Page 58 of The Necromancer's Prisoner

Iggie shifted at the touch and blinked awake, looking up blearily. When he saw Alistair, he smiled. “You’re still here,” he said, his voice husky from sleep.

Alistair chuckled. “Andyousleep like the dead.”

Iggie’s smile widened, the pure, unfiltered joy in it enough to steal Alistair’s breath. He’d never seen the necromancer look so happy, so carefree. Soon enough, his troubles would no doubt return to him, the weight of the world crashing back down. But for at least this singular blessed moment, Alistair caught a glimpse of what Iggie might’ve looked like without the tragedies of his past.

So beautiful.

Iggie’s eyes widened, and it was only then that Alistair realized he’d spoken the words aloud. Flushing, he opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could get a word out, Iggie surged upward, sealing their lips in a kiss.

Warmth blossomed in Alistair’s chest, spreading through him like dawnflame. He shifted so he lay atop Iggie, kissing him all the while. A groan escaped his lips when Iggie bucked beneath him, and he ground his own answering hardness against Iggie’s. For one glorious moment, he allowed himself to pretend that this connection between them was more than an impossible dream. But all too soon, harsh reality came rushing back.

Merciful Light, what am I doing?

He jerked away, breaking their kiss as he scrambled off Iggie and out of the bed. Iggie blinked dazedly at him as he grabbed his armor and retreated to the door.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his throat too tight.

Iggie’s carefree joy faded, taking a piece of Alistair’s heart with it. He gave a listless nod. “Right. Of course. Nothing’s changed.”

Alistair nodded too quickly, his gut roiling. “Exactly. We still can’t do this. Not with who I am and, um, who you are.” Merciful Light, could this get any more awkward? He had to get away and clear his head. “I…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, Alistair practically sprinted out the door. Despite his best efforts to quiet his spinning thoughts, sleep eluded him, and as he lay awake in bed, his mind returned again and again to Iggie—to that kiss they’d just shared, and to the night they’d spent together in the harmonite cavern.

There had to be some way of resolving this divide he felt growing within himself—of reconciling his duty as a paladin and defender of the people with his desire for Iggie. He’d thought himself resigned before to letting Iggie go when this was all over, but now…

Now, I don’t know if I can.

twenty-three

Ignatius

Iggieawokethemorningof the great exodus from Singer’s Rest unable to shake last night’s kiss from his mind. It seemed the perfect encapsulation of his futile longing. On the one hand, it proved that the paladin still cared about him and that their night in the harmonite cavern hadn’t been a fluke. Alistair clearly felt the same strong pull toward Iggie as Iggie did toward him.

On the other hand, it demonstrated just how little that nascent connection mattered. Whatever future Iggie had envisioned together existed only in his head. Alistair had made that perfectly clear with how thoroughly he’d shut down Iggie’s confession. The paladin had chosen a life with the Order—and such an existence left no room for a necromancer within it.

Suddenly colder than the early afternoon air warranted, Iggie shivered and forced his attention back to the crates of supplies he was attempting to load. The council’s announcement had gone out that morning, amplified by one of Erys’ spells. By now, the entire town had heard of the impending attack and the order to evacuate. They’d be departing in a few hours’ time, led by Liliana to take shelter in a nearby cave before nightfall.

At least, that was the plan. But things weren’t progressing as smoothly as everyone had hoped. Even Iggie could sense the nervousness in the air, see it in the way people paused and looked around as if they’d forgotten what they’d been doing. Many insisted on packing as much of their belongings as they could, heedless of efforts to dissuade them. Others contested whether the threat was real, stubbornly refusing to abandon their homes.

Then, there were the supplies—countless crates of food and firewood and other commodities that had to be retrieved from storehouses, consolidated into the fewest number of crates, and bundled up on makeshift sleds to transport them through the snow.

The whole thing was barely organized bedlam. And through it all was Alistair, the calm and stoic paladin, offering whatever assistance he could, whether it meant hauling heavy crates with his dawnflame-enhanced strength or calmly reassuring a disgruntled villager that they didn’t need to worry about anyone stealing their possessions while they were gone.

Iggie did his best to help as well, but his presence often had the opposite effect of Alistair’s, only serving to put everyone more on edge. Hence why he’d resigned himself to packing up their stores. Even then, he had to pretend he didn’t notice the glares everyone kept giving him, as if they expected him to run off with their supplies the first chance he got.

Not that he could entirely blame them for their suspicions, he supposed. After all, he’d been doing precisely that until a handful of days ago.

Groaning, hethunkeddown a teetering crate he’d barely been able to lift and rubbed his aching lower back. To be more specific, hisundeadhad been the ones making off with the village’s supplies. They were far better suited for this kind of manual labor than he was, what with his pathetically thin frame and nonexistent muscles. Each of his skeletons could accomplish the work of a half-dozen townspeople, all without the need for breaks or rest. Shadow and shade, iftheywere here, the caravan might’ve been ready an hour ago.

He blinked, the seed of an idea taking root. One that was likely impossible but that he couldn’t seem to shake nonetheless. He was still mulling it over when he heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow and glanced up to find a weary-looking Alistair approaching.

The two of them had barely spoken since last night thanks to Alistair’s role in the ongoing preparations. Part of Iggie had appreciated the space. It had given him some much-needed time to get his emotions in check. Now, however, he was grateful for Alistair’s company as the paladin slumped onto a crate beside him.

“The way you’ve been running around with a smile all day, I thought you’d never exhaust your energy,” Iggie said with a tired chuckle.

Alistair sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “A paladin can only use dawnflame to keep exhaustion at bay for so long before the effort catches up to them. My reserve is running perilously low, and there’s still so much to do.”

“Maybe you should take a break.” Iggie stretched, letting out a groan when his back popped. “You won’t do anyone any good if you collapse in the middle of the street.”