Page 143 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

I shake my head, trying to find my voice. “No. It was a dream. Or, a nightmare. I’ve been having it for months.”

His lips curve into a frown. “I’m sorry,” he says, and hearing him apologize to me almost breaks me.

“It’s not— Someone’s in danger.”

He straightens. “In your nightmares?” he asks, his eyebrows drawing together.

I nod. “I don’t think they’re nightmares. They feel too real. I think… I think I’m having them so I can prevent the death I see. Remember I told you I sent Kenna somewhere safe?”

His eyes flash with anger. “Kenna’s in danger? If it’s that bastard of a husband, I’ll⁠—”

“No.” I stop him, pulling the blankets off me, suddenly too hot. “It’s not Kenna. It’s the woman who lives above the Faerie Pools.”

Brennen looks taken aback, his eyes going wide. “The Faerie Pools? How could you possibly know that?”

“Because Kenna asked me her question. She caught me and said the words needed to trigger the curse. ‘Tell me, Washwoman, the answer I seek.’” I close my eyes, trying to remember the details of our interaction. “She asked me where to go to be safe from her husband, and I saw it clearly in my mind. The woman who lives at the Faerie Pools would help her. I’ve been having this dream for months, but it wasn’t until tonight that I realized it was the woman’s cottage I was seeing. It has to be.”

Brennen stares up at Lolly circling the moon, his jaw going tight. “I thought I saw Hamish in the village today. I’m not certain, but⁠—”

I grab Brennen’s arm. “Then you have to go to her. It can’t be a coincidence. What if it’s Hamish who kills the woman in my dream? If he somehow learned where Kenna fled to, maybe he’s coming for her.”

He stiffens, shaking his head. “No. I willnae be leaving here.” His voice drops low. “Not when Cailleach is killing people. Not when she just executed Harold. What if she finds a way to kill you and comes for you next?”

I grip his arms tighter. “What would it matter? Either she kills me, or you do.”

He closes his eyes as if my words physically pain him. “Bea. Don’t⁠—”

I slide my hand down and flip his arm over, careful not to touch his skin. My heart aches at the agony in his voice, evidence of the constant battle that rages inside him. A battle I can end.

“You are going to kill me,” I say, keeping my voice gentle, though the words sting as they leave my throat. Fear slips down my spine, but I steel myself against it. For so long, I have wanted to go to my rest on my terms. To complete the spell and die peacefully.

And yet, Brennen has changed everything. Some deep part of me wants to live now. Fears the death I once craved. But I’ve started to think that maybe I’ve been wrong all along. Maybe this is my penance, allowing Brennen to complete his duty and still find peace.

I will still go to the After on my terms. It will still be my choice.

And I choose death at the end of Brennen’s sword, so that his soul may be free.

The thought tempers my fear, relief suffocating it like water thrown onto a fire. If my death will save him, then I will give him no other option.

“Do you think I don’t know what this is?” I look down to his scar, where the black lines that seep from it pulse along with his heartbeat, as if there’s poison living in the puckered skin.

He shakes his head, his eyes so unbelievably sad, I want to look away. But I don’t. This isn’t his burden to carry, and I don’t want him to feel guilt for it. “I’ve lived long enough to know what a bargain with the goddess of death looks like. I’ll not allow your soul to belong to her because you want to save me. And I won’t risk your family’s lives because you didn’t do what the Cutter commanded. This is my choice. You will kill me when the time comes. But this woman in my dream, whoever she is, she's going to be murdered in cold blood if we don't stop it.”

Brennen closes his eyes again, pulling me against his chest and squeezing tight, as if he can somehow force our circumstances to change. I twist in his arms, ducking my head to make sure our skin doesn’t touch.

“I cannae go. Please, dinnae ask it of me.” His voice is nothing more than a rasp.

“Brennen—” I start.

“I willnae go. But,” he pauses, looking toward the village, “I think I know someone who can help.”

66

BRENNEN

The guardians are in good spirits when I arrive at the tavern, likely still riding the high of Harold's execution. My blood runs hotter with every mug raised in celebration, every cheer, but I force myself to smile and nod to them as I enter.

If they weren’t watching me before, they certainly are now.