Page 88 of Whisper of Nightmares

Her mouth snaps open to argue, that splinter of familial rebellion shared between her and Ismene rearing its unruly head. But when he angles his darkening eyes at her, she’s able to cage the argument.

“Fine. I’ll be as obedient as I am able,” she agrees.

He groans as if to say he doubts she’s able to be very obedient at all. Then, with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, Ash surveys the horizon. “Where would you like to begin then?”

“Me? I was hoping you’d have some suggestions. After all, you know this place better than I do.”

He makes a dry, humorless sound. “It is impossible to know this place at all. There are landmarks, sure. Places I’ve encountered time and time again. But Helheim is always shifting. There are times I find Náströnd here in the moors. Other times it’s shrouded in the woods of the damned. Or on the shores of the drowned dead.”

Horror creeps in. “Is this entire place so horrific?”

The man holds her gaze with the utmost severity.

Something like sympathy bleeds into her. “Is there no place where you can simply…rest?”

“This is not where the dead come to rest. In fact, if you loved your father at all, you should hope not to find him anywhere in these lands.”

That sword twists through her heart again and just like that, her sympathy is gone.

Clearly, he’s still trying to dissuade her from exploring these lands anymore. Perhaps the more she can get him to focus on himself, the less he’ll keep trying to scare her off.

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Well, let’s start with that mask. Why do you wear it?”

“It’s not a mask.”

She nearly laughs. “Yes, it is. I felt your face underneath it.”

“I know what you felt, but it is no mask!” he thunders, the ground quaking. The thick roots quiver in the earth, seeming to retreat. With a shaky breath, Ash reins in the rage. “I have tried removing it. It does not budge.”

“But I felt your face just now.”

“I know,” he says softly. And then softer still, “I felt it too.”

He starts to retreat again. Into the darkness. Into isolation.

Euphemia gets the feeling that’s part of what brought him into this mess to begin with, so she switches topics before he can become lost again.

“Fine. We don’t talk about the mask—your face—or whatever it may be.” She watches his shoulders ease. “What about me. You remembered my name. How come?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs as if already exhausted by her questions. But if they don’t dig deeper, they’ll never find anything.

“Come on. There has to be a reason.”

“I’m sure there is. But I do not know it.”

Euphemia folds her arms. “Alright then. What else do you remember?”

“Nothing.”

“There has to be something.”

“I already told you. I have forgotten nearly everything—my name, my home, my life.” His voice thickens with emotion. “Everything. But I somehow remember you. I do not know why, only that it is the truth. It’s like…”

He trails off.