Page 42 of When the Wicked Sing
Now that Mari was awake, he felt completely uncertain. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? She’d been through something horrifying—something that had torn her apart from the inside out, nearly killing her. And learning it had been her own mother who’d done this to her … that was a cruelty Dax couldn’t begin to wrap his head around.
What Mari needed was a friend. Someone to help her carry the weight of this nightmare. But he wasn’t that guy. Couldn’t be. He was here to keep her alive, get her on her feet, and get her to Aurelia as fast as possible.
“Please sit down,” Mari whispered, her voice soft and frayed at the edges, like it hurt to speak. The sound sent an ache straight through his chest.
Clearing his throat, Dax walked back over to the stool beside the tub and dropped onto it. His hands dangled between his knees as he stared down at them, searching for something—anything—to say.
“There’s, ah …” He gestured awkwardly toward a small dish on the tub’s edge, where a sponge and a few soap petals rested. “Soap and stuff, if you want to, you know … wash.”
Mari turned her head, her eyes finding the petals. She dipped her fingers in, gathering a few, and rubbed them together. Foam bubbled and dripped from her hands into the water.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. She ran the soap across her arms, then her neck and chest, in slow, mechanical movements, as though her body was moving on autopilot. He didn’t miss how she slightly winced with each swipe.
“Does it hurt?” he asked gently.
Mariana didn’t look at him. Instead, she gave a subtle nod.
Dax shifted uncomfortably, then rubbed at the tension in his neck, forcing himself to glance away.
“I’m surprised your tattoos stayed,” he said, trying to fill the heavy silence. His eyes flicked briefly to her hands, where her tattoos glimmered faintly in the low light.
Mari froze, staring down at the swirling ink on her arms. “Me too,” she said after a long moment. Her voice was brittle, distant. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost those too.”
The sadness in her eyes hollowed something out inside him. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat, feeling the weight of her loss like a stone in his chest. Dax knew what it meant to lose something—or someone—but to lose yourself the way Mari had? He couldn’t imagine it.
“You know,” he began, his voice lighter, trying to shift the mood. “Being a fae does have its perks.”
Mari looked up at him, waiting, her expression unreadable.
He shrugged. “There’s the immortality thing, the fact that you’ll blend in—”
“Is that what you think I want? To live forever and to be just like everyone else?” Her words were laced with venom, her anger cutting through his reassurances.
“No, Mari. That’s not what I meant—”
“That’s exactly what you just said.”
Dammit. Dax exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “Okay, fine. You’re right. But we both have to face the truth here.”
Her laugh was bitter, hollow. “Oh, you want me to face the truth? I have no power, Dax.” The words spilled out of her like poison, each one twisting her features with anguish. “I can’t feel the water’s energy. I can’t sense the sea. I am powerless. A siren trapped in a fae body. Is that what you wanted me to say? Well, there it is. The truth is out.”
She scrubbed at her arms, desperate, like she could wash away her admission—or the reality of it. Her movements grew frantic as she clawed at the last stubborn scales still clinging to her back.
Dax winced as he watched her struggle, his chest tightening with every shallow breath she took, every soft whimper thatescaped her lips. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder.
Mari froze beneath his touch, her breathing sharp and uneven. Her hair, damp and tangled, clung to her shoulders like a curtain.
“Let me help you,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.
She blinked, and for a moment, he thought she might tell him to leave. But instead, she nodded ever so slightly and turned, exposing her back. “I can’t reach the scales on my spine,” she admitted, her voice small.
Dax carefully swept her hair over her shoulder, revealing the pale curve of her back. The water lapped gently around her, making it hard to see the jagged patches of scales clinging stubbornly to her skin.
“Can you stand?” he asked.
Mari shifted on the submerged bench and rose to her feet, her legs unsteady. The water rippled around her, still too high for him to get a clear view.
“Uh.” He hesitated, groaning inwardly. “I think … you’re going to have to get out.”
