Page 187 of Whisper of Nightmares

It’s always worth the effort.

Their lips touch and Euphemia feels herself melting into his arms. Warmth rushes through her, filling her with desire and need. Months have passed, and still her ache for him has not ebbed. If anything, it seems to deepen with every passing day.

The kiss ends and they part, though Euphemia knows it will not be for long.

Though it dawns on her then that it is rather unusual for Dagfinn to come searching for her out here.

He has never been particularly interested in the gardens.

They have not much spoken about it, but she suspects it has something to do with the months he spent in that dream realm—living among the flora, wandering the wilds alone, without a single stable shelter to rest.

Now that he has returned, Dagfinn much prefers the comforts of his own home, and simply knowing Euphemia is here with him.

Euphemia looks up at him, suspicion rising. “What brings you out into my garden, Mr. Varinsson?”

“Your garden? Should it not be ours?”

“Only my hands have wrenched this soil back to life, and I think it’s fair to say—” Euphemia is about to explain to him all the ways that this is her sanctuary and not his, when she realizes he’s dodging the question. She extends an accusatory finger at him. “You almost had me there for a moment. Now, tell me, what are you avoiding?”

“Very well.” Dagfinn runs a hand through the length of his red hair. He looks around before leaning in conspiratorially. “It is…my mother. She and Asvald have gone out for a stroll.”

“Oh?” And then with dawning excitement, Euphemia bounces. “Oh! Well that’s wonderful news. Is it not?”

“I suppose.”

Euphemia barks a laugh. “Clearly you think differently.”

“They’ve been doing it quite often,” Dagfinn admits. “Walks. Tea. The occasional supper together.”

“And how terrible for you.”

He angles a look at her. “It is unbearable.”

“I know. She has been through a lot. And Asvald… He is good to her.” There is no bitterness in Dagfinn’s voice. Only the strange, lingering discomfort of a son watching his mother build a life that no longer includes his father.

Pity cinches Euphemia’s belly. Dagfinn spent months—nearly a year—away, but the year he lost was not the same year that passed for everyone else. Kelda had spent that time grieving her husband and nursing her son back to health. She has had time to move forward. Dagfinn simply wasn’t there to witness it.

Stepping out of the flowerbed, Euphemia strides closer and places a comforting hand on his slouched shoulder. “It’s been over a year, Dagfinn.”

“I know.”

“If she’s ready to move on, doesn’t she deserve that much?”

He closes his hand around hers. “She does. It’ll just take some time getting used to.”

Euphemia pats his shoulder but doesn’t say anything.

She lets him sit in the silence of this acceptance.

After a moment, Dagfinn looks as if he’s been struck by a thought.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Dagfinn reaches into his pocket, revealing a letter. “We received a letter from your mother today.”

Euphemia’s stomach tightens, though it has no reason to.

Given everything they’ve heard from her mother and Maryam, the Saint’s Hearth is thriving more than ever.

And yet, Euphemia can’t help but worry about them.