Secret Pact #2
Kelda holds up her tattooed hand, a barely contained tremble pulsing in it.
“As much as it pains me to say it, Dagfinn is not waking. But our lives do not stand still while he slumbers. My mind has been decided, Euphemia. There is a darkness in that study. I should have never permitted it under my roof. And as of tomorrow, I will have it swept clean, and there will be no more talk of tinctures and madness within these walls. As of tomorrow, things will be changing at Thorfell Manor.”
There is such finality in her words that the thunder outside feels almost timed by the gods. Kelda seems to notice as well, and she nods toward the window.
Euphemia feels as small as a mouse, scared and scurrying in the unfamiliar territory of arguing with a mother figure. A woman who she has come to respect. A friend.
But a friend wouldn’t stomp on her dreams like this.
A mother wouldn’t give up on her son at his greatest time of need.
She wants to tell her to believe in them. To believe in her son. To give them one final chance.
But all she can manage is a broken— “Please. Don’t do this.”
Kelda’s voice leaves no room for argument. “It is already decided. At first light, I will head into town and speak to Percival. I will accept his terms.”
Euphemia wants to scream.
She wants to remind Kelda that Percival is nothing more than a manipulative, vindictive, conniving swindler.
But Euphemia sees the hollowness in her face now, and understands.
This is a woman who has lost all hope.
Someone who is unable to fight any longer.
However, someone else is.
From the corner of the room, Asvald surges forward until he’s standing before Kelda, emotion warping his face in shadow. “Kelda, no. You cannot do this. He’s a swine.”
“I know what he is,” she says through clenched teeth, but still holds his gaze.
She stares up at him with respect and something gentler.
Something sorrowful. “But he is offering something I cannot refuse right now. If this is to be Dagfinn’s life, he needs a roof over his head.
He needs stability. The arrangement with Percival will provide that. ”
A muscle in Asvald’s jaw twitches.
For a moment, it looks as though he will root himself to the ground and not move until she changes her mind.
Then the moment passes.
His expression softens.
Asvald takes a step back.
Kelda gestures to Euphemia. “Take her to her bedchamber. Lock the door for the night.”
“What?” Euphemia stares at her. “You can’t do that. I’m not your prisoner.”
“You are not, but you are my ward and I won’t have you wandering out into the storm again and getting yourself killed.”
Asvald bows to his mistress and approaches Euphemia.
Her stubborn instinct is to refuse him, to kick and scream the entire way.
But with him towering over her like a boulder, Euphemia realizes how futile that would be.
She goes willingly, walking through the parlor with her head down.
But before she leaves, she makes sure to grab the pile of wet clothes by the entryway, and the satchel resting on top.
Then Asvald leads her to her bedchamber.
He closes the door behind her and she listens from the other side as the lock clicks into place.
There have been few times in Euphemia’s life where she has felt more insignificant.
More addled with guilt and shame. If she had only used the right words, or found the right incentive—better yet, if she hadn’t even confided in Kelda at all, perhaps then she could be on her way to his study right now to finally finish the preparation that will return him to this realm.
Instead, she’ll have to lay down tonight. Rejoin him in the dream realm. Relay the devastating news and watch the hope fade from his eyes.
She clutches the satchel of roseroot close to her heart.
Before Euphemia can turn away from the door to sullenly head to bed, something catches her eye.
Something dark slides through the crack under the door.
It scrapes against the stone like iron.
Euphemia bends to retrieve it and finds herself holding a key.
The key to her bed chamber.
Asvald’s hushed voice comes from the other side of the door. “Kelda will take tea at bed tonight. I’ll give her chamomile to help her sleep. Given everything she’s been through today, I expect she’ll welcome the extra aid.”
“But…I don’t understand. Why are you helping me?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know if it’s magick or not, what Dagfinn does. But I do know he saved my sister once. Made some drink that tasted like mulched swamp water, but it worked. If he’s telling you he knows how to undo the spell he’s cast upon himself, I believe him.”
Twirling the key in her hand, Euphemia smiles.
“Thank you,” she says, her mouth pressed near the door. A thought occurs to her though that makes the warmth in her heart fade. “But even if I make the draught, I can’t give it to Dagfinn. She has him locked in that tower, and she’s the only one with a key.”
“Well then, it’s a good thing you know that when she goes to bed, she leaves her keys on the table by her bed.”
The smile returns to Euphemia’s face, making her cheeks hurt. “Thank you, Asvald. You don’t know how much I appreciate you doing this.”
“I’m not doing this for you.” There is something almost stern in his voice, as if it’s important to him that she understands. “I’m doing it for her. Because if she had any more fight left in her, she would say it was worth the risk.”
Though Euphemia knows there is truth in what he’s saying, she can’t help but wonder if he would have risked this if Kelda hadn’t made the choice to accept Percival’s proposal.
“She would do anything for that boy,” Asvald says.
“I know she would.”
What Euphemia doesn’t say is she would, too.
“Tread carefully tonight,” he says. “You will not get another opportunity, nor will you receive any more assistance from me.”