29. Brennen
brENNEN
Iwait for relief. For the knot in my throat to loosen and the storm inside me to settle.
It doesnae come.
But before I can process any of it, the Washwoman stutters, water bubbling from her mouth. Her eyes open unnaturally wide as she rolls to her side and retches, violent heaves of muddy river water pouring from her mouth, just like Harold’s granda described it in the journal.
It’s then that relief crashes over me. The self-loathing that follows directly behind it is immediate and so intense, I nearly vomit.
My palm burns, white-hot, and guilt eats away at my insides like I swallowed acid.
The last thing I should feel is relief when the oath sworn in my blood hasnae been completed.
I look away, unable to bear the way her ashen skin and bloodshot eyes make my heart stutter. The need to check her for injuries overwhelms me, and my gaze trails along her exposed skin, searching for blood or bruises. She seems uninjured, and I relax a fraction—until I see it.
My stomach drops. There, located on Bea’s leg, is my dàn of memory.
“Bloody hell,” I say, standing up to look at my arms. “Mallachd ort!” My dàn for truth is gone, too.
A flash of fury works its way through me, but this time it’s not aimed at Bea. She'd been unconscious, drowning in the river. It’s impossible she did this intentionally.
It’s myself I’m angry with.
Not even angry. I’m enraged.
Because this wasn’t deceit or treason on Bea’s behalf. It was my mistake. One that caused me to lose one of the most important dàn I possessed.
“What happened?” she croaks as her vomiting ceases, rolling to her back and squinting against the fat raindrops landing on her face. Her breaths are still shallow, but some color has returned to her face, though she continues to shiver, and bubbles of froth cling to her lips.
“The glen flooded. It swept you out.” She looks at me blankly, as if she doesnae understand. “You drowned…” I say, gesturing to the river.
“Drowned… The water—”
Her eyes go wide, and she stands abruptly, scrambling back into the water, hands plunged in the river.
“What are you doing?” I shout, but she continues forward, two steps, three, then stills.
A sob bursts from her throat, and she collapses, the water coming up to just below her breasts.
“Thank the goddess,” she whispers under her breath. “Thank you. Thank you.”
Shock ripples through me, followed by disbelief. “You're thanking the goddess for drowning you?”
“I’m not thanking her for drowning me. I’m thanking her for saving my bed. It’s all I have. The only thing that’s mine,.”
“Are you daft?” I ask. “Get out of the water, Bea.”
“I won’t let it wash away. I’ll be fine here,” she says, pulling her knees to her chest.
I shake my head, taking a single step forward. “Come back to dry land before you’re pulled out again,” I order, eyes scanning the water. It’s calmed significantly, but it’s still much higher than usual, and muddy from the flood.
Her teeth begin to chatter, and she winces, her hand flying to her shoulder.
I freeze, the realization of what touching her cost me washing through me all at once. A hint of black peeks out from the neckline of her dress. It wasn’t just my dàn of memory and truth she took, but warmth.
Her shivers ease in seconds, and her breath catches, her eyes filling with wonder. “What’s happening? Why am I….” She looks up, her eyes going wide. “Why am I warm?”
I touch my shoulder where my dàn for warmth sat only minutes ago. Already, the chill is pushing through my wet clothes, goosebumps rising along my arms. “I touched your skin when I pulled you out.” My self-hatred grows.
“You…pulled me out? You dove in after me?” she asks. I dinnae answer, and the silence sits heavy between us. “Thank you,” she whispers, her fingers never leaving the dàn on her shoulder, and I know why. She's feeling heat beneath those fingertips for the first time in a century.
A fraction of my fury eases at the awe on her face, but shame instantly replaces it. I shouldnae care if she is warm. Shouldnae care that she is experiencing a rare moment of relief from her torment.
“If the river comes again,” I say, lowering my voice. “I willnae save you.” It comes out as a threat, but that’s not what it is. It’s a promise to myself, but the words leave a bitter taste in my mouth.
She nods.
“I understand,” she says with a small smile. She pulls her knees to her chest and looks up at the sky, rain glistening on her freckled skin.
I want to ask if she's going mad. If the lack of oxygen damaged her brain, because I dinnae understand why she would risk the pain of drowning for a stone pillow and the thread she hides beneath it. I curse under my breath, rubbing my arms, suddenly freezing.
“You've been warned,” I say, disappearing into my tent. I strip off my wet clothes, changing into something dry and rushing to crawl beneath the blankets. I close my eyes and try to sleep, but her face flashes in my mind. Grey skin and blue lips.
It should be a comforting sight, but it makes me feel ill.
Wind blows through the tent, and I shiver. It took me years to earn those dàn. Anger once again works its way through my blood, but it doesnae warm me, nor does it burn away the nausea churning in my gut.
I’m wholly unused to feeling so off-kilter, and I cannae stand it.
My teeth begin to chatter, and I grab several more blankets.
The ones Soairse insisted I pack. I picture my littlest sister rolling them up with care, worried I would be cold.
I’d told her it was a waste of space, but she’d stuffed them into a sack with her little hands anyway.
“Don’t you want to be cozy?” she’d asked.
I hadn’t been able to argue with that, and now, I’m grateful to her.
It’s going to be a verra cold night.