Page 118 of Whisper of Nightmares

Slowly, Ash’s footsteps follow behind her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” she asks, already having forgotten the conversation. Her mind is churning with questions and possibilities, like if this is a new realm, where these floors might lead. Or if it is part of Náströnd, does Níðhöggr come up here?

“About what happened,” he says, sobering her thoughts. “Was that your⁠—”

“My father?” Euphemia whirls on him. “Yes. It was.”

The ground quakes beneath them. A small tremor, not big enough to knock them off balance, but startling enough that they both reach for stability.

Euphemia reaches for the railing, but Ash grabs hold of her waist. He tucks her against his bare chest, gripping the bannister with his other hand.

For one breath, she forgets everything except the warmth of him…

Then the earthquake subsides.

Euphemia looks up into his bright blue eyes and wonders if they belong to Dagfinn.

Ash releases her waist and Euphemia jerks away as if his touch can burn.

He reaches a hand up to his head as if he’s trying to drag his fingers through hair. Euphemia can almost see it clearly. The autumn locks. The sharp features. If only she could find out for certain.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?” she asks, once again caught up in her own thoughts. Remembering the conversation, she shakes herself into focus. “Oh. Don’t be. My father’s been dead a long while.”

This time, the tremor that rumbles the earth is fiercer.

Ash doesn’t have enough time to catch her before Euphemia is bucked to the ground. He throws himself atop her though, shielding her from the small bits of rubble that crumble from the ceiling.

Something swells inside of her.

If this man is not her husband, God save her…

The ground stills again.

For a moment, Ash does not move. He stares down at her with penetrating eyes. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Her voice hitches.

Ash leans back onto his heels.

“It’s strange,” he says, glancing around the room as if the answer might be written somewhere on the walls. “In all my time here, the only time the earth has trembled is when I’ve been with you.”

Euphemia gives a half-hearted chuckle, and he offers her his hand to help her stand.

She’s about to take it, when something dawns.

Perhaps the tremors aren’t a coincidence.

She thinks back to the first earthquake, the one that came when she suggested he see his reflection in the river. At the time, she thought maybe it had to do with him not seeing his face, or not knowing what he looked like. But the two just now had nothing to do with his face.

Both, however, had come when they spoke of her father. Of his death.”

Perhaps it’s more than confronting his own image. Perhaps it’s about confronting things he cannot remember. His own face. His own father. His loss.

“What is it?” he asks when she doesn’t take his hand nor push it away.

“I’d like to try something,” she all but whispers.