Page 26 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

“Satisfied?” I ask, gritting my teeth.

“Keep going,” he says, and despite the dread fading away, I stiffen.

Is he truly going to make me try to continue when my chain is clearly taut? “I can’t go any further.”

He tilts his sword, forcing my body to turn. “Not forward. That way. I want to see your boundaries.”

I shake my head. There’s no way he truly expects me to parade around like a show hog to prove where I can and cannot go. “You want me to walk in a circle?” I ask, my brows furrowing. Surely he can figure it out based on where I’m standing now.

“Aye, that’s exactly what I want you to do.”

Anger flashes in my belly, and I meet his eyes. Very determined eyes. His jaw is set in a hard line, his shoulders tight. It’s clear he will not be backing down, but I will not give him the satisfaction of my reluctance, nor do I wish for him to activate his dàn of dread again. “As you say, Warden,” I say, infusing as much venom into my voice as possible.

I keep my chin held high as I walk the perimeter of my prison, my chain pulling with every step, the tension on the length of it causing the shackle to dig into my skin so much more than usual. Every so often, Brennen leans down and picks up a stick, stabbing it into the earth just beside my foot.

A visual reminder of my limitations.

I almost laugh at his caution. Probably would, were the pain in my ankle not causing my head to spin, because what does he possibly think I could do that would make this necessary?

We wade into the water, and I’m thankful my chain aligns with a more shallow area so we’re not forced to swim. I complete my walk on the far side of the river, the few feet of space I’m able to reach. We turn to go back across. The metal slices into my skin, hot, sticky blood seeping from beneath the cuff, and I stop.

“I’ve shown you enough,” I say, biting back tears of pain. It’s getting worse by the moment, my vision going fuzzy at the edges.

Brennen doesn’t press his sword harder into my spine, but he doesn’t back down either. “We’ll no be stopping until I know exactly how far this chain allows you to go. Best get on with it.”

I shake my head. It’s clear arguing will change nothing, so I continue back across the river, picking up my pace. If there’s no other way to end this torture, I’d at least like to get it over with as quickly as possible. The blood from my ankle swirls in the river as we cross back over, my limp becoming more prominent with each step. I fight to hold back my tears, but the pain is too intense, and by the time I complete the circle, I’m unable to stop them.

He stabs the final stick into the ground, looking around to examine the markers. Finally, he lowers his sword.

I turn from him, limping toward the river where I drop to sit and place my foot in the cool water. The relief is subtle, but welcome.

“I hope you feel safe now,” I say, doing my best to seem unbothered. Brennen doesn’t answer, but I sense his anger burning hotter. A satisfied smile tugs at my lips. Good. Let him be angry. I did not ask for him to come, nor do I want him here.

“I’m going to check the wards,” he huffs. “For your sake, pray they havenae been tampered with.”

My satisfaction only grows. I’m getting under his skin. “Have a nice walk!” I call after him. “I’ll just stay here then!”

9

BRENNEN

Iwatch from the trees after I leave the Washwoman. I’d expected her to scream. To throw rocks at my tent, or to curse the goddess.

But she’s just sitting there, soothing her foot in the water and using a stick to draw slow, deliberate lines in the mud.

Blood still swirls from her ankle downstream, and I rub my forehead. She doesn’t even seem bothered by the pain she surely must be feeling. Pain I inflicted, but refuse to regret.

I am nothing if not a man of my word. I’ve prided myself on it my entire life, and I’d promised not to hurt her. But it hadn’t been without reason that I’d made her walk her chain length. I’d needed to know her exact boundaries. How could I sleep without knowing precisely how far she could go? It was necessity that had caused me to plot the border out, not cruelty.

Another point of pride. I do not believe in brutality.

I turn from the Washwoman, heading deeper into the trees, scanning the bark for the dàn engravings that ward the valley from her escape, the memory of the time I spent in Lochdubh flooding my mind.

I’d been only a boy, but Da had allowed me to come along on his trade route. I’d been so proud sitting next to my father on the wagon, ready to convince people to purchase his carvings and furniture. I was of the opinion that he was the best carpenter in the kingdom, and my excitement had grown by the minute as we made our way into the Measurer’s domain.

Until we arrived at Lochdubh, where outside the village gates, a man was nailed to a wooden post, arms overhead, shoulders wrenched from their sockets, feet kicking, reaching for the ground several feet below him. My da had shielded my eyes, but the damage had been done. I’d already seen his pain. Heard his suffering.

He’d stolen half a bushel of apples, I later learned. Such a small crime to justify inflicting so much agony, and yet that is what the village elders had chosen.