Bonus Chapter #2
He wasn’t ashamed of his choice in partner, and his uncle already knew the truth from their letters. Still, that didn’t stop him from being wary of his uncle’s potential reaction.
There was a lot that could be left out of ink and parchment, and discussing a necromancer joining the family in broad strokes was very different from meeting him and his army of skeletons in the flesh…so to speak.
Alistair’s gaze danced nervously between Iggie and his uncle. Part of him yearned again for the security of his sword, even if drawing it against his own flesh and blood was nearly unthinkable. He’d do whatever it took to keep Iggie safe.
But his uncle’s expression remained placid as he gave Iggie a polite nod. “It is good to finally meet you, Ignatius. Alistair has spoken much of you in his letters.”
“A pleasure.” The tension in Iggie’s voice belied the truth of his words. He glanced at Alistair with a faint hint of accusation. “Alistair failed to mention your visit.”
Alistair started to protest, but his uncle cut in.
“That’s because he didn’t know. Again, my sincerest apologies if I am interrupting.
I didn’t want my arrival to turn into some grand affair.
I simply wished to see the place my nephew has chosen to call home with my own eyes.
” His gaze lingered for a moment on Iggie.
“And to meet the man he has chosen to spend his life with.”
Iggie’s pale skin flushed a faint red. “Well, however you came to be here, it’s an honor to host you as our guest.” He snuck another glance at Alistair before seeming to steel himself and turning back to Alistair’s uncle.
“Our cottage doesn’t have much space, but we’d be glad to host you if you like. ”
The thought of his uncle being so close at hand sent a new jolt of tension ricocheting through Alistair.
To his relief, his uncle shook his head. “I appreciate the gesture, but I think it best if I remain with the rest of my retinue at the inn. I don’t wish to infringe upon your space more than I already am.”
Iggie inclined his head, clearly striving to project an air of noble formality he wasn’t accustomed to. “In that case, I insist that you at least join us for dinner. My treat.”
His uncle appeared hesitant. “If it wouldn’t be too much of a burden...” He trailed off, glancing toward Alistair.
Iggie looked to him as well, and Alistair found himself nodding. “Of course, Uncle. It would be good to catch up.”
Though on what, he didn’t have the faintest clue.
“I think I have everything I need for a snow hare stew,” Iggie said. He cast an anxious look toward Alistair’s uncle. “If that sounds amenable to you.”
“A hearty stew sounds perfect for this weather,” Alistair’s uncle replied.
“Excellent.” Ignatius took a moment to gather himself, then headed toward the doors leading outside. “Please, follow me.”
Alistair started after Iggie, but his uncle paused after only a handful of steps. His gaze lingered on the skeletons trailing in Iggie’s wake, his lips thinning slightly.
“Perhaps you could command your…companions to wait elsewhere?” Though his uncle’s tone remained mild, Alistair caught a clear hint of distaste in it.
Iggie must have as well judging by the way his shoulders hunched. He answered without turning around to face them, his voice sounding smaller than it had before. “Of course. Give me a moment to send them away.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Alistair said firmly.
His uncle stared at him, his gaze hardening.
But Alistair refused to relent, stepping forward to face down his uncle’s disapproval without flinching.
“Iggie’s undead are as much a part of him as my dawnflame is me.
They are not something to hide or be ashamed of.
And if you are to be our guest, I will not have you making him feel like they are. ”
Something Alistair couldn’t read flickered behind his uncle’s eyes. Then, his uncle shocked him by falling into a deep bow.
“You’re right, of course. Forgive me. It would seem some prejudices are harder to shake than I realized. Your companions may stay, Ignatius. I’m sorry if my suggestion gave any offense.”
This time, Iggie did turn, his brow raised in disbelief. “N-no worries,” he managed to stammer out. “Please, come with me.”
And with that, Iggie turned and practically fled into the night. Alistair and his uncle followed wordlessly after.
The air outside was crisp and cool. Darkness had almost fully fallen by now, though the harmonite street posts kept the path illuminated amid the layer of snow already coating the ground.
Alistair caught his uncle admiring the harmonite as they passed. “It will be even more resplendent in a few weeks for Dawncoming,” he said, settling into step beside his uncle.
Naked wonder suffused his uncle’s voice. “I can hardly imagine. I’ve seen song crystal before, of course. But to witness so much of it, so casually used...” His gaze shifted from one of the nearby posts to the broken harmonite shards rattling within Iggie’s undead. “Truly remarkable.”
Alistair murmured his agreement. Even after living here for several years, it was impossible not to admire the craftsmanship on display by Liliana and her master artisans.
They didn’t speak much for the remainder of the short walk back to the cozy cottage Alistair shared with Iggie. Iggie ushered them inside. Alistair let his uncle go ahead, pausing near Iggie long enough to steal a kiss.
“You all right?” he asked, casting his voice low. When Iggie jerked a tense nod, he stroked a soothing hand up and down Iggie’s back until he felt the tensed muscles there unwind. “Everything will be fine. There’s no need to be nervous.”
“Easy for you to say,” Iggie muttered. “It’s not my uncle who came here to judge you.”
“Nobody is judging you. I won’t let them.”
Iggie snorted and, with another fleeting kiss, headed inside, making at once for the kitchen. Most of his undead waited outside, though two trailed after him. Alistair caught his uncle tracking the undead with a slightly pinched expression. Thankfully, he didn’t voice any more complaints.
While Iggie got to work on the stew, Alistair sat with his uncle at their small table.
He was preparing himself for another awkward silence or bout of stilted conversation when his uncle surprised him by saying, “Do you remember that time your father fell into the hay pile trying to mount his steed?”
Alistair snorted a chuckle. “How could I forget? He left hay everywhere he went for nearly a week.”
“Aye,” his uncle said with a chuckle of his own. “That wasn’t the worst of it though, not compared to the rash.”
Alistair’s brow shot up. “I don’t remember any rash.”
“Oh, yes. He tried his best to hide it, but that hay did something fierce to his skin. When his own dawnflame failed to cure it, your father, proud Knight of the Order that he was, refused to accept any healing. He spent the whole time sneezing and itching up a storm.”
Alistair shook his head, smiling fondly at the image. He could easily imagine his father being stubborn enough to refuse aid for something he deemed a minor discomfort, preferring to suffer instead. Before Alistair had met Iggie, he might have done the same.
“During our training, there was this one recruit who had a knack for constantly pushing himself a little too hard in duels,” Alistair said.
“It seemed like he’d end practically every other match with something broken or dislocated and have to be sent to the priests for mending.
I don’t even want to imagine how much dawnflame his body must’ve absorbed. ”
That elicited a deep belly laugh from his uncle. Leaning over the table, his uncle lowered his voice conspiratorially. “That reminds me of this one tale from your father’s own training. I doubt he ever related it to you, what with how embarrassing it was.”
“Embarrassing?” Alistair leaned in as well. “In that case, you have to tell me.”
“Well…” his uncle began.
The next hour passed in surprisingly pleasurable conversation.
They kept the topics light, reminiscing about their time together on the family estate and swapping stories about Alistair’s father.
By the time Iggie emerged from the kitchen, his undead carrying a huge pot between them that sloshed with mouthwatering stew, most of Alistair’s nerves had settled.
He’d always known his uncle as a hard, serious man, not too different from his father.
But this was an entirely different side to him that Alistair had never seen before.
Had his uncle always been this willing to laugh and relax and Alistair was simply too obsessed with his training, with upholding his father’s legacy, to notice?
Or had his uncle mellowed over the past few years?
He wasn’t sure. Whatever the case, however, Alistair found that he appreciated the company.
“Dinner is served,” Iggie said as he began ladling out steaming spoonfuls of stew into a trio of bowls.
Alistair’s uncle let out a small gasp when he saw that the bowls Iggie had chosen were all carved of rough harmonite. “I appreciate the gesture, but there’s no need to use such treasured heirlooms on a simple dinner just because I am here.”
“Nonsense,” Iggie said, dumping more stew into one of the bowls. “An esteemed guest deserves our best.” He managed a tight grin. “Besides, these are hardly treasured heirlooms. They’re discarded experiments left over from a failed attempt to fill a commission. The colors were off, you see.”
Alistair’s uncle took a moment to study the scintillating crystal.
The colors pulsed more erratically than usual for worked harmonite, shifting through different shades of crimson that grew so dark they were nearly black.
The effect was faintly disconcerting, though beautiful in a flawed sort of way.
His uncle took the proffered bowl gingerly, almost reverently. “In that case, far be it from me to refuse.”