Forging Divinity by Andrew Rowe

all.
    With the message sent, Jonan picked up the letter, carefully tearing away the portion on which he had written the text. He hated wasting good parchment – it had been a rare luxury when he was a child, and he had never broken the habit of reusing the pieces of the paper that had not been written on. Putting the blank piece on the table, Jonan tore the inked portion to shreds. He would burn the pieces later to be thorough, but it was important to dispose of his communications immediately, just in case he was somehow discovered.
    Vaelien, I sometimes I really wish you’d give me simpler assignments.
    The majority of what Jonan had told Lydia was true, but he had deliberately omitted the specifics of his actual mission. The missing Rethri were the catalyst for his assignment, but not the goal. Edon and his religion were a growing problem. Jonan’s responsibilities were discovering how Edon was faking his godhood and then solving the Edon problem by whatever means were necessary.
    I’m not an assassin, his own words echoed in his mind. Though by the end of this, I very well might have to be.
    He wiped his ink-stained fingers on a well-used rag and retreated to his bed, exhausted. His vision had been reduced to a blur by his rapid uses of sight sorcery, but it hardly mattered. With a tap against the left side of his head, Jonan’s vision went black, and he crawled his way beneath the covers to sleep.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter IV – An Attempt at Teamwork
     
     
    Taelien woke to find Lydia sitting in a chair near the door of their guest bedroom. She had a book sitting on her lap, but she had turned toward him seemingly instantly when his eyes blinked open.
    There was already sunlight creeping in the window to his right, indicating that he had slept too long.
    “Mm,” he mumbled, sitting up. “You could have woken me.”
    Lydia nodded sleepily. “I could’ve, but it looked like you needed the sleep more.”
    And you probably still don’t trust Jonan not to slit your throat in your sleep.
    Taelien grabbed his sheathed weapon from within the sheets and pushed himself out of the bed, walking over to the nearby dresser. Jonan had indicated the clothes inside would most likely fit him, so he set the sword atop the dresser and began to search for something to wear. “I can take over watch as soon as I’m dressed,” he said without glancing back toward Lydia.
    “That won’t be necessary,” she replied. “As soon as we’ve had a chance to speak to Jonan about our plan of action, I’ll head back to the palace and sleep in my own room.”
    The swordsman frowned. Lydia’s constant suspicion and distrust about everything was starting to get frustrating.
    He found a suitable pair of trousers and a light brown tunic, pulling them on. The trousers were a little bit short, but still a considerable improvement over wearing the robes Lydia had given him.
    After another minute, he also managed to find some clean socks, slipping those on as well. His legs were still a bit sore from the “greaves” he had worn the previous day, and he resolved himself not to make any more clothing out of metal until he was better at making complex shapes.
    Fastening his belt around his waist, he turned toward Lydia. “How do I look?” he inquired, striking what he thought was a dashing pose.
    “Like a peasant wearing a sword three times too expensive for him to own,” Lydia said dryly, “But still an improvement.”
    Taelien scoffed. “I doubt anyone will be paying me too much scrutiny, now that the sword looks ordinary.”
    “It doesn’t look precisely ordinary. The pommel is far too large, and the scabbard stands out considerably as well. Why is it lined with metal?” the sorceress asked.
    Taelien grinned. “That’s a trade secret.”
    Lydia rolled her eyes in response. “Very well, but it would be best if I’m well versed in your capabilities if you expect me to continue to protect you.”
    Taelien folded his arms