Page 166 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

My sword scrapes against its sheath as I draw it, the sound breaking through the almost eerie silence. The ground shakes with each step the dragon takes, and I creep closer, moving slowly so as to not startle her into attacking.

“Dinnae move, my lark,” I say, keeping my voice calm. The dragon lowers her head, smoke curling from her nose as her eyes lock directly onto Bea.

“Stop,” I order, louder. Maybe I can direct the dragon’s attention to myself and give Bea time to flee. I take a bigger step forward, desperate to get to her, to put myself between them, but Lolly whips her head to me, growling.

“Don't hurt him,” Bea says, and the dragon seems to listen, her eyes softening as they connect with Bea’s once more. She continues forward, and I hold my breath. Every inch of me yearns to run to her. To throw myself between them, but something gives me pause. It isn’t hunger I see in the beast's gaze. Nor is it malice, and Bea no longer seems afraid.

Confusion swirls in my stomach, my heart pounding against my ribs as the magnificent creature lowers her head, and…

Bows.

My breath catches as I take in the sight of Lolly, a ferocious, fire-breathing creature, submissive and yielding before Bea.

The dragon keeps her head lowered and eyes closed for a long moment before opening them again, and Bea reaches out a tentative hand, placing it on the beast's snout. Lolly sighs, nuzzling her, and Bea’s lips curve into a gentle, awe-filled smile.

“So we finally meet,” Bea says.

Lolly pushes her nose harder against Bea’s palm, and then I hear it. A melodic voice, spoken directly into my mind.

I have long searched for you. Protected you from above. You were hidden from my sight, but behind the wards, I could feel you, An tè a tha an dàn dhi—The one to whom it is fated.

I suck in a sharp breath. An tè a tha an dàn dhi—The one to whom it is fated.

Bea stiffens, her eyes opening wide. “Fated?” she whispers, saying aloud the question ringing through my mind. “Fated for what?”

There is no reply, but a prickle of magic seeps into the air, thousands of tiny needles scraping my skin. Black lines appear on Bea’s body, creeping across her hands and arms, her neck—hundreds of dàn swirling together in an iridescent tapestry painted on her skin. Wind whips her hair around her face as they dance, shifting and changing until finally, they merge together, spinning tight like a spool of thread until they become a single symbol on the palm of her hand.

My heart pounds as I try to take in the shape, to make sense of what is happening, but I am too far away to see clearly. Though what I can see seems familiar, tickling a memory buried deep in my mind.

I take another step closer to Bea, prodding for Lolly's reaction, but the dragon doesn’t seem to notice me, too busy watching Bea as she stares down in wonder, tracing her fingers along the delicate lines.

We belong to one another, now, the dragon says.

A song begins to float through the darkness, a woman’s voice I dinnae recognize.

We are not alone down here.

A shiver runs down my spine at the threat of the unknown, and I take another tentative step forward. The dragon looks at me, tilting her head, but there’s no threat in her eyes. Only what I can describe as a curious permission.

“Thank you,” I whisper, racing to Bea and pulling her against me. “Mo chridhe,” I say into her hair, relishing the solid warmth of her body. The scent of juniper and river.

She is safe.

And she is free.

The song grows louder, and I tuck Bea behind me. Holding my sword in front of us, I turn toward the sound and peer into the darkness.

The false queen will fall when the true one awakes.

She'll sever the threads that the liar still makes.

With blood on her hands and blue in her eyes,

And no mercy for those who built thrones out of lies.

A tall woman with a stern face steps out of the darkness, with long, straight hair the exact color as the silver of the sand we stand upon and eyes of gold, so brilliant, they hurt to look at. A dagger rests in a sheath at her hip.

A dagger I have held in my own hands.