“What the heck was that?”
Char, staring wide-eyed at Iris’ limp form on the bed, shook his head. Flickers of her magic still danced about the room, tiny white bursts like snowflakes drifting through the air. Her signature.
Blood was dripping from her side to the floor.
Nobody made a move toward her.
That was powerful. Terrifying. He had never felt magic like that before. When it shot out of the amulet and threw him and everybody else back, he’d thought they were all dead meat.
They would have been if she hadn’t directed the magic inward.
He’d thought her magic was safe, only useful for protection or healing, but it wasn’t. She didn’t know her own power.
Neither did he.
He exhaled a deep breath and dragged his hand across his face. He needed to refocus. The primary reason he snuck her out of her cell was to heal his dying friend. Srot first; Iris second.
“How’s Srot?”
That seemed to wake everybody up. They turned away from her to Srot’s sleeping form in the next bed. The doctor resumed his examination, but it was obvious Srot was much improved. He wasn’t tossing and turning with sweat pouring down his face anymore; there was no fresh blood flowing from the wounds on his arms and stomach. The blood was congealing. The sweat was drying. He slept in peace.
Char looked over at Iris again. The wounds were on her now, the fresh blood trickling from her arms and oozing from her stomach. She lay still and silent, face pale, sweat matting her chestnut brown hair to her skin. A dark maroon blotch spread across the faded blue fabric of her dress and down the side of the bed to form a crimson pool on the cave floor.
He should do something. Pack that stomach wound off at least, put pressure on it, stop the bleeding.
That would mean he’d have to touch her, though.
He hesitated, his eyes lingering on the amulet. It was an innocuous-looking clear glass stone again, rising and falling on her chest with each labored breath.
Less than an hour ago, a gold coating had sealed that amulet's magic away. Less than an hour ago, when he’d found Iris cowering in a cell, frightened and vulnerable.
He’d wanted to wrap her up in a tight embrace, tell her everything would be okay, that he would figure this out somehow, but he couldn’t waste what little time remained of Srot’s fading life on anything other than sneaking her out of the cell and getting her here.
And now he was afraid to touch her.
Afraid of her.
Maybe Rath had been right.
“Where is she?”
Char looked over at the door, and there was the mage, his narrowed golden eyes scanning the room for Iris. There was a glint of something in his eyes when he focused on her, something unsavory, something Char didn’t like.
The mage hurried to her side and began examining her, and Char’s hands curled into fists at his sides.
This was the same man who had put magical restraints on her. He’d seen a scared girl in an impossible situation, a girl who’d done nothing to deserve any of this, and he’d treated her like a dangerous criminal.
Char had wanted to punch him in the face when he saw Iris’ golden hands.
But the restraints were gone now. She’d broken through them.
Maybe she was dangerous.
“What are you all staring at?” he heard a familiar voice mumble.
He turned in surprise, as dumbfounded as the other onlookers at the sight of Srot, a man who had just been on his deathbed, now yawning and sitting upright, as if he'd just awoken from a restful nap.
“Can’t a man sleep around here?” Srot inspected his blood-encrusted arms and torso. “Man, I need a bath.”
“You’re alive,” Kelnor said, his voice hoarse.
“Yeah, I’m alive.” Srot swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Where’s that girl? Is that her?”
“You know about her?” Char asked.
Srot was already on his feet and walking over to Iris, as strong and sure as he had been before the battle. The mage threw his arm out as a barricade without taking his eyes off of the unconscious girl.
“Stay back!”
Srot swatted him away as if he were a fly. “Iris, right?”
The mage looked at Srot now, his golden eyes mystified. “How do you know that?”
“She was just in my head. I think I should know a thing or two about her. Is she gonna make it?”
Char furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, in your head?”
“Ah, it’s kind of hard to explain. It was like… she had to go back to the battle and take the injuries herself. Looks like they’re healing already.”
Char returned his gaze to her, and the flow of blood had indeed stopped. She was still pale as death, though.
“What of the magic?” the mage pressed Srot. “I felt two different signatures.”
The hairs on the back of Char’s neck stood up. He had felt the snapping and crackling in the air, too, right before Iris started moaning and writhing in pain, but there had been no time for him to think about what that meant before her explosive burst of magic.
Srot shrugged. “Well, the arrows weren’t the problem, were they? It was the magic enchanting the arrows that did all the damage.”
“I see.”
The mage stroked his beard in thought, his golden eyes intent on Iris again, and Char gritted his teeth. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something about the way the mage was looking at her he didn’t like.
“What does this all mean?” Kelnor asked, impatient as always when discussions of magic were involved. It had never been his strong suit. He knew just enough to transform, and he left it alone after that.
“It means the king’s mage was in this room a few minutes ago. In her. She fought him off, but he knows where she is now,” the mage explained. “Where we are.”
Kelnor swore. “I knew I should have killed her.”
“Are you forgetting something?” Srot positioned himself between her and everybody else, arms crossed over his barrel chest. “I’m alive because of her, so if anybody has any thoughts about killing her, think again.”
“No, no, that would be a waste,” the mage said, waving his hand to dismiss the idea. “She is far too valuable to dispose of. If we can harness her power, she could win the war for us.”
Char’s gut twisted. That was probably why the king’s mage wanted her, too. He couldn’t stop himself from speaking up on her behalf. “She isn’t a soldier.”
“I knew you had a thing for her,” Kelnor accused him, rounding on Char. “This is war. You can’t let your personal feelings get in the way. Playing lover boy with the enemy? You’ve done a lot of dumb things, Char, but this is a mistake I never expected even you to make.”
Char’s fingernails dug into his palms, his knuckles turning white as he stared his commanding officer down. Sharp green eyes and fiery red eyes clashed in a silent battle of wills.
“But she can’t stay here,” the mage mused to himself, oblivious to the two men about to come to blows. “Too dangerous. Not enough barriers to keep the king’s mage out.” He tapped his chin. “I’m taking her to the magic school.”
Char broke eye contact with Kelnor to turn his glare on the mage. “No, you’re not.”
Kelnor grabbed Char’s shirt with both hands and shook him. “Char! Wake up! You’re not thinking straight! You cannot get involved with a human! I don't care how pretty she is—!”
Char shoved Kelnor back. “That isn’t—”
“Hold up,” Srot intervened. “What are you planning to do with her?”
The mage smiled, a sickly sweet smile to match the sudden silky smooth tone of his voice. “I can assure you no harm will come to her. The barriers will keep her safe, and I will see to her education personally. She must learn how to channel this power appropriately, or she will be a danger to others and herself.”
At face value, the words sounded good, but everything about the man screamed he was lying.
Not that Kelnor cared.
“She's all yours. I want weekly reports on your progress. The rest of you, come on. The second team should be back anytime, and then it’s our turn to go to battle again. There’s nothing left for us to do here.”
He strode toward the door. The doctor and the rest of the team followed—except for Char and Srot.
“I want to know as soon as she’s awake so I can thank her,” Srot told the mage.
“Of course.” The bearded man’s ingratiating smile was as fake as his appeasing tone. “And you are welcome to come as well,” he said to Char.
Srot glanced at Char. He didn’t trust the mage, either.
“Come on,” Kelnor barked.
“Fine,” Srot relented. “But I’m checking in on her later.”
Char gave the mage a stiff nod and followed Srot, but when he reached the doorway, he cast one last glance at Iris, and then he saw it. He saw the moment the mage dropped the act and let the unadulterated greed show through in his leering grin.
Char’s stomach turned.
But he looked away, and he kept walking.
Kelnor was right. Char had let his personal feelings get in the way from the very beginning of what should have been a standard scouting mission.
Go into town, blend in with the humans, determine the army’s numbers and identify their defenses, and then report back so his team could plan their strike. That was all that should have happened.
The little girl who ran into him in the marketplace shouldn’t have changed anything.
The beautiful young woman who reprimanded the sobbing child shouldn’t have caught his eye.
He shouldn’t have lingered to watch her, scolding and reassuring the little blonde troublemaker in the same breath, her brown eyes as bright as her laughter as she tickled the squealing, giggling brat.
But he had.
There was something so charming about their relationship. Iris adored Kayla, and it was obvious the feeling was mutual. Char had immediately liked the wayward little girl, too. She was a mess, but nobody could resist those big blue eyes. He could tell she was a spoiled little thing, though not in terms of material possessions. The hem of her worn, faded dress ended too far up her calves, and her shoes had holes in them. The red-headed teenage boy who came to retrieve her had similar patched, ill-fitting apparel. So did Iris.
But letting out the seams of a girl’s dress wasn’t enough to hide a woman’s figure, and Iris wasn’t a child.
Her bust pulled the waistline of her dress up too high, and her long, thick, chestnut brown hair cascaded down her back from a tattered ribbon to swaying hips. She had dark brown eyes, warm and familiar as an old oak tree, deep and mysterious as a hidden forest, and that smile. Char could look at that smile all day.
She was gorgeous. Enchanting.
Distracting.
He had to tear his eyes away from her, remind himself why he was there and what he had to do. She didn’t matter. She couldn’t.
And then she’d walked into the tavern that night, tying an apron around her waist and greeting the regulars with her bright smile, and he’d found himself under her spell again.
He hadn’t been the only one. All eyes had been on her. The regulars had watched her with all the fondness of self-assigned guardians, but the newcomers, the soldiers stationed there and the travelers passing through, often had something much more carnal in their eyes. If she had just winked at one of them, just given a sign she shared that interest, Char would have wagered every cent he owned that the chosen man would have dropped everything to leave with her that instant.
But she wasn’t that kind of girl.
Oh, she knew how to work the tavern, and she did it well. She flirted, she teased, she kept the patrons happy so that they kept ordering drinks, and she danced with practiced skill just out of reach of anyone who was too forward.
It was a job to her; that was all.
And she was so good at it, she had made Char forget his job—until she took the king’s mage his dinner.
That was the first time he’d seen her scared. Really scared.
Yes, he’d made her nervous when he first spoke to her, and in retrospect, he shouldn’t have even let her know he’d been watching her, but she’d been more cautious than afraid of him. Understandable, given the circumstances.
But when she'd frozen at the mage’s door, he'd known something was wrong, even before she looked down at him where he sat by the fireplace. Even before he saw the fear on her face.
He knew now she’d felt the magical barrier at the door, and since she was already suspicious of him, she’d probably thought he was to blame somehow.
He only knew then he’d felt a sudden urge to run up those stairs and pull her away from that door.
But he hadn’t.
He’d watched the door close behind her, waiting out the tense minutes until she emerged, pale and shaking.
The mission was simple. Follow orders; win the war. She didn’t matter then. She couldn’t.
He reminded himself of that with every step he took away from her and the dragons’ most powerful mage, a man who couldn’t contain her power but lusted for it.
His skin crawled at the thought of that man touching her. Restraining her again. He wanted to run back down the hall, pull her away from that man before it was too late and she was out of his reach.
But he didn’t.
The mission was simple. Follow orders; win the war.
She didn’t matter.
She couldn’t.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPiZu2Li8BR
