Page 116 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

He nods. “Let’s hope for their sake, that’s true.”

50

BEA

Brennen and I haven’t spoken again, though we both sit by the fire, staring into the After. It will not be long now until they come. But at least I will not be alone tonight.

I poke at a log with a stick, my mind still reeling from Brennen’s revelation.

Finally, I break the silence. “The deaths have been scattered all throughout the kingdom. Surely whoever’s behind them isn’t traveling village to village picking people at random.” It's a thought that's plagued my mind as the day has passed. “None of the deaths has a cause. It’s not murder. I’ve seen murder. These lives simply end.”

Brennen picks up his bird. “I've wondered the same," he says. But I don’t think whoever it is has to be with the woman at all. The Cutter isn’t, when she severs our threads. I’ve seen her do it.”

He scrapes his knife across the wood, then stares down at his wrist for a long moment.

“Our dedication dàn connects us to the magic within the kingdom, but it also blocks us from accessing that magic freely. We can only manifest it in the specific ways the Fates decide. But if someone figured out how to work outside them, to get magic from the earth itself, their power could be endless.”

“But could they have enough to overpower the Fates’ will?”

He shakes his head. “I dinnae think it’s about having more power at all. All magic is connected. The fairy pools nourish it, and it flows into streams and rivers to feed the earth. The trees and flowers. When the dead pass through the mist, their magic is returned to the After. If someone could tap into the same magic the Fates pull from, it’s possible they could translate that power into whatever abilities they wanted, instead of being limited by the Fates’ choices.”

His words make sense, and yet somehow, they only cause more confusion. “But if someone is stealing the Cutter’s magic, you’d think she’d want to know it, wouldn’t you? So she could stop them? Why would she just ignore your warning?”

Brennen’s lips arch into an almost sneer. “The Cutter is prideful," he says, and my mouth drops open in shock.

“I never thought I'd ever hear you speak badly about your queen," I say.

He meets my eyes. “I never thought any of this would be happening.”

I’m about to ask what he means when the wind shifts, and once again, in an instant, I am no longer at the river. A sweltering heat hits me as a blacksmith shop comes into focus, dark except for the orange glow of the fire in the forge. A woman stands over an anvil, a rounding hammer in her hand. She beats at a glowing piece of metal, singing as she works.

So sing till the song takes the life it was due,

Some hands hold the blade, and some hands hold the truth.

When the river runs red and the After draws near,

The darkness will come and bring all that you fear.

A song cannae tell you the time it will end.

As long as you live, a new one can begin.

A thread cannae cut if it cannae be seen.

If I asked it of you, would you hide mine for me?

The song calls to something in me, but I don’t give myself time to think about what it is.

“You have to run," I say. The woman jumps.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?”

“You're in danger, and you will die if you don’t do as I say. Do you understand?” I sound insane, rabid, but I don’t know how else to get her to listen. “You're not safe!” I say again when she doesn’t move, louder this time. “You need to run!”

“You'll not come into my place of business and threaten me," she says.

“I'm not threatening you, I'm warning you. Women are dying, have you not heard? And if you don't listen to me, you’ll be next.”