Page 28 of The Necromancer's Prisoner

“When I was a boy, I found a dead bird in the woods near our village. Though the sight turned my stomach, something about it called out to me, sent this faintthrumvibrating through my veins. I had no idea what I was doing, but somehow, I harnessed those vibrations and channeled them into the bird’s corpse.”

A sad smile played over Iggie’s lips, sending an answering ache through Alistair’s chest. “Thus, did I harness duskflame for the first time. I used to spend hours searching for dead animals so I could resurrect them, playing with their skeletons in a macabre imitation of how other kids might play with puppets.” His smile slowly faded. “I didn’t realize then how much danger I was in. Not yet.”

“When my parents found out what I could do, they were terrified. Not of me,” he said in response to Alistair’s immediate frown. “Butforme. They begged me not to use my powers anymore and insisted I keep my gift a secret. I…I didn’t listen.”

Alistair loathed the shame he heard in Iggie’s voice. “You were only a child. You didn’t know any better.”

“Well, I should have!” Iggie tossed his head as if he could shake off his pain like water. “It doesn’t matter. Fair or not, what happened next was my fault. Too enamored with my gift, I ignored my parents’ warnings and continued to practice my magic. Eventually, someone from the village saw me. It didn’t take long for the secret to spread after that. My parents locked me inside and tried to reason with the other villagers that I wasn’t a danger to them. I didn’t really understand what was happening or how serious it was. Not until the Knights arrived.”

Alistair hissed in a breath. “The Order dispatched multiple Knights for a singlechild?” It sounded ludicrous to him, almost inconceivable. And yet…

He thought of the open disdain with which he and the other recruits had discussed duskflame wielders during their training. The disgust and fear that had lurked in the eyes of the veteran paladins when they recounted the horrors they’d witnessed in the line of duty. His father’s wasted, withered body.

For the first time, he wondered what those witches in Darton had thought when the Knights came for them. Had they really threatened innocents as part of some diabolical plot? Or had they been like Iggie, simply looking for someplace they might fit in? Had the curse that claimed his father been vengeful cruelty…or panicked self-defense?

Questions for which he’d likely never find a satisfactory answer. Alistair forced them aside, returning his attention to Iggie. The necromancer’s gaze was distant and unfocused as he stared into the crackling dawnflame. A mask of agony contorted his face.

“I think the local priest sent for them. I never found out for sure. There were two of them that came—terrifying giants with their heavy swords and lustrous armor. None of the other villagers tried to stop them or even to argue. They all just stood aside and trusted in the Order to do what was best. What wasright.”

A solitary tear wavered down Iggie’s grief-stricken face. Alistair trembled, fighting down the urge to shift closer. He didn’t know if Iggie would welcome comfort right now, especially not from him. Despite what he’d said about setting aside his mantle of paladin for the night, he remained a member of the Order, their sins partially his to bear as well.

He didn’t want to hear what came next, but he knew he had to. Bracing himself, he sat back and listened as Iggie continued, his voice cracking beneath the weight of his emotion.

“My parents were the only ones willing to stand up to the Order. They didn’t understand my magic any better than the rest of the village, but that didn’t stop them from loving me anyway. They…” Iggie’s voice wavered, and he took a deep gulp of air. “They tried to defend me. To give me time to run. But they were no match for Order-trained paladins. The Knights declared them heretics corrupted by duskflame sorcery. They tied them to makeshift pyres and…and…”

Iggie’s self-control finally shattered, and he buried his face in his hands. Sobs racked his back. Alistair felt numb, a hollow sickness pervading him to his core. No wonder Iggie had seemed so fearful of dawnflame ifthatwas how he’d seen it used. Merciful Light, how could anyone do something so vile, let alone a Knight? To burn a boy’s parents right in front of him for the mere act of defending their child…

Shame curdled his gut. He might not have been the one to execute the sentence, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d personally failed Iggie all the same. “I…I’m sorry,” he said as Iggie continued to sob. “The Order had no right to do that to you.”

Iggie didn’t respond, and Alistair watched helplessly as the necromancer regained a tenuous grip on his composure. Once his heaving chest had slowed, he mumbled something.

Alistair leaned in. “What was that? Please, I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said,youseemed only too eager to do the same thing when you arrived here. You weren’t interested in asking me questions or trying to understand my perspective. Had we met that first night, you’d have used your dawnflame to burn me to a crisp. Just like them.”

Alistair’s shame deepened. He bowed his head, Iggie’s condemnation ringing in his ears. The necromancer was right. Alistair had thought he knew how to differentiate right from wrong, good from evil. He’d come to Singer’s Rest pursuing justice. Yet, what right did he have to judge someone he’d never met, based solely on rumors or superstition or prejudice?

“For what it’s worth,” he said, keeping his eyes downcast, “I’m so, so sorry. You deserved better—thenandnow.” Swallowing, he looked up to meet Iggie’s puffy blue eyes. “I may have started off as your prisoner but believe me when I swear that I’d never do anything to hurt you. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, like those Knightsshouldhave when you were a boy.”

A bitter laugh tore from Iggie’s throat. “Even if it means defying your precious Order?”

“Yes,” Alistair growled with such vehemence that Iggie’s eyes widened, his laughter dying away. Their gazes remained locked, an unspoken current of emotion passing between them. It was like that moment in the harmonite cavern when he’d heard Iggie sing—two lonely, broken souls that recognized their heartache in one another.

At last, Iggie flushed and turned away. He nodded, even though Alistair could tell by the necromancer’s expression that he still didn’t believe him. “Thank you,” he whispered all the same. His voice came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “Something snapped in me after my parents died. I lost control of my powers, giving in to pure instinct. I reached out to my parents with my duskflame and I…I brought them back. They were my first true undead, fully reanimated and capable of acting on their own. They caught the paladins by surprise and slaughtered them while they were preparing to deal with me. The villagers ran screaming, and I…well, I fled, too, with nothing but the clothes on my back and my pair of skeletons. I’ve been on the run ever since, never staying too long in one place lest I attract the attention of the Order again.” He gave a snort that devolved into a sniffle as he gestured toward Alistair. “Though I suppose we can both see how wellthatworked out.”

Alistair’s lips twitched. “Your crucial error was choosingthismountain to spend the winter. Anywhere else, and you likely would have been left alone until the passes cleared. But Singer’s Rest is practically a national treasure.”

Iggie’s answering grin appeared more genuine despite its wavering edges. “My mistake. Next time, I’ll be certain not to do anything that might upset the rich.”

Alistair’s chuckle quickly faded as another thought occurred to him. He sought out Iggie’s favorite skeletal guards, Marlon and Cynthia. The pair were never far from Iggie’s side, their yellowed bones more worn than the others.As if they’ve been with him for a long time.

Unease curled through Alistair. What was it Iggie had said about factors that affected the relative strength of his undead? They tended to last longer when they were raised soon after their deaths…and when he had a closer connection to them while they were still alive.

Merciful Light!

“They’re your parents, aren’t they?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Iggie averted his eyes, a flush coloring his pale cheeks. Mutely, he nodded. “I’ve thought countless times about dismissing them, but I just…Ican’t.I know they’ll fall apart eventually, and that keeping them around like this probably isn’t healthy or conducive for me moving on.” His bottom lip quivered. “But they’re all I have! All I’lleverhave of my mom and dad, even if they’re only a pale imitation. I…I talk to them sometimes.”