King Javan’s Year (51 page)

“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.

That night Javan had Rhys Michael to supper in his apartments, for his brother had commented on the exchanges in Council that afternoon regarding discrepancies in the records of the regency, and also the Ramos queries. Javan, in turn, hoped to ferret out some inkling of his brother's feelings about their last private encounter, now that Michaela had been gone from Court for more than a week. He also had decided it was time to acquaint his brother with the bare bones of the Faelan story, so he would understand at least that aspect of Javan's growing hostility toward Paulin.

He told Rhys Michael about Faelan over a supper of roast fowl and meat pasties, with cheese and fruit to follow—how the innocent Father Faelan had been interrogated and even tortured at
Arx Fidei
before coming to Court, for no other reason than the hope of winkling out information about his friendship with Javan and why Javan should want this particular priest as his confessor. Rhys Michael found it inconceivable that monastic disciplines should have been applied for the purpose of intimidation, to force Faelan's betrayal not only of that friendship but of the seal of the confessional.

“They were going to bleed him to death?” Rhys Michael asked, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“They made him think they were.” Javan took a sip of wine. “Believe me, there are few more helpless feelings in the world than watching your life-blood pump out of your veins and knowing that if it suits them, those in authority over you have the power to forbid a halt.”

“But surely they wouldn't actually do it,” Rhys Michael whispered.

“That depends on what they had to gain. In Faelan's case, certainly they stopped short. They wanted to set him up to spy on me. They didn't stop with the minution, though. After they'd weakened his resistance, through fasting, scourging, and then blood-letting, they drugged him and let a Deryni have a go at interrogating him.”

Rhys Michael's eyes got very round. “They have a Deryni?”

“Paulin does,” Javan said uneasily. “This is a recent development. I don't know much about him except that he's called Dimitri. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to have done much to Faelan besides Truth-Read him during questioning by Lior and Serafin. But even if there weren't a Dimitri, there's still the threat of the other things they can do to him. As you can imagine, it isn't a situation Faelan was eager to go back to. But he went—out of loyalty to me. And now he's late coming back.”

Rhys Michael swallowed hard and sat back in his chair, obviously thinking about what Javan had just told him. He was going easy on the wine tonight, apparently still sobered by his last interview with his brother and what had been said about his drinking. After a few minutes he reached across to pull a grape from a bunch on a pewter tray, popping it distractedly into his mouth.

“It's beginning to sound as if the
Custodes
are your real enemies, rather than the former regents,” he said thoughtfully.

Javan raised an eyebrow and sat back, toying with the stem of his goblet. He, too, was watching his intake tonight, to be certain he kept his edge for this conversation. Other than an initial cup to start the meal, he had been drinking his wine well watered, the same as Rhys Michael.

“I wouldn't be too sure of that,” he said. “Unfortunately, there's a fair amount of overlap. Hubert is still on the Council and will support the
Custodes
in whatever they do. Regardless of what else happens, I'm stuck with him until he dies, because the Archbishop-Primate of Gwynedd
has
to sit on the royal Council. With Albertus as Earl Marshal, that gives them another powerful voice. I could get rid of him, but the hard fact is that I don't have any other senior military commander who's as good. Rhun probably is, but I'd rather have just about anybody as Earl Marshal besides him. I'll not soon forget what he did to the Gabrilites four years ago. Besides, he was one of the regents.

“Oriss is also part of the old Council, even though he wasn't a regent, and he's subordinate to Hubert—and hence, biddable by the
Custodes
. Thank God Murdoch is no longer a factor. Tammaron's basically a decent sort, but he's only one man. I haven't got anybody among my hand-picked men who are as senior as any of the men I've mentioned.”

He deliberately had not mentioned Manfred and felt his heart sink a little when Rhys Michael noticed and mentioned it.

“You don't trust Earl Manfred either?” his brother said.

Javan shrugged. “He's Hubert's brother. If it came down to a choice, to whom do you think he'd give his loyalty? Not to me, I can assure you.”

Rhys Michael broke a small bunch of grapes off the larger bunch and used his teeth to casually pull off an individual grape.

“That's another reason you were glad to see him leave Rhemuth, then, isn't it?” he said. “It got you rid of two problems in one fell swoop.”