Page 26 of The Necromancer's Prisoner

He’d intended the song crystals to be an amusing excursion—something to take both their minds off their dire situation. And on that front, the harmonite had delivered. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had so much fun. For so long, he’d devoted his life to his training, first to appease his father and then to carry on his father’s legacy. It had been refreshing to relax the mantle of paladin, if only for a little while.

But that moment he’d shared with Iggie at the end…

He swallowed, refusing to glance over at the necromancer beside him. Hopefully, the dim light would hide the blush coloring his neck. When he’d heard Iggie singing, he hadn’t been able to resist drawing closer to listen. The words themselves were mostly meaningless—a child’s bedtime rhyme about talking sheep sauntering across the moon.

What had riveted him was thewayIggie sang them. His words had dripped melancholy, every syllable jagged with broken longing. The necromancer still hadn’t revealed much about his past—only that he’d been on the run for years and that his parents had died when he was young. Whatever his story, however, his heartache clearly mimicked Alistair’s own.

In that moment, Alistair had longed for Iggie in a way he never had anyone else before. To cup his angular cheek and wipe away his sorrow. To wrap him in a tight embrace, pressing their bodies together. To join their lips in a tender kiss that proved they weren’t alone. And he had been mere moments away from doing it, too, before he snapped to his senses.

That tight knot in his chest squeezed, eliciting a grimace. Merciful Light, what temporary madness had come over him? Iggie might not be the villain he’d expected to find, but he was still a necromancer—a criminal in the eyes of the Order and an ongoing threat to the people of Singer’s Rest. What would they say if they saw him now? What would hisfathersay?

Besides, it wasn’t as if Iggie would reciprocate his inappropriate feelings. The necromancer had made no secret of his disdain for the Order. Any frustration Alistair thought he’d glimpsed on Iggie’s face when he’d pulled away had to be because of how close he’d come to making such a grave mistake in the first place. The best thing he could do now for both of them was to pretend the moment had never happened.

When they emerged into the main cavern, they found the undead waiting right where Iggie had left them. Alistair side-eyed them as he settled in around the smoldering fire. He might not see the lingering humanity in them the way Iggie did, but at least their presence no longer unsettled him as it would have several days prior.

The stilted silence between them stretched. Alistair glanced over to find Iggie studying the dawnflame-fueled fire forlornly, the same haunted expression marring his face that he’d worn while singing. Alistair’s protective instincts flared. Just because he wanted to keep his distance didn’t mean he needed to leave Iggie to suffer whatever past hardships plagued him alone.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m willing to listen.”

Iggie let out a derisive snort. His gaze never left the golden flames. “Talking about it won’t change what happened.”

“No,” Alistair agreed. He pictured his father’s curse-ravaged body, an echo of the grief he’d felt shivering through him. “But that doesn’t mean it won’t help you move forward.”

Iggie’s only reply was a rough shake of his head.

Alistair muffled a sigh.If he won’t take the initiative to share, I suppose it’s up to me to get the ball rolling.“My father was slain by a duskflame caster—a witch, to be more specific.”

Iggie looked up sharply, his eyes widening. “What?”

Alistair nodded. “It happened eight years ago. My father led a team of three other Knights to investigate rumors of duskflame activity in Darton.” He fought to keep his tone steady, as if he wasn’t discussing anything more interesting than the weather. “Turns out the rumors were true. They uncovered a coven of witches within the city and sought to apprehend them for their black magic, but the witches fought back. Two Knights were slain outright, and my father…”

Cracks splintered across Alistair’s carefully constructed composure as he sucked in a steadying breath. Iggie’s pale blue eyes were wide with concern, and Alistair focused on them like a lifeline anchoring him to shore. “My father suffered a terrible curse, uttered by the coven’s leader with her dying breath. No amount of dawnflame could cure it, and the Order’s best priests barely managed to slow its progress. I was fifteen when he passed.”

“Shadow and shade,” Iggie swore. “I’m so sorry, Alistair.”

Alistair forced a shrug, his shoulders tight with suppressed emotion. “As you said, there is no way to change the past. The curse gradually consumed him—first his body and then his mind. In a way, his death was a mercy—by the end, little remained of the man he’d been.” He cleared his throat, savagely pushing back the prickles of moisture in his eyes. He’d shed all his tears years ago. “After that, my uncle took over the family estate.”

“And you?” Iggie asked, his voice hesitant. He’d shifted closer to the fire, Alistair noticed, too wrapped up in Alistair’s tale for his usual aversion to the dawnflame.

“Why, I continued my training, of course.” Alistair couldn’t help the faint note of bitterness that crept into his voice as he remembered the early days after his father’s death. “Not that I didn’t want to,” he hastened to add at Iggie’s raised eyebrow. “I’d dreamed of joining the Order ever since I was a boy. I wanted to be like the heroes in the stories my father told me when I was a boy, selflessly aiding those in need. Now, eight years later, here I am.”

“Congratulations,” Iggie said with a wry grin.

Alistair chuckled. “Thanks.” His good humor dampened as he peered about the dimly lit cavern. “You know, this was supposed to be my first solo mission—a chance to prove myself to the other Knights who doubted me.” He shook his head with a self-derisive snort. “And we both see how wellthat’sgoing. Merciful Light, I’d probably be dead thrice over if not for the aid of a Light-blindednecromancer.”

Sudden tension stiffened Iggie’s back. Realizing what he’d said, Alistair grimaced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Iggie snapped. He glared at the dancing flames. “I’m used to it.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have to be!” Alistair’s words came out more forcefully than he’d intended, and Iggie jerked his head up to stare. Alistair sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, you have to understand that I’ve spent most of my life despising duskflame casters like you. And after what happened with my father…”

A shudder raced through Iggie. “Maybe you’re right to fear us,” he said, bowing his head and hunching his shoulders as if trying to make himself as small as possible. His long fingers twisted together in anxious knots. “Maybe we really are the blight upon the natural order that the Church claims us to be—a living, breathing curse best eradicated before it can fester.”

Not too long ago, Alistair’s own thoughts might have followed a similar trajectory. Now, however, faced with Iggie’s obvious despair, a sense of wrongness churned his stomach like bile.

“No!” Ignoring Iggie’s startled squawk, he strode around the fire and gripped the necromancer by both shoulders, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Listen to me. I don’t know about others who wield duskflame, but I’ve seenyou, and you are not the fiend I’d been led to believe. Don’t let others define your path for you—onlyyoucan decide the person you want to be.”

Iggie stared at him for several heartbeats, his expression unreadable. “And what about you?” he finally asked. “What doyouwant, Alistair?”