Unexpected Guest
For days after, Euphemia moves through the waking world like a specter, her mind never fully present. She thinks of only the dreamscape. Of finding her father.
But more often than not, she thinks of Ash too—the strange, horned man and the mysteries they might uncover.
Each night Euphemia puts herself to rest, she fears the dream will not return.
But every night, she is relieved to cross that threshold and find herself surrounded by the violet hills of Helheim, her skull-faced companion never too far behind.
Although, it isn’t long before the landscape changes.
Night after night, Euphemia drifts to sleep and discovers a new region she’s never seen before. An endless road that seems like it could stretch for an eternity. A damp cave with something hungry growling inside. The gates of a fortress larger than the trees. A river made entirely of ice.
No matter where she enters, Ash is always there.
Waiting.
Expecting.
She asks him every night how he knows where she’ll appear. But he cannot explain it. He merely wanders from one end of Helheim to another, fighting beasts with names she can hardly pronounce as he awaits her return.
Not knowing what happens to him while she is away has made her waking hours increasingly difficult to endure.
Euphemia spends most of them anxiously pacing the lonely halls of the manor, counting down the hours until sundown.
Even though every time she returns to him, he’s somehow managed to survive.
His stories become more harrowing by the day.
Euphemia can’t help feeling like peril is circling him like a vulture.
Today has been one of the more restless days.
Last she left him, he was in a bloodstained cave. Snarls echoing around them. The stench of death thick in the air.
All day, she’s tried reassuring herself that he will be alright. He always is, after all.
But today, that reassurance feels thinner than usual.
And Euphemia has never yearned more for nightfall.
In the kitchen, Euphemia readies a tray for herself with chamomile tea.
She’s just starting to take it upstairs when a knock raps against the front door.
Her neck snaps toward the sound.
As far as she is aware, they haven’t been expecting anyone.
Euphemia freezes, listening for footsteps to signal that Asvald or Kelda are rushing to the door to greet this unexpected guest. But none carry throughout the quiet manor.
Still, if this is an important visit, she would hate to have been the reason they missed it.
Setting her tray down on the bottom stair, Euphemia answers the door.
She gasps when she comes face to face with Cybele on the perron.
“Cybele!” Euphemia can’t help the smile that eases into place. She never thought she’d see her again. Arms wide, she leans out the door. “What are you doing here—”
A slap strikes her face that echoes like swords clashing.
Euphemia staggers backward. Blinking. Disoriented.
Her sister.
Here?
In Thorfell?
Impossible.
“What am I doing here?” Cybele scoffs, crossing the threshold like a storm cloud descending. “I came to find out what happened to my sister. What, by God’s teeth, are you doing here?”
Euphemia is still shrinking away, still struggling to wrap her mind around what she’s seeing.
Still nursing her smarting cheek, Euphemia splutters, “I—well, you see, I’ve—”
“Married,” Cybele supplies for her, no small amount of poison dripping in her voice. “So I’ve heard. And to a baron, no less. Imagine that.”
The threat in the air makes Euphemia feel as if she is back in Nástrond. Snakes dangling above her. Venom bubbling at her feet.
It’s enough to finally snap out of her shocked stupor.
“I hadn’t expected you,” she says feebly.
Cybele scoffs again. “Of course you hadn’t.
You didn’t even bother saying goodbye. Nor did you tell us where you were running off to.
I had to hear it from the town crier who heard it from his brother’s wife who heard it from the fishmonger at the market that you’d run off and married the Baron of Thorfell Crag. ”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d care.” Euphemia’s head lowers, dark hair spilling over her eyes.
Another caustic sound leaves Cybele’s lips. But she does not correct her sister.
Instead, she plants her hands on her hips and says, “Well? Where is he then, this husband of yours? I’d like to meet him.”
Euphemia’s head snaps up. “Oh! Umm. Well, you see—”
“I am afraid that will not be possible.” Kelda’s raspy voice prowls from the dark parlor like a predator in the night. Euphemia hadn’t even known she’d been in there. The hearth isn’t lit. What was she doing, just sitting in the darkness?
Cybele cocks her head in challenge. “And why not?” But seeing the woman emerging from the shadows, Cybele recognizes her face. “You!”
When Kelda grins, it is all sharp teeth. “We meet again, cheerful-as-the-sun.”
For a moment, Cybele looks as if she might lunge across the room at Kelda and claw her eyes out. But, as she glances between the two of them, the outrage in her face dissipates into fear instead. Her gaze finally settles on Euphemia. “What is going on here?”
For one terrible moment, Euphemia’s thoughts drift somewhere far beyond this cold manor.
Somewhere beyond this world, Ash is still wandering Helheim. Still searching for the pieces of himself he cannot remember.
And she is standing here, arguing with her sister.
With so much at stake, Euphemia collects herself.
The best thing to do now is to set Cybele’s worries at ease so she can get back to finding Ash.
“I already told you, sister,” she says firmly. “There is nothing going on here. I simply married. That is all.”
Cybele shakes her head, one finger outstretching. “No. I don’t believe you. If this were only a marriage, then why was it done in secrecy?”
Euphemia arches a brow at her. “You think our mother would have ever said yes?”
A muscle in Cybele’s pointed jaw flexes. She glances to Kelda. Then to Euphemia. And just before it looks like acceptance might work its way into her expression, her gaze veers to the abyss of the parlor, and something like doubt seeps back in.
“Where is your husband then? Why can’t I meet him?”
Kelda folds her arms, a challenge in the way she leans against the doorframe.
Euphemia steps forward. “He’s out, I’m afraid. Left for a horseback ride not too long ago.”
Cybele’s head swivels to the open door behind her and the rain pouring outside.
Euphemia curses herself. With Cybele’s back turned toward them, Kelda flashes her a look that asks if that is the best she could come up with.
“A horse ride. Of course,” Cybele says with cheerful annoyance. Then, grabbing a lit candle from a sconce, Cybele shoves past Kelda and marches into the parlor.
With an apologetic look to Kelda, Euphemia charges after her. “Cybele!”
But her sister is already plopping onto one of the settees.
“That’s no bother. We’ll just wait for his return then.
After all, it was a rather long journey for me.
I hoped I might stay awhile. Spend some time with my younger sister and rest before I journey home again.
Unless… there is a reason you don’t want me here? ”
Now Euphemia’s jaw muscles twitch. “Of course not. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”
“Wonderful.” Cybele fans her skirts out. “Might you fetch us some tea? It was a dreary trip.”
Rolling her eyes, Euphemia starts for the stairs where she left her tray. But Kelda’s hand catches her shoulder.
She leans in, whispering, “I’ll get your tea. But do not let that one out of your sight.”
Nodding her understanding, Euphemia joins her sister in the parlor. Kelda brings them the tray of tea a moment later. Then she turns her attention on hearth, starting a fire that Euphemia thinks is just an excuse to stay close by.
Cybele pours herself a cup of tea and sips.
“Tell me, Euphemia. What is he like, this husband of yours?”
Euphemia chokes on her drink, fanning her tongue in an effort to make it seem as if she’s just burned herself and not been caught off guard by the line of questioning. “What’s he like?”
“Yes, silly,” Cybele replies with a smile that does not reach her eyes. “Tell me everything. What is your new life like here? How do you and your beloved spend your evenings? Do you ever join him on these late-night horse rides, or does he always go on them by himself?”
Euphemia can hardly keep up with her barrage of questions. “Cybele, please. Slow down.”
“What?” she asks, feigning innocence. “I’m merely wanting to know more about the mysterious baron who fancied a commoner and stole her in the dead of night.”
“No one stole anyone.” Kelda’s voice crackles like the fire now brewing in the hearth. She takes a seat in one of the armchairs, her icy gaze fixing on Cybele. “Dagfinn proposed. Euphemia agreed.”
Cybele matches her glare. “Our mother did not agree to anything though. You took Euphemia from us without her permission.”
“Took her? Euphemia came willingly. Eagerly.”
Hurt smears Cybele’s expression. She turns toward her. “Eagerly? Is this true?”
The room suddenly feels too cavernous for such an intimate conversation.
Euphemia wishes she could take her sister’s hands into her own and rub away her doubts. Instead, they might as well be countries apart.
“I did. We needed the money and—”
“So you just left? Married yourself into a fancy life, and you did it all so selflessly for your family? Am I really supposed to believe that?” Cybele scoffs. “That’s horse shit, and you know it. We needed you. And you left us.”
Euphemia has to blink back her tears. “No. I—the bride price?”
Euphemia’s voice cracks on the last words. She looks to Kelda now, dread creeping into her chest. She hadn’t made sure the dowry had been returned, nor had she made sure the bride price had been sent. She’d simply trusted her
But as Euphemia stares at Kelda, she can see the woman looks just as confused and disturbed as she.
Kelda addresses Cybele with something like deference now. “It was never our intention to leave your family wanting. If it’s more money you need, then—”