Char was not in the mood for a party.

He spent the afternoon trying to comfort his distraught mother, to no avail. At least she wasn't crying anymore when he and Rath left. She wouldn't listen to anything Char or Rath had to say about Iris' character, and she was still convinced that they had been bewitched. Char couldn't really blame her. Hatred for human mages ran deep within her veins ever since their father's death at the hands of one. That had scarred Rath deeply, too, and Kelnor, who saw it happen. Char had kept his own struggles to himself. His father had friends among the humans, and he'd brought Char along on his secret visits, knowing Char wouldn't run his mouth like Rath. They were people. Just like the dragons. People, mostly nice, mostly kind, with a few bad apples who didn't have to ruin the entire barrel. And one of those friends was a mage.

It was a long time before Char worked up the courage to visit him again.

"Hey, if you're not going to smile, at least try to look less like you just sucked a lemon, okay?" Rath said, drawing Char back to reality. They had stopped on a doorstep. Not Kara's doorstep. Misa's.

"You're picking her up?" Char asked disbelievingly.

Rath shrugged. "Girls like that."

He knocked on the door, and a few seconds later, it opened. Misa's surprised golden eyes met Rath's. He grinned and boldly looked her over. The golden dress she wore matched her eyes perfectly, and it shimmered like her hair whenever she moved. It was tight, with a short skirt and a plunging neckline. Rath whistled approvingly.

"You really don't want me looking at anybody else, do you?" he asked, offering her his arm.

She blushed as she took it. "And you're still wearing black."

"Black goes with everything," Rath replied, leading her past Char. "Especially silver and gold."

Char rolled his eyes as he followed them. 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, and a cheer rose from the crowd when Char and Rath walked in. Rath had his arm looped around Misa's waist, and he downed a drink and took her straight to the dance floor. Char nursed his drink and scanned the crowded rooms for Srot and Kara. They were in the living room. She was standing in a corner, her head tilted slightly so her blue hair fell across her bare shoulder to brush against Srot's arm. He was boxing her in with his hand on the wall beside her head, his purple eyes locked on her startlingly red eyes as she batted her eyelashes at him.

"Great party," Char said to her.

Srot shot him a glare. "Yeah. Go find your own girl."

"Srot, be nice," Kara giggled, shoving his chest playfully.

"Looking to meet somebody new. Anybody from the magic school here?" Char asked casually.

Realization dawned in Srot's purple eyes.

"Of course! When everybody heard you and Rath were going to be here, everybody wanted to come," Kara gushed. "Just keep your eyes peeled. I don't think you'll be alone too much longer."

Char smiled at her and nodded at Srot. "Then I'll leave you to it."

She wasn't wrong. The pink-haired girl from the street laced her arm around his, leaning against him, alcohol heavy on her breath as she smiled up at him. "Char, right?" she asked sweetly. "Wanna dance?"

"I'm not much of a dancer," he said, but she was already tugging him along.

"That's not what I've heard," she replied. Her eyes were a bright orange, her tight dress the shades of a sunset. He took another drink and followed her to the room where most of the dancing was going on. Rath and Misa were in the center of it all, her back pressed to his front, his hands on her hips as they swayed. The pink-haired girl pulled Char after her. "Dance with me," she said breathlessly, guiding his hands to her hips as she began to move to the music.

He had a few hours to kill before breaking into the magic school. Maybe Rath was right. He'd been wound so tightly that he needed to relax and let loose. He decided to limit himself to one drink so he could keep a clear head, but dancing didn't hurt anything. First it was the pink-haired girl, and then a red-head, and then a blonde, and they were all blurring together as more people crowded into the house, drinking and laughing. He wasn't sure when Kara ended up in his arms. Her shocking red eyes met his, and she smiled and leaned against him. He was about to push her away when she pressed a piece of paper wrapped around something metallic into his hand.

"You'll need this," she said, and then she slipped through the crowd and disappeared.

Char tucked it into his pocket, glancing around for a clock. It was almost midnight. Rath and Misa were making out in a corner. That lasted longer than he thought it would. Part of Rath's notoriety at these parties was his riotous drinking games, but he hadn't left Misa once tonight. Char made his way to the door, pushing through the crowd of bodies. The pink-haired girl and the red-head each grabbed one of his arms, tugging him back to the dance floor as he tried to brush them away, and then a cheer rose from the crowd. He looked back, and Kara was on a table, dancing, swirling and twirling alone. Char took advantage of the distraction and slipped away into the dark, quiet, empty street.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply, breathing the stale cave air that was at least free of the stench of alcohol. 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 know where to find Iris. He pulled the paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. Inside was a key and hastily written directions. He memorized them and stuffed the paper back into his pocket, grinning.

Rath was right. Crazy worked better for them.

The imposing wrought-iron gates were unattended. He unlocked them, wincing as their rusty hinges creaked when he slipped through, pushing them closed again and locking them behind him. Flowering trees and shrubs filled the courtyard between the gates and the front door. It would be 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 he was inside, his steps muffled by thick carpets covering the long stone hallways. He took a left and counted the doors on his right. Fifteen. The wooden door opened easily, and he was faced with another hallway, 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 wouldn't have guessed a magic school had its own dungeons, but here they were, rows of stone cells locked and barred with wooden doors and small metal windows that could be opened 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 had to have some magical ability to have pulled this off. Char unlocked the door and carefully, quietly opened it. The cell was tiny, smaller than the army's dungeons. There was no cot. Iris was huddled under a blanket on the bare stone floor, curled up tightly on her side, visibly shivering. He approached her and gently shook her shoulder.

"Iris," he whispered. Her only response was to hug the blanket tighter, so he shook her again, a little harder. "Iris."

"Mm." She stirred, her brow furrowing as if she were in pain, and then her brown eyes opened. "Char?" she asked, turning her head to look up at him in confusion.

"Can you stand?"

She sat up stiffly, the blanket falling away from her shoulders. Her hand went to her forehead, and she squeezed her eyes shut, wincing from the simple movement. She was still wearing the same blue, faded dress, ill-fitting and torn, dried blood crusted into the fabric over the left side of her stomach. Char felt anger burning in his chest, but he shoved it down and knelt to scoop her into his arms along with the blanket.

"What...are you doing?" she asked with some difficulty.

"Getting you out of here," he replied, balancing her on one knee while he tucked the blanket around her. "If anybody stops us, you've had too much to drink. Got it?"

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his chest. He stood up again and carried her out into the corridor. 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 as he listened.

"The gate is still locked," a second voice said.

"They must have a key." The first voice swore, and then he said, "We need to get to the dungeons. Now."

A door opened and closed, and then there was silence. Char cautiously rose enough to peek above the hedges. Nobody. He bolted toward the gate, fumbling in his pocket for the key, wincing when the rusty hinges gave him away again. Iris didn't move or speak. He wasn't sure if she was still awake. He almost left the key in the lock, but thought better of it and pulled the gate closed, locking it and depositing the key safely in his pocket. The street was empty. He ducked into an alleyway, grateful for his black clothes, Iris' brown hair, the brown blanket, all helping them hide 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 was opening the door-

He froze. His feet had taken him directly 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," Char whispered back.

"Why do you think I wasn't drinking? Come on, before we-"

"What are you boys doing?" their mother asked, blocking the hallway with her arms crossed over her chest and her blue eyes flashing. She was wearing a robe over her nightgown, her gray-streaked hair was loose over her shoulders, and she was more intimidating than Kelnor could ever hope to be.

"Uh," Rath started.

"Mother, this is Iris," Char said. "Excuse me." He started toward her and was relieved when she stepped aside to let him pass. She frowned, her eyes dropping to the unconscious woman in his arms.

"Why did you bring her here?" she asked, her voice cold and hard.

Char pushed his door open and carried Iris to his bed. "Because," he said, laying her down and pulling the blanket off of her, "I didn't know where else to take her."

His mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "What on earth-"

"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." He took a deep breath and said, "So, will you help her or not?"

Rath stood behind her in the doorway, his blue eyes narrowed angrily as he took in Iris' state.

"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," their mother said, hurrying to Iris' side.

"No bandages," Char told Rath's retreating form. "The blood is old," he explained to his mother's questioning look. "There aren't any wounds to bandage." He kissed her cheek and headed to the door. "Thanks, Mother."

His mother sighed, exasperated. "You have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, young man."