Page 99 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

There will be a limit now to how long these visions will continue, for surely the Cutter won’t allow these deaths outside of her control to go on. I have no choice but to find the last two pieces of the spell before she finds whoever is killing these women. It’s my only chance to be free of this prison without spending another century searching pockets or dying at the edge of Brennen’s sword.

I steady my resolve, wrapping it around myself like armor. In my next vision, I will find what I need to break this curse, and I will find a way to help these women as I do it. I will end my part in whatever is happening to them so I can go to my rest knowing I’ve done all I can to atone. That, even despite the things I’ve done, I’m still a good person.

The thought is as comforting as a heavy cloak, and suddenly, I am so very tired. I lie down, wrapping myself in Brennen’s blankets. It feels as if his heat remains in the fabric, and it’s comforting in a way. My eyes grow heavy, and I roll over to sleep. This will all be over soon.

Brennen will make sure of it.

42

BRENNEN

Doimhneachd nan Dà looms in the distance as I approach the Cutter’s castle. The loch shared by the three Fates glistens in the moonlight, calm and peaceful, a striking contrast to the stormy unease raging through my body. The island in the middle is barely visible through the smir, the enormous cairn of stones built upon it as prominent as ever, and not for the first time, I wish I could go there.

The architecture of it is beautiful, and I'm certain the view from atop would be stunning. I think I would brave the long swim, especially on a night like this, when the cold water might steady me before I meet with the Cutter. I'm certain I would, in fact, if not for the Fates’ pets—the enormous black serpents that call the loch home, guarding the Fates’ castles from behind.

I scan the water for glimpses of their razor-sharp scales breaking the surface, but the water remains completely still. It’s almost more eerie, not seeing them, knowing the monstrous beasts lurk somewhere beneath the surface, completely hidden. It's rumored they remain from an Epoch hundreds of years ago and were allowed to survive the Fates’ wrath in exchange for their protection.

I've always found that curious. Why fortify the only area protected by their other sisters? Why not create a moat in front, where they are the most vulnerable? Is it possible it’s because the Fates do not trust their sisters as much as they say?

I shake the thought away as I arrive at the portcullis. No one is guarding the door, but I’m not surprised. The kingdom is asleep. Only a fool would try to enter at this hour.

Let me be a fool.

It would be a bigger mistake to wait. If Cailleach learned I had information about the missing women and did not share it immediately, I fear there would be no forgiveness.

I bang my fist against the thick wood, then step back to wait. It takes a few minutes, but eventually, the enormous gate lifts. Garrick strides forward, his usually jolly eyes widening in concern when he sees me. He looks well, his hair cropped shorter than the last time I saw him, beard trimmed and well-groomed.

“What’s happened? What are you doing here?” he asks, clasping my forearm and pulling me into a tight hug.

“I need to see Cailleach as soon as possible,” I say, returning the hug before striding toward the front of the castle. Garrick nods to the guards outside, and they open the doors without hesitation. There’s a sense of deja vu as I enter between the enormous black monstrosities. Has it really only been a month since I last walked through them? How could so much have changed in such a short time?

“Wait here,” Garrick says, disappearing toward Cailleach’s quarters.

I push down the dread and anticipation coiling in my stomach, studying the portraits in the hall to distract me as I wait. The largest sits in the middle of the wall—a quarter-dragon-tall image of the Cutter reclined on her throne of bones, her skin so pale, it’s nearly translucent, a thread turning to dust in her jewel-covered fingers. There’s a hint of a smile on her lips, and her eyes are bright. It’s chilling, and I can’t help but wonder whose life she ended while sitting for this portrait.

On her right sits the Measurer. Warm brown skin and black hair woven into an elaborate plait that trails down her back. Her eyes are closed, her serious expression emphasizing her high cheekbones, and she holds both hands out, a length of thread draped across them.

And then, on her right, the Weaver. She sits at a loom, red hair loose, her hands raised as she spins the threads with her magic. The window is open, and light shines through, highlighting the softness of her features and rosy skin. Of the three of them, she seems the kindest, a soft smile pulling at her lips.

There's little resemblance between them, except for their eyes. Unnaturally blue, all-knowing, and as endless as the sea. I step forward, and they seem to follow me. It’s eerie, and I shift to my left. Three large strides. Their eyes remain fixed on me, and I fight the shiver running down my spine, forcing my eyes away from theirs. Magic, surely.

My gaze slips from the gilded frames to the ornate wallpaper. Black with gold embellishments—the shapes of bones and thistles intertwining with Cailleach’s dàn. But where the wall meets the corner, there’s a sliver of blue. With a quick look over my shoulder, I hurry to examine it. I listen for the sound of footsteps as I peel away a strip roughly the size of my palm.

Beneath the black and gold, the wallpaper bears a different pattern. The thistles remain, but there are no bones, and the dàn is different. The difference is slight, but I notice it immediately.

Extra lines cross through the center, and the curves are deeper. I lean closer, trying to discover each change. Looking for clues as to why it was ever changed at all.

My dàn of danger flares, and I jump back, pressing the wallpaper back into place the best I’m able. Only a moment later, Garrick appears. I wait for him to crack a joke, but his expression remains stern.

“She’s ready for you.” He leans closer so that only I can hear him. “Be warned. She isnae happy about being woken.” I nod, steeling myself for her ire, quickly rolling down my sleeves before my missing dàn can be noticed. With a deep breath, I push open the doors.

At the end of the long aisle, Cailleach rests on her throne. She's wearing a dressing gown, and her long hair is braided down her back. Her lips are red, as if she’s been drinking wine, and even in the night, her fingers are covered in rings. Blood-red rubies and sparkling diamonds and brilliant blue sapphires. Does she ever take them off?

“Leave us,” she tells Garrick, her voice icy. He exits the room quickly, closing the door firmly behind him.

There’s a flash of relief when I realize Athair isn’t present, but it’s short-lived. Cailleach’s eyes bore into mine, anger radiating off her in waves.

I drop to a knee. “My queen⁠—”