Page 95 of Whisper of Nightmares

“Who?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Can you describe them?”

Cybele’s shoulders bob, and Euphemia realizes for the first time how damp they are, and how little her frayed cloak must have kept her dry on her journey. “Just some man. Older. Respectable but not wealthy by any means.”

“That could be almost anyone,” Euphemia groans. “Did you hear their conversation?”

“No. They went inside and I left him to it. Started asking around for you. Was finally told of the manor atop the cliffs, and the family no one’s seen in months.” Cybele’s gaze seers into her now. “Please, Euphemia. Tell me what is really happening here.”

“It’s nothing. I swear to you.”

Cybele looks unconvinced. She opens her mouth to demand the truth when a fist pounds against the front door.

Chapter 18

Descendants

For one brief moment, Euphemia almost felt as if she was back at the Saint’s Hearth, sitting beside her sister while the rest of the world remained safely outside.

Then the pounding at the door rattles her perception.

A moment later, Asvald crosses the foyer.

“Can’t anyone come around during the daytime?” he mutters.

Euphemia and Cybele take one look at each other before bolting across the parlor to peer through the doorway.

Asvald opens the door and all warmth saps from his tone. “Percival. What an unwelcome visit.”

Percival stands beneath the dripping eaves, his cloak pulled over his head. Somehow, he looks oilier than Euphemia remembers, or perhaps that’s only the rain drenching him.

“Yes, yes. Apologies,” he says, stepping inside before Asvald can invite him in. “I need to speak with Kelda. It’s urgent.”

He wrings out the backside of his cloak, a puddle spreading onto the floor.

Asvald doesn’t move.

Percival peers up. “Swiftly, preferably.”

If anything, Percival’s command only roots Asvald more firmly to the floor. “The lady of the house is not seeing visitors at this hour. Come back in the morning, though I can’t promise she’ll see you then either.”

As Percival finishes wringing out his cloak, he flashes him a thin, dangerous smile. “Listen, this is rather important. And I believe Lady Kelda would like to hear of it as soon as…”

His words fade as he takes in the foyer. The staircase.

Euphemia realizes too late that his gaze is drifting slowly toward the parlor.

“Ah. What do you know? A guest.” He sneers the word at Asvald before approaching Euphemia and her sister where they are tucked behind the parlor doorway.

At first, Cybele steps forward, something like eagerness bringing her forward.

But as he approaches, Cybele’s expression changes.

Not dramatically. Just enough that Euphemia notices.

“Hello, dear. I’m afraid we haven’t⁠—”