65. Bea
BEA
Familiar golden sunlight spreads across the floorboards, and I know I'm dreaming before I even hear the humming and tapping. The now-familiar loom comes into focus, but this time, the woman moves, and I see her face.
She is young, stunning, with hair the color of gold and eyes so blue, they look like the depths of the sea. I try to open my mouth to speak. To warn her, but once again, no sound comes out. My feet will not move. As always, I can only watch.
There's a knock at the door, and tears well in my eyes at what I know will come next, except this time, I do not see her death immediately.
This time, when she opens the door, the Faerie Pools come into view, unmistakable as the brightest star.
Turquoise water sparkles in the sun, waterfalls and springs cascading into one another with tall pines surrounding them.
I hold my breath, straining to see through the doorway, but I still can't tell who is standing outside. The blonde woman smiles warmly. “Did you climb all the way up here just for a visit?” she asks, and suddenly, I know who I’m seeing.
There’s a hut hidden atop the cliffs—shaded by pines. A kind woman lives there. She will help you.
My words to Kenna circle in my mind. This has to be the woman I sent her to.
But why am I dreaming of her?
A gloved hand draws a blade across her throat, and I close my eyes. I do not want to see the blood, but I still hear her gasp of surprise, the thud of her body falling to the ground. I struggle to keep my breath steady, reminding myself it’s only a dream.
For now, at least. I have seen her death, but I have not washed her clothes. Hope flickers in my chest. Maybe I can still save her.
My resolve strengthens at the thought. I will save her.
I repeat the words in my head again and again, trying not to think of what I would see before me if I opened my eyes. It's only when I feel the cold air of the river once again that I do.
Brennen is shaking me, his face only inches from mine. “Bea!” he shouts, and I push myself upright, grabbing his arms, needing to hold onto something solid and real.
The edges of his eyes are creased with concern. “Fates, there you are. I couldnae wake you. Was it a vision? Normally, your visions dinnae happen while you sleep,” he says.
I shake my head, trying to find my voice. “No. It was a dream. Or, a nightmare. I’ve been having it for months.”
His lips curve into a frown. “I’m sorry,” he says, and hearing him apologize to me almost breaks me.
“It’s not— Someone’s in danger.”
He straightens. “In your nightmares?” he asks, his eyebrows drawing together.
I nod. “I don’t think they’re nightmares. They feel too real. I think… I think I’m having them so I can prevent the death I see. Remember I told you I sent Kenna somewhere safe?”
His eyes flash with anger. “Kenna’s in danger? If it’s that bastard of a husband, I’ll—”
“No.” I stop him, pulling the blankets off me, suddenly too hot. “It’s not Kenna. It’s the woman who lives above the Faerie Pools.”
Brennen looks taken aback, his eyes going wide. “The Faerie Pools? How could you possibly know that?”
“Because Kenna asked me her question. She caught me and said the words needed to trigger the curse. ‘Tell me, Washwoman, the answer I seek.’” I close my eyes, trying to remember the details of our interaction.
“She asked me where to go to be safe from her husband, and I saw it clearly in my mind. The woman who lives at the Faerie Pools would help her. I’ve been having this dream for months, but it wasn’t until tonight that I realized it was the woman’s cottage I was seeing. It has to be.”
Brennen stares up at Lolly circling the moon, his jaw going tight. “I thought I saw Hamish in the village today. I’m not certain, but—”
I grab Brennen’s arm. “Then you have to go to her. It can’t be a coincidence. What if it’s Hamish who kills the woman in my dream? If he somehow learned where Kenna fled to, maybe he’s coming for her.”
He stiffens, shaking his head. “No. I willnae be leaving here.” His voice drops low. “Not when Cailleach is killing people. Not when she just executed Harold. What if she finds a way to kill you and comes for you next?”
I grip his arms tighter. “What would it matter? Either she kills me, or you do.”
He closes his eyes as if my words physically pain him. “Bea. Don’t—”
I slide my hand down and flip his arm over, careful not to touch his skin. My heart aches at the agony in his voice, evidence of the constant battle that rages inside him. A battle I can end.
“You are going to kill me,” I say, keeping my voice gentle, though the words sting as they leave my throat. Fear slips down my spine, but I steel myself against it. For so long, I have wanted to go to my rest on my terms. To complete the spell and die peacefully.
And yet, Brennen has changed everything. Some deep part of me wants to live now. Fears the death I once craved. But I’ve started to think that maybe I’ve been wrong all along. Maybe this is my penance, allowing Brennen to complete his duty and still find peace.
I will still go to the After on my terms. It will still be my choice.
And I choose death at the end of Brennen’s sword, so that his soul may be free.
The thought tempers my fear, relief suffocating it like water thrown onto a fire. If my death will save him, then I will give him no other option.
“Do you think I don’t know what this is?” I look down to his scar, where the black lines that seep from it pulse along with his heartbeat, as if there’s poison living in the puckered skin.
He shakes his head, his eyes so unbelievably sad, I want to look away.
But I don’t. This isn’t his burden to carry, and I don’t want him to feel guilt for it.
“I’ve lived long enough to know what a bargain with the goddess of death looks like.
I’ll not allow your soul to belong to her because you want to save me.
And I won’t risk your family’s lives because you didn’t do what the Cutter commanded.
This is my choice. You will kill me when the time comes.
But this woman in my dream, whoever she is, she's going to be murdered in cold blood if we don't stop it.”
Brennen closes his eyes again, pulling me against his chest and squeezing tight, as if he can somehow force our circumstances to change. I twist in his arms, ducking my head to make sure our skin doesn’t touch.
“I cannae go. Please, dinnae ask it of me.” His voice is nothing more than a rasp.
“Brennen—” I start.
“I willnae go. But,” he pauses, looking toward the village, “I think I know someone who can help.”