Page 36 of When the Wicked Sing
A low hum filled the air, subtle and steady, like the forest itself was breathing. He wasn’t alone anymore.
Dax shifted Mari’s weight, her head lolling against his shoulder as her breath fluttered faintly against his collarbone. He tightened his hold, his gaze lifting to the unseen watcher above.
“Either someone is getting lazy, or they’re shocked to see me,” he shouted toward the lookout.
“Or they’re already waiting for you,” a smooth, feminine voice said from behind him.
The corners of Dax’s lips tilted upward. He turned his head just as a tall female with a black braid draped over one shoulder stepped out from the shadows, a bow slung casually across her back. The moon’s pale light shone over the streaks of white in her braid, revealing her heritage.
“And maybe a little shocked,” she added, her voice cracking as her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Dax stared at her for a long second, her familiar presence tugging at something deep in his chest. Finally, he exhaled softly.
“Hey, Kenna.”
Chapter 19
Daxstaredaheadathis sister’s form as she led him through the darkness toward the village. He hadn’t been home in years, yet he knew this part of the forest like the back of his hand. The way the wind rustled the branches, the way even a sliver of moonlight could illuminate the smallest forest secrets, the way the sweet scent of charred wood and fresh pine filled his lungs—it all seemed to restore something inside him.
And yet, the weight in his arms refused to let him feel any peace.
The pale lanterns began lighting their path as the red petals dotting the forest floor like drops of blood gave way to dirt. Ahead, a set of wooden stairs loomed, climbing toward the treetops.
Dax glanced up, his gaze settling on the village nestled among the branches. Kythera was a sanctuary, a place of peace that had kept his people hidden from war for generations. He could only hope that bringing Mari here wouldn’t undo everything they’d worked to protect.
Kenna paused, glancing over her shoulder when she noticed he’d stopped. The soft glow of the lanterns above lit her stone-gray skin, so much like his own, and her pale green eyes studied him intently. For a moment, she looked as though she couldn’t quite believe he was there.
Lifting a brow, Dax stepped closer. “What?”
Kenna shrugged. “It’s just strange seeing you here after all this time,” she said softly. “With hair.” She chuckled, making a corner of his mouth lift. Then, her smile faltered as her gaze shifted to Mari’s unconscious form. “And with her, no less.”
Dax’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, he moved around his sister and started up the stairs. Kenna trailed behind him.
“What’s going on, Dax? What happened to her?” Her voice was quiet but tinged with worry, each word squeezing his chest.
“I don’t have time to explain right now. I just need to get her to Spiro.”
The staircase stretched high into the trees; from above, he could hear the faint murmur of voices—the sounds of home. His throat tightened at the familiarity of it.
Kythera hadn’t changed. The treehouses still nestled among the branches as though they’d grown from the trees themselves, the A-frame cabins covered in moss. Ivy coiled around railings and beams, and soft golden light spilled from the windows, illuminating the bridges that crisscrossed the canopy. It was beautiful, serene. Untouched.
Dax could feel the magic humming in the air, warm and welcoming, as though the village was alive. His jaw tightened as he slammed an iron grip on the energy stirring in his chest.There were two reasons he rarely set foot in Kythera. The first was for the safety of the village. The second was to avoid the gnawing feeling that something inside him wanted to be set free.
The higher they climbed, the heavier the pressure grew until each step felt louder than the last.
Kenna brushed against his shoulder as she went ahead of him. “Could you be any louder?” she hissed before urging a few villagers peeking out to return to their homes for the night.
“Daxon,” a low, familiar voice called from the top of the stairs. Spiro came into view, their tall figure illuminated by the golden glow of the lanterns.
Relief coursed through Dax the moment their emerald-green eyes connected. “I need your help,” he said, his voice rough as he adjusted Mari’s weight in his arms. “She’s dying.”
Spiro’s gaze softened as they quickly descended the stairs, placing a hand on Mari’s fevered forehead. Their lips pressed into a thin line, and they gave a short nod. “Let’s get her inside.”
Without another word, Dax and Kenna followed the village leader into the clinic.
The cabin was small and unassuming, its entrance covered in thick moss. Yet, inside, it was immaculately clean. Shelves lined the walls, filled with bottles of liquid, bundles of herbs, and strange objects that faintly glowed in the dim light. The air was rich with the sharp scents of medicinal salves and musty, dried flowers.
A wooden table sat on one side of the room, its surface scarred and stained from years of use. Dax felt a twinge of familiarity as he glanced at it—he’d sat there more than once, being stitched up by Spiro after some accident or another.
