28. Alistair #2
Kelvin’s eyes flashed, his lip curling in the beginning of a sneer. “I was willing to overlook your impudence given what you’ve just endured, but you go too far, boy. Do not think your House name or status enough to protect you. When the Order hears of this, they’ll—”
“If this is the Order’s stance, then I want nothing more to do with them. Now, either do your duty and help me, or leave me be.”
Kelvin stared at him for several tense heartbeats before shrugging and stepping past Iggie’s prone body. “So be it. Throw your life away for this filth if that be your wont. I shall attend to those more worthy of my divine healing.”
The priest moved toward another moaning figure several paces distant. Alistair watched him go, hatred clawing up his throat. Merciful Light, had he really craved this man’s approval only a day ago? Kelvin didn’t deserve the dawnflame that flowed through his veins.
Alistair wrenched his gaze back to Iggie. Panic seized him when he discerned no movement in the necromancer’s chest. Then, he caught the faintest tremble and puffed out a breath. Not that it mattered whether Iggie’s heart kept beating. If Kelvin refused to help, there was little more to be done.
Merciful Light, it wasn’t fair! Alistair already felt his dawnflame repairing his own wounds, easing aches and reknitting torn flesh. What he wouldn’t give to be able to gift that power to Iggie instead. To grant him another chance at the life he deserved.
The children’s tale Iggie had recited to him during their time locked away in his tower floated unbidden to his mind.
At the time, he’d found the story’s conceit ridiculous.
Anyone willing to bargain away their soul with an Infernal deserved precisely what they got.
Now, however, he thought he understood what Iggie had meant when he’d called their joint sacrifices for one another beautiful.
Tears in his eyes, Alistair bowed his head over Iggie, not quite allowing his forehead to touch the necromancer’s chest for fear of making it more difficult for him to breathe.
His meditation was usually more of a formless thing—a reveling in the way the Light flowed through his body as he restored his reserves of dawnflame. This time, however, as desperation tore at him, he did something he hadn’t done since his father’s passing—he prayed.
Please, if any of the Celestials or Infernals can hear me, I call upon your aid.
I…I do not know any longer what is right.
If the Church and Order truly carry out your will, or if they simply use faith as a cudgel to advance their own agendas.
While my own faith has long been lacking, there is one thing of which I am certain—this man, Ignatius, doesn’t deserve to die.
I-I’ll do anything, pledge my life or even my soul, if only you’ll gift me the power to save him.
Ever so gently, he leaned down and pressed his lips to Iggie’s forehead.
Then, holding his breath, he sat back and opened his eyes.
He exhaled in a rush, his despair rising.
Nothing had changed. No whirlwind of dawnflame or duskflame to announce the arrival of an Immortal.
No miraculous recovery. Iggie still lay dying on the ground…
and Alistair remained powerless to save him.
No! Clenching his jaw, he rested the tips of his fingers on Iggie’s chest. Iggie hadn’t given up. Even when Alistair had driven him away, the necromancer had returned to offer his aid. Now, it was Alistair’s turn to return the favor.
Taking deep, even breaths, he focused his remaining dawnflame into his fingertips until they glowed, then blazed with light. A golden glow suffused the air above Iggie’s chest, scorching the necromancer’s tattered cloak as it refused to flow into his shredded flesh.
Come on, Alistair prayed, willing the invigorating light to seep into Iggie and restore his wounds as it so often had Alistair’s. Come on…
He knew that what he was doing was insane—a final, desperate act with little chance of success.
But he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.
Even if this violated his every oath to the Order, even if it caused the Celestials to strip him of his gifted powers, even if the very effort killed him, he had to try.
Others moved about him, shooting curious glances his way as they attended to the rest of the wounded, but Alistair paid them no heed. His entire existence had constricted to him, Iggie, and the tenuous dawnflame that lay between them.
Before long, his arms ached from the strain of holding onto so much magic without releasing it. His whole body trembled, and he closed his eyes, continuing to beseech the Celestials, Infernals, or anyone else that might be listening to come to his aid.
When he felt his channeled dawnflame escape his grasp, defeat bowed his back even as his muscles sagged with relief from no longer having to hold it. Either his strength had finally given out or the Celestials had stripped him of his gifted power after all.
Then, Iggie’s body jerked beneath his fingers.
Alistair’s eyes shot open, widening in disbelief when he saw the golden glow suffusing Iggie’s chest. That…
that shouldn’t be possible. Astonished, he watched as dawnflame pooled around the crystal shard still rammed in Iggie’s gut.
Praying he wasn’t making a mistake, he reached down and wrenched the crystal out, tossing it aside with trembling fingers.
A gasp racked Iggie’s chest, and he arched his back, shuddering as fresh blood oozed from the opened wound. Alistair’s pulse quickened, but already, his gifted dawnflame was seeping into the torn flesh. Iggie’s body relaxed, his breathing gradually steadying.
“What have you done?” Kelvin hissed from somewhere nearby.
Alistair ignored the priest’s horrified outrage, his attention riveted on Iggie as the golden glow enveloping the necromancer’s body faded. With a rattling gasp, Iggie’s eyes shot open, widening as he blinked and looked around. “What…? Who…?”
His icy gaze found Alistair and stopped there, the tension in his face relaxing as he smiled dazedly. “You’re here.”
Alistair brushed a trembling hand down Iggie’s cheek. “Of course, I am.”
Iggie let out a contented sigh, his eyes drooping shut. “I’m glad. I…I’m sorry for leaving.”
Alistair’s chuckle came out a half-sob. Too many emotions to sort clogged his throat. “I’m sorry for driving you away. You were right—I should have stood up for you. What good is blind adherence to duty if it leads one to betray their own principles?”
“Sounds about as useful as it is to hate others just because they hate you,” Iggie replied, his eyes still closed. “I’ve let others’ perceptions of me color how I see myself for far too long. From now on, I intend to do the right thing, no matter what anyone else thinks.”
Alistair leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Iggie’s lips. “Well, whatever happens next, you’ll always be my hero.”
When he pulled away, he found that they’d attracted an audience. Kelvin and Liliana stood several paces off to the side, a group of murmuring villagers at their backs.
“I see that you’ve fallen even farther than I realized,” Kelvin said, his voice laced with disgust. “The Light has forsaken you.”
Alistair rose and slowly turned to face the priest. “Has it? Because if anything, it looked to me like the Celestials endorsed my desire to heal Iggie.”
“A trick, no doubt,” Kelvin sneered. “Some sort of vile pact between you and the necromancer to corrupt your dawnflame. How else could it mend a servant of the Dark?”