Page 132 of The Freedom You Seek

“You clean up nicely,” I said, sounding hoarse. Dion was always too handsome to be true, but in those clothes, he was devastatingly beautiful. “What a pity such a bastard lives underneath all that.” What a sad attempt to mask my ogling.

Dion resembled a statue—after all, he moved or spoke just as much as one—and only his eyes roamed over my robes to a point where the silence became oppressive.

“Did I put them on wrong?”

“No—no, not at all. They suit you very well, Naya. You look beautiful.”

Before I could dwell on the strange emotional undertone in his voice, he stalked over to me and gently spun me around.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking off the choker. There’s no room for deception during the ceremony.”

His warm fingers softly touched my nape, and a shiver ran down my spine as his callouses scraped over my sensitive skin. With a faint click, the choker I’d been wearing for weeks came loose—and then it was gone. Instead of relief, a strange sense of loss rose in my chest, and that wasn’t anything I wanted to analyze more closely.

Dion’s fingers ran gently over the slight indentation that the jewelry had left behind, and he growled silently. “It left a mark.”

“Doesn’tmatter now. It’ll fade.”

I turned around and met his eyes. His jaw was set tight, and a muscle ticked while his face twisted into a scowl.

“Come on, Dion. We have somewhere to be, don’t we?”

After another moment of silence, Dion nodded. “Yes, let’s move on to the crypt.”

He grabbed my hand as if he feared I was a flight risk yet again. Our fingers intertwined—and it felt like the most natural thing in both worlds. Together, we made our way to our next destination.

We were both in deep contemplation on our way over to the ruins of what must have once been an impressive church. When we arrived, Dion helped me climb inside over the rubble blocking the entrance. I was grateful, for my robes complicated such activities immensely, there was just so much fabric getting in the way.

“The whole church is in ruins.”

“Not the whole church. We’re going down to the crypt, and that’s preserved.”

“Aren’t crypts usually for dead people?”

“Not this one. Fae didn’t leave their deceased in Ivreia.”

It made sense. Thinking about it, I’d be unhappy if I couldn’t easily visit the graves of my loved ones.Shaking the morbid thoughts out of my head, I followed Dion to a downward staircase that seemed safe to use.

He led me down into a small, round room, and I gaped. Located in the center of the perfectly preserved crypt was an altar. Everything around me was made of light marble, and I’d never seen such exquisite handiwork before. Both the walls and the altar were adorned with the most beautiful carvings and sculptings etched into the stone—depictions of the divine, of men, and fae. My breath caught as I gently ran the pads of my fingers over the marble likeness of Immaru blessing a young woman on her knees while Kalag presented a male figure—most likely a fae—with a sword. Their faces were so lifelike, as if all of them could jump out of the stone at any given moment. “This is breathtaking.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“I’m glad this room wasn’t destroyed.” The thought alone was enough to make me sad.

“So am I.” Dion walked over to the altar, which was just as adorned as the walls, with symbols of divinity and patterns so intricate that the masons who crafted all this must have been infused by their patron godling Harrlomos. Prominently etched into the table were the three symbols of the Triad, and as I looked at them, I had the short impression that each of them flickered with light for a moment—Kalag’s symbol in his associated color of red, Immaru’s in her signature blue and the nameless god of fate’s in purple. But for sure, I’d just imagined that.

Dion bowed his head as I had done already upon entry earlier, and he set the wooden box down on the altar,opened it, and cautiously took out the dagger and the vessel, placing both relics on the marble.

“So, we’re really doing this?” Watching Dion, my heart clenched as I saw his face contorted into a miserable expression. My own forehead wrinkled out of its own accord, and I was wondering what was wrong with him. Was he having second thoughts? I’d seen him with so many different expressions, from cold and scowling to brightly smiling and content, but never this anguished.

“Yes, Naya,” he answered, and his tone was quiet.

“What’s the problem, Dion?”

For a moment, I had the valid fear he’d close up and hide behind his thick walls that never failed to keep me out. But in the end, he sighed. “Maybe I’m…scared. And that’s a feeling I’m definitely not used to.”

“Scared? Why?”