7. Ignatius
seven
Ignatius
Iggie slammed his book shut, tightening his grip on its spine at another infuriating round of footsteps from below.
He’d been forced to listen to the paladin loudly pacing about the sitting room and clomping up and down the stairs all Dark-cursed day, and he wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take.
As if it wasn’t bad enough knowing he had a Knight of the Order camped out in his tower, the paladin’s restlessness was making him jittery by association.
Alistair. What a suitably pretentious name.
And of course, Iggie had been right about him belonging to one of Khordan’s noble houses.
Iggie hadn’t recognized the name, but that counted for little—even before he’d been a necromancer on the run for his life, he hadn’t exactly been privy to court gossip.
The fact that the paladin was any sort of noble at all confirmed the worst things Iggie had assumed about him.
Even if he is built like some sculptor’s rendition of a god…
Admonishing himself for viewing a Knight as anything other than a threat, Iggie tossed aside his worn book—at this rate, he’d never discover how the pirate prince outwitted the kraken or escaped with his marooned princess—and began his own nervous pacing.
Now that he’d given the paladin the freedom to roam the rest of the tower, he was beginning to feel like he was the one who was trapped.
He’d started to head down a half-dozen times throughout the day to check on his undead or do a sweep of the perimeter or simply stretch his legs, but each time, he’d thought better of it.
The paladin’s equipment might still be shoved in a crate under his bed, but he possessed no illusions that the paladin couldn’t kill him if it struck his fancy.
And he hadn’t exactly seemed trusting earlier despite Iggie saving his life yet again.
What use did Iggie have for a bunch of kidnapped villagers?
If he was that desperate for more undead, he’d be better off raiding the village’s cemetery.
Fresher corpses might maintain more of their personalities and skills, but even if Iggie was a murderer, it’d hardly be worth the hassle of abducting a handful of people against their will to bolster his ranks.
Not that Lord Alistair would listen to anything that dared contradict the Church’s caricature of those who wielded duskflame as evil masterminds hell-bent on world domination.
Why hadn’t Iggie done the reasonable thing and thrown the paladin back in his cell, ineffective or not?
Or better yet, left him to freeze to death in the storm…
He’s not entirely a lost cause. He introduced himself, didn’t he?
True. Alistair’s gesture while Iggie was retreating to his chambers had caught him off-guard. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought the paladin genuinely contrite over his accusations. Perhaps he was more than the Church’s puppet after all.
Iggie huffed out a sigh as he sank into his chair. He raked his fingers through his tangled red hair until it was even more of a disheveled mess than usual. As he often did when overwhelmed, he found himself rambling to Marlon and Cynthia, who stood silent sentinel by the door.
“I don’t why I’m letting his presence here affect me so much! I mean, this whole situation is absurd—a necromancer and a paladin, trapped alone in a tower for days? It’ll be a miracle if we both make it out of this in one piece.”
His eyes flicked over to Marlon and Cynthia’s stoic visages before flicking away. His nimble fingers drummed an anxious beat on the chair’s arm.
“I know what you’re going to say: ‘Ignatius, this is all your fault!’ And, well, I suppose you’re right. But what was I supposed to do? If I’d left him out there to die, then I’d be no better than the Order Knights who hunt me, or those who—”
A lump lodged in his throat while bile seared his gut. Crackling flames filled his vision, and ghostly screams choked the air. Quickly, he changed the subject.
“Now, here I am, trapped with a Dark-cursed noble thanks to my misplaced mercy. Not that he appreciates any of it. I’ve given him every comfort I can even when I have precious little to spare, and last I checked, he was still refusing to even eat!”
He shifted self-consciously in his seat.
“And yeah, okay, maybe I stole that food. And I might have locked him in a cell for a bit. But that was as much for his good as it was for mine!” A derisive snort escaped his lips.
“Besides, it’s not like the people of Singer’s Rest are wanting—they have to be the richest little village in Khordan thanks to those crystals they export. ”
Duskflame roiled in the hollow sockets of Marlon and Cynthia’s eyes as they watched him.
Iggie paused, studying their bleached skulls now yellowed with age.
They’d been with him since the beginning—the first humans he’d ever raised.
Someday, the magic sustaining them would fade and they’d crumble to dust, but he prayed that day remained a long way off.
They were his one constant—his one comfort.
If he lost them and had to face being truly alone again…
The fire and screams swam back into his awareness as the room around him faded, depositing him into that dark night when he’d lost everything. He remembered the jeering faces…the rough hands hauling him from his bed…the scent of charred flesh…
Shuddering, he turned away from his undead. While he waited for the memories to recede and his racing heartbeat to settle, he scrambled to focus on anything else.
“At least, he’s easy on the eyes.”
A different kind of horror flooded him when he realized what he’d said, and he groaned.
“Not that…I mean, it doesn’t matter. Obviously. I’m simply noting that, um, things can always be worse. At least this way, there’s something aesthetically pleasing…to look…at…”
Iggie trailed off, grateful Alistair wasn’t here to witness the furious blush coloring his cheeks.
He’d clearly spent far too long on his own if he was daydreaming about a stuck-up paladin.
Even if Alistair didn’t try to kill him before this was all over, he was a Knight, and a nobleman to boot.
Iggie knew better than to let himself become another victim.
“Besides, he could be the sexiest, kindest guy in Allaria, and it wouldn’t make a difference.
I could never trust a member of the Order, and he’d never see me as anything more than a villain.
” Bitterness turned his voice brittle. “As if he could ever know me or understand what my life is like. He accuses me of harming others when he’s the one hunting me!
All I want is to be left alone. Why can’t everyone just leave me alone? ”
Abruptly, he rose and moved to stand near a narrow window set into the chamber’s far wall. Though he’d boarded over it when he first arrived at the tower, some cold air still leaked through. After his visions of flames and ash, he found the draft comforting.
His anger drained out of him all at once, and he sagged, splaying his palms against the wall while hanging his head.
“Mother…Father…I wish you were still here with me.” His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper.
“I wish you’d been born with a better son—one more worthy of your love who could have made you proud. I’m sorry you were cursed with me.”
Wood creaked, and Iggie froze before spinning toward the door and narrowing his eyes.
Stalking over, he threw the door open and found…
nothing. The stone staircase stood empty, and the paladin sat in a chair below reading one of the books Iggie had left lying about.
He didn’t even glance up, though he couldn’t have missed the door opening.
It must have been the wind, billowing through the drafty tower.
Iggie grunted and began to pull the door shut before hesitating.
He considered the paladin once more. Everything he’d confided to Marlon and Cynthia was true—whatever latent attraction he felt for the man was purely physical and could never amount to anything.
But neither could he remain cooped up in his room for however many days it took the storm to pass—not without losing what remained of his sanity.
Projecting a boldness he didn’t feel, he strode down the stairs.
Marlon and Cynthia shadowed his back. Alistair finally looked up, his eyes widening slightly when he saw Iggie.
For a moment, he looked ready to bolt for the staircase descending to the hall.
Then, he set his book aside and settled into the chair, his face impassive as he watched Iggie’s approach.
Desperate to ignore the flutter in his gut at Alistair’s golden-eyed appraisal, Iggie focused on the paladin’s untouched dinner platter. “You really should eat something. If you think going on a hunger strike proves anything beyond your own stubbornness, then you’re sorely mistaken.”
“Thanks, but I’m good.” Right on cue, Alistair’s stomach rumbled. At least, he had the decency to look abashed.
Iggie rolled his eyes. “You act like you think I’m trying to poison you.” When Alistair didn’t respond, shock rippled through him. “Shadow and shade, you actually believe I would do that?”
“The thought crossed my mind,” Alistair muttered. “But—”
Iggie strode across the room, grabbed a hunk of meat from Alistair’s platter, and bit savagely into it. He glared at Alistair as he chewed.
The paladin huffed and crossed his arms. “Fine. I know you’re not trying to poison me.”
Swallowing the too-big bite of meat with a grimace, Iggie asked, “Then, what is it?”
Alistair hesitated. Instead of answering Iggie’s question, he said quietly, “What happened to your parents? Does it have something to do with why you’re hiding out here?”
Iggie’s mouth fell open. He stared at the paladin for a lengthy beat, too surprised to respond. Then, he put two and two together. “That was you at my door, wasn’t it?”
Alastair’s guilty expression was all the confirmation he needed.
“How dare you! I save your life, give you a place in my home, and you spy on me?”
“Can you blame me for being curious?” Alistair retorted. “I was planning to confront you about my missing gear until I heard you talking.” He raised an eyebrow. “Besides, isn’t that why you’re down here—to scout out the enemy?”
“I don’t know why I came down here anymore.
” Iggie stalked past the paladin toward the stairs leading to the great hall, struggling to keep a firm grip on his embarrassment.
Shadow and shade, just how much of my recent monologue did he hear?
“Not that I owe you any explanation for my actions. This is my tower, not yours. I don’t need a reason to move about it. ”
“My parents are both dead, too.”
The lingering sadness in Alistair’s voice froze Iggie in place. His heartbeat thrummed in his throat, begging him to keep moving—to get away from the Dark-cursed paladin so he could rein in his jumbled thoughts. But Alistair didn’t give him the chance.
“I never knew my mother. She died giving birth to me. I’m told she was beautiful though—always smiling and laughing. My father was never the same after that, or so I heard. They said it was like the joy in him died along with her.”
Iggie slowly turned to face Alistair. They locked eyes, and for once, those amber orbs felt wholly mortal, the emotion within them as raw as the tension stifling Iggie’s own chest.
“He wasn’t a bad man,” Alistair continued.
“Nor a bad father, really. But all he cared about was duty—carrying on and preserving the family legacy. There was no time for relaxation or fun. If it didn’t serve a concrete purpose, then it wasn’t worth doing.
” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Didn’t exactly make for a stellar childhood. ”
Iggie snorted, a blush rising in his neck when Alistair gave him a questioning look. “Let’s just say I know what it’s like to have a rough childhood,” he explained.
Alistair nodded, biting his lip as he considered Iggie.
This examination felt different from the ones the paladin had subjected him to thus far—more thoughtful than judging.
Iggie’s pulse quickened under the scrutiny.
He felt like he should speak, divulge more about his own past, but the words stuck in his throat.
He’d never spoken of that night, not even to Marlon and Cynthia.
After a pregnant pause, Alistair glanced to the fire, breaking the spell between them.
“My father was a Knight himself, you see,” he said, watching the dancing flames.
“The Order had always been important to him, but after my mother’s passing, it was the only thing that still mattered to him.
And thus, it became the only thing that mattered to me as well. ”
“So, you followed in your father’s holy footsteps?” Iggie winced as soon as the words left his mouth, realizing how callous they sounded.
Alistair, however, only smiled uncertainly. “I did. When he passed a few years ago, I devoted myself to the Order—the youngest to ever be accepted, and the fastest recruit to ever rise to the rank of full Knight. What better way to honor my father’s legacy?”
Though the words rang sincere, Iggie frowned at the slight hitch he caught in the paladin’s voice. Perhaps there was more to Alistair than first appeared.
“Well,” Iggie said to break the awkward silence. He fiddled with the hem of his cloak. “I should go check on the, uh…on things. Unless there’s anything else you need?”
Alistair shook his head, and Iggie turned to go, pausing when the paladin added, “Thank you, Ignatius.”
Ignatius. It was the first time Alistair had used his name, and the sound of it sent a pleased ripple through him. He glanced back, steeling his expression. “For what?”
“For saving my life. Twice.”
Ignoring the warmth flooding his skin, Iggie snorted. “Let’s try not to make it a third, shall we?” He paused, one foot on the stairs. “And please—call me Iggie.”