The Forsaken Prophecy

Chapter Fourteen

*

Ayren was curled up in a ball on his bunk, letting the pain in, goading it on. The emotions crashed over his body in merciless waves.

They trust you, he reminded himself. They count you as a friend and you're the worst "friend" they'll ever have.

There was a knock at the door.

I can't keep doing this.

"Ayren?"

Goddammit, of course it had to be Rowen.

"Come in."

She hesitantly opened the door and smiled cautiously. "You okay?"

No. "Yeah."

"We're going to go get weapons."

You'd hate me if you knew. "Okay."

"Um...we don't really know what we're doing."

Neither do I. "I'll be there in a sec."

"Okay." Rowen smiled and began to close the door.

"Wait." The word, ripped from his throat, was desperate and pleading. It hung in the air between them.

She opened the door and bit her lip, watching him with worried eyes.

I have to tell her.

"What is it?"

Ayren forced a smile onto his face. "Nothing."

With a final hesitant nod, she left.

Ayren flung his pillow across the room and strode into the bathroom.

Quickly, like pulling off a bandage.

He let his illusion, the illusion he held up 24/7, drop.

He met his own gaze in the mirror fiercely.

His eyes turned from bright blue to a chocolatey brown. His hair rippled from sandy blond to a dark hazel.

As the scars began to appear, he couldn't take it anymore. He hastily threw up his illusion again.

His was the face of a criminal. A killer. A wanted man, in more worlds than one.

He hardened the facade, vowing to keep it up.

Maybe forever.

*

Ayren was distant. Detached.

Something's wrong.

Rowen tried not to think about it. If Ayren didn't want to talk, he didn't have to.

She took a deep breath and picked up one of the many swords on a rack of the short weapons. Its weight made her bend over, and the sword clattered to the ground.

"Not well balanced," Ayren said from the doorway.

Rowen turned to look at him, blushing. He was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. Rowen realized she had been looking too long and turned away, blushing more fiercely.

"Maybe I'm just weak," she said with a laugh.

"Maybe." A smile quirked his lips. "We've just got to find the right sword for you."

"I've always been good at archery," Rowen said, longingly eyeing a rack of bows that Jason was examining.

"You aren't always going to be fighting from a distance. Plus, I'm guessing you've never even tried to handle a sword."

Rowen opened her mouth, then closed it and smirked. "Fine. Find me a balanced sword."

They tried sword after sword. Rowen was getting discouraged as they neared the end of the rack.

Then she found it. It was a small sword, but incredibly sharp. The hilt felt comfortable and familiar in her hand.

"That's an interesting choice," Polly said darkly from the doorway.

Rowen's blood ran cold at her tone. "Why?"

Polly met her gaze and then smiled, all seriousness gone. "Just messing with you!"

Rowen rolled her eyes and called to Jason, "How's it going?"

"I found one I like," he called, hefting a large bow in the air. It was about two and a half feet long, with intricate detail and a strong string.

Rowen had no doubts that he could work the weapon. He excelled in archery, always had.

Ayren tapped her shoulder and gestured to Jason. "Let's go train. We've got around four hours until we have to leave. I intend to spend those preparing."

*

Ayren felt a little bad at working them like this. After four plus hours of training and flying, they would be exhausted, their senses dulled.

Okay, he felt really bad. He was already doubting himself and this stupid mission. This felt wrong.

All part of the plan.

Rowen huffed as Jason tightened a strap on her training vest. "This thing weighs a ton!"

Ayren smiled, picked up a sword, and grabbed his own vest.

For now, he could pretend they were here to train as friends.