Page 57 of The Necromancer's Prisoner

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 nothappy, 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 wereneverafraid 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 howrightIggie 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.

His pulse quickened when Iggie shifted, resting a cool hand on his cheek. A weary smile graced the necromancer’s lips. “Until I met you, I loathed the Order. I blamed every last Knight for my parents’ deaths. But I realize now that hating all for the sins of a few makes me no better than those I reviled.” His grin faltered, his grip on Alistair’s cheek tightening. “You reminded me that it’s possible to try to see the good in others. To gather up all my fear and anger and just…”

“Let it go,” Alistair finished softly. He thought of his father’s flesh ravaged by duskflame and the hatred he’d once borne for anyone who wielded such magic. Reaching up, he threaded his fingers with Iggie’s. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Something flickered over Iggie’s face. He squirmed as if to rise before sighing softly and lying across the bed, resting his head in Alistair’s lap. Heat buzzed through Alistair, and despite his inner voice shouting at him to move, he reached down and tentatively stroked his hand through Iggie’s crimson locks.

“I should return to my room,” he said. “We both need sleep.”

Iggie shook his head against Alistair’s thigh. “Stay.”

“I can’t—”

“Not for the night. Just…just for a little while. Please. I’d like to hear more about your time with the Order—if you’re willing to tell me, that is.”

Surprised, Alistair raised his brow. “Since when doyoucare what it’s like being a Knight?”

“Since I met one who restored my faith that there’s at least some good left in the world.”

Merciful Light.His resolve crumbling, Alistair said, “If you’re sure. But only for a bit.”

True to his word, Iggie proved to be a rapt audience, and Alistair quickly lost track of time as he regaled Iggie with stories from his training and earliest missions. The necromancer seemed to particularly enjoy the tale of Lady Marabeth McCormick, a minor noblewoman whose father had petitioned the Order for help when she went missing.

There’d been signs of local bandit activity in the area, and at first, everyone assumed that they’d kidnapped Lady Marabeth to hold for ransom. It was only after nearly a week of searching that they discovered she had willinglyjoinedthe bandit group to stick it to her father. Usually, the Order would have intervened, but a mortified Lord McCormick insisted they leave the matter to him…even after his daughter led a lucrative robbery against one of his caravans.

A quiet peace stole over Alistair as he talked. It was far too easy to lose himself in the necromancer’s comforting presence—in his quiet chuckle and too-blue eyes.

Eventually, he found himself lying on his back with Iggie nestled against his side, one leg draped over him. He’d removed his armor at some point under the guise of comfort, and while they both still wore their tunics and trousers, he reveled at the enticing heat of Iggie’s fleeting touch—the electric prickle each time their bare skin brushed.

“I should go,” he murmured, as he had at least a half-dozen times before.

Iggie didn’t reply, his eyes closed as he rested his head on Alistair’s chest. Gazing down at him, Alistair heard his even breathing and spied the steady swell and fall of his chest. His necromancer had fallen asleep.

He took the opportunity to study Iggie’s features. His pale, porcelain skin, unblemished by any scars despite the hard life he’d lived. His sharp cheeks and narrow face, belied by his full lips. The way his messy red hair draped over his forehead like a wave of crackling fire. Alistair knew from experience how soft it was, and he tenderly brushed the bangs out of Iggie’s eyes.