59. Brennen
brENNEN
Shame burns in my chest, my palm on fire as I lie next to a sleeping Bea. I hadn’t technically touched her at all. I think it’s the only reason I’m able to live with myself, and yet, I’d still felt her. Experienced her in a way that was wholly inappropriate.
She’s the woman who killed my geallta, and even knowing that down to my bones, I’d fucked her anyway. Not in the way my body had demanded, but she’d still come against my fingers, and I’d held her as if she was my deepest desire, pretending the hand around my cock was her, wet and hot and mine.
And now I cannae stop hearing the sounds she made. The sharp breaths she’d taken.
I shouldn't know these things. I shouldn't know what the Bean-Nighe looks like when she comes undone. I'd thought it when I slid my hand between her legs, but even knowing it, I hadn’t been able to stop myself. I’d ached to touch her since the moment I'd seen her bathing in the river. Before, even.
I’d thought that maybe, if I could bring her pleasure just once, I could put the need to feel her body behind me.
But it’s the complete opposite. I want to wake her. To touch her again, this time without anything between us. Dàn be damned. I dinnae care if she takes them.
But I do care about continuing to betray Marsaili.
I shake my head, the tent suddenly suffocating. I can still smell her desire in the air. On my fingers.
“Bea,” I say, shaking her.
“Hmm?” she says sleepily. Sated.
“I’m going to meet Harold. I’ll be back later.”
She nods, making a soft noise of acknowledgement. I do not try to wake her further. I’ll likely be back before she realizes I’m gone.
I stand, walking to the river to wash Bea’s scent off my fingers, but as I lean down, I find I cannot force my hands into the water. If this is all I can have of her, then let me hold onto it for a few hours longer.
I turn to leave, but the circle of branches sticking out of the ground catches my eye.
The memory of forcing Bea to walk her perimeter flashes through my mind, gutting me.
Not only had I caused her pain, her shackle cutting into her skin with every agonizing step, but I had erected an unending reminder of her prison walls.
I shouldnae waste time before going to see Harold, not when he’ll be waiting for me, but before I can stop myself, I’m marching toward the boundary, ripping the branches from the ground.
I cross the river, my legs freezing, but I barely feel it, the shame in my blood growing hotter with each stake I remove.
It’s not until every last stick has been taken down that I whistle for Sable and mount, breathing a little easier as the mare gallops toward town. Bea will never again wake to those damned branches taunting her, constantly reminding her that she will never again go beyond her shore.
Well before we get to the village gates, I stop Sable, hopping off so as to not alert anyone to my presence with the beat of hooves. My dàn of warning remains silent as I approach Harold's house, but still, I try to keep my footsteps quiet.
If all goes to plan, no one will know I was here. I do not knock, instead slipping through his front door unannounced.
Harold looks up as I close the door with a quiet click. He’s seated by the hearth, a dram in each hand. He holds one out to me, and I take it, moving to the opposite chair.
“I didnae think you were coming.” He stifles a yawn.
I take a sip, and the liquid burns my throat. “I wanted to be sure there’d be no prying eyes. Theo said it was important.”
“Aye,” he says. “I think I have learned how to kill the Washwoman.”
I almost drop my glass. Just moments ago, I’d been pleasuring her, and now I’m to discuss how to kill her? “What do you mean? She cannae be killed.”
“No, she just cannae be killed yet. But you know all magic can be undone, Brennen. That includes whatever it is keeping her alive.”
I set my glass down, my stomach twisting. “You’re speaking in riddles. Tell me plainly,” I say, though I dinnae want to know. Want to return to the river, oblivious to whatever information Harold has uncovered.
Harold stares into the fire. “The journal I gave you, it's not the only one I have.” He meets my eyes. “There are things you dinnae ken, Brennen. Things you need to learn about the Fates you serve.”
Garrick's words echo in my mind.
“Whatever you have, Harold, you need to burn it. Anything you’re hiding here. I wouldn't be surprised if the guardians start searching houses for their own entertainment.”
“It's hidden well enough.”
“You're putting yourself and your family at risk.”
“My family knows nothing of it. I’m certain they’ll be fine. As for me. I think there are some things worth risking your life for.”
I lean forward, forcing him to meet my eyes. He’s outmatched here, and I do not want him to lose his life for nothing. “No. Not when you cannae change anything. The Fates hold all the power.”
“Not all of it. That's what I’m trying to tell you. The Fates were not meant to control all magic.”
“I know this already. Magic was once part of the fabric of the kingdom, and they took it.”
He takes a slow sip. “Aye. But did you know there’s a place they cannae control? A place where magic flows free.”
He pulls out a small book and opens it. There's a square carved out of the middle, and inside, folded up parchment and what seems to be a dragon scale.
“I was going through my things, making sure nothing was visible in case your friends did decide to search the village, and I found this.” He holds it up.
“This book has sat on the top shelf my entire life, and I've never opened it.” He unfolds the pages, and the parchment matches that of the journal.
“This is what was ripped out of the back.”
“Aye.” He hands them to me.
I have finally found a way to kill the woman at the river. It is rumored a dragon scale dipped in the Faerie Pools under a half moon and the blessing of the fair folk can end any life. I believe the dragons will lead me there, but only once the Epoch ends and travel is safe will we go.
My blood runs cold. Could it be this easy? Could this really be the key to ending the curse? The idea doesn't fill me with relief. It fills me with terror, and my palm burns as I pick up the onyx dragon scale. Magic pierces my skin. A warm buzz, so intense, it almost aches.
I snap the book shut and hand it back to Harold, pocketing the scale.
“You’ll do it then?” he asks.
My throat burns. “In time.” The words taste like poison as they leave my mouth, and Harold's eyebrows draw together.
He shakes his head. “No. She killed my wife, Brennen. End this.”
I don’t bother telling him again it’s not true. “There are things I need to learn first. Things Be— the Washwoman can help me with. She’s having visions of the disappearing women.”
“Och. Why do I not feel the fire of vengeance in you anymore? The Washwoman is evil. You need to remember that. You say she has a connection to the women going missing? I believe it. She is the cause of all of this, Brennen. Dinnae let yourself forget it.”
Pressure builds in my chest, and my mind spins.
“I know what she's done,” I say, standing.
My vision tunnels as I leave, the unfairness of it all heavy on my shoulders. Bea’s moment of madness that ended in the deaths. If her mind was broken, was it even her fault? She didn't choose to kill them.
I'm so lost in my thoughts, I almost miss it. My dàn of warning tingles, and I freeze. In the pitch black, I cannae see who may be out there, but I feel their eyes on me. The tingling of the dàn turns to a fiery burn.
I pick up my pace, certain I need to get back to the river, but it is too late. I've already been seen.
The question is, by who?