Page 17 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

But it’s not a man who steps from the treeline. It’s a woman.

I suck in a sharp breath at the terror I see in her green eyes.

She’s far too young to know such fear.

“Are you the Washwoman?” she asks, her voice shaking. Every few seconds, she glances over her shoulder, her posture tense as if she’s preparing to run.

I exhale—not from relief that this isn’t the he the goddess warned is coming for me, though it does pulse faintly—but from sorrow.

Because the woman before me has been beaten so severely, I can barely see the bright green of her left eye beneath the swelling. Her lip is split and scabbed, and bruises bloom like flowers along her temple and arms. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t weep either.

She’s beautiful beneath the blood and bruises, with long butter blonde hair hanging in soft waves nearly down to her navel.

“I am,” I whisper.

She steps closer, her gaze flicking to my bloody ankle. For a moment, understanding passes between us—two women in pain.

Yet while I may deserve my suffering, she does not. A heavy sadness settles in my throat, squeezing my lungs until it's hard to breathe.

“You have a question,” I say softly, and she nods, her eyes never leaving mine. I hold my hand out, and she swallows, her brows drawing together as she takes a step back.

“You have to catch me to trigger the magic.” I soften my voice so as to not scare her. Most don’t know of this part of my curse. The only ones who seem to are those from the villages close by, as if they’ve chosen to keep it a secret from outsiders.

Her eyes go wary as she stares at my arm, but she steps forward anyway, gently wrapping her fingers around my wrist. Her dedication dàn to the Weaver stares at me, dark against her fair skin. “Tell me, Washwoman, the answer I seek.”

She swallows, her eyes filling with tears, and I nod in encouragement. “Tell me where I can go to be safe—from my husband.” Her voice breaks on the last word, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “Somewhere he will never find me.”

My heart shatters, but hope quickly seeps into the cracks. The answer floods my mind with complete certainty, the magic of the curse vibrating through my bones, humming inside my skull and threading through my bloodstream. A vision flashes, golden sunlight and glittering water. Rowan trees and sphagnum moss.

“The Faerie Pools,” I say. “Do not return. There’s a hut hidden atop the cliffs—shaded by pines. A kind woman lives there. She will help you.”

The young woman finally breaks, a sob bursting from her bruised throat.

“You’re sure?” she asks.

“Yes,” I breathe, grateful for my curse for the first time in a century.

I usher her forward, pointing her in the right direction, but my chain stops me short. Pain sears through my ankle, and I suck in a sharp breath. A buzz spreads through my mind, and a sudden terror grips my heart.

“Now. You have to go now,” I say. I don’t know how I’m so sure, only that I am. Whoever did this to her is coming.

He is coming.

She hesitates, her eyes flicking to my chain once more. She gestures toward it. “Is there anything I can⁠—”

The buzzing in my mind grows louder, painful, vibrating against the inside of my skull.

“You have to go,” I repeat. “Now.”

Her eyes glisten, but she nods. “Thank you.”

The buzz becomes a roar, and black spots dot my vision as I shove her forward.

“Run!” I shout, an urgency building within me like I’ve never felt before. I can’t explain it, but terror surges through my veins, chased by the impossible feeling that I’ve lived this moment before and already know how it will end.

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t waste a second. The woman vanishes into the trees as if she were never here.

I rush back to the river’s edge, splashing cold water on my face in an attempt to calm my heaving breaths.