Page 52 of Whisper of Nightmares

“You are proposing I remarry? You?” She shoves the parchment into his chest.

He fumbles for the paperwork like it’s the most precious thing in the world to him. Once it’s under his control again, he throws his shoulders back, refusing to deflate.

“It’s not an entirely preposterous idea. You can see here—” Percival points somewhere near the middle. “I would contribute many respectable assets…”

Euphemia’s stomach tightens. He speaks of marriage as though he were presenting a ledger.

Percival is still droning on “—a home. A business. Land. And all I’d ask in return⁠—”

“In return.” Kelda hisses like a boiling tea kettle. She twists around so her back is turned toward him.

It’s the first time Euphemia sees the muscle in his pointed jaw twitch. A short, taut laugh, escapes him like the snap of a bowstring. “I only meant that I see this as equally beneficial to both of us. It’s no secret that Thorfell is suffering. Already, you’ve been forced to sell your belongings just to get by. Forgive me for saying as such, but the manor is in a poor state. It could use a lord who⁠—”

“It already has one!”

Kelda shoots to her feet so swiftly that her chair crashes back. She shoves Percival against the wall, knife pressed against his throat, and Euphemia is ashamed to admit that there is a small part of her that feels pride. This woman is rash and reckless, but she is fierce in her loyalty.

It is also not lost on Euphemia that this time when Kelda attacks, Asvald is not intervening.

Offense, confusion, and outrage battle Percival’s features. But he holds his hands up in surrender, frightened eyes darting to Asvald and Euphemia as if either of them can do anything.

“I am not interested in remarrying. Not now. Not ever.” Finally, Kelda relents.

Leaving Percival where he stands, she grabs her chair and sets it right before taking her seat at the table again.

Euphemia is not new to men vying for a widow’s attention. Ever since her father’s disappearance, that’s all the men in her town have done. They make their empty promises and declarations, and when Andriana denies them all, they threaten her. They charge her more at the next market. Call the constable on her for one petty complaint or another. Try to steal her property. Her animals. Her business.

With each encounter, Euphemia’s mother hunches more and more, the weight of social expectation and fear slowly crumpling her.

But sitting across from Euphemia now, Kelda has never looked stronger. Never carried herself with more certainty and purpose.

Percival flattens his hands down the front of his robe. As he catches his breath, he glances around the room between the three of them before his gaze finally settles on Euphemia again. But the concern in his voice is conjured for Kelda and Kelda alone.

“The people have begun to talk about Dagfinn’s absence.”

Kelda flicks her wrist. “Let them talk.”

The urgency in his tone heightens. “I won’t be able to hold them off for much longer. Even if he miraculously pulls through—and I do hope he does—the people have started to question his authority. They claim your family is the reason for their plights.”

“My family?” Kelda scoffs. “We’re not the ones battling our own brothers. We’ve stayed out of the civil war.”

“Precisely!” Percival’s eyes take on a crazed look as his arms flap once at his sides. “You’ve stayed out of the war because you have no blood in it. It’s not your people fighting, it’s them. The English.”

“What would you have me do? Send our own people to fight? Declare ourselves loyal to one noble house, only for them to be defeated in the next battle, our people sacrificed to loyalties unearned?”

Percival turns a sneering eye upon Asvald. “I would trust your advisor to counsel you on matters of peace and war. I am merely relaying the message that the people of Thorfell Crag are growing uneasy. They’ve watched as you’ve isolated yourselves, thereby isolating them⁠—”

“Dagfinn will fix this when he awakens.”

“Dagfinn has been absent for nearly a year! Sleeping, you say, but I am beginning to doubt. And so are they.” The last of Percival’s words echoes throughout the chamber, like a cleaver to the back of a lamb’s neck. For all her bravado, even Kelda flinches, the final blow striking true. Percival takes a few ragged breaths. “All I am trying to convey to you is that your people are nearing the end of their rope. They are not satisfied with how you and Otho have run things, and they’ve grown distrustful of Dagfinn’s leadership as he has fallen ill. A union with me could solidify your hold on Thorfell. The people will finally view it as legitimate.”

A singular, barking laugh bellows from Kelda’s unhinged jaw. “You want legitimate?”

She stands again, chair legs screeching—but not toppling over this time.

With an elbow straighter than an arrow, Kelda gestures across the table. “There. I give you Dagfinn’s legitimate claim.”

Percival’s brows crease. “I do not understand.”