Page 70 of Whisper of Nightmares

Despite Kelda insisting their journey into town was meant as a way to introduce Euphemia to the locals, she and Kelda spend an alarming amount of the morning doing the opposite.

Kelda takes them down every sparsely populated street she can find, ducking the main roads in preference of the thinner alleyways and the streets with nothing but stone walls and a few wobbly doors.

The farther into town they venture though, the more the secrecy makes sense.

It is true that most of the people they pass by treat them with kindness or something akin to dispirited respect.

But it is not lost on Euphemia that as they approach some homes, the people suddenly rush inside, close their shops, and hide. She swears she sees familiar faces among them—the same men and women who once foamed at the mouth to talk ill of her mother, her sisters, and herself. Their faces blur with the town around her. At one point, she swears she catches Carter Thurstan’s profile sneering at her from a distance. Swears she finds her mother’s disapproval from the larder. Swears she feels the weight of the clergy’s gaze as they pass by the church.

Those experiences, small as they might be, flip Euphemia’s stomach.

She tells herself she is being foolish. Suspicious of every shadow because of everything that has happened. Not every person who looks away is hiding something. Not every face in the crowd is watching her.

Still, as the minutes stretch, and they pass by countless townsfolk, Euphemia starts to doubt Kelda’s true intentions for coming here.

After what feels like hours, Euphemia finally blurts, “We’ve been walking for the better part of the morning, and not once have you introduced me to anyone. What are we doing here, truly?”

As if Kelda had been waiting for this precise moment, a grin curls one side of her face. “You will see soon, little cloud.”

The mystery of it all might’ve infuriated some.

But for Euphemia, it is kindling for her curious mind.

As they finish their descent, she inspects everything. The stalls. The people. The cobblestone roads. The sky. The birds. She searches high and low for some hint as to what it is Kelda might have brought her here for.

By the time they reach the pier, Euphemia has given up hope that she’ll uncover it without Kelda’s explicit aid.

Climbing down a set of wide, sandy steps, Kelda waves over her shoulder to Euphemia. “This way. It’s not much farther now.”

Euphemia does as she’s told and follows Kelda onto a slightly lower tiered path that runs along the shoreline.

A handful of stalls with teal and tan awnings are shoved against the wall-side of the walkway. The people tending them are the sort of folk she would expect to find populating a brig. Covered in scars and filth, they have the kind of shifty gazes that make Euphemia remember she is a noblewoman now.

“Kelda?” Though Euphemia whispers, her voice still hitches. “Should we be down here?”

“This way.” She gives a careless wave of her hand as she leads Euphemia to the final stall.

A robust woman is bent behind the counter, digging into a basket. When she pops back up, in her hands are an assortment of baubles and jewelry, all hastily made and not quite to the standards of the jewelry that a countess would wear.

The woman’s grin is more wolfish than Kelda’s, but there is merriment in her verdant eyes as she throws her arms wide to greet them. “Kelda! I didn’t know you had returned.”

Kelda leans into the embrace and gives the woman a hearty pat on the back. “Two days ago now.”

Euphemia braces herself for the usual marketplace prattle, and she starts to retreat in her mind.

But before she can, the women break apart, and the merchant catches Euphemia’s eye. “I suppose this is the new daughter-in-law, is it?”

Euphemia’s shoulders tense. Despite anticipating an introduction all morning, when none had come, she’d eventually stopped preparing and rehearsing what she would do and say.

She’s momentarily caught off guard.

Fortunately, an alewife’s daughter always knows how to muster a smile. She inclines her head. “I am. My name is Euphemia.”

The woman props her hands on her hips, making her look even more formidable and somehow amplifying her already robust voice. “And a heartfelt welcome to you, Euphemia. Folks around here call me Maryam.”

Euphemia continues smiling, though on the inside she is frantically searching her mind for what she is expected to say next. Fortunately, all she has to do is imagine her sister Cybele, and she finds the inspiration she needs.

“And what is it you do around here, Maryam?”