Page 126 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

The fox tilts its head, watching her for a moment, then turns its head and yips. Three chocolate brown foxes emerge, babies, and Bea’s eyes turn concerned.

“Poor things. You're hungry, aren't you?”

It's only then that I notice how thin the mother fox is, likely from nursing her babies. Without enough food to eat in this frigid, snowy weather, it's likely they won’t survive.

“Stay there,” Bea coos, standing. “I’ll get some food for you. I know how it feels to be hungry.”

I hear her stomach growl at the mention of food, and I suddenly feel like I cannae breathe.

“I don't think Brennen will mind,” she continues. I don’t miss that she has never stolen food for herself, but is willing to do so for a wild animal. She must be starving, I realize. She’d said she didn’t need food, and her body isn’t gaunt or frail, but it must be because of the curse. Her body doesnae change, and she cannae die, even from hunger. I dinnae know why I hadn’t thought of it before. And here I am, thinking about putting my hands on her body instead of how I can get food inside of it.

“And if he does,” she continues with a shrug, “he already hates me.”

Her words make my chest hurt, a pang of guilt slicing straight between my ribs.

She turns toward the tent, and I take a step back, but it’s too late.

Her eyes lock onto mine, but she doesn't cover herself. She holds my gaze, too steady to be surprised. How long has she known I was standing here?

Facing me, I can see every curve and hollow even more clearly. She’s painfully stunning. More beautiful than I could have possibly imagined beneath her clothes.

The thought sends a fresh wave of guilt pulsing through me.

Her dàn for immortality becomes more visible on her sternum, right where the villagers tried to carve it from her skin. I imagine the puckered skin of a slit throat. Her blue face when she had drowned.

And yet she stands tall. Unafraid.

“The babies are hungry. The mother needs food.”

I force myself to exhale. “Take whatever you need,” I say, taking a few steps forward to set my satchel of supplies down. “There's more in here.”

Her eyes soften. “Thank you," she says, and I avert my gaze, turning around. Water sloshes as she makes her way toward me.

I swallow. “I’ll um— I’ll go hunt for dinner. Give you some privacy,” I say, ducking into my tent and grabbing my bow and arrow. She doesnae answer me, and the weight of shame on my shoulders grows heavier. He already hates me.

When I return outside, I pause, but don’t turn around. Facing the trees, I clear my throat, and the sound of Bea shuffling through my bags halts. I feel the weight of her eyes on my back, waiting.

“I dinnae hate you, Bea,” I say, my voice as rough as tree bark. “I should. But I don’t.”

55

BEA

Snow continues to fall, covering the purple heather in a thick white sheet. Normally, this is my least favorite time of the year. The months I spend frozen to the bone, my teeth chattering and my limbs shaking. But with my dàn of warmth, I find I quite enjoy it. The snow is beautiful, and it brings a peace to the glen I’ve never allowed myself to notice before.

I add a log to the fire, then lean back, reaching my palm out to catch the snow. The shimmering flakes melt on my skin instantly, leaving behind little specks of water that remind me of dew drops.

Brennen hasn't returned from hunting, and my skin tingles at the memory of him watching me. I'd seen him long before I turned in his direction. And yet, I hadn't said anything, wanting to know why he stood there, staring. Hoping that maybe it wasn’t just me who's been feeling this pull between us. It’d been thrilling, for those few long, tense moments.

But when I came up from the water, it hadn’t been lust on his face at all. It was disgust.

It had been physically painful to see, carving out a hollow spot where I'd placed the bits of hope that we were forming a friendship. Maybe something more. It’s why I’d told the mother fox Brennen hated me, even though I no longer believe he truly does. At least, not in the same way he used to. I’d said it because I knew it would hurt him. Had wanted him to feel the sharp bite of disappointment, just as I had when I’d seen his face.

Is it possible I’ve been wanting his affection so badly, I’ve been seeing something that wasn’t truly happening?

It stings more than I anticipated, but I try to lock down the pain. The embarrassment that I’d actually thought I was beginning to matter to him, and remind myself that I’m merely an assignment. A prisoner.

I glance across the river where the foxes have curled inside a log, their bellies full. If nothing else, at least Brennen being here allowed me to feed them. Maybe they'll stay. Maybe, unlike my dragon, someday they will come close enough for me to touch them. To have some sort of connection.