The Hidden Crystal

Chapter 11

"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 then, 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.