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—”
“Why are you not at your post?” she asks, skipping all pretense. I dinnae dare to look up.
“Something has happened. Something I thought you would want to know about as quickly as possible. I rode through the night to get here.”
“So you left the Washwoman alone?”
“I’ve assigned someone to check on her. Someone I think you should consider recruiting as a Dìdeanair. They will see she doesnae disappear.”
Cailleach’s eyes narrow, and the room grows cold. “You left her with a civilian?”
I stiffen at her sharp, disapproving tone, and I’m suddenly glad I did not name Theo as the one I asked for help. “Aye. But I can assure you, The Washwoman is secure. Her chain holds, and I checked her wards myself just before leaving. Escape is impossible.”
There's a long stretch of silence, the weight of her judgment so heavy on my shoulders, it’s a fight to remain upright. Her fingernails click on her armrest as she taps her fingers in a rolling metronome.
Click, click, click, click.
Click, click, click, click.
She sighs. “Rise and speak, then. But I will warn you, should your message not warrant waking me in the night, I will not be pleased.”
I shiver, but rise. “It’s about the disappearances. I’ve learned something about the women who are going missing.” Her head snaps up, her eyes narrowing.
“What have you learned?”
I swallow, squeezing my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “I—I do not think the women are alive.”
She leans forward, and for a moment, I wonder if she can breathe fire, just like Athair. “And why would you think that?” she asks, her voice ice.
I do not cower. “The Washwoman has been having visions. Instead of death, she’s seeing life.
Happy moments. She thought maybe you had changed her punishment.
But— I witnessed one of her visions. Forced her to describe it.
It was a woman from my village. Betty. I sent a letter of sympathy about her death to her sister, and she responded.
She is one of the disappeared, and yet, she is dead. ”
Cailleach’s fingers still as she grips the arm of her chair.
“Dead?” She hurls the word at me like an accusation, and the anger in her voice makes the hair on my neck stand on end. I scramble to find the words that will make her understand.
“I know we believed they disappeared and were alive somewhere. That you hadn’t seen their deaths or cut their threads, but these women who are missing… Their clothes have been washed. Every one of them.”
She slams her hands on her chair, rising to her feet. Her expression darkens, her lips twisting into a sneer.
“How dare you?” She lowers her chin. “You actually believe there are deaths occurring within my kingdom I do not know about?”
I have to fight not to step back from her fury. “I beg your forgiveness, but that is exactly what I think. Someone is committing treason. Someone is killing outside of your power.”
She waves a hand as if dismissing me, but her eyes flash darker. “Impossible.”
But is it? There are thousands upon thousands of threads in this room.
I’ve stood here and fought against the urge to look at them, only noticing the sheer number of them in my periphery as they float into her hands when it’s time for a life to end.
How they crumble to dust and disappear when it does.
If someone somehow accessed power that could sever the threads magically from afar, without needing her to do it, would she even notice?
I dinnae dare ask.
Cailleach narrows her eyes at me. “Did I not tell you the Washwoman would aim to fool you? Manipulate you? Are you really so weak,” she spits the word like it’s poison on her tongue, “that she was able to break you so easily?”
“I dinnae think she's lying,” I say softly, but firmly.
“Silence.” She doesn’t raise her voice this time, but the harsh softness of her tone is even more terrifying than obvious fury.
“It is not possible for deaths to occur outside of my will. The only way a life ends in this realm is between these fingers.” She holds her hand up, and several threads float into it.
Seven of them.
I nearly vomit, my breath ripping from my lungs in a violent whoosh.
Why did I come here? I knew Cailleach wouldn’t take kindly to my concerns, that she would be defensive, but I truly thought her love of her kingdom—her duty to it—would be stronger than her pride.
My hands shake as the threads settle on her fingers, and I clench them into fists.
“I— I apologize. ”I bow deeply. “Please, forgive me for my misguided concerns.”
She smiles at me, a cruel twist of her lips beneath dark, rage-filled eyes. “Are you not capable of the task I have given you?”
I shake my head, raising my hands. “I am. I was mistaken. I only thought—”
“I wouldn't blame you if it was too much.” Her voice is calculated as she lifts one of the threads, and I nearly leap forward and rip it from her hands. Whose is it? Cillian’s? Saoirse’s?
“Though I thought, with your history, with your Marsaili, you would be beyond her manipulation. I thought with your unbreakable vow and your vengeful heart, you would be blind to her deception.”
“I am capable. I thought I discovered information that would help, but even though my intent was pure, I was clearly wrong. I’m only a human, unable to fully grasp the immensity of your power.
” I step forward, pushing resolve into my voice until it is as hard as steel.
“My mission hasnae changed.” I lift up my hand to show my unbreakable vow.
“I want vengeance. I want to do your bidding, and when the time comes, I want to kill the Washwoman,” I say, but the words feel wrong coming out of my mouth.
Cailleach sighs dramatically, but the anger in her eyes lessens a fraction at my groveling.
“I think some time away from the Washwoman would do you well. My dear sister is concerned about a village in Tìr an Tomhais. Iomallrùin. She believes a pocket of ceatharnaich could be forming there. You will go there and investigate. After you are certain none remain, you are to go home. Visit your Marsaili’s grave.
See your family. I think it would do you well to lay eyes on them again.
You never know how long you will have with them, you know.
” She strokes the threads, and sheer panic explodes in my chest.
“I dinnae want time away. I want to help you stop whatever is happening to these women.”
“You said you wish to do my bidding. You will go where I say. You will remind yourself of what happens to those who think they know better than the Fates. You will see your siblings, and you will remember why you will not fail me again.” She meets my gaze.
“Now go.” She dismisses me with a flick of her wrist. “Do not return to the river until a fortnight has passed. Should the Washwoman disappear in that time…” she trails off, but her meaning is clear.
I fight against the urge to stare at the threads. My siblings. The people I love most in this world.
“I understand.”
A cruel smile spreads on her lips. “Garrick?” she calls. The heavy doors open again, and he enters.
“You are to escort Brennen to Iomallrùin to assess for ceatharnaich, and then home. Ensure he does not return to the river until a full fortnight has passed.”
“Of course, Cailleach,” he says with a bow, his eyes finding mine and narrowing with concern.
I bow, then turn to leave, and Garrick follows close behind.
“I do so hope the Washwoman doesn't disappear while you’re gone,” Cailleach calls after me, her voice light with mock sincerity.
But as I walk into the night, her cackle following me into the crisp air, I am certain that both my family and the Washwoman have never been in more danger.