Page 69 of Whisper of Nightmares

The water dazzles wherever the sun touches it.

Euphemia could stare in wonder all day.

But then she remembers: this is home now. She gets to view this place any time she wants.

“Come,” Kelda says, her pace brisk as she begins her descent down the road. “The people of Thorfell await you.”

Euphemia glances over her shoulder, searching for Asvald. But he has already climbed back into the carriage and begun to roll away, parking it somewhere up the street.

Euphemia’s stomach dips. It will just be her and Kelda then. With any luck, the fresh air and sun will keep Kelda in good spirits, and Euphemia won’t end up pinned against a wall again.

Descending the hill, Euphemia bustles after Kelda.

She moves slowly and deliberately at first, the steep incline worrying her. Something about how she can see straight down to the shore leaves her feeling dizzy. But it isn’t long before the slope no longer seems quite as daunting. Her knees stop trembling. And Euphemia is finally able to observe and enjoy.

She soaks in Thorfell Crag like a sponge.

The town has already awoken for the day. Men lug barrels and fishing nets to the docks. Children chase each other up and down the uneven streets. Euphemia spots few women outside, mostly the elderly or those who are likely widowed, but she knows from experience that most of them are likely still tending to hearth and home at the start of the fresh day.

Seagulls squawk overhead, a nearby rooftop becoming their temporary roost.

“Welcome to Thorfell Crag,” Kelda says when Euphemia finally catches up to her. “Anyone waving a pitchfork at you yet, little cloud?”

The chuckle comes against her will. “No. If anything, most of them have looked upon us kindly.”

Kelda nods to herself. “It is as I said, Percival only means to scare me.”

They continue walking through town, the experience largely pleasant.

The people of Thorfell greet her with curiosity—and something not quite like the warmth that Euphemia and her siblings have been trained to greet tavern guests upon their arrival. It’s something a little harsher. More genuine. Their greetings are the sort of rushed good days and curt nods offered by hardworking people who can’t afford a moment to lose but offer acknowledgment anyway.

Even if they are hasty, something about the honesty of their welcome makes Euphemia feel as if she belongs.

There are no false smiles or fake courtesies.

No judgmental glances steeped in months of rumor.

She is treated like anyone else in town.

“Now that you and Dagfinn are wed,” Kelda says as they walk. “It is important the people of Thorfell come to respect you and see you as their leader.”

Hearing the word leader, Euphemia cannot hide the doubt from her face.

Kelda chuckles. “Or at the very least, you need them to like you more than Percival.”

Euphemia forces an uneasy smile. “That seems easy enough. As far as I can tell, he’s as likable as a toad.”

Kelda snorts, but her mouth flips downward. “You’d be surprised. Some people are quite fond of toads, especially loud ones.”

Carter Thurstan comes to Euphemia’s mind. In her eyes, he’s never been anything but a toad—a warty, brutish drunk who likes to complain to anyone who will listen. But for whatever reason, many people in Nottinghamshire find him tolerable. Likable, even. Though Euphemia suspects that has more to do with his brutish nature than anything.

Still, whenever a conflict ensues and Thurstan is involved, he always manages to find the ears of a small army and bring them to his side.

“I am familiar with the type,” Euphemia says.

Kelda smirks, one eyebrow raised. “Ah yes, I’d nearly forgotten who I was speaking to. If what I saw in your tavern that night is any indication of the men you have dealt with, then I expect you know the type quite well.”

Hearing the approval in her tone, pride surges through Euphemia.