By the time the car stopped in front of the old temple of Ylico, Dean had already changed his mind seventeen times.
Unfortunately, he had not informed anyone.
He was wearing the pale blue shirt Arion liked on him, because Arion had looked at him before they left the residence with that quiet, devastating softness in his dark gold eyes, and Dean had immediately lost three arguments he had not even started yet.
The temple stood at the edge of the old quarter, where the narrow stone streets opened toward the sea. Ylico was too beautiful in the morning, with white buildings spilling down the hill, blue awnings moving in the wind, and sunlight striking the temple's pale columns until they looked less built than carved out of weather and time.
It did not look like the churches in Palatine.
That annoyed Dean.
He had prepared himself for dark stone, heavy bells, cold halls, and sanctimonious misery.
