Page 117 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

The blacksmith is not amused, nor does she seem concerned.

“Get out,” she says, stalking toward me with her hammer raised. “Out!”

Her dedication dàn flashes as she approaches, and it hits me like a bolt of lightning straight in the chest.

Brennen's words. The dedication dàn tethering us to the magic of the kingdom. All magic being connected. How it gives the Fate’s power over our abilities. The woman from my dreams flashes in my mind, her dedication dàn so disfigured, it’s unrecognizable.

A thread cannae cut if it cannae be seen…

“Get out,” she screams, but I do not listen. I scan the room until my eyes land on a sharp blade cooling in a tin of water. I lunge for it, then turn it on the woman. She raises her hammer overhead and strikes. The metal glances across my forehead, but I don’t stop. My dàn of weapon accuracy flares, and I pin her arm down to the table and dig the blade into her skin, slicing through the dàn with expert precision. She cries out in pain, swinging wildly as I disfigure her flesh, cutting through the dàn until it no longer resembles a sigil at all.

“I'm sorry! I had to⁠—”

She lifts the hammer and, with a roar, brings it down toward my temple. I lunge back, tripping on the uneven flooring, and fall.

She stalks to me, leaning over me and once again raising her now bloody hammer.

I cover my head with my hands, closing my eyes, and then the heat disappears. Brennen is standing above me, his eyes creased with concern.

“You started bleeding. Your skin just opened up, and you were bleeding.” He reaches out as if to wipe the blood away, but freezes.

I scramble to my knees and crawl to the river, my heart racing. The cold water bites into my skin as I hold my breath, a stark contrast to Brennen’s heat as he approaches from behind, but I do not look at him. Can't bear to pull my eyes away from the river.

It swirls, brown and muddy, and the wind gets even stronger, whipping at my hair.

“Please,” I beg. “Please let it have worked.”

There's a moment where the river surges, a wave that flows from upstream and crashes toward the After, spilling down into it. And then, the water goes still.

I hold my breath, pulling myself to stand on shaking legs. Is it possible it worked? My eyes search upstream, my heart thundering in my chest. No clothes appear, and the river sighs, caressing my legs like it’s thanking me.

Tears sting my eyes as I turn to Brennen.

His hands are clenched into fists, his eyebrows raised in surprise. But in his eyes is complete awe. Admiration, even. “You did it, didnae you?” he asks, nearly breathless.

A wide smile breaks out on my face. “I think I did,” I whisper, turning back to my river.

Her water continues to flow around my legs, gentle and clear.

And there is no name on the wind.

No face in the water.

No clothes.

Tears burn my eyes because, for the first time in over a century, I am stronger than the river.

51

BEA

The joy of saving the woman warms me almost as much as my dàn. It bubbles along my skin, up my spine, and between my lips, though I’m horrified by the way I had to do it. There’s no way she’ll understand I was trying to help her, and I’m sure my legend will only grow, though I’ve decided I’m okay with that. I will continue to be a monster if it means saving these women’s lives.

Brennen hands me a blanket, draping it over my wet skirt.

“Another blanket?” I tease, smiling as I wrap it around myself. He throws a few more logs on the fire, grumbling something under his breath, then sits. He’s closer than usual, his body angled so he faces the After.

“I cannae believe you actually did it,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. “What did you even do?”