Char was not in the mood for a party.
He’d spent the afternoon trying to comfort his distraught mother, to no avail. At least she’d stopped crying before he and Rath left. She wouldn’t listen to anything they had to say, and she still thought Iris had bewitched them somehow.
Char couldn’t blame her, though.
Dragons had a longstanding distrust of humans, especially mages, one of their few threats in dragon form. But Char’s father had never allowed anybody else to make his mind up for him. He’d first visited human settlements out of curiosity, and then he’d made friends, and he’d kept visiting. They were people. Just like dragons. Mostly nice, mostly kind, with a few bad apples who didn’t have to ruin the entire barrel.
When Char was a child, he’d heard his father telling his mother about his human encounters. She was prone to worrying, though, and he hadn’t wanted to upset her, so as soon as Char was old enough to fly, his father started bringing him along for his trips to see the humans, knowing Char had a more open mind and a more cautious tongue than Rath. Then he could talk to someone who wanted to listen.
Char had loved it. The secrecy, the one-on-one time with his father, the new people and places—and then it all ended when a human mage killed his father.
He hadn’t been there, but Kelnor had. He’d seen it happen. It had scarred him—scarred everybody. Distrust became hatred. The mere mention of humans irritated Rath and set their mother on edge.
It had been a long time before he worked up the courage to visit any of his father’s old friends, and even longer to visit the mage his father had befriended. He knew it wasn’t fair, but it was hard to look past the shared magical ability to see the man who had nothing to do with what had happened.
It had been a punch to the gut when he’d realized Iris was a mage.
He couldn’t blame any of them for their reactions to her.
And he knew it was all part of the plan, but he didn’t feel right about going to a party when she was locked up in the magic school.
“Hey, if you won’t smile, at least try to look less like you just sucked a lemon, okay?”
Rath’s teasing remark drew Char back to reality. They had stopped on a doorstep, but it wasn’t Kara’s doorstep. It was Misa’s.
“You’re picking her up?”
Rath shrugged. “Girls like that.”
He knocked on the door, and a few seconds later, it opened, and Misa’s surprised golden eyes met Rath’s. He grinned and gave her a bold once-over. The golden dress she wore matched her eyes and shimmered like her hair whenever she moved. It was tight, with a short skirt and a plunging neckline.
Rath whistled. “You really don’t want me looking at anybody else, do you?”
She took his proffered arm, blushing. “And you’re still wearing black.”
“Black goes with everything. Especially silver and gold.”
Char rolled his eyes. He gave it two hours before Rath left her for another girl and ended up with a drink in his face again.
Kara’s house was easy to pick out: it was the loud one. The shuttered windows and closed door couldn’t hold in the music and laughter. Rath led the way inside, his arm looped around Misa’s waist, and a cheer rose from the partygoers at the sight of him. Char got another cheer and a pack of girls swarming at him. One, a pink-haired girl he’d seen in the street earlier that day, passed him a drink.
If he wanted people to think he wasn’t up to something, he had to act normal.
He accepted it with a smile and asked her to show him around. She latched onto his arm with a triumphant grin at a red-head he thought might be her sister. Rath was already downing his first drink and taking Misa to the dance floor, but Char only sipped his drink, scanning the faces for Srot and Kara and pretending to listen to the girl at his side.
They were in the living room. She was standing in a corner, her head tilted so her blue hair fell across her bare shoulder to brush against Srot’s arm. He was boxing her in with one hand on the wall beside her head, one stroking a light finger up and down her arm, his purple eyes locked on her startlingly red eyes as she batted her eyelashes at him.
“Great party,” Char said to her.
The pink-haired girl tightened her grip on his arm.
Srot shot him a glare. “Yeah. Beat it.”
“Srot, be nice.” Kara giggled and gave his chest a playful shove.
“Just saying ‘hi,’” Char replied, keeping his tone casual. “Hey, don’t you work at the magic school?”
Realization dawned in Srot’s eyes.
“I work at the magic school, too,” the pink-haired girl interjected.
“Oh, do you?” Char turned his charming smile on her. Maybe she could end up being useful.
“When everybody heard you and Rath were going to be here, everybody wanted to come,” Kara gushed. “I think most of the magic school is here.”
“I can tell you anything you wanna know about the magic school,” pink-hair said. “On the dance floor. C’mon!”
“I’m not much of a dancer.”
She was already tugging him along. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”
Her eyes were a bright orange, her tight dress the shades of a sunset. She was a little pushy, but nice. And pretty. She had a great smile, and he liked the way her eyes shone up at him.
He had a few hours to kill before breaking into the magic school.
He took another drink and followed her.
“Dance with me.” She guided his hands to her hips and began to move to the music. The motion felt good.
Maybe Rath was right. He’d been wound so tight, he needed to relax and let loose. If he limited himself to one drink, he could keep a clear head. It was just a dance.
First it was her, and then the red-head, and then a blonde. They all blurred together as more people crowded into the house, drinking and laughing. He wasn’t getting anywhere with his probing questions about the magic school, but he couldn’t deny how much he liked the attention he was getting, especially since Rath was sticking close to Misa and making himself unavailable to the other girls.
That lasted longer than Char thought it would.
He looked over at them in the center of the room, her back pressed to his front, his hands on her hips as they swayed. Part of Rath's notoriety at parties was his riotous drinking games, but Char wasn't even sure Rath had drunk more than one tonight. He was keeping his head clear, too.
A new girl pushed herself into Char's arms. He looked down at her, ready to flash her a smile, and then shocking red eyes met his. Kara. He glanced around for Srot, putting his hands on her shoulders to shove her away, but she smiled and leaned into him. She pressed a piece of paper wrapped around something metallic into his hand.
“You’ll need this,” she whispered, and then she was gone.
Char tucked what she gave him into his pocket, glancing around again, this time for a clock. It was almost midnight. Almost everybody was drunk, and if he slipped away now, nobody would even know.
He made his way to the door, but pink-hair was back, clinging to his arm and slurring her words as she begged him for another dance. Alcohol made her even more persistent. Then a cheer rose behind them, and they both looked back to see Kara dancing on a table.
He took advantage of the distraction to shake pink-hair off and exit into the dark, quiet, empty street.
The magic school was on the northern edge of the city, surrounded by a wall of stone and barred with gates of iron. He hadn’t really thought about getting through those gates, and he’d never been inside the magic school, so he didn’t know the layout, much less where to find Iris.
He pulled the paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. Inside was a key and directions written in a hasty scrawl.
He memorized them and stuffed the paper back into his pocket, grinning.
Rath was right. Crazy worked better for them.
There were no guards at the imposing wrought-iron gates when he reached them. He unlocked them, wincing at the creak of their rusty hinges, and locked them behind him. Flowering trees and shrubs filled the courtyard between the gates and the front door. It would have been easy for somebody to hide in the shadows, but as far as he could tell, the garden was deserted.
Per Kara’s directions, he worked his way through the maze to a side entrance, hidden under fronds of green vines. The key fit this lock, too, and then he was inside, his steps muffled by the thick carpets covering the long stone hallways. He took a left and counted the doors on his right.
Fifteen.
The wooden door opened with ease, and he entered another hallway, counted another monotonous line of wooden doors.
Third on the left.
Stone stairs descended into damp darkness. These were uncarpeted, and he was careful not to make a sound as he followed them down, down, down.
He’d only heard rumors of the magic school’s dungeons, and he hadn’t known what to expect, but this could be nothing else. Rows of stone cells, locked and barred with wooden doors and small metal windows that could open from the hallway to peek inside. Not stone doors.
But stone or wood wouldn’t matter to a mage, Char reminded himself. It was the enchantment that counted, not the material.
All the way at the end of the row, the last door on the right.
The key fit here, too. Kara must have enchanted it.
The cell was tiny, smaller than the army’s dungeons. There was no cot. Iris lay huddled under a blanket on the bare stone floor, curled in a tight ball on her side, shivering.
Anger flared in Char’s chest.
He knelt beside her and gave her shoulder a gentle shake, then another, harder shake when she didn’t respond. “Iris. Iris.”
“Mm.” She stirred, her brow furrowing, and then her brown eyes opened, cloudy and confused. “Char?”
“Can you stand?”
She sat up and winced, her movements stiff and painful. She squeezed her eyes shut and brought her hand to her forehead, and the blanket fell away from her shoulders, revealing the same blue, faded dress he’d seen two days ago. Ill-fitting. Torn.
Encrusted with dried blood.
Char clenched his jaw and scooped her into his arms.
“What… are you doing?”
“Getting you out of here.” He balanced her on one knee and tucked the blanket around her. “If anybody stops us, you’ve had too much to drink. Got it?”
She nodded.
Kara’s directions for exit differed from those for entrance, probably in case he triggered some sort of magical alarm, but there was only one way out of the dungeons. He followed the corridor back to the stairs, taking them quicker this time. The hallway at the top of the stairs was still deserted. He turned left, not right, counting the doors again. Eighth on the left. Another hallway, another line of doors. Sixth on the left. This brought him back to the original hallway. Second on the right, back into the fragrant garden.
“Someone’s here.”
He ducked behind a row of hedges, his heart pounding. Iris didn’t move or speak. He wasn’t sure if she was still conscious.
“The gate is still locked,” a second voice said.
“They must have a key.” The first voice swore. “We need to get to the dungeons. Now.”
A door opened and closed, and then there was silence.
Char peeked over the hedges.
Nobody.
He bolted toward the gate, fumbling in his pocket for the key but trying not to jostle Iris’ limp form. The rusty hinges made him wince again. He almost left the key in the lock, then thought better of it and pulled the gate closed, locking it behind him. He ducked into an alley, hiding in the shadows he knew like the back of his hand from a childhood spent roaming the city with Rath and causing chaos wherever they went.
Most of the houses and all the shops were dark and quiet. The only people awake at this hour were young adults partying and stumbling home from partying, and a young man carrying an unconscious young woman wasn’t all too uncommon. He didn’t encounter another person, though, and then he reached for the door—
He froze.
His feet had taken him to his mother’s house.
Before he could take a step back, the door flew open, and Rath was standing there, ushering him inside.
“What took you so long?” he hissed.
“I didn’t know you were expecting me.”
“Why do you think I wasn’t drinking? Come on, before we—”
“What are you boys doing?”
Rath spun around. Their mother was blocking the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest and her blue eyes flashing. She wore a robe over her nightgown, her gray-streaked hair fell loose over her shoulders, and she was more intimidating than Kelnor could ever hope to be.
“Uh…”
“Mother, this is Iris,” Char said, pushing past Rath. “Excuse me.”
She frowned, her eyes dropping to the unconscious woman in his arms, but she stepped aside to let him pass. “Why did you bring her here?”
Char didn’t answer until he took Iris to his bedroom and laid her on his bed. Human or not, mage or not, his mother couldn’t see anybody in this state and refuse to give them help. He had to bet everything on that.
“Because I didn’t know where else to take her.”
He pulled the blanket off of Iris. His mother gasped. Rath, standing behind her in the doorway, narrowed his blue eyes in anger.
“She healed Srot by taking his wounds, and she’s been like this for two days, rotting in a dungeon cell at the bottom of the magic school.” Char took a deep breath and clenched his fists at his sides. “So, will you help her or not?”
His mother closed her gaping mouth and hurried to Iris’ side. “Well, don’t just stand there. I’ll need hot water, soap, towels, and bandages. There’s an old nightgown in my bureau that she can wear. Go on.”
“No bandages,” Char told Rath’s retreating form. “The blood is old. There aren’t any wounds to bandage.” He kissed his Mother’s cheek and headed to the door. “Thanks, Mother.”
“You have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, young man."10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkrYTURMVJ3
