Page 6 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

“Thank you,” I whisper to the goddess, standing to leave. I dinnae wish to linger, now that my vow is finished. This may be where Marsaili’s body rests, a plot of land she will never again leave, but it’s no where her spirit lives.

Nor is it where my vengeance will be wrought.

“Your death will be repaid, mo rùn,” I promise into the wind, wondering how long I will have to wait for Ban-dia a’ Bhàis to show me the way to find my revenge as I walk through the cold iron gate. Hot blood drips from my fingertips, but I dinnae wipe it away. Let it mark each of the six hundred and ninety-seven steps back down to the living.

Let the earth hold my promise until I return.

“Brennen,” a voice breaks through the night as I reach the final steps that lead to Vengach. To my family.

Adrenaline surges through my veins, and my head snaps up, my hand automatically reaching toward the long blade at my hip. I squint into the darkness, my dàn of sight warming.

“It’s only me.”

I still my hand. “Garrick? What are you doing here?”

I should feel relief when I recognize my oldest friend, but instead, my skin prickles with unease. I do not like that I didnae hear him approach. That I allowed myself to be so distracted, I was caught unaware.

I lift my chin, forcing my hand to lower as I wonder why he’s returned home.

Garrick matches me in his Dìdeanair uniform—a black and red tartan with a broadsword strapped to his back. Of all the guardians I’ve served with, he and I are the closest. He’s from my village, a friend who always has a jovial smile and a joke in his front pocket, which is why my chest tightens when I notice the grim line of his mouth and tense set of his shoulders.

“What is it?” I ask, panic trickling into my blood. Has something happened to my family? To Saoirse? I cannae bear the thought.

He meets my eye, then delivers his message without preamble, as clean as the slice of Ban-dia a’ Bhàis’s blade through my palm.

“The Cutter has called for you.”

3

BEA

Lolly sits on top of the ridge, only fifteen or so dragon-lengths away. Her claws dig into the stone, sending rocks crashing down into the glen, and my lungs seize with trepidation. With confusion and excitement. Not once in the century I’ve been tethered to this Fates-forsaken place has she landed, and I don’t know what it means. Why now, only after the woman in green’s death? Could it be a coincidence?

It seems unlikely.

She swings her head low, and I hold my breath as she lets out a deep, mournful cry that echoes through the valley. Slowly so as to not startle her, I climb down from my perch, careful to keep my movements soft and controlled, but even with her closer than she’s ever been, she doesn’t seem to notice me.

She swings her head around, searching. Is she looking for me?

“Lolly?” I call, but her eyes move right past me, all but confirming what I’ve long suspected. That through some sort of magic, she cannot see me. Maybe she really is only meant to should I escape.

Extending her neck, she roars again, and the ground trembles beneath my feet. I take a step backward, holding my breath, but instead of launching back into the sky, she lies down, steam rising from her nostrils as she rests her head on a thick bushel of heather.

I stand there, frozen, watching her breathe, the way her scales catch the fading light, and even though I should be, I find I am not afraid. I wish I could go to her. Touch her shimmering wings and see if she’s warm or cool to the touch.

Smoke curls from her nostrils once again as she exhales deeply, and then, she is asleep. I settle back onto the riverbed, watching her with fascination. Fatigue pulls at my body, a bone-deep exhaustion that makes me want to curl into a ball and shut out the rest of the world, but I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from the magnificent creature. What if I sleep, and she’s gone when I wake? What if this is my only chance to be this close to her?

“Rest then, Lolly. I’m tired, too,” I say, but I don’t lie down, instead sitting on the riverbank and wrapping my arms around my knees.

A deep rumble leaves the dragon’s chest, almost as if she’s scolding me.

“You’re right. I’m sure you already have a name,” I say, feeling foolish for wanting a friend so badly, I’m pretending I actually know this beautiful beast.

I stare at her in the fading light for what feels like hours, unable to settle my heart. The smir hanging over the dark water grows thicker as the sun dips below the horizon. An owl hoots in the distance, and the river is calm—so clear and still, I can count every freckle across the bridge of my nose in the moonlight. Can see my wild red hair and blue-grey eyes so clearly, it’s as if I’m looking into a mirror.

Everything’s as it’s meant to be.

And yet, even with the distraction of my dragon, the woman in the green dress twirls through my mind. I try to force away the image of her long, slender fingers reaching for the vibrant wildflowers. Her wide smile as she tilted her face toward the sun.