22. Alistair
twenty-two
Alistair
Alistair sensed Iggie’s tension the instant they left the town hall.
The necromancer refused to look in his direction, and each time Alistair attempted to engage him in conversation, he’d respond with noncommittal grunts or single words.
When Alistair made the mistake of reaching for him, he jerked away as if burned by dawnflame.
They walked in silence after that, the handful of paces between them looming like a yawning chasm.
Confusion swept through Alistair. He’d thought the meeting had gone well—better than he’d expected thanks to Liliana’s surprise endorsement.
He’d been prepared for more of a fight when Iggie offered his aid to the council and was glad he wouldn’t have to find out just how far he’d have been willing to go in order to bludgeon the village elders into submission.
So then, why did Iggie seem so withdrawn? Was the necromancer worried about the coming battle? Perhaps he already regretted his brash decision. Helping Alistair investigate the golem’s origins was one thing—facing it in open combat quite another.
They reached the empty inn, and Iggie mutely unlocked his door, moving to step inside.
Alistair considered continuing past to his own quarters.
He had to replenish his dawnflame before the evacuation preparations in the morning, and after the long, fraught day they’d had, they could undoubtedly both use some time to themselves.
Nagging concern, however, compelled Alistair to follow after Iggie.
The necromancer stiffened but didn’t demand he leave, which felt like a minor victory after the awkward walk over.
Iggie perched on the edge of his cot and stared at the floor while Alistair quietly shut the door.
Exhaling, Alistair scrubbed a hand through his short brown hair.
“Look, I know we discussed the need for you to make amends with the town, but you’ve already done that by assisting with my investigation. Without you, I never would have unraveled the mystery of Julian’s death, nor recovered Matrim’s notes. You can leave the rest to me.”
Iggie jerked his head up, his face twisting into a scowl. “Are you that eager to be rid of me?”
Alistair’s eyes widened as surprise rippled through him. “Of course not! I simply meant that you shouldn’t feel obligated to stay and risk your life fighting a battle you’re not a part of.”
“Not a part of? This conflict became as much mine as it is yours the moment I decided to come with you! I swore an oath to help defend Singer’s Rest, and I intend to keep it.”
Pride in Iggie’s courage flared through Alistair despite his deepening confusion. “If it’s not the coming battle that has you so melancholy, then what does? Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
Iggie stared at him for a long beat. Then, he sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s us.”
Warmth blossomed in Alistair’s chest even as his stomach roiled. “U-us?”
Iggie nodded, his gaze fixed on his hands fidgeting in his lap. “Experiencing Julian’s memories of Matrim helped force me to acknowledge my feelings, but they’ve been there since that night in the cave, no matter how desperately I’ve fought to bury them.”
“Iggie…” Alistair didn’t know what to say. His heart raced. He felt like the world had suddenly tipped on its axis, leaving him off-balance.
The necromancer looked up, his wide eyes imploring. “You can’t tell me that you don’t feel it too, Alistair. This…this connection between us, as if we were meant to be together.”
“But we can’t!” Alistair’s protest came out louder than he’d intended, and guilt flickered through him at Iggie’s flinch. He exhaled, regulating his tone to something more reasonable. “You know we can’t, Iggie. Whatever connection we shared was never meant to last.”
“Do you regret what we did, then?”
The quiet ache in Iggie’s words tore at Alistair’s heart. He took a halting step forward, pausing when the necromancer pinned him with an icy look. “No. Never that. I…I care about you, Iggie. You’re a good person, even if you don’t always see it.”
Iggie chuckled mirthlessly, looking down at the floor. “But that’s not enough, is it?”
“No,” Alistair said, a heavy pressure squeezing his chest. “I suppose it isn’t.”
Iggie didn’t reply, and this time when Alistair risked moving closer, he made it to the bed without protest. He sat beside Iggie, the cot’s frame creaking ominously at the extra weight.
“Is it because of what you saw earlier?” Iggie asked, still staring at the floor. “Because of my…my magic.”
Shock ricocheted through Alistair’s veins.
“Of course not! I’ll admit that when we first met, I believed in the Order’s teachings.
But I’ve seen with my own eyes the good your duskflame can do, just as your past proves how dawnflame can be used to commit evil.
I’m beginning to realize that magic itself isn’t inherently right or wrong—it’s the wielder that determines its morality. ”
Iggie shuffled, the movement causing his side to brush against Alistair. Even through his armor, the touch sent a shiver tingling along Alistair’s skin.
“Then why?” Iggie asked. The plea in those two words made his unspoken questions plain. Why can’t we be together? Why can’t things be different?
Alistair wished he had a better answer, but he could only repeat the unfortunate truth.
“Because the Order is everything to me. I know you might not understand, but this is the life I chose. This is what I was born to do. And I cannot allow anything to come between me and my responsibilities. It’s… it’s all I have.”
Though he knew he shouldn’t, he tentatively reached for Iggie’s hand, relief flooding him when Iggie clutched it in his lap.
Alistair believed every word he’d said…didn’t he?
But then, why did it feel like he was letting something precious slip away?
Was his duty helping others really all he had? Or might there be something more?
Iggie spoke, breaking the silence. “When I was a kid, there was this one time my parents came with me into the woods. They wanted to witness my magic with their own eyes since they never let me use it at home where a neighbor might see. We walked forever down this old hunting trail until they were certain no one would bother us. Then, my dad took out the bones of a rabbit we’d had for dinner a couple of nights before and asked me to animate them. ”
Alistair tried to picture the scene. “Were you nervous?”
Iggie chuckled. “I was terrified. I thought my parents would be furious, or even worse, that they’d shriek and run away. By then, I’d realized how everyone else would view my powers if they found out. I begged them not to make me show them, but my dad insisted.”
A sad smile played over Iggie’s lips, his eyes distant with the sheen of memory.
“It’s easier to reanimate something small like a rabbit than it is a human, even if the corpse’s condition wasn’t ideal.
Soon enough, I had a little skeletal bunny with coal-black eyes hopping around the forest floor.
Animals aren’t capable of understanding anything but the most rudimentary commands, but I got it to circle around us, vaulting over our feet.
I lost myself in the show for a while before I remembered my parents.
It took every drop of my courage to look at them and gauge their reactions. ”
“And?” Alistair asked, surprised to find himself nervous for that lost boy. “How did they take it?”
“They looked…well, maybe not happy, but definitely awed. They asked me a ton of questions. I answered them as best I could. Then, I let them issue orders to the rabbit through me. We spent hours out there together until well past dark. My parents were quiet while we walked back, and at last, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I demanded to know what they were thinking.
If they…if they hated me now. And do you know what they said? ”
Alistair shook his head, his throat too tight with emotion to speak.
“They told me that they loved me.” Iggie’s voice broke, making his next wavering words hard to understand.
“T-that nothing would e-ever change that.” He glanced at Alistair, tears glistening in his fierce azure gaze.
“They were worried about me, of course—they feared for my safety if others found out. But they were never afraid of me or my magic. They did everything they could to protect me.”
Recalling what Iggie had told him of his parents’ sacrifice, Alistair thought of the pair of undead waiting patiently in the hills. Even now, years later, a part of them still stood constant vigil over their son. “Yes. They did.”
“I hope they’re proud of me,” Iggie said, staring back at the floor. “I know I haven’t always made the right choices, but I…I hope they’re proud of the man their son became.”
Unable to resist any longer, Alistair tugged Iggie against his side, reveling in the comforting press of his body.
No matter the realities that kept them apart, Alistair couldn’t deny how right Iggie felt in his arms. “They are,” he said, his voice muffled as he rested his chin on Iggie’s tanged red hair. “I’m sure of it.”
“How do you know?”
Alistair snorted. “How could they not be? Just look at you, volunteering to fight for people who actively despise you. Erys had the right of it, Iggie—you’re as much a hero as I am.”
Iggie fell silent, snuggling against Alistair as best he could while Alistair still wore his armor. Part of him was grateful for the enforced physical distance. Part…but not all.