The Harrowing of Gwynedd (59 page)

“No, I'm fine.”

“Well, you don't look fine,” Fiona fretted, disengaging her fingers from the grasp of the now sleeping Jerusha. “You look like walking death sometimes. You've lost weight, there are circles under your eyes—I thought you'd start getting some proper rest, once Revan was safely established.”

“Fiona, please don't lecture me. Joram lectures me, and Queron lectures me—”

“And a lot of good it does, I can see,” the younger woman retorted. “But if you want to work yourself into an early grave, don't mind me. It's none of my business. I'm only the one who takes care of your children. Why should you talk to
me
about what's bothering you?”

Tears stinging unbidden in her eyes, Evaine turned her face away. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “You, of all people, have a right to know as much as I dare tell. There's—someone very precious to our cause, who's locked away. Getting him out will be very, very difficult and very dangerous.”

“And you might not come back,” Fiona murmured, sitting down, stunned. “Oh, Evaine, I didn't know.”

“How could you? I've gone to extraordinary lengths to keep it secret. And please don't ask who it is, because I can't tell you that.”

“I promise.”

“In any case, it isn't the threat of death that concerns me. It's the possibility that my children will be left orphans. When I think about that, I—”

She buried her face in her hands, trying not to break down entirely—a resolve not helped by the embrace of Fiona's arms around her shoulders.

“Oh, Evaine, dearest sister, please don't cry,” Fiona whispered, stroking the golden hair as Evaine let the tears come. “Oh, I'm not as gifted or as highly trained as you are, so I can't offer any direct help with—whatever it is you have to do. But I know you wouldn't even be thinking about doing this—whatever it is—if you didn't believe it was terribly important. I
will
promise to be a mother to your children, though, if—if you don't come back. You don't even need to ask.”

“I know that,” Evaine whispered, “but thank you for reassuring me. God knows, I don't
want
to leave them, but—oh, Fiona, if you only knew how important this is.”

“But, I do know. You've just told me,” Fiona murmured, hugging her close and stroking the golden hair. “Hush now. Everything will be fine.”

The days passed, and preparations intensified, both physical and spiritual. Dietary restrictions had been in force among the three for all the previous month, to purify their bodies for the demands of the Work now scheduled for the first of August. Now, as July counted out its final days, Evaine added periods of actual fasting to their preparations, along with a gradually increasing regimen of meditation designed to focus the concentration.

One remaining task she postponed almost until the end, and that was to see Javan one last time. She did not tell Joram or Queron, for fear they would forbid it. Nor did she put on another guise, lest the extra exertion sap her strength for the more important working, now but two days away. She was already short on sleep, for sleep deprivation was said to sharpen the adept's perceptions during the actual working.

She chose the hour of Vespers, when Hubert was unlikely to be in his quarters but Javan
might
be. Though she had left him no memory of her previous visit, she had planted the inclination to use the archbishop's oratory whenever possible, in hopes of just such an eventual contact. As hoped, she sensed the prince's sole presence as she came through the Portal. He was kneeling at the
prie-dieu
with his head bowed over his folded hands, all but invisible in black tunic and hose. He had been deep in meditation, and looked up with a start as he suddenly sensed the Portal activity.

“
Jesu
, you shouldn't be here!” Javan breathed, as she turned back her hood to let him see her face.

“Why, didn't you hope one of us would come?” Evaine whispered, smiling as she crouched down to face him, eye to eye.

“But, it's dangerous!”

“Ah, and what you're doing is
not
dangerous, eh?” she countered.

“What do you mean?”

Evaine smiled sympathetically and laid her hand on his forearm. “I believe that you asked Hubert to let you stay in Valoret, did you not?”

“Who told you that?” Javan demanded, aghast.

“I believe you also agreed to take vows.”

“
Temporary
vows!”

“Vows, nonetheless. Which may not be that bad a thing,” she added, holding up a hand to stop his argument. “In fact, you've probably arranged one of the safest places possible for these next few years, while you're still so vulnerable. And if you really live the spirit of those vows, putting aside the personality of the man to whom you must swear them, you should find these years a time of great personal growth and insight. But you must still be very, very careful.”

He sat back on his heels, resentment warring with pleasure at seeing her. “I know what I'm doing.”

“I'm sure you do. Just try to be sure that Hubert doesn't. I gather that you
have
taken steps.”

He looked away, suddenly uncomfortably aware just how slender his influence over Hubert was. “I've made a few—ah—adjustments. I can't do too much, though, or someone will notice, even if
he
doesn't.”

“Precisely what I told the others.” She smiled. “Well, you don't need me to lecture you. When will it happen?”

“Two days hence, in the afternoon,” Javan murmured, hanging his head. “I—how did you know?”

“I was listening, there by the door, when you asked him.”

“You were right there, and I never realized?” Javan whispered, shocked. “But, how—”

“Hush. When Sylvan reported on Revan that night, he warned us that you and Hubert had exchanged hot words. It followed that he would take you to task—probably as soon as he got you back to Valoret. I took a chance that he'd be late turning in, regardless of how he chose to deal with your little flash of independence. It was only a stroke of luck that made him choose to do it right here in his apartments.”

“Well, it wasn't
all
done right here,” Javan replied, lowering his eyes. “I suppose you know about the little room Hubert has, up in one of the towers—the
disciplinarium
?”

She gave him a grim nod. “I also know about the scourging you took, if that's what you're asking—and that you endured it as bravely as any of us could have done. You must be very careful, though. Once you are bound to Hubert by vows, even temporary ones, he will be quite within his rights to deal with future transgressions even more harshly. I
think
that your rank will always spare you your life, unless you go totally beyond the bounds of common sense—but he might make you wish you could die.”

“He wouldn't dare!”

“Unfortunately, I think there is little that Hubert MacInnis would
not
dare, But, we're wasting valuable time. He will be returning soon, and I have something important to say to you. I—have a task to perform. As fate would have it, I must do it the same afternoon you make your vows. So, since I cannot be with you, I ask that you pray for me, Javan—and pray to the blessed Camber, my father, to aid us both in what we must do.”

“What—what are you going to do?” Javan dared to whisper. “It sounds dangerous.”

“No more dangerous, in its way, than what you are doing.” She smiled. “But we all must serve as best we can. Please don't ask me more.”

“Very well.” He inclined his head in assent. “Will I—see you again, soon?”

“If it is within my power, you have my word on it, my prince. And if I cannot come, someone else will. We shall not abandon you.”

He felt tears welling in his eyes, and he had to look away to keep from crying.

“Are you going to die?”

“Eventually we all die, Javan.”

Javan had all he could do to keep from shouting at her. Biting back his fear and anger, he made his fists ball in his lap until he could feel the nails cutting into his palms.

“
I know that!
” he whispered, daring to meet her eyes. “And
you
know that isn't what I asked. This thing you have to do—could you die from it?”

He saw her own tears glittering, just before she looked down.

“Yes. That's one of the reasons I came to you tonight.”

“To say good-bye?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “And to give you certain knowledge that you may need, if I—can't be with you in the future. If you should become king.”

Her words hit him like a fist in his gut, calling up confused half memories of the night his father had died. They had not wanted him to remember any of it, but he and Tavis had dredged up fragments—enough to know that magic had been worked upon him and his brothers—his father's magic, Deryni magic.

And if he did become king eventually, the magic would be his, too. Part of it was his already, to all their great surprise. He was gasping open-mouthed as he came forward on his knees to stare at her, his hands squeezing the armrest of the
prie-dieu
in a death grip.

“
What happened to me, the night my father died?
” he whispered. He had asked the question so many times before, he could hardly believe she might finally answer it. But her grave, solemn expression promised that this time would be different.

“I mayn't give you conscious recall, but I
will
set the knowledge in place, to be triggered if you need it,” she said, setting her hands on his shoulders. “This also will be less gentle than I would have wished for you—but unfortunately, we haven't the luxury of time for subtlety. I daren't risk being interrupted by Hubert.”

“I understand,” he whispered. His eyes never wavered from hers. “Just do what you have to. I'm not afraid.”

“No.” She smiled. “You are one of the bravest young men I know. Relax and open to me now. And remember to pray for me.”

He nodded wordlessly and closed his eyes as her hands slipped up to his temples. He tried to obey her instructions, but his eyes were stinging with tears, and he could not seem to clear his thoughts.

Peace, my prince
, she whispered in his mind.
If we should not meet again in this life, remember what we have fought for
—
you and I and Tavis and Rhys and all the others
—
and do your best to help the Light triumph
.

I will
—
I promise!
he managed to form the words in his mind.

God bless and keep you, my prince. Now go deeper yet, and take the knowledge of your destiny
.

She rammed the knowledge home then, knowing that she hurt him, but unable to temper the force of her sending, lest she not have time to finish—for Hubert would return very soon. Javan passed out before she had made more than a start—which was as well, since it freed her to go even faster, without worrying over whether she hurt him.

She blocked his memory then of all but her request for his prayers, knowing that at least she had given him a chance, if he had to take a throne alone one day, without Deryni support. She left him slumped over the
prie-dieu
with the memory of a dream that she had come, brushing a last, fond kiss to his downy cheek before leaving him to the footsteps that approached through the archbishop's outer chamber.

Her awareness of his prayers would help her endure what she had to do, and reminded her of yet another reason it might be necessary to offer up her life—whether or not that offering was accepted.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-
NINE

Seek Him that maketh the seven stars and Orion, and turneth the shadow of death into morning
.

—Amos 5:9

Javan woke with a nagging headache on the appointed day, exhausted by dreams that he could not recall and light-headed with hunger, for Hubert had prescribed a strict fast of bread and water only for the three days leading up to his profession. Charlan was not due to rouse him for nearly an hour, but he could neither retrieve the dreams nor go back to sleep. He thought one of the dreams might have been about the Lady Evaine, but he could not define more than a vague sense of foreboding. To appease his anxiety, he decided to pray for her. Charlan found him a little while later, kneeling beside the bed in his nightshirt, head bowed over his folded arms, and marked it as evidence of humility before the step he was about to take.

“Beg pardon, your Highness,” the squire said hesitantly. “I apologize for the intrusion, but it's time to dress for Mass. You must be very moved by what you are about to do.”

Javan looked up blearily, not bothering to correct Charlan's misapprehension, since he knew it would go straight to the archbishop as soon as Charlan left, and would reinforce what he wanted Hubert to think.

He would miss the squire—if not his apologetic spying for the archbishop. Charlan would be leaving his service today, for lay brethren, even royal ones, were not permitted servants. They had already said their good-byes. Charlan was being transferred to the king's household—though with luck, he could continue to visit Javan once a month to report on affairs at court. It was a stipulation the archbishop had agreed to readily enough, in exchange for Javan's promise to try the religious life, but Javan did not know how long the arrangement would last, once he was under vows.

But he must not waste precious energy worrying about that just now. He had enough to concern him, wondering whether Hubert might try to put something over on him during the ceremony of profession—some innocent-seeming phrase inserted into the vows, for example, that later might be used to try to bind him more permanently. He thought not, but he knew he could never fully trust Hubert, no matter how closely he believed himself to be in control—and his controls just now were not nearly as close as he would like.