Page 25 of The Freedom You Seek

I turned my attention to the remaining pile. No surprise—the pants were way too big as well, but with one ofDion’s belts wrapped twice around my waist, and after I’d rolled up the pant legs, it somehow worked. Last, I draped the cloak back around me and tugged the hood over my dripping wet hair.

Warmth returned to my body. I sighed, contented, and bent down to pick up my chemise and the dress I’d discarded. I froze as I monitored the dirty rags lying at my feet. Suddenly, everything I’d tried to ignore for the last hours forced itself to the forefront of my mind with a vengeance. The betrothal. My father. The assault and taking a life. Dungeons. The gallows. My subconscious had refused to let all of this affect me too much while I was in imminent danger, but now, clean, somewhat safe, and warm, all of what had happened threatened to overwhelm me.

A sob was stuck in my throat as I fought against the memories and the rising panic, trying to shove everything into mental boxes and bury those so deep within myself that they would hopefully never resurface.

My life had never been easy, and I’d learned that the best way for me to deal with trauma was just to ignore hurt until it was out of sight. I was a master atcompartmentalizing. Rewi had used this term once to insult me and my unhealthy methods of coping—as she’d put it—but since it worked for me, I took her slight and wore it like a badge of honor.

One thing was obvious. This wasn’t the right time to change my approach, not with the obnoxious man sitting at the fire and half of Credenta possibly on our heels. And I definitely wanted to avoidinconveniencingmy broody rescuer with tears and a mental breakdown.

I took a few deep breaths, and when I was sure I wasn’t in danger of an anxiety neurosis anymore, I returned to our resting place, sitting down on a log close to the fire.

“Feeling better?”

“I am. Thanks for the clothes.”

“Never mind. Can’t have you sitting here in wet garments, not even with the fire warming you. But I have to say, you look ridiculous.”

“Mmhm. I don’t care if I’m pleasing to look at. Your clothes aren’t hurting my vanity.” I appreciated the lightness of our exchange and even smiled—faintly, but it was there. If I was honest, I was glad for the distraction from my dark thoughts and memories that he provided.

Dion let out something like a small grunt in answer as he handed me some soft jerky and a waterskin.

“But since we’re here, you might as well tell me what happened.” I took the food and drink, and only then did I realize how famished I was. “How I ended up a fugitive instead of—well, dead.”

“Not now, Jama. We’ll talk when we meet the others. Also, what makes you think you’re a fugitive? Maybe you’re my prisoner.”

I wrinkled my nose at Dion, who dared to emphasize his words with a smirk. A dimple appeared on his left cheek, and I tried my best not to stare. Of course, the man with a personality that was pretty much misanthropic had to be ridiculously attractive and the proud owner of at least one dimple. My goal was clear—I had to find out if his right cheek also had a hidden indentation. Distracted bythinking about such intriguing trivialities, I even forgot to ask who the mysteriousotherswere.

I reprimanded myself for the direction my thoughts had taken, though. No attractive facade could ever make up for an ugly inside. “If I’m a prisoner, you’re a rather incompetent warden. I could have been long gone when I went bathing.”

“Maybe I should tie you up then.”

“I’m shocked. Did you just make a joke?”

“A joke? Guess you’ll never know,” Dion purred and pointed to the bedroll on the ground. “I strongly suggest you’ll get some sleep. We have to be back on the road as soon as the sun rises.”

“Sounds more like an order than a suggestion to me.”

“Just go to sleep, Jama. You need it.”

“And what about you? There’s only one bedroll.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes, it is! I’m not sleeping in the same bedroll as you!”

“Calm down, I’m just teasing you. I won’t rest. Someone has to take watch.”

I opened my mouth to protest again, but this time I was wiser. He was right. And even if I’d only spent a short amount of time with the man who’d rescued me, I was already aware of one thing: I had to learn when to pick my battles with him, and this one wasn’t worth fighting. Only the gods knew for how long I’d be traveling with Dion, and if this arrangement turned out to be a lengthy one, I’d better try to be civil with him.

“Are you sure you’re fine if you don’t sleep for a night?”

A raised eyebrow and another one of those male grunts were the only answers. Oh well, if caring meant insulting his identity as a strong man—that was on him and not on me.

I huffed in annoyance but slipped into the bedroll. “Good night, Dion.”

“Night, Jama.”

With my last conscious thoughts before falling asleep, I wondered again why he called me by this strange nickname—one I didn’t even know the meaning of.