Page 100 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

“Why are you not at your post?” she asks, skipping all pretense. I dinnae dare to look up.

“Something has happened. Something I thought you would want to know about as quickly as possible. I rode through the night to get here.”

“So you left the Washwoman alone?”

“I’ve assigned someone to check on her. Someone I think you should consider recruiting as a Dìdeanair. They will see she doesnae disappear.”

Cailleach’s eyes narrow, and the room grows cold. “You left her with a civilian?”

I stiffen at her sharp, disapproving tone, and I’m suddenly glad I did not name Theo as the one I asked for help. “Aye. But I can assure you, The Washwoman is secure. Her chain holds, and I checked her wards myself just before leaving. Escape is impossible.”

There's a long stretch of silence, the weight of her judgment so heavy on my shoulders, it’s a fight to remain upright. Her fingernails click on her armrest as she taps her fingers in a rolling metronome.

Click, click, click, click.

Click, click, click, click.

She sighs. “Rise and speak, then. But I will warn you, should your message not warrant waking me in the night, I will not be pleased.”

I shiver, but rise. “It’s about the disappearances. I’ve learned something about the women who are going missing.” Her head snaps up, her eyes narrowing.

“What have you learned?”

I swallow, squeezing my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “I—I do not think the women are alive.”

She leans forward, and for a moment, I wonder if she can breathe fire, just like Athair. “And why would you think that?” she asks, her voice ice.

I do not cower. “The Washwoman has been having visions. Instead of death, she’s seeing life. Happy moments. She thought maybe you had changed her punishment. But— I witnessed one of her visions. Forced her to describe it. It was a woman from my village. Betty. I sent a letter of sympathy about her death to her sister, and she responded. She is one of the disappeared, and yet, she is dead.”

Cailleach’s fingers still as she grips the arm of her chair.

“Dead?” She hurls the word at me like an accusation, and the anger in her voice makes the hair on my neck stand on end. I scramble to find the words that will make her understand.

“I know we believed they disappeared and were alive somewhere. That you hadn’t seen their deaths or cut their threads, but these women who are missing… Their clothes have been washed. Every one of them.”

She slams her hands on her chair, rising to her feet. Her expression darkens, her lips twisting into a sneer.

“How dare you?” She lowers her chin. “You actually believe there are deaths occurring within my kingdom I do not know about?”

I have to fight not to step back from her fury. “I beg your forgiveness, but that is exactly what I think. Someone is committing treason. Someone is killing outside of your power.”

She waves a hand as if dismissing me, but her eyes flash darker. “Impossible.”

But is it? There are thousands upon thousands of threads in this room. I’ve stood here and fought against the urge to look at them, only noticing the sheer number of them in my periphery as they float into her hands when it’s time for a life to end. How they crumble to dust and disappear when it does. If someone somehow accessed power that could sever the threads magically from afar, without needing her to do it, would she even notice?

I dinnae dare ask.

Cailleach narrows her eyes at me. “Did I not tell you the Washwoman would aim to fool you? Manipulate you? Are you really so weak,” she spits the word like it’s poison on her tongue, “that she was able to break you so easily?”

“I dinnae think she's lying,” I say softly, but firmly.

“Silence.” She doesn’t raise her voice this time, but the harsh softness of her tone is even more terrifying than obvious fury.

“It is not possible for deaths to occur outside of my will. The only way a life ends in this realm is between these fingers.” She holds her hand up, and several threads float into it.

Seven of them.

I nearly vomit, my breath ripping from my lungs in a violent whoosh. Why did I come here? I knew Cailleach wouldn’t take kindly to my concerns, that she would be defensive, but I truly thought her love of her kingdom—her duty to it—would be stronger than her pride. My hands shake as the threads settle on her fingers, and I clench them into fists.