Page 144 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

Jamie meets my eyes, his expression guarded.

“Good work finding the book,” I say. Speaking the words aloud nearly makes me vomit, but as much as I loathe it, I have to play the Cutter’s game if I want my family to survive.

Jamie smiles, clearly relieved by my praise. Maybe he hadn’t known it was me at all when he’d seen someone outside Harold’s house in the night. Maybe he’d simply found someone sneaking around so late to be suspicious. The thought gives me hope.

“Can we get you a round of ale?” he asks, pointing to their nearly empty glasses, and I hold my hands up.

“No. Going straight to whiskey tonight,” I say.

“The Washwoman giving you trouble?” he asks, raising his eyebrows suggestively, and fury churns in my chest.

I give him a tight nod. “You have no idea,” I say under my breath as I head to the bar where Theo is furiously drying the inside of a glass. He doesn't even look at me as I approach, and I can only guess why.

“I'll be needing a dram of what's in the back,” I say, my voice firm, and he looks up. I flick my eyes toward the door, hoping he can see the regret in my face. The seriousness of what's happening.

“Aye,” he says, putting the glass down. “Follow me, then.”

The storeroom is damp and cold as we enter, and I shiver. Theo turns around, eyebrows raised and arms crossed.

“Did you know they were coming for Harold?” he asks. The look he gives me would bring weaker men to their knees.

“Of course I didnae ken,” I say, my words a harsh whisper. “You think I wouldn’t have warned you? Warned Harold?”

He rubs the back of his neck, the steel in his gaze easing a bit. “It cannae be by chance they found it.”

“It wasn’t. I was seen visiting Harold. I didnae ken they would come for him, but it’s still my fault.”

Theo exhales, closing his eyes. “I’m sure you didnae⁠—”

I hold up a hand. “I don’t need your forgiveness or your excuses. What I need is your help.”

His spine straightens. “My help? With what?”

My eyes flick to his shoulder where I know a dàn hides. “Your dàn of the traveler. How accurate is it?”

He crosses his arms. “It can lead me anywhere in the kingdom I wish to go. I only need to think of my destination.”

The hope I’ve been holding onto grows a fraction. “Hollow Hill,” I say. “Have you heard of it?”

He lifts his chin. “Aye. What is it then? You need me to lead you there?”

“No. I need you to go there.”

“I dinnae understand,” he says, voice hesitant.

“The women who are disappearing,” I say, leaning forward, keeping my voice quiet. “They're dead, just as we thought. But its no someone else with magic in the kingdom killing them. It's the Cutter.”

Theo's mouth cracks open in shock, his face paling. “Why would she do that?”

“I dinnae ken, but Bea’s been having visions of the moments before the Cutter severs their threads. She was there at the Tavern before Harold was killed.”

“It cannae be⁠—”

“But it is.” I stop him, holding his stare. “Bea was brought to the tavern. We thought we were looking for a woman. But it was Harold’s clothes that came down the river, and the Cutter severed his string above where the Measurer marked it. It followed the exact same pattern as Bea’s other visions. The Cutter has to be the one behind it.”

Theo begins to pace. “And what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not. I’ve been to the castle. Walked beneath the Cutter’s threads. They are bound to her. Guarded not only by her most trusted guardians but also by her dragon, Athair. I dinnae believe it’s possible someone else has stolen them. Harold’s thread was cut, and his clothes were washed.”