Page 38 of Whisper of Nightmares

“You were never watching my family,” Euphemia says with uneasy understanding. “You were watching me.”

Kelda gives an indifferent shrug. “I was curious. Dagfinn spoke your name, but nothing else. I wanted to know who this Euphemia was.”

New questions spring to mind, and Euphemia frowns. “But why have me marry him? You’ve said nothing about him demanding you bring me to be his wife.”

A curious glance is exchanged between Kelda and Asvald, like the two of them can strategize through sight alone. Ultimately, Asvald gives her a bob of his head that appears to be the permission she needed.

“Truth be told,” Kelda says. “At first, we believed you might be the person responsible for his curse.”

“Me?” Euphemia balks. “But—why? How?”

Holding up her hands, Kelda placates her. “Be at ease. It did not take long for me to understand that you were not involved.”

Relief washes through her.

But the uneasiness remains.

“Then why am I his wife now?”

Another look is exchanged between the two northerners, and in it Euphemia can see a lifetime of interactions between them. There is an ease with which they communicate with one another, and Euphemia finds herself wondering how long Asvald has been in her employ.

He ushers Kelda to continue, though she seems resistant to do so.

“You became his wife because I thought perhaps marrying you would lift the curse.” Hastily, she defends herself. “I know. It sounds foolish. But my Dagfinn held secrets in the months leading up to his curse. He went on travels, not telling me where he was going or when he’d return. I thought perhaps he came to Nottinghamshire, met the beautiful daughter of the alewife, and fell in love. And you hear tales about love conquering evil. I thought maybe it would fix him. It appears I was wrong. Again.”

Kelda’s voice cracks on the final words, leaving Euphemia splintered as well.

For the first time since entering the tower, Euphemia can see the situation from Kelda’s point of view.

A desperate mother.

A curse with an unclear solution.

Desperation. Helplessness. Fear.

Bedfellows Euphemia is all too familiar with.

And what do desperate people do for the ones they love?

Anything.

Perhaps that’s what all those bundles of twigs hanging on the walls were, and the strange markings carved outside the door. Things Euphemia didn’t understand in the moment, but now she thinks on them with dread.

“Is that what that stuff was in his room?” she asks. “The branches. The runes? Are you a—” She cuts herself off when she notices Kelda’s hardening expression. The subtle tilt of her head and the bewilderment in her eyes.

“Ask your question,” demands the widow, with no amount of warmth in her voice.

Euphemia hesitates.

But Kelda’s is a fang pressed to her throat, the sharp point closing in until Euphemia can bear it no longer.

Euphemia swallows a lump of fear. “Are you a witch?”

Silently, she prays to God she isn’t. For the only thing worse than marrying a cursed man would be marrying into a family sinful enough to practice magic.

But Asvald snorts, the edge of his mouth ticking up.

Kelda scoffs though. “Witch. That is what people call women who defy men.” A humorless, bitter laugh escapes her. But soon her grimace softens, voice quieting with grief. “I wish I were a witch. Maybe then I would know the spell to save him.”