Page 110 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

She struck down the Three who ruled with so much pride, and their magic unraveled, flowing back into the earth, and with a kiss to each of the mortal sisters' brows, she blessed them.

Their bodies healed, and their lives extended past what had once been measured. But the goddess did not grant them endless reign, lest the temptation of unfettered power become, once again, irresistible. The sisters, knowing they would never succumb to such things, agreed to rule, and with the goddess’s blessing, they clawed their way through the After and back above, ready to govern as one.

Until once again, they didn’t.

And once again, the monsters came.

Garrick’s stare grows sharper as I finish, and when I look up, he’s leaning forward, arms braced on his knees, examining me.

“Why didn’t they?” Saoirse asks.

Garrick doesn’t take his eyes from mine as he answers her. “That’s what makes the story so scary, isn’t it? Even the sisters who had once loved each other wholly and truly fell victim to the temptation of power. If left to rule too long, everyone does. It’s a tale as old as time.”

She yawns. “I should think I’d like to be a Fate. I’d have all the magic I could want, and I would do good with it. I wouldn’t go bad, like the sisters.”

I ruffle her hair. “I have no doubt of that,” I say. She smiles softly, closing her eyes. “Alright. Time for bed,” I say, tickling her sides. She groans, but stands, as do my other siblings. When I’m finished saying goodnight, Garrick is still sitting in his chair, staring into the fire.

“A dram?” I ask.

“Aye,” he says, and I notice a letter in his hands. He breaks the tense silence as I hand him his glass. He takes a sip, raising the piece of paper. “I received word earlier of a ceatharnaich group discovered in Braemuir. Another in Dalrannoch.”

I shake my head, settling back into my chair to take a sip of whiskey. The liquid burns, warming my belly immediately.

“Why is it, you think, so many resistance groups form before the Epoch?” Garrick continues, but this time, the question is probing. He wants an answer.

“Why the sudden interest in the Epoch tonight?”

He lifts his chin, waiting for me to respond, and I sigh.

“Is it no enough that they wish to overthrow the Fates?” I ask.

“Have you ever stopped to think about why they want to overthrow them to begin with?”

I stiffen, still unsure if I can speak my true feelings aloud. “They fear the monsters that will come. Misplace their anger that the Fates are not able to protect everyone.”

He shakes his head, laughing darkly. “You really think the queens couldn’t protect every last subject, should they care to?” A dangerous ember of hope flickers in my chest. His words are just as close to treason as my thoughts about the disappearing women.

“Whatever your question is, Garrick, ask it,” I say.

The fire crackles in the hearth, a loaded silence pressing between us. “Am I wrong, that maybe I'm not the only one beginning to doubt our queens?”

The air is stolen from my lungs. I try not to react, because what if this is a trick? His way of learning if I’m a traitor myself.

I dinnae think it is, but how can I be sure? My eyes dart to my siblings' bedrooms.

“Brennen,” he stops my racing thoughts with a hand on my arm. “You've known me your whole life. Do you really think I would come into your home where your family is sleeping and try to trap you? That I would turn you in or hope to see you punished? No.” He shakes his head emphatically. “I'm asking you this because it is how I feel. And based on the questions you've been asking, the things you’ve been saying, I'm wondering if maybe you are, too.”

I hesitate, and the disappointment in Garrick’s eyes is clear. He wishes I trusted him, but Garrick doubting the Cutter is beyond my wildest imaginings.

“Yer going to make me say it? Fine.” He sets down his whiskey. “I know you noticed the young man in Iomallrùin, just as I did. Why do you think I didnae question him? He was clearly ceatharnaich, or at the very least, will end up as one. I willnae kill one of my own.”

I freeze, his words piercing my chest like an arrow.

“You’re ceatharnaich?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

“Aye. It’s why I no longer patrol. Why I’ve embedded myself within the Cutter’s castle. I made myself useful to her, so I can gather information and wouldnae have to kill the ones I fight alongside.”

Unexpected discomfort settles in my stomach. I’ve killed ceatharnaich, too. More than I can count, fully believing I was doing the right thing. That I was protecting the kingdom from those who would wish to destroy it. But what if I was wrong all along? What if the ceatharnaich are trying to protect us from what the Fates are doing to us, leaving us vulnerable when the Epoch comes?