When it’s Euphemia’s turn, she holds her periwinkle skirts in one hand—another garment she’d found folded neatly in the chest in her bedchamber—and she repeatedly tells herself not to trip. Not to miss a step. Not to fall and embarrass the lot of them.

She does not want to ruin this moment.

She does not want to give the people of Thorfell any more reasons to doubt her or her new family.

Asvald offers Euphemia a hand, and she steps outside, the bright sky blinding her like a bolt of lightning from above. Once her eyes have adjusted, she realizes they aren’t in the center of town like she had expected them to be. Instead, Euphemia finds that they are somewhere near the top of the town, a slanted road dipping before them and leading all the way down to the beach.

From this vantage point, the view of the ocean is clear. An impossibly massive sheet of dark blue that ripples as far as the eye can see.

It is the closest Euphemia has ever been to the ocean. And yet, it is nothing like she imagined. The way travelers who came through the Saint’s Hearth would describe it, she always thought it was more like a cavernous graveyard, with shipwrecks lining the horizon and tumultuous storms brewing.

This is more like a hoard of jewels than an ocean.