14. Alistair
fourteen
Alistair
Alistair awoke with his arm draped over Iggie’s stomach and his face practically buried in the necromancer’s neck.
Hard stone pressed against his side, broken only by a stretched pile of blankets beneath them.
Memories of last night returned to him—the attack on the tower.
The flight through the snow. Taking refuge in a cave, and then in each other’s hands and lips…
Warmth flooded him despite the chill hanging in the air.
Last night had been incredible, his connection with Iggie unparalleled by anyone else he’d ever met.
He grinned as Iggie shifted and grumbled sleepily in front of him, the necromancer’s crimson hair an adorable mess.
Lying here together, he felt more at peace than he had since his father’s passing.
Iggie snuggled back into his chest, gyrating his hips, and answering heat thrummed through Alistair.
He pressed forward, struggling to keep his growing excitement under control as he nuzzled his lips into the crook of Iggie’s neck, reveling in the now-familiar scent of him.
Merciful Light, he didn’t want this moment to end.
Maybe it doesn’t have to.
The thought took him by surprise, as did the intense knot of emotions it conjured. He’d be lying if he claimed he hadn’t enjoyed every second he’d spent with Iggie in his arms. But last night was supposed to be a fluke—a one-off occurrence.
Holding the dozing necromancer now, he found that he never wanted to let him go, and that revelation terrified him. How could he already feel so strongly about someone he’d just met? This wasn’t at all how he’d envisioned his first mission for the Order transpiring.
Heart hammering in his chest, he carefully extricated his arms from around the necromancer’s torso. The instant he had his limbs free, he scuttled back, a slight pang reverberating through him when Iggie mumbled something unintelligible and shifted in a vain attempt to keep them pressed together.
Alistair found his underclothes in a pile nearby and hurriedly tugged them on, then eyed his gleaming armor. Though he longed for its comforting weight, there was no way he’d able to don it quietly, and he didn’t want to wake Iggie. Not until he had a chance to get his head on straight.
Perhaps some fresh air would help clear his mind, even if it came with an accompanying blizzard.
He scooped up the pieces of his discarded armor and started to turn away, then hesitated before leaning over to check that Iggie remained nestled under a thick layer of blankets.
The last thing he wanted was for the necromancer to catch a cold in his absence.
Merciful Light, I’m being ridiculous.
His thoughts still jumbled, he headed for the passage that snaked to the cavern’s entrance.
Once he’d gone far enough that he shouldn’t have to worry about disturbing Iggie, he determinedly donned his armor.
With his golden breastplate in place and his sword secured once more at his hip, he should look every bit the radiant paladin.
It was time to resume his role as a Knight of the Order, and that meant dressing the part.
Ignoring the uncertain lump clogging his throat, he strode the rest of the way to the cave’s entrance, coming up short when he found Iggie’s undead clustered about it. This must have been where the necromancer had sent them last night to appease Alistair’s sensibilities.
A flush rose in his neck at the memory of what had happened next, and he forced the tantalizing images aside.
There’d be time enough to reflect on what he and Iggie had shared later.
For now, it was best not to dwell on what he couldn’t have.
Shoving past the skeletons, he stepped out of the tunnel into the thick-packed snow and froze, shielding his eyes.
Lazy flurries of snow continued to fall, but the sun now peeked through the clouds overhead, illuminating the snowscape with dazzling brightness.
The week-long blizzard had ended, which meant there was nothing to deter him now from returning to Singer’s Rest. He could finally resume his mission for the Order and save the village. He should be thrilled.
But then, why did the storm’s passing fill him with such melancholy?
As if you don’t already know.
He sighed, gazing out over the glistening white vista. No matter how compelling he found Iggie or how much he admired his tenacity and heart, there could be no future for them together—not as a paladin and a necromancer.
While Alistair had barely begun to unpack his horror over what those Knights had done to Iggie and knew he’d eventually need to reckon with that atrocity, he refused to believe the Order wasn’t also a profound source of good.
His father had saved countless innocent lives in the course of his duties, and though this was Alistair’s first solo assignment, he’d seen the gratitude himself on people’s faces when he’d helped drive off bandits or repair damaged homes.
His duty as a Knight represented his best chance to improve the lives of Khordan’s citizens, like his father had before him. He couldn’t risk that legacy over a single night…no matter how badly he desired a repeat.
When the frigid air began to numb him even through his dawnflame, he reluctantly returned to the cave where he’d left Iggie. He found the necromancer awake and dressed, huddled by the remnants of the dawnflame campfire.
“Sorry,” Alistair said, gathering fresh logs from their supplies to lay atop the ashes. “I forgot to tend to it this morning before I went to check outside.”
“It’s okay.” Iggie managed an uncertain smile despite his shivering. “When I woke up, you were already gone. I’d hoped we could talk.”
Alistair’s stomach flipped. He focused on rekindling the fire with his dawnflame. “What about?” he asked, keeping his eyes averted.
Iggie didn’t reply, and Alistair eventually looked up to find the necromancer fidgeting with the frayed hem of a blanket. He muffled a sigh. He supposed they’d have to have this conversation sooner or later. Best to lay everything out in the open.
“Look, Iggie, about last night—”
“We can’t do it again!”
Alistair blinked. “What?”
Iggie’s words tumbled out like falling snow flurries.
“It was great, and I’m glad we did it.” A furious blush colored his pale cheeks.
“I mean, I, uh, thoroughly enjoyed our time together. But we come from two different worlds. I think it’s best for both of us if we refrain from any further, um, intimacy. ”
Something twinged in Alistair’s chest, but he drowned it out beneath a flood of relief. “Agreed. We should keep our relationship purely platonic from here on out.”
“Platonic,” Iggie said, nodding. “Right.”
An awkward silence fell. Iggie huddled inward under the blanket draped across his shoulders. Alistair was considering making an excuse to escape to the cavern’s entrance when Iggie cleared his throat. “So, what did you find? Outside?” he clarified at Alistair’s confused look.
“Oh. Right.” Alistair’s fingers played with the hilt of his sword. “The storm broke. There’s still a light snowfall, but nothing too bad. It should be safe to return to Singer’s Rest.”
A stricken look passed over Iggie’s face before he managed to hide it beneath a too-wide grin. “Good. That’s, um, good. I guess this is where we part ways, then.”
Alistair frowned. “Where do you intend to go? Blizzard or not, it’ll be months yet before the passes to the lowlands are clear enough to travel.”
Iggie shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.” He swept his arms out to indicate the cavern. “Maybe I’ll hunker down here while I use my undead to search for something more permanent. If there’s one abandoned tower in these mountains, there’s bound to be others, right?”
The thought of Iggie remaining out here all alone tore at Alistair. His undead would do little to protect him should that glowing abomination return. Not to mention the risk of him freezing to death. Alistair’s gaze settled on the nearby crates, a decision firming in his gut.
“And what about food and firewood? Your supplies won’t last forever. What will you do when they run out—keep stealing from Singer’s Rest?” Iggie hesitated, and Alistair shook his head. “There’s only one logical course of action—you’ll return with me to town.”
Iggie’s brilliant blue eyes widened. “Are you insane? They’d execute me in a heartbeat!”
“Not with me there to vouch for you.”
“You think your word alone will be enough to counter centuries of the Church’s prejudice?”
Recalling Brother Kelvin’s near-fanatic devotion to the Light sent unease prickling across Alistair’s skin. “The village elders are reasonable people.” Mostly. “I’m certain we can find a way to resolve the matter—beginning with returning what remains of their stolen supplies.”
“I don’t know…” Though Iggie kept his face composed, Alistair could read his nervousness in his hunched shoulders. “The last time my fate rested in the hands of others, it didn’t end well.”
“Then, don’t leave your fate in their hands—leave it in mine.”
A furrow appeared in Iggie’s brow as he studied Alistair. Alistair wondered what the necromancer saw. Here he stood in his gleaming Order armor, a symbol of protecting those in need…as well as a badge of shame for the terrible sins committed against Iggie’s family.
After a beat, Iggie nodded slowly. “All right. If you say it will work out, I…I trust you.”
The simple admission eased something in Alistair’s chest. He might not be able to ever balance the Order’s debt, but he could do at least this much to honor the sacrifice made by Iggie’s parents and keep their son safe.
“Good. It’s settled, then. We’ll depart as soon as we’re packed.”
Alistair set about refilling the crates they’d already opened. Hopefully, the return of their missing supplies would serve as a token gesture to ease some of the villagers’ ire. He was carrying a stack of unused firewood in his arms when Iggie spoke up behind him.
“You said last night you intended to kill that monster out there. Do you have a plan?”
Alistair deposited the logs and turned to face Iggie, considering the question.
“For now, it seems safe to assume that the same beast that attacked us is also responsible for the missing villagers, which means it’s only a matter of time before it strikes again.
We need to be ready when it does. Our first order of business is to learn more about it.
If we can figure out what it is or what it wants, perhaps we can also identify a way to defeat it. ”
A slight frown tugged at the necromancer’s lips. “That seems a tall order on your own. Those crystals you showed me last night reminded me of the light given off by that creature. That suggests that whatever it is, it’s also magical in nature.”
Alistair nodded. “My thoughts exactly. It could be some manner of magical beast, though I’d assume the village elders would have told me if they’d encountered such a creature before. Alternatively…”
“Alternatively, someone could be behind its abrupt appearance.” Iggie’s frown deepened. “But who? That blue aura didn’t look like dawnflame or duskflame.”
A memory tickled the back of Alistair’s mind—shimmering azure magic flecked with silver. “No,” he said slowly. “But it does resemble runeflame. And as far as I know, there’s only one person in Singer’s Rest trained in the use of such magic—Erys, the town’s resident mage.”
From the moment he’d arrived, Alistair had found it odd that a member of the Arcanum would choose to live out here in the middle of nowhere.
Despite its export of song crystals, Singer’s Rest wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis or a key hub within the Empire.
Yet, Erys had also been the one to petition the Order for aid, and he hadn’t struck Alistair as particularly sinister when they’d met.
Could he really be orchestrating some diabolical plot?
“You think this mage might be involved?” Iggie asked, echoing Alistair’s thoughts.
Alistair tightened his jaw. “I’m not sure. But I intend to find out.”