A Face Beneath the Skull #2
“I saw the helhest chase you. Saw the fear pool like blood in your eyes.” He shakes his head, and Euphemia almost thinks she sees the skull jostle with the motion, like it’s not fully attached.
“Spirits do not fear the helhest like that. They are comforted by its presence. They welcome its guidance through the cold, vast lands of Helheim.”
Euphemia swallows the dryness in her throat. Tries ignoring the memory of fear that clawed through her when the nightmare reared at her.
“You were watching me the whole time then?”
Ash gives a single nod.
“You saw me run into Nástrond?”
Another confirmation.
Something sharp cinches her chest when she realizes the full weight of what that means. “And…you came after me anyway?”
This time, not a single muscle flinches.
Ash stands so still it’s like he’s trying to blend in with the magenta surroundings. But he is draped in darkness. A black smudge upon the earth. Wicked flames for eyes and horns sharp enough to pierce through flesh. A monster of her darkest machinations.
It was a direct violation of his own warning, and he came anyway. Put himself in danger.
And yet…
This monster came to her aid.
He saved her.
His shoulders roll beneath the fur pelt, shaking off the stiffness previously pinning him in place.
Slowly he turns, the flame in his eyes one she anticipates to be scorching—
But this time, the flames are gone.
Human eyes stare back at her. As crystalline as ice at the start of winter’s thaw.
A shaky breath escapes her.
It catches his eye and the contact they make makes her heart race. Does she tell him about this small change? When he saw his reflection in the stream, it was clear he’d never seen himself before. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed the flames, and drawing attention to them now might only startle him.
Euphemia forces her gaze away and tries focusing instead of their surroundings.
But all around her, she is confronted by strangeness. Places that should not be. Creatures she should not see. Things she has yet to know.
Euphemia turns back toward Ash to find he’s still watching her with something like doubt and intrigue whirling behind his crystal blue eyes that she can now see so clearly. So much emotion behind them. Pain. Longing. Dread.
“You are no spirit,” he says, a severity to his voice that gives her chills.
“I thought we already established this.”
“I know. I remember.” It makes her heart squeeze with triumph, even though she’s certain she’s done nothing at all.
“But why are you here? This is Helheim, Euphemia. Only the dead should be here.” Hearing her name on his lips again does such strange things to her stomach.
She tells herself its nausea. That’s what a normal, respectable, married woman would feel if a man with a horse skull for a face uttered her name.
The horrific man steps closer. A hand reaches out for her before she can think to move back.
It trails the side of her cheek, as soft as smoke. The whole while, he watches the places where his fingers touch her, something like awe in his eyes.
“But you are made of warmth and flesh,” he says, nearly breathless. “You do not belong here.”
Despite his eyes being human now, Euphemia still feels the heat of his gaze all the same.
She remembers his hand wrapping over her mouth in Nástrond, her back pressed against the warm planes of his chest. When she had broken away, that heat remained. Like the fire inside him had left its scorched mark, a claiming touch.
She swallows the thickness in her throat.
This is exactly what happened with Conwal.
First, it was silly fancies. Secret thoughts she believed were harmless.
But those thoughts were never enough. The more she indulged them, the more she craved something else entirely. Something they had promised to give each other that night. Something she should have never wanted to give.
Euphemia screams at her hedonistic mind. That will be the end of those imaginings, thank you. She is a married woman now. Her body and mind belong to her husband.
It doesn’t mean that she can’t still help Ash though.
After all, it is the Christian thing to do.
Biting her lip, Euphemia focuses on what they know.
She reviews everything he’s told her, about this place and himself, what little information it may be.
She thinks of how the word theory made him react, though she does not know why.
And then she thinks about what he’s just said about warm flesh and her not being dead.
An interesting thought strikes her.
“The same could be said about you,” she says to him. “You’re not cold like the dead you describe either. You’re not like the soul or the helhest or the snakes.” A shudder runs through her when she says it, but she recovers quickly. “Why are you here, Ash?”
His skull face looks outward, across the horizon. “I am…searching for something.”
“Your name?” she guesses, but he shakes his head.
“Something more.”
Euphemia waits for him to explain further. But his gaze remains fixed ahead.
When she’s certain he won’t say more, she interjects. “Well, if you’re searching for something, maybe I can help you.”
His head snaps so fast, she’s certain she sees the skull wobble this time. “No.”
“No?” Euphemia blinks, struggling to understand. To argue. To change his mind. “I’m rather adept at figuring things like this out. My father always said—”
“I do not need your help.”
The beastly man spins on his heels and starts walking away.
Euphemia grabs his arm and she almost flinches at the corded muscle beneath her fingertips.
She pulls on him, but it’s clear if he wanted to, he could keep walking and she’d simply be dragged along behind him.
Fortunately, he stops, though begrudgingly so.
Ash looks down at the place where her hand is wrapped around his bicep, fingers nowhere near touching. Abruptly, she releases him.
“I think you might need my help,” she says. “How long have you been searching?”
“A long time.”
“And how long is that? Or do you even know?”
He shifts his gaze, unwilling to meet hers.
She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “See? All the more reason to accept my offer then.”
He does not agree.
But he does not keep arguing, either.
Instead, the silence that follows is a contemplative one.
Euphemia lets him have it.
Every now and then, she sees his resistance rear up.
Though she can’t quite tell where it’s coming from.
It isn’t pride, he doesn’t seem the sort.
It could be about her general safety and not wanting her traversing the lands with him.
But if this dream has taught her anything, it’s that they are drawn to each other here, no matter what.
A thought occurs to her then: perhaps he’s merely worried he’ll owe her a debt if she’s successful.
When it’s clear he’s getting nowhere with his internal debate, Euphemia finally interjects, “It’s the least I can do after you saved my life.”
Ash snorts. “This is why I don’t need your help. Bringing you along will only be a liability.”
The sting is sharper than it should be. Even in this dreamland, old wounds remain.
Tears prick her eyes.
Euphemia squeezes them shut before they can fall, turning away.
Ash’s voice softens instantly. “I’ve offended you. I’m sorry.”
Euphemia wipes her eyes, listening to the sounds of his feet as he approaches her.
By the time he reaches her, she’s already wiped all traces of the pain away. But his ice blue eyes seem to unearth it anyway. They dig into her until they strike gold, and when they do, they do not let go. He clings to that part of her soul and Euphemia lets herself be held in that place.
For a moment, he almost looks like he might reach up to her stroke her cheek again. But he refrains. “I am sure there is plenty you are capable of doing. But this place is dangerous. Creatures far more cunning and vicious than Níehoggr dwell here. I do not need to endanger you for a fool’s errand.”
Euphemia perks up at this new information.
There it is then.
Not just the fear of her safety.
This man who has lost everything no longer believes in his own cause.
Euphemia is familiar with how that can feel.
A new thought occurs to her. If he does not want her help for himself, perhaps he will grant his to her.
A slow smile starts to inch into place.
He sighs as if he already knows. “What are you thinking now?”
“What if I told you I plan on going on my own hunt for the truth, regardless of your involvement?”
“How do you mean?”
She looks back at Nástrond, the front door wide open again, as if the bone palace wants them back.
“My father is here somewhere,” she says, facing him again so that he can see the truth in her eyes. “And I intend to find him.”
His hand smacks loudly over the skull. “I told you already, your father is not—”
“I know. He’s not in Nástrond. That’s not what I’m saying.” She glances across the strange lands. “But if this is where the dead go to rest, then he is here somewhere, and I will find him.”
Now that the idea has formed in her mind, the possibility of finding him is freeing. Exciting.
She needs this.
Needs to know he’s alright.
“He might not be here at all,” Ash argues. “There are other realms for the dead. You said it yourself, your father was a soldier, right? If that’s true, you won’t find him in this cesspit. He’d be—”
“Don’t!” Euphemia’s hand flies up, stopping him from saying another word.
She won’t let him ruin this.
He can’t take this hope from her.
Not when it’s been so long since she’s felt any.
What does he know about this place anyway? Somewhere conjured from her dreams and somehow connected to death.
She does not let herself admit that so far he has known quite a lot about this place…
Except one thing.
Himself.
Her plan is flawless. He has to see that. It’s the best way for them both to find the answers they seek.
With her hand still hovering between them, she realizes just how close she is to touching his skull. Her eyes scan the distance. When she meets his gaze again, he’s watching her with something like curiosity in his eyes.