Page 86 of Whisper of Nightmares

“And how long is that? Or do you even know?”

He shifts his gaze, unwilling to meet hers.

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “See? All the more reason to accept my offer then.”

He does not agree.

But he does not keep arguing, either.

Instead, the silence that follows is a contemplative one.

Euphemia lets him have it.

Every now and then, she sees his resistance rear up. Though she can’t quite tell where it’s coming from. It isn’t pride, he doesn’t seem the sort. It could be about her general safety and not wanting her traversing the lands with him. But if this dream has taught her anything, it’s that they are drawn to each other here, no matter what. A thought occurs to her then: perhaps he’s merely worried he’ll owe her a debt if she’s successful.

When it’s clear he’s getting nowhere with his internal debate, Euphemia finally interjects, “It’s the least I can do after you saved my life.”

Ash snorts. “This is why I don’t need your help. Bringing you along will only be a liability.”

The sting is sharper than it should be. Even in this dreamland, old wounds remain.

Tears prick her eyes.

Euphemia squeezes them shut before they can fall, turning away.

Ash’s voice softens instantly. “I’ve offended you. I’m sorry.”

Euphemia wipes her eyes, listening to the sounds of his feet as he approaches her.

By the time he reaches her, she’s already wiped all traces of the pain away. But his ice blue eyes seem to unearth it anyway. They dig into her until they strike gold, and when they do, they do not let go. He clings to that part of her soul and Euphemia lets herself be held in that place.

For a moment, he almost looks like he might reach up to her stroke her cheek again. But he refrains. “I am sure there is plenty you are capable of doing. But this place is dangerous. Creatures far more cunning and vicious than Níðhöggr dwell here. I do not need to endanger you for a fool’s errand.”

Euphemia perks up at this new information.

There it is then.

Not just the fear of her safety.

This man who has lost everything no longer believes in his own cause.

Euphemia is familiar with how that can feel.

A new thought occurs to her. If he does not want her help for himself, perhaps he will grant his to her.

A slow smile starts to inch into place.

He sighs as if he already knows. “What are you thinking now?”

“What if I told you I plan on going on my own hunt for the truth, regardless of your involvement?”

“How do you mean?”

She looks back at Náströnd, the front door wide open again, as if the bone palace wants them back.

“My father is here somewhere,” she says, facing him again so that he can see the truth in her eyes. “And I intend to find him.”

His hand smacks loudly over the skull. “I told you already, your father is not⁠—”