Page 114 of When the Wicked Sing
“Why did you cut your hair?”
He shrugged. “I usually keep it this way, safer in battle. Why? Like it longer, Little Tempest?” He smirked at her.
She rolled her eyes and did her best to hide her smile with her hand. “I mean, if you’re not planning to be in battle anytime soon, then …” she lifted a shoulder. “Maybe you can grow it back out.”
Dax quietly chuckled and winked up at her. “I’ll think about it,” he said, then went back to painting her.
Her mind began to wander. Thoughts of his home and his family, Spiro and Kenna. She wondered why he had an art studio here, but she hadn’t seen one anywhere near his cabin in Kythera. Then a fog inside her question-filled mind lifted, leaving clarity.
“Can I ask you something?”
“I suppose,” he replied with a hint of amusement.
Mariana lifted herself up, resting on her elbows. “You mentioned losing everything,” she said as her fingers fiddled with the blanket beneath her. “And seeing your art studio—it got me thinking.” Finally lifting her gaze, she expected to find the guarded mask she was used to. Instead, she found a relaxed expression she had to hold back from kissing. Biting the inside of her cheek, she prayed that what she said next didn’t ruin everything. “Spiro showed me the historical galleryin Kythera.”
The light in his eyes dimmed. Pulling his gaze away, Dax dipped the brush into more paint carefully, meticulously.
“Dax, are you the lone soldier in the painting?”
The silence that came next made it difficult to breathe.
Licking his lips, Dax cleared his throat while staring at the paintbrush. She couldn’t tell if he was judging the amount of paint on the tip or if he would stare at it forever just to avoid answering her. He gave a slight nod without looking at her. “Yeah, that’s me.”
She finally exhaled. “Challenged to rise again.”
He nodded and continued painting her stomach. His jaw flexed as though he was working up the courage to speak.
“At the end of the Infernal Wars, I was in command of the last Mocanus regiment still alive. Word spreading that an enemy outpost was hidden in the Varasova Mountains, gathering forces. King Thaddeus ordered us to clear it out. A simple task, he’d said, considering it should be no more than a few hundred untrained soldiers.” Dax scoffed and shook his head. “The only reason I agreed was that intel told me it was close to Kythera—too close. At that point, Kythera was barely a village, and only villagers who had no idea how to fight lived there. So, we had to go, and by the time we reached this supposed outpost, it was empty. It had been a trap.”
Dax set the paintbrush down and sighed heavily. Mariana could tell this was difficult for him to talk about. Hoping to ease his anxiety, she ran a hand over his head and tilted his chin up to look at her.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say any more. I know this is hard for you.”
Dax shook his head. “I need to say it out loud. I haven’t spoken a word of it to anyone other than Spiro since it happened.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, then dropped his hand and stared at the paint on her skin. “It turned out, Minerva’s three daughters and an alleged son of Magnus—who believed it was his right to be king—had joined forces and gathered twice the number of soldiers we’d predicted.” Dax’s eyes seemed to glaze over, like he had transported himself back to the battlefield. “They knew we were coming. Cornered us in a valley. And we were unprepared for the attack. It was pitch black, the moon hidden behind clouds, and all I could hear were screams coming from everyone around me. It was then I realized these were my people. Not my soldiers. And they were all about to die.”
Mariana stayed perfectly still as she watched him, her heart squeezing painfully, knowing he was reliving the moment.
“I knew the enemy had to go down. If I didn’t defeat them, they would attack Kythera and Aurelia. I couldn’t let anything happen to them. And my soldiers knew there was a risk of never seeing their loved ones again by joining my regiment. Yet they did anyway, because they believed in fighting for their families.”
“And they believed in you,” Mariana whispered.
Dax squeezed his eyes shut. “All I remember is the ground shaking beneath my feet, and the mountains that surrounded us cracking. Then it all came down. It was a miracle I woke up, but when I did … everyone was dead.” He opened his eyes and gave Mariana a heartbroken stare. “That’s why I vowed never to use my power again.”
“You’re stronger because of it.” Mariana gripped his hand and gave him a sad smile. “Challenged to rise again.”
His mouth lifted slightly. “Challenged to keep living.”
The statement made her chest cave in. She knew he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so she glanced at the paintbrush on the cart beside them and said, “Painting helps you relax?”
“Painting helps me forget—usually. You are the exception, it seems.” A corner of his mouth lifted before pulling her from the bed. “Thank you for listening,” he said quietly, holding her close but not close enough to smudge the drying paint on her stomach.
“You’re welcome. Thank you for telling me.”
The kiss he placed on her lips was full of so much emotion, Mariana could practically feel her heart growing wings.
Pulling back, he kissed her scar on her temple, making her realize he didn’t know the true story of how she got it.
“Would you like me to share a story too?”
