Page 28 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

Leaning forward, I reach out with the stick, trying to hook the strap of his satchel. My shoulders ache, and sweat trickles down my back as I extend my arm as far as it will go. I’m close. Only a few finger-widths from the bag. The pain in my ankle is once again near unbearable, but I ignore it. What if it contains one of the spell items? It’s possible this is the closest I will get to Brennen’s belongings without him watching me, and I refuse to give up the opportunity to find what I need over a little pain.

“I was doing so well,” I continue, telling the story to distract myself from the throbbing joint, “and Ma said she was proud of me. She left me on my own while she was hanging laundry on the line. And guess what happened. I fell asleep!” I shake my head, widening my stance. I move my grip to the very end of the stick, then lunge forward, trying to hook the bag with momentum. “Right there by the fire. Burned the jam so bad, it was unsalvageable.” Just thinking about it makes my stomach rumble again, louder this time, and I glance back at the berry bush.

Focus, Bea. I scold myself. The berries will still be there when you’re done.

“Oh, Lolly, what I wouldn't give for some jam. Have you ever tried it?”

She disappears over the ridge.

“Guess my story’s over, then,” I grumble.

Footsteps approach from within the forest, and I fumble back, using my stick to disturb the ground around me so Brennen doesn’t suspect I was up to something.

I’m just settling back down to pretend to be drawing when he stalks from the trees, his movements efficient and precise, eyes sliding throughout the glen as if once again searching for threats. I fight to keep my voice even, out of breath from scrambling to cover my tracks. “Back so soon?”

“Washwoman,” he starts, likely to order me to complete some new ridiculous task, but I hold up a hand. I can't bear to be called that for however long this man will be my shadow. The constant reminder that the washer of souls is all I am, and all I will ever be.

“Bea,” I say. “Please. Call me Bea.”

Brennen’s jaw bunches, but he does not acknowledge my words. Doesn’t move at all, as if hearing my name had been a shock. Is it because he doesn’t want to humanize me? It’s easy to end a life when you believe it belongs to a beast. A monster. To not have to look your fellow man in the eye as you swipe your blade across their throat.

But why does he want to end my life at all?

I clear my throat. “Now that we’ve been properly introduced, are you going to tell me why you want to kill me?” I ask with a surge of bravery. It would certainly be easier to tolerate his presence here if I knew the reason, at least.

Brennen studies me for a moment. “Aye, Washwoman,” he says, drawing out the word, and I grit my teeth. “I’ll tell you.”

Shock ripples through my entire body. I hadn’t thought he’d agree so easily. Had been certain, in fact, he’d argue, or maybe not say anything at all.

He crouches in front of me. “I’ll tell you why I’m going to kill you if you tell me why you murdered the people of Vengach.”

My stomach plummets. I should’ve known better than to think he’d actually be amiable, willing to answer without torturing me first.

“Tell me,” he demands. I wait for him to catch me. To demand an answer, but it never comes.

“It’s none of your business,” I say, growing bolder by the second.

His jaw clenches. “The bloody hell it isnae. It’s why I was sent here. To make sure you cannae escape and go on a murderous rampage again.”

I close my eyes, “It was a long time ago.” I stagger to my bed, bracing myself for the echo of screams beginning to clang through my skull. It happens every time I think about that night. My mind’s way of protecting me from the horrors of what I did, I think.

Suddenly, I don’t have the energy to try to get him to leave or answer my questions. The past days have been draining. The deaths and the goddess. Kenna. Not to mention Brennen’s abrupt appearance. I don’t want to think about any of it right now, let alone my past. I lie down on the matted grass and moss, rolling to my side, trying to block out his voice. Hoping the pain will ease.

It doesn’t work. Just as I knew they would, the screams grow louder. The sound of my hands ending innocent lives.

Brennen’s boots click against stone as he moves to stand in front of me. “It will be easier for both of us if you tell me on your own.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, the screams now a cacophony in my skull, pain radiating into my temples.

Brennen’s voice is closer when he speaks again, just behind my head. His breath is warm on my neck, and I shiver. “Dinnae force me to pull the answer from you in other ways,” he says, his voice dropping. There’s a threat there, sharp and pointed, and I hear the word he doesn’t say—torture, as if the pain his questions bring isn’t torture enough.

I shake my head, covering my ears as the agony dives from my temples to burrow deep into my brain.

“What was your reason for slitting their throats?” he says louder, forcing me to hear his question.

“Stop.” The screams grow impossibly louder, unbearable, and my vision tunnels.

“Why did you end their lives? A mother. A Father. Daughters. A family that did nothing to harm you or anyone else?”