Page 146 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

“Move again, and I'll gut you like a fish,” he hisses.

I can barely feel the pain through my fear. Not fear that he'll stab me again, that feels like an inevitability at this point, but that he will know he has to catch me and ask me where his wife is.

Is that how my nightmare will come to be? I’ll be forced to tell him where Kenna went, and he will go to the Faerie Pools in search of her? I can only hope she is far away by now. Somewhere safe, hidden away where she can never be found. But what of the woman who lives there? I cannot fail her.

He leans down, lowering his voice to a near growl. “Now, this is your last chance.” He grips my arm tighter. “Tell me, Washwoman, the answer⁠—”

Dread pools in my stomach, hot and sticky, and I scream, cutting off his words.

I grab the knife from my apron pocket, my dàn of weapon accuracy igniting as I stab it directly into the side of his neck, exactly where I aimed. Hamish shouts, knocking my hand away from the hilt of the dagger.

“You wretched bitch!” he screams, ripping it from his neck and throwing it to the ground. Blood spurts from the wound, not enough to kill him, but maybe it will slow him down. “Where is she?”

“I'll never tell you! I'd rather die!” I shout, turning and trying to break free of his grip. Maybe I can get to the knife and strike him again. The worst he can do is injure me, and if I lose enough blood, I'll hopefully go unconscious before he can ask me his question again. Or maybe his anger will overcome him, and he’ll strike me hard enough to allow me to enter the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness.

He yanks me back, stabbing the dagger into my stomach.

“Brennen!” Pain blinds me, ripping through my body and turning into a scream that tears from my throat.

It's utter agony, but I have felt it before and survived.

I fight back, reaching my bloodstained hands out to claw at his face.

“You fucking whore!” he seethes, ripping the dagger up toward my sternum. He takes it out again, stabbing me through the side of my rib cage, the angle changing as it hits bone. I scream again, my vision going black and fuzzy at the edges.

“You bastard! You'll never know where she went!”

“Never. Is that right?” he laughs, an evil, maniacal sound as he stabs me again, this time in the upper chest. Blood squirts on his shirt, bright red against the white. My legs give out from under me, and the man doesn’t bother to try to hold me up as I fall onto the hard ground, stepping back to leer at me. “How many stabs will it take to break the Washwoman?” he taunts, leaning down and placing his blade across my neck.

I look toward the river, just out of my reach. If I could get there, would it sweep me away from him? Or even better, could the current carry him off into the After?

“Tell me where she is, and maybe I won't slit your throat.”

I spit in his face, and he roars in anger, butting the hilt of his weapon against my head. My skull cracks, and black dots blur my vision, but the world does not fade to black. He raises the dagger overhead, blind with rage, and begins to swing it down towards my face.

But it never reaches me.

It falls to the side of my head, the man's scarred hand still wrapped firmly around it. He screams in agony, blood spurting from the stump of his arm, and I scramble back.

The man is on his knees now, a sword across his throat. Brennen stands behind him, chest heaving and eyes black with rage.

My relief is sudden and overwhelming, and somehow, expected. Of course, Brennen is here to save me. Of course, he will make everything better.

“Apologize,” Brennen growls, his voice as sharp as the blade in his hand.

“I’m no apologizing to that monster!”

Brennen shoves him onto his stomach, digging a knee into his back and grabbing him by the hair. He lifts his head, returning the sword to his throat.

“You will apologize to her. You will apologize for hurting her. For being far worse than anything she could ever be. She's no the monster. You are.” His words are low and dark, and more dangerous than the blade in his hand. “Apologize, or I’ll slit your throat. And I’ll enjoy doing it. I will relish every second of ending your wretched existence.”

Shock ripples through me. This isn’t the Brennen I know. The one who believes in justice so strongly, he’s often blinded by it. The one who would never enjoy causing someone physical pain. Who certainly wouldn’t enjoy ending a life.

Except… I think maybe this time, he would.

The man sputters, and Brennen drags the blade to the side, blood trickling from the small wound that opens up beneath it.

“Alright! I'm sorry,” he hisses. “Just let me go. You already took my hand, is that no enough?”