"What the heck was that?"

Char shook his head, staring wide-eyed at Iris' limp form on the bed. Flickers of her magic still danced around the room, tiny white bursts like snowflakes drifting through the air. Her signature. Blood was still dripping from her side, but nobody made a move toward her. That was powerful - terrifying. He had never felt magic like that before. It made his heart stop; it blinded him and threw everybody back from her. He thought her magic was safe, only useful for protection or healing. It wasn't. That short burst could have easily killed everybody in the room if she hadn't directed it inward. She didn't know her own power. Neither did he.

He exhaled deeply and dragged his hand across his face. "How's Srot?"

That seemed to wake everybody up. They turned away from Iris to Srot's sleeping form in the next bed. The doctor examined him thoroughly, but it was easy to see that he was much improved already. No longer was he tossing and turning, sweat pouring down his face. The blood on his arms and stomach was congealing. Char looked back at Iris. The wounds were on her now; the blood was still pouring from her side. He swallowed his fear and approached her still form. Her face was pale; sweat matted her chestnut brown hair down around her face. Blood stained the faded blue fabric of her dress, a dark spot spreading across her stomach. The amulet was just a clear glass stone again, rising and falling on her chest with each labored breath. He should do something. He should pack that wound off, put pressure on it, anything to stop the bleeding.

That would mean he had to touch her, though

He wanted to, just a few minutes ago, when he found her cowering in that cell. Her frightened brown eyes had pierced his heart. He'd wanted to wrap her up in a tight embrace, maybe steal another kiss, but he couldn't waste what little time remained of Srot's fading life. Now he was afraid to touch her. Afraid of her.

Maybe Rath was right.

"Where is she?"

Char looked over at the door. The mage's narrowed golden eyes fixed on Iris, and he hurried across the room to her side, beginning his examination, very much like the doctor's examination of Srot. Char turned away to join Kelnor and the others.

"What are you all staring at?" Srot mumbled irritably, his deep purple eyes fluttering open. "Can't a man sleep around here?" He yawned and sat up, inspecting his arms and his bare torso. "Man, I need a bath."

"You're alive," Kelnor said hoarsely.

"Yeah, I'm alive," Srot said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Where's that girl? Is that her?"

"You know about her?" Char asked.

Srot was on his feet and walking over to Iris, as strong and sure as he had been before the battle.

"Stay back," the mage warned, throwing his arm out.

Srot swatted it away. "Iris, right?"

"How do you know that?" the mage asked, his mystified golden eyes leaving Iris to look up at Srot.

"She was just in my head. I think I should know a thing or two about her," Srot replied. "Is she going to make it?"

"What do you mean, in your head?" Char asked, approaching cautiously.

"Ah, it's kind of hard to explain," Srot said, his eyes darkening as he studied her. "It was like...she had to go back to the battle, to the moment those arrows hit me, to take the injuries herself. Looks like they're healing already."

Char looked down at her, and the flow of blood had stopped. She was still deathly pale, though.

"What of the magic?" the mage asked insistently.

Srot frowned. "Well, the arrows weren't the problem, were they? It was all that mage."

"I see," the mage muttered, stroking his beard. "That's why I felt two different signatures."

The hair on the back of Char's neck stood up. He had felt the snapping and crackling in the air, too, shortly before she started moaning and writhing in pain.

"What does this all mean?" Kelnor asked tersely. Magic had never been his strong suit. He knew just enough to transform and 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 said dourly. "Where we are."

Kelnor swore. "I knew I should have killed her."

"Are you forgetting something?" Srot interrupted, stepping between her and Kelnor and crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm alive because of her, so if you have any thoughts about killing her, think again."

"No, no, that would be a waste," the mage said dismissively. "She is far too valuable to dispose of so quickly. If we can harness her power, she can win the war for us."

Char's stomach twisted. This was probably why the king's mage wanted her, too. "She's not a soldier," he interjected.

"I knew you had a thing for her," Kelnor accused him. "This is war. You can't let your personal feelings get in the way."

"But she can't stay here," the mage continued, ignoring everybody else and keeping his golden eyes focused on her. "Too dangerous. Not enough barriers to keep the king's mage out." He tapped his chin and looked up at Kelnor. "I'm taking her to the magic school."

"No, you're not," Char said firmly.

"Char," Kelnor reprimanded him.

"Hold up. What are you planning to do with her?" Srot asked.

"I can assure you that no harm will come to her," the mage said smoothly. "The barriers will keep her safe from the king's mage, and I will personally see to her education. She has to learn how to channel this power appropriately, or she will be a danger to others and herself."

It sounded good, but there was a flicker of something in the mage's golden eyes that made Char think he couldn't be trusted. Kelnor and Srot didn't see it. Or maybe Kelnor did, and he didn't care.

"Do it," he said. "I want weekly reports on your progress. Char, Srot, come on. The second team should be back anytime, and then it's our turn to go to battle again."

Neither of them moved.

"I want to know as soon as she's awake so I can thank her," Srot said firmly.

"Of course," the mage said ingratiatingly. "And you are welcome to come as well," the mage said to Char.

Char nodded stiffly and followed Kelnor and Srot to the door, glancing back just before he left. The mage's golden eyes were back on Iris, filled with undisguised greed. Char's stomach turned, but he walked away.

Kelnor was right. He had let his personal feelings get in the way.

It was supposed to be a standard scouting mission. Char had the most experience with humans, so he had been selected to go into town ahead of time. Determine the army's numbers, identify their defenses, report back to plan the strike. That was it. 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. Kayla adored Iris, and the feeling was mutual; that much was immediately clear. The red-headed teenage boy who took Kayla from Iris was as taken with the child as everybody else. She was a spoiled little thing, though not materially. Her dress was worn and faded, the hem of the skirt ending too far up her calves, and her shoes had holes in them. But everybody who saw her smiled and greeted her, their faces lighting up when those big blue eyes met theirs. Char immediately liked her, the same way everybody else liked her. She was the little sister everybody wanted.

And then there was Iris.

She was young, but she wasn't a child. Her worn, faded dress didn't fit her well. It was made for a girl, not a woman, and letting it out here and there didn't change that. The sleeves were too short, the hem exposed her calves, and the waistline was too high. At least her shoes didn't have holes in them, though Char was certain they had to be close to that point. Still, her apparel couldn't disguise her beauty. She had tied her long, thick, chestnut brown hair at the base of her neck with a tattered ribbon, the ponytail spreading out and cascading down her back past the too-high waistline to her swaying hips. Her brown eyes were bright and cheerful when she was talking to somebody, serious and focused otherwise. She kept reaching into her pocket to produce a scrap of paper and a pencil that was barely more than a nub, scanning the list to see what she needed to do next, jotting down odd jobs requested of her by nearly everyone she passed in the street. Without Kayla to distract, she was the center of attention. Everybody knew her. Char wondered how much of her work came from people just being nice to her, giving her an opportunity to earn a little money when they had some extra to spare.

She was enchanting. He had to tear his eyes away from her, reminding himself why he was in that town, what he was there to do. She didn't matter. She couldn't.

And then she walked into the tavern that night, tying an apron around her waist and greeting the regulars with her bright smile. He was supposed to be watching the mage's door, but he found himself watching her instead. She flirted, she teased, she danced skillfully just out of reach of the soldiers and travelers who were too forward, and then she took the mage his dinner. That was the first time Char saw her scared. She froze at the door, and she let herself in, and he felt a sudden urge to run up those stairs and pull her out of there.

He felt a similar urge now, to run back down the hall and snatch her away from the dragons' most powerful mage, a man who couldn't contain her power but lusted for it.

The mission was simple. Follow orders, win the war. She didn't matter. She couldn't.