Page 98 of Whisper of Nightmares

Yet the way her gaze travels over the stone walls makes Euphemia think it is more than that. There is something heavier in her expression. Something that looks suspiciously like the question Euphemia has been wrestling with herself:

What right do any of us have to call these lands our own?

These lands were stolen.

By right, if there are still living descendants, the manor and the lordship belong to them.

And yet…

For one terrible moment, Euphemia doesn’t know what she wants.

If Thurstan truly has a claim, then what right does anyone here have to deny it?

She thinks of the manor. Of Kelda. Of Asvald. Of the rooms that have slowly begun to feel familiar. Comforting. Like home. A place where she belongs.

No part of Euphemia wants to see Thurstan rewarded for all the nights he griped and moaned. The despicable behavior. The rancid rumors. The fetid soul that is his whole existence.

He doesn’t deserve Thorfell.

Thorfell doesn’t deserve him.

They deserve someone kind. Like the husband Euphemia has yet to meet.

“For the hundredth time, Percival,” Kelda seethes through her teeth. “My answer is no. I do not want your help. I do not need your help. I will never want your help, your companionship, or your presence anywhere near mine. Do you understand me?”

Percival shakes his head and sighs.

Euphemia watches as he tucks the parchment away.

Cybele’s words return to her.

That’s the man I saw Thurstan speaking to.

Whatever Thurstan wants from Thorfell, Percival now has a reason to help him get it.

And Euphemia has the distinct feeling that neither man is telling the whole truth.

As Percival steps into the doorway, he turns back to Kelda. “Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you⁠—”

“No, Percival. It is I who am warning you. Do not come here again.” She storms across the room and plucks her knife from the door. “Next time, I won’t miss.”

Percival turns on his heels and disappears into the storm.

Chapter 19

Dream a Little Dream

Once Percival leaves, Asvald takes Cybele’s cloak and offers to make the girls more tea. It takes some effort to settle into the parlor and distance themselves from Percival, but eventually they nestle back onto the pillowy settee and stare at the fire.

Cybele is first to break the silence. “So, are we still sitting here pretending as though everything is fine in your new life?”

For the first time since Cybele’s arrival, Euphemia laughs.

It is a small thing. Barely more than a breath.

No, she wants to say. Feels herself leaning into the word like a vine desperate to find a lattice for support.

Cybele has seen the threat Percival brings. There is no point in denying it.