Page 98 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

It isn’t men who are disappearing. And yet, he’s the only person I see.

“Are there any women here?” I ask, my voice urgent. I don’t know how much time I will have here.

“Aye. My daughter. Why do you ask?”

“Well—” I clear my throat, trying to think of a suitable excuse. “I'd like to take in my gown, but I'd feel more comfortable with a woman doing it.

His eyes narrow, but he stands, relief crossing his face. “Suit yerself.”

The moment he leaves, I dash behind the counter, scrambling to find something, anything, that could help complete my spell, but there's nothing of use. A thimble. Thread and needles. Some money.

“Can I help you?" The woman’s sharp voice stops me in my tracks, and I turn. “Or would you prefer to keep digging in my da’s belongings?”

“I’m sorry. I was looking for a handkerchief. I had a coughing fit, and— I apologize.”

“Right,” the young woman says, her narrowed eyes telling me she doesn’t believe a word I said as I close the drawer and step away. Her gaze flicks down my body. “Da said you want your dress taken in? It looks perfectly fine to me.”

I rush forward, grabbing her hands. “I need you to listen to me, you're in danger,” I say, looking around the shop for whatever it might be that will cause her death, but I don’t see anything amiss or dangerous.

The woman stumbles back, her eyes widening with fear. She yanks her hands away, bringing them to her chest. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”

“Never mind who I am. You're in danger. You need to run. Now, and don't look back.”

“You’re frightening me," she says, her lips trembling.

I want to shake her. Run! My mind screams. “I’m sorry, but you should be frightened. Listen to me. I know this is terrifying, that I sound insane⁠—”

“Your hands…” she says, her eyes filling with fear. “They're covered in blood. Who are you? Da!” she shouts.

I hold them up, reaching toward her. “I am the Washwoman of the River of Death. The Bean-Nighe.” I try to make my voice as menacing as possible. Let her fear me. Maybe fear will spur her to listen. I stalk forward. “And if you do not wish for me to wash your death-clothes,” I lean forward, baring my teeth. “Run.” I barely get the word out before I’m thrown back to the river.

My heart pounds as I look around, getting my bearings. My hands shake, and my breaths come in short pants as I look upstream, praying.

Please, let her listen to me.

Please, let her run.

The river holds its breath, and so do I. Five seconds. Then ten.

Shouldn’t the dress have appeared by now, if the woman was going to die? How long did it take the other times?

The river pauses, slowing, and hope bubbles in my chest.

But a gust of wind comes, and upstream, the woman’s yellow dress appears. I scream in frustration, but the magic of the curse turns the sound into my song. It’s ripped violently from my throat as I’m thrown to the ground, the riverbed slicing into the skin of my knees. It's agonizing, but the magic holding me in place doesn’t even allow me to shift off my wounds.

“Why?” I scream at the river, even as my fingers work. I inspect the dress.

There’s no blood.

“Please, don’t take her!” I picture the woman's face. Did she not listen to me? Did she not flee? Or had it simply been impossible to outrun whatever was coming for her?

Lolly roars, and I feel her rage in my chest. Like all the others, this death isn’t right.

The curse releases me, and I collapse, my heart cracking in two. Another vision, and I neither found what I needed to complete the spell nor saved the girl. It’s not simple sadness I feel, but utter defeat. Failure, hot as a brand on my skin.

I wash my bloody knees off in the water, then move to the tent where my bandages remain, sitting on Brennen's bedroll as I dress the scrapes. His scent wraps around me, juniper and smoke and metal, and it calms my racing heart a fraction. Brennen is out there, possibly telling the Cutter what's happening as we speak. This will all end soon.

The thought brings me comfort, but also terror.