King Javan’s Year

by Katherine Kurtz

  “Go back to Declan,” Rhys Michael whispered, staring up at him fearfully. “They gave him merasha, so he couldn’t fight back. They gave it to Cathan and Mika, to see if they had Deryni powers. Javan, what if we got dosed with merasha? Would they think we were Deryni?”

  A queasy roiling stirred in the pit of Javan’s stomach. He had wondered about it before, but the implications now were even more staggering. He glanced at Guiscard, seeking reassurance, but the Deryni could give none. Clearly, he did not know either.

  “I honestly don’t know, Rhysem,” Javan said slowly. “It might be a good idea to find out, but I’d rather it didn’t happen at the hands of the Custodes or someone like them. We should react as human, but—I just don’t know.”

  Rhys Michael heaved a defeated sigh, then glanced wearily at Guiscard’s hands still on his shoulders.

  “I’m not going to do anything stupid,” he murmured. “Does he have to keep his hands on me?”

  “Guiscard, you can wait in the other room,” Javan said quietly. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  As Guiscard withdrew, Javan glanced over his shoulder at Charlan, still guarding the door, then back at Rhys Michael. “Do you want Charlan to leave, too?”

  At Rhys Michael’s nod, Javan gestured with his chin for Charlan to join Guiscard. When the door had closed between the two rooms, Javan looked back at his brother.

  “Well,” he said quietly. “This evening didn’t quite go as either of us had planned, did it? Returning to the subject that prompted this rather painful discussion, do I have your word that you won’t pursue this matter of marrying Michaela for a while? You do understand, I hope, that it isn’t just the petty jealousy of your celibate brother that’s asking this.”

  Rhys Michael lowered his eyes, twining his fingers in his lap and staring at them sightlessly. “I do love her, Javan.”

  “No one said you didn’t. It’s clear that you do, and that she loves you. I wish you joy of one another—but not yet. All I’m asking is that you wait until I think it’s safe.”

  “But that could be years,” Rhys Michael said. “I wasn’t cut out to be celibate, Javan. You might be, but I’m not. I need her.”

  “Do you think I don’t have needs, too?” Javan replied, trying not to get angry all over again. “You may need Michaela, but you and I both need to stay alive. That comes first. If you marry now, you seriously reduce the chances that either of us will ever live to see our sons grow old.”

  “I can’t believe they’d really do what you’re saying,” Rhys Michael said. “They couldn’t kill us both. People would suspect.”

  “But we’d still be dead,” Javan pointed out, “and the legitimate heir would be a minor, to be governed by a regency until he or she came of age. The old regents have tasted that kind of power before, Rhysem. They want it back. And the only way they can get it is to see us dead.”

  Rhys Michael sighed and shook his head wearily, covering a yawn. “You may be right. I don’t think you are, but I suppose it’s possible. Can I go to bed now? I’m suddenly very tired.”

  “You haven’t yet given me your word about Michaela,” Javan said quietly. “You aren’t leaving until I have it—unless you’d prefer one of those other three options I outlined earlier this evening.”

  “Oh, all right!” Rhys Michael replied, giving an exasperated sigh. “You’re taking this whole thing entirely too seriously. I understand about Michaela and I won’t pursue the matter for now. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Only if you mean it. Do you?”

  Rolling his eyes heavenward, Rhys Michael raised his right hand in oath. “As God is my witness, I swear to you that I will not pursue the matter of Michaela for now.”

  “You won’t see her before she leaves, or attempt to write to her while she’s gone?” Javan insisted.

  “I can’t even write to her?”

  “I think it will only make it more difficult for both of you, if you do.”

  Rhys Michael heaved an exasperated sigh. “All right, I swear it. I won’t give her up altogether, though.”

  “I’m not asking that,” Javan replied, satisfied that his brother had spoken the truth when he made his oath.

  After Rhys Michael had gone, though, Javan worried about the understandable bitterness behind the oath, and found himself considering what other fruit this night’s work might bring.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Mine enemies reproach me all the day; and they that are mad against me are sworn against me.

  —Psalms 102:8

  To no great surprise on Javan’s part, Rhys Michael did not appear for Father Faelan’s weekday Mass the next morning, though he often omitted to attend, and sent word as Javan was preparing for their morning ride that he was not feeling well and would spend the day in bed. Somewhat dubious, though he knew his brother had gone straight to his room after their conversation of the night before, Javan decided to practice his lance work in the tilting yard instead of riding out, sticking close to home, and had Guiscard and Charlan take turns at keeping Rhys Michael’s quarters under casual surveillance throughout the day. Earl Manfred was in Council that afternoon but gave no indication that anything was amiss in his household, so Javan had to conclude that Michaela had not told her guardian about the previous night’s misadventure.

  That evening, to Javan’s surprise and relief, his brother duly appeared for supper in the great hall, apologizing for his absence of the day and declaring himself much recovered from his earlier malaise. That much, at least, was true. For the rest of the evening, charming as only Rhys Michael could be, he stayed close to Javan and contrived to comport himself as the most proper of princes, attentive and gracious, neither seeking out Manfred and his household nor avoiding them. Since Michaela was not present, Javan thought this probably was not difficult, but he was glad to see his brother at least going through the motions of compliance. When the Court at last retired, he sent Charlan to keep watch outside the prince’s apartments, with orders to apprehend any nocturnal wanderings. At midmorning the next day, Manfred and his household rode out of Rhemuth, Michaela meekly among them, with no further contact apparent between his ward and the king’s brother.

  Javan informed Joram of the incident with Rhys Michael that very night, using the outward excuse of several bottles of good Fianna wine to seek out the company of Guiscard’s father in his new quarters, with Guiscard and Charlan accompanying him. Not that Javan got any of the wine. He left the others to enjoy it, himself standing alone on the Portal square and giving them nervous salute before bending the energies to his will.

  Half an hour later he had conveyed every detail to Joram, Niallan, and Jesse in a little study not far from the Portal chamber in the Michaeline stronghold. They were sitting around a little table, the room lit by candles in sconces on the walls, and it was cooler by far than in Rhemuth.

  “I suppose I overreacted a bit,” he said when they had returned to verbal communication. “With those shields, though, I couldn’t force compliance. I figured that maybe the shock value of finding out about our powers would make an impression where mere logic couldn’t. He also can’t very well expose me out of spite without putting himself in danger. And what about merasha? Are we vulnerable?”

  Joram steepled his fingertips against his chin, resting his elbows on the chair arms. He and Niallan both were wearing Michaeline habit tonight, Joram with the white sash of his Michaeline knighthood gleaming in the dim-lit room.

  “That’s something we’ve never gotten around to finding out,” he said. “There was merasha in what Rhys gave you the night your father died, but that was before any powers were set. Your faculties were certainly disrupted that night, but there were several other drugs as well as other factors that could have been responsible. We specifically omitted merasha for your own rite, precisely because we didn’t know how you’d react.”

  “Well, with the Custodes going around using it to ferret out Deryni, don’t you think I ought to
know? They used it on Father Faelan, just as a sedative. They already knew he wasn’t Deryni.”

  Niallan sighed and leaned back in his chair, the hand with his bishop’s ring lightly caressing his close-cropped grey beard.

  “It’s very fortunate that they didn’t use you the same way, my prince, when they bled you at Arx Fidei,” he said. “Otherwise, we might not now be having this conversation.”

  “Then you think it will affect me?” Javan whispered.

  “I should think it highly likely. However, if we test you and you do react, there’s a disadvantage you probably haven’t even thought of.”

  “Which is?”

  “Well, simply not knowing is one thing. But if you do know and merasha does affect you, apprehension could color your behavior before anyone even thought seriously of testing you, and perhaps make the testing more likely.”

  “I can see that possibility,” Javan agreed. “I still think I’d rather know. What’s a safe way to find out?”

  “In your present situation, there are no safe ways,” Joram replied. “If we dose you with it, and you react, you’re going to be out of commission for half a day and shaky for the best part of another day after that. Covering the first period is easy enough, if you start early in the evening. You can always complain of a headache earlier in the day and say you’re taking a physick to knock you out for the night. But a king is expected to function every day. Imagine the worst hangover you’ve ever had, and then multiply it tenfold. That might begin to give you an idea what it could be like.”

  “I wouldn’t expect it to be pleasant, judging from what I’ve seen in the past,” Javan said, “but I still think it’s something I ought to know for sure.”

  “Some of the effects can be fought,” Jesse said, speaking for the first time. Javan still could not get used to the Custodes tonsure Jesse had affected for his visit to Rhemuth to set up the Portal, though Jesse was wearing lay attire tonight and the tonsure was starting to grow out. “You have to learn how to fight, and that can only come from experience, but the effects can be diminished—not well and not for long, but it might save you if you only got a light dose. There are also drugs that can ease some of the discomfort in a training situation. If one can’t avoid merasha entirely, the best remedy still is simply to have another Deryni standing by with a walloping strong sedative to put you out for the duration.”

  “Guiscard could do that,” Javan said. “Or Oriel. Wouldn’t it be better to have a Healer do it anyway?”

  “It’s too dangerous for Oriel,” Jesse said, pushing back his chair to stand and begin slowly pacing before the empty fireplace. “You’ve been having him keep a low profile, and that’s good, but I wouldn’t want him in your quarters for any length of time unless you’re ill; and if you’re ill, a royal physician almost has to be called to give an opinion. That would be too difficult to fake, with merasha in you.”

  Javan shuddered and gave a nod, wondering how much Joram knew about a time when another Healer had made someone appear to be ill—and the consequences had led to a death for which Javan still partially blamed himself. Tavis had been the Healer then, and Javan the “patient,” but it was the Healer Rhys Thuryn who had died.

  “I think we’d better just use Guiscard,” he said, “and forget about trying to fake an illness. I’m not often disturbed in the middle of the night, once I’ve retired. I’m sure he and Charlan can handle anything that comes up.”

  “Let’s hope so, if you’re determined to do this,” Niallan replied. “We’ll want to give Guiscard some special instruction beforehand, because of the importance of getting you through this as quickly as possible, if you do react; but Joram and I will work out the details and pass on our instructions through Etienne. I’ll have Dom Rickart prepare the merasha and the necessary medications. I’d prefer to have him supervise the testing and any aftermath, but it’s just too dangerous. Meanwhile, let’s keep a close watch on your brother. The last thing you need is a rival heir, whether it’s a child of his by Michaela—or Rhys Michael himself.”

  Javan walked warily for the next few days, but Niallan’s fears appeared to be ill-founded. Rhys Michael scrupulously avoided any mention of Michaela and seemed to throw himself enthusiastically into the work of becoming an adult and contributing part of Javan’s Court. Gradually Javan began to breathe a little easier, though he still took the precaution of setting up a watch to ensure that his brother did not try to smuggle out letters, in violation of his oath.

  But Rhys Michael truly seemed to have put immediate thoughts of his beloved behind him. To encourage his newly adult behavior, Javan decided to give him increased responsibility, to involve him increasingly in the business of government—and also ensure his familiarity with the process of rule, in case Javan should misjudge too badly and get himself killed for his pains. Very soon after Manfred’s entourage departed from Rhemuth, Javan had his brother begin working with Lord Jerowen in the chancery office, and making daily forays into the scriptorium to check on progress of the warrants being drafted for commissioners about to be sent out regarding land holdings. It was Rhys Michael himself who conveyed the warrants to Javan in Council for final approval.

  “It is well begun, my lord,” Javan told the Council, more than a week after Manfred’s departure, when he had signed the warrants and seen them sealed with his great seal. “Lord Udaut, these warrants are to be dispatched immediately. If the work of the commissions progresses on schedule, I hope to see the first returns in time for Christmas Court.”

  The Council pronounced itself satisfied with the plan, and Javan gathered his determination for his next inquiry.

  “The next thing I should like to explore is the codification of all laws promulgated since the Restoration of my House,” he said tentatively. “Lord Jerowen has begun compiling an index that covers most of my father’s reign, but he finds that records of legislation enacted by my late brother appear to be rather sparse, especially during his regency.”

  Rhun muttered something under his breath that Javan could not hear and glanced darkly at Lord Tammaron, but the chancellor only cleared his throat self-importantly and shuffled a sheaf of documents on the table in front of him.

  “Sire, I believe my office can supply all the information you require in that regard,” he said a little peevishly. “I don’t know who has told you otherwise, but careful records were kept during the late king’s minority.”

  “No doubt I have been misinformed, then,” Javan said. “I’m very pleased to hear that.”

  “I am certain you will find everything in order, Sire.”

  “Excellent,” Javan said, flashing a disarming smile around the table. “I do believe it’s important that these records be accessible, don’t you? A comprehensive index to the laws will help to ensure that they are applied uniformly—which is part of the essence of good government, as I’m sure everyone will agree. Please see that Lord Jerowen is given access to those records, would you?”

  The request seemed reasonable, but Javan’s next line of inquiry made the established lords considerably more edgy, especially the clergy, for he began to ask questions regarding the work of the ecclesiastical courts at Ramos regarding Deryni.

  “I realize that this is a delicate subject, gentlemen, but I know that I am very young, and I am trying to understand. What, precisely, triggered this extraordinary convocation besides the zeal of Father Paulin? Can anyone tell me? And what was the theological basis for determining that Deryni are evil, in and of themselves? You might expect that I would know this, having been educated largely in the cloister, but I find it an area of my education that seems woefully lacking.”

  “Sire,” Hubert said coolly, “I regard this query as extremely ill-timed, when you know that Father Paulin is not yet returned to answer these questions.”

  “Well, I should think he’s had ample time to bury his dead and get back,” Javan replied, not adding that he was beginning to be nervous about precisely why Paulin had not yet returned
. The previous week had brought the time for the first of Father Faelan’s required monthly “retreats” at Arx Fidei. Javan had delayed sending the priest for several days, fearing for Faelan’s safety, but he finally had been forced to trust that he and his allies had done all they could to protect Faelan. Even allowing for a late departure, though, the priest should have been back two days ago, or surely yesterday.

  “You know, it really does make it difficult to conduct the business of this Court when those I need to question are not here,” Javan went on a little peevishly. “If I’m to be properly informed on the state of my kingdom, I must ask these questions that pertain to previous reigns, especially when they greatly affect my own. Why has Father Paulin not yet returned? Do you know? Does anyone know?”

  Hubert looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Sire, I should imagine that he had business of his Order to conclude, necessitated by the untimely death of Brother Serafin.”

  Which certainly was at least part of the truth, but Javan had known that without benefit of his powers. What he did not know was why Hubert looked so uneasy about the question, though he could make some shrewd guesses.

  “I see,” he said. “And I assume that Lord Albertus’ absence is likewise necessitated by business of his Order? No man can serve two masters, my lord. I like it not that my Earl Marshal is not regularly present in Council.”

  In truth, he liked it just fine, for in no way was Albertus his choice for Earl Marshal. But he was hoping Hubert might volunteer information that Javan did not already have.

  “Your Highness must remember that this is an extraordinary circumstance,” Rhun said instead. “I am certain that both Lord Albertus and Father Paulin will return as soon as they are able.”

  Which was obvious from anyone’s perspective and still told Javan precisely nothing that he had not known before. He decided to drop the issue for the moment, for it would only anger Paulin when he did return—he hoped with Father Faelan, as well. He could only pray that the delay came from practical considerations rather than disaster, and that the priest was waiting—or being made to wait—merely so that all the Custodes party could travel together when Paulin and Albertus eventually did decide to return to Court. To leave the Council on the focus of some other topic, he allowed Lord Jerowen to take up the rest of the afternoon reviewing what he was setting out in his indices.