Page 162 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

My fingers itch to do it here and now, but the Cutter would know. Surely, she would sense it and punish my family before I could get to them. So I wait, watching the woman who restarted my heart.

Bea is on edge as she tends to her washing, but I find that I cannot keep my hands off of her. Caressing her cheek. Running my fingers through her hair.

Every fiber of my body begs me to take her far, far away from here. To rip her chain apart link by link with my bare hands, but I have already tried and failed. My dàn of strength is no match for the Cutter’s magic.

“Where will we go?” Bea asks as we sit on the shore, waiting.

I pull her closer. “To the Faerie Pools,” I say, even though speaking the words aloud feels like a risk. “Harold believed a dragon scale dipped into their waters could sever any magic. Maybe it’s the key to killing Cailleach.”

“It seems too easy,” Bea says, but I dinnae allow her disbelief to penetrate my skin. I have to believe this is the answer. It was right there in Harold’s journal, and he was killed for it.

The sky darkens, and I look up, expecting to see the dragon or a cloud passing over the sky, but it’s empty except for the thick layer of smir always present.

Still, the glen fills with shadows, as if something is draining the light from the world, consuming it bit by bit, moment by moment. Prickles of anticipation cause the hair on my arms to stand on end, an ominous feeling washing through the valley, as thick and damp as an incoming storm. But there is no wind. Instead, the air is almost unnaturally stagnant.

“Do you feel that?” Bea asks, and I nod, sitting up straighter.

The hair on my arm stands on end. “Is your dàn warning you of danger?” I ask, scanning the trees. The After. Something isnae right. I close my eyes, using my dàn of hearing to listen for anything amiss, but the world is preternaturally still. The woodpeckers have stopped their steady rhythm, and the red squirrels have ducked inside their hollows.

“No. But, something feels different,” she says with a shiver. She wraps her arms around her middle, and I pull her to me, pressing a kiss to her hair. The need to make sure she’s safe from whatever is happening is overwhelming, threatening to drive me mad.

“I dinnae like this,” I say. “I think I should go. Get in the tent. I’ll get back as quickly as I can, and then we’ll do it. Complete the spell, and get far, far away from whatever this is.” I gesture to the dark glen.

She shivers again, and I grab a tartan from near the fire, wrapping it snugly around her shoulders.

“Be careful,” she says, and I nod, giving her one last, lingering kiss, then help her stand and lead her to the tent. Her chain clinks on the rocks as she walks, not a single argument coming from her stubborn lips, and it makes me uneasy. Even after everything Bea has been through, she’s afraid.

“Brennen,” she stops me. She presses her lips together, as if stopping them from trembling. “If something goes wrong, I just need to say something.”

“No.” I stop her. “Dinnae say my name like a farewell. I will return,” I lean down to meet her eyes, “and when I do, we will end this. Together.”

“I have a bad feeling,” she says, rubbing her arms at the chill invading the air. It grows worse by the second, her breath coming out in white puffs.

“Aye,” I say, caressing her cheek, then whistling for Sable. I dinnae need to tell her I feel it too. That the world seems to be shifting. Is that what this is? A warning from the goddess that we need to run, now?

Every step I take away from Bea feels like carving through muscle and bone. It’s as if my body knows what my mind is fighting. That I shouldnae leave her here by herself. Not now, or ever again. Still, I jump on Sable’s back, my heart pounding as I race toward the village, growing more anxious by the second. Even my mare seems to know something is amiss, her ears perked forward and her head shifting around nervously.

I dinnae allow myself to think of what could go wrong. Not when every second feels like there’s a demon breathing down the back of my neck. Every fiber of my being begs me to turn back, but what good would it do? Without the final item of the spell, Bea is trapped.

I steady my resolve, sending a prayer to the goddess. If something does come, whether it be mortal or Fate, I cannae save her unless she is free.

I race through the gate to the village, jumping off Sable and running straight into the tavern, forcing myself to slow as I approach the doors. The guardians present incline their heads to me when I walk in, seemingly unaware of the chill in the air. The darkness. But I do not miss the way their eyes dart amongst one another. The way Philip’s shoulders square and Bradley’s hand drifts toward his sword.

They know something.

My blood runs cold, but I keep my expression neutral as I walk to the bar, greeting Anna. “An ale, please,” I say, then lean closer. “Do you still have your old handfasting tie?”

Her eyes widen, but she nods. “Aye.”

“I need you to get it for me. Go calmly, but quickly. Dinnae act concerned.”

She must sense the urgency in my voice, because her eyes widen a fraction, her mouth drawing in, but she doesn't ask questions, putting the ale down in front of me and slowly and silently disappearing up the stairs.

Harold’s grandson sits a few stools down, and a sense of duty surges through my blood. I need to warn him. It’s a risk, but I cannae stop myself from taking it. I owe that much to Harold.

I walk toward him, leaning down to speak into his ear. “You need to listen to me. Destroy your dedication dàn. Yours, your wife’s, and your children. Cut through them so they are unrecognizable, and leave here. Hide. Do not dedicate your unborn child to the Fates. You're not safe. No one is.”

“How did you know—” he starts.