Page 119 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

Brennen takes a step forward. “Dinnae speak to her,” he says, but I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or the ghost.

A cruel smile twists her lips, and she begins to sing the melody I know so well from my visions.

The Washwoman kneels with her hands stained in red,

She knows every soul, every face of the dead.

When her mind breaks again, and the river runs dry,

She’ll remember the poor souls who taught her to die.

“When her mind breaks?” I ask, the words sticking to the inside of my throat. A phantom pain shoots through my skull, fear unfurling in my chest.

“That's enough!” Brennen says, and the tailor’s daughter turns to him.

“Careful, Dìdeanair. She’ll be your ruin, too. Tell me—” She winces, her eyes rolling back in her head. “No. Not yet,” she says, dropping to her knees.

“What's happening?” he asks.

“Your Washwoman is not the only one whose mind has been broken. All who dwell in between suffer the same fate. You have to help us,” she begs, her skin turning a deeper grey. “It's all there. Everything you need to know.” She coughs, then wails, her head tipping back as she loses herself completely. When she looks up again, her eyes are as dead as those who stand around her.

“Help us!” she cries, beyond all sense. “It hurts! Help!”

Brennen tucks me behind his back, drawing his sword. “Get in the tent. Now.”

I put a hand on his arm, and he stiffens. “I don’t think they can hurt us here. They can’t leave the river.”

“Inside,” he snaps, but I stay by his side. I know how it feels to stand before the ghosts alone, and I will not leave him to do the same. Brennen’s eyes darken with fear, or anger, or both, and he roughly grabs my arm, pulling me to the tent.

“What are you doing?” I ask, twisting against him, heart hammering against my ribs. “I can't leave you to sleep out here!” I say in disbelief.

“I willnae be sleeping out here. I’ll be sleeping in there. Now go. Inside,” he says. His voice leaves no room to argue, sharp as a blade. “Dinnae make me ask you again.” His order lands deep in my stomach, sudden and hot, curling through me in a way that causes my breath to hitch. My body moves before my pride can stop it, as if it cannot bear to refuse him.

The tent suddenly feels small, and just as before, it shrinks further as he enters, his warmth filling the space. He ties the flaps shut behind him, sealing us in. The world outside dulls, but he doesn’t.

I feel him everywhere. Every shift in his movements. The heat of him. His presence presses in on me from all sides, so strong I can hardly breathe.

I’ve been closer to Brennen than this before, but that was with the sky wide and open overhead. It’s never been like this, trapped so close with nowhere to run, and I’m not sure if the thought thrills or terrifies me.

He removes his sword, tossing it in the corner, but there’s nothing careless in the movement. He’s on edge, as taut as I am. “Are you sure they cannae leave the water?” he asks, all warrior.

All control.

“They haven't yet,” I say, shivering. He crouches in front of me, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“I'm sorry you had to face them alone.”

A lump forms in my throat. “I was alright.”

“No. I doubt you were. And I wouldnae expect you to be,” he says. “We’ll stay in here until sunrise.”

I open my mouth to argue. To tell him I can’t possibly stay in this tiny tent with him. The air is already too thin. I’m too warm, and it feels as if the walls are closing in on me. But the look he gives me causes the words to die on my tongue. His eyes are hard. Focused and unyielding.

“You willnae argue with me about it. I'm not leaving you out there for them to torment.”

I exhale slowly, then nod.

“Good lass,” he says, his low rumble sinking into my skin. Warmth spreads through my core, unexpected and deep, and I blush. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because I find I want his praise. Want to please him.