Page 137 of The Freedom You Seek

“You bristle so much at the prospect of telling me your names’ meanings, but you have to confess. So, out with the truth,” I said, using this conversation as an attempt to calm both of us down and not succumb to the anger and hurt I felt.

Dion winced, but nodded. Obviously, his many names made him deeply uncomfortable, but that wouldn’t stop me from prying. After all he’d omitted, he deserved some unease. Was I petty? Definitely, but better to be petty than to lash out and say something I’d regret later.

“Well, I got Dorchadas from my father. It means Darkness or Dark One. He had something else in mind at first, but changed his mind spontaneously because it turned unnaturally dark for a few minutes when I was born. No one knows why that happened, but the event inspired him.”

“Hmm, weird. But well, it could be worse. I mean, you look like darkness personified, with you always wearing black and your hair swallowing the light and, of course, your magic.” I patted one of the tendrils, and it nudged my hand in return.

“It gets worse. My grandfather didn’t just pick something simple. No, he created the composed monstrosity that is Coroin De’An Scriosta, especially for me. That’s why, instead of the customary three names each fae has, I ended up with even more.”

“What does this so-called monstrosity mean?”

“Do I really have to translate?” Dion frowned, his features told me how uncomfortable he was.

I was even more petty and pushed on. Hissensitivitieswere nothing compared to the betrayal I was dealing with. “Yes, you have to make up for your lies, and that’s where you’ll start. So, out with it, oh Dark One.”

Dion winced. It was obvious how touchy this subject made him. In a way, it was fascinating to watch this self-confident male squirm for once. “Well, you could loosely translate it as—The Crown of the God of Destruction.” He eyed me with an expression I couldn’t decipher.

“Huh. That’s…something all right. Exactly what you want for your child,” I said after a moment of letting that particular gem sink in. “Let me put it like this: I understand why you go by Dion.”

“That’s a relief. My grandfather always calls me Scriosta, even if it’s rude as fuck to call someone by something else but their favored name. He’s convinced I’m worth more on the battlefield as a destroyer, not a defender.”

“Your grandfather sounds like a real lovable man…fae, whatever.”

“Use male. Man is a human expression, just like woman. Fae don’t have their own terms, we simply use male and female, even in Galantian, our own language. In a pinch, person will work, or you can always use fae like you just did. It’s a lot easier in Galantian.”

I simply nodded. Dion showed relief that I was still talking to him and didn’t try to escape from his presence. The urge was there, to think about everything in peace,but there was no way this male and his magical minions would let me go, so much I knew.

“So, you became a soldier because your grandfather wanted you to?”

“Yes. This is the first time in forever that I’m away from the army. And well, you’ve heard about the letter.”

“Treason.”

Dion nodded.

“Before you shadowwalked us away, the figures coming out of that portal—they’ve been the High King’s people, haven’t they?”

“Most likely.”

I sank into silence, thinking about everything that had turned my world upside down in the last hour. Dion’s glowing eyes burned into me—he was trying to read me. Had I forgiven his lies? No, and I probably never would. But we were bound, I felt it. His magic called to mine, and it should have frightened me, but it didn’t. It felt right and safe, which was so contrary to what my mind was telling me.

“Naya, I’m really sorry.” Dion lifted his arm and extended his hand toward my face, but stopped at the last moment.

“Don’t.”

His jaw tightened, and I could see the hurt in his eyes. I took a deep breath, trying to push down any feelings for him, focusing on his deception. My forehead wrinkled when I noticed something on his arm, and I paused. An intricate tattoo snaked around his wrist where his sleevehad slipped higher. I squinted at the masterful pattern, and Dion followed my gaze.

“Did you always have this?”

“No. It came with the binding.”

I glanced at my own—unmarked—wrists.

“Nayana—” This was the voice Dion always used when he didn’t want to spook me, and I narrowed my eyes.

“Where?”

“Your neck.”