King Javan’s Year (27 page)

Sighing, Javan sank down on one of the stone benches in the window embrasure. “I have to survive, Guiscard,” he whispered. “But I don't want it at other people's cost, any more than it has to be.”

“I see.” Guiscard's dark eyes were unreadable in the gathering darkness. “You realize, of course, that by implication, you've told me rather a lot more about yourself than you perhaps meant to do. Your abilities run to considerably more than shields and Truth-Reading, don't they?”

“Yes.”

“But you aren't Deryni. How is that possible?”

Javan gazed back out the window, making the decision to share with Guiscard just a little of what he was, though he would gloss over any mention of Camber and his kin.

“It has to do with being Haldane, I think,” he said softly. “The power came upon my father after he'd made his pledge to take up his crown. They say he used its full potential three times: the first time, to destroy a traitor who had poisoned his firstborn son; the second, to stand against Imre of Festil. The third was an unwonted act of retaliation against an enemy by then helpless, before he had been on the throne a year.

“After that, other than to Truth-Read occasionally, he never really used his powers again until shortly before his death, when he bequeathed their wielding to his heirs. The powers never quite manifested in Alroy; they came early in me. Rhys Michael shows no sign of the inheritance, though it's supposed to pass to him if I should die without issue.”

Guiscard had sat very still during Javan's recitation and now slowly nodded. “What you've just told me explains a lot,” he said. “Frankly, I find myself uneasy that you should have told me. You may not be technically Deryni, but if Paulin and the
Custodes
got hold of this information—”

“Why, do you intend to tell them?” Javan asked, eyeing the Deryni knight with bitter irony.

Blanching, Guiscard slid to both knees before Javan, a dagger suddenly lying across one open palm, but pointed at his own heart.

“Slay me now, if you doubt my loyalty, Sire!” he whispered fiercely, also rolling back his shields and offering full access to his mind. “Read me.” He took one of Javan's hands with his free one and pressed it to his forehead. “Rip my mind if you find one trace of treachery! I am not afraid of my king, and would gladly die for him, if need be, but I
am
afraid of what the
Custodes
would do to me, if they found me out for what I am. I am Deryni, Sire, but I entertain no delusions about my abilities. Disabled with
merasha
, Sitric or someone like him could break me utterly; I know this.”

Sighing, for he had been Truth-Reading Guiscard throughout this emotional outburst, Javan withdrew his hand from the knight's forehead and took the dagger from his palm, reversing the weapon to offer it back.

“I have never doubted your loyalty, Guiscard,” he said. “And God knows I'm aware of the danger from the
Custodes
. I've lived with them for nearly three years, after all. What will make you feel more secure? What do you want me to do?”

Guiscard rocked back on his heels as he made the dagger disappear, eyes lowered, shaking his head softly. “I don't know what you
can
do, Sire,” he whispered. “If you simply blank my memory of this conversation, as I suspect you could do, I'm of no use to you. I—hadn't expected that things would get this complicated.”

“Nor had I,” Javan said with a smile. “Get up; I hear Charlan coming with that wine. Let me think on the problem, and just be very careful for the next few days.”

By the time Charlan came to hand each of them a cup of wine, Guiscard had recovered his composure and was seated opposite the king again.

“Thanks, Charlan,” Javan said easily. “Pour yourself a cup and join us. I was just lamenting the weight of the robes I'll have to wear for the coronation, in this heat, and Guiscard allowed as how, if we had snow brought in from the Lendours in b-i-i-i-i-g chests …”

The three of them sat companionably in the window embrasure for another hour, concocting ever more outrageous ideas for keeping the king cool on the day in question, until Guiscard glanced out the window at what was now full dark and reluctantly excused himself.

“I suppose I'd best be getting back to my quarters, Sire,” he said after draining the last of his wine. “My father has some documents he wants me to read over—drafts that you'll see in a few days—and I ought to attend to some correspondence as well. Oh, shall I try to set up that session with the Master of Works for sometime tomorrow?”

“Yes, that would be fine,” Javan said, recalled to their earlier conversation. “Thank you, Guiscard.”

“It's my pleasure to serve you, Sire. Sleep well,” Guiscard said, withdrawing with a bow.

As Charlan followed after to bar the door, Javan considered whether he wanted any more wine. He didn't—but the pretense of another companionable cup might provide an easier introit for what he needed to explore with Charlan. The young knight had taken up a candlestick from the mantel and was lighting it from one of the rushlights set on the table in the center of the room, obviously thinking in terms of the king being ready to retire.

“Hold off on that for a while yet, Charlan,” Javan said from the semidarkness of the window embrasure. “There's something else I wanted to discuss with you. Come and have another cup of wine, if you'd like.”

Curious but smiling, Charlan came and set the candlestick on the bench opposite Javan, then went on into the embrasure to sit farther along the bench, where the wine flask and empty cups were set on a silver tray.

“Thank you, Sire. Perhaps I
will
have just a little.” He picked up the flask. “May I pour more for you?”

“Just a little for me, as well,” Javan said, illustrating with a thumb and forefinger. As Charlan complied and handed him the cup, Javan sighed with evident satisfaction and leaned back against the cushions, also stretching out his lame foot to rest on the opposite bench—and hemming in Charlan from any ready withdrawal.

“Guiscard's an interesting man,” he said after sipping from his cup and savoring the taste of the wine. “Would you be shocked to learn that he's Deryni?”

Charlan, just taking a swallow from his own cup, nearly choked on it, his eyes wide and astonished as he set his cup aside and wiped at his mouth with the back of a hand.

“This—doesn't seem to distress you, sir,” he managed to murmur after a few seconds.

With a droll smile, Javan leaned his head against the stone behind him and pretended to study the rim of his cup.

“I gather that it doesn't distress you either,” he said easily. “But then, you've become accustomed enough to dealing with Master Oriel, these past few years, that perhaps you've decided for yourself that all Deryni are not the evil that Paulin and the
Custodes
would have everyone believe.”

Charlan swallowed uncomfortably. “I've been—given to understand that those were your sentiments as well, my prince. I'm—afraid I can't believe Master Oriel is evil, despite what the Church may say. I don't know Sir Guiscard all that well, but he certainly seems to have only your welfare at heart. If you feel differently, if I've misjudged—well, you might as well just turn me over to the
Custodes
right now, because I've consorted with both of them, quite willingly, and would do so again. I thought I was doing it for my prince.”

As he ducked his head, apparently anticipating utter ruin, Javan quickly set aside his cup and sat forward, moving close enough to reach across and lay both hands on Charlan's shoulders.

“Charlan, Charlan, forgive me,” he said. “I haven't been entirely honest with you. You haven't misjudged. And from the very first day we met, you were honest and straightforward. You told me you were bound to report back to the regents when you were my squire, and we both knew you had no choice.”

He withdrew his hands and looked out the window past Charlan as he went on, sensing that despair was giving way to amazement, and thanking God for it.

“Fortunately, after a while, I had the means to use our situation to my advantage,” he went on softly. “You know I'm not Deryni, Charlan, but I—can do a few of the things Deryni do. I'd rather not explain how, just now. I swear to you, though, that I've never done anything to your harm and never would.”

He chanced a glance at Charlan then, but the young knight's face was still with guarded shock.

“You didn't have any choice in those days, from me or the regents,” Javan went on hopefully. “But when you risked everything to come to me at
Arx Fidei
, you
chose
to do it. You gave me your assistance and loyalty freely, but I've repaid your loyalty by compelling it twice since we got back. I've used you, Charlan, and I need to use you again. But I'd like it to be with your consent from now on.”

Charlan's face in the candlelight had taken on an edge of apprehension mixed with overwhelming confusion.

“I—don't understand, Sire,” he breathed. “How have you—
used
me, and what else is it that you want me to do for you, that you don't think I'd agree to do?”

Leaning back in his seat again, Javan chose his words carefully. “Do you remember how you always used to fall asleep when you had to accompany me on one of my all-night vigils, or on those dreary visits to Father Boniface?”

“Yes.”

“I know you never thought it odd enough to report it to the regents, but did you ever wonder about it?”

“I—just thought I was catching up sleep, or storing it up for the future,” Charlan whispered. “A squire's day starts early and sometimes it goes really late.”

Javan allowed himself a faint smile, amazed at how efficient he had actually been, back when he was still feeling his way so cautiously into his growing powers.

“That's true,” he said gently. “Let's try another angle. You've seen Oriel put patients to sleep.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I can do that.”

“You can?” Charlan's jaw dropped for just an instant, but then challenge lit in the dark eyes. “Show me.”

“You're even braver than I thought,” Javan replied with a smile. “Charlan, go to sleep.”

He didn't even have to touch the knight for that command to be obeyed. The dark eyes closed as they had so many times before, Charlan settling against the cushions with a sigh as Javan pressed him back with a hand set on his forehead. Going briefly into the young knight's mind, he brought back to conscious memory what he had done before, and why, knowing now that Charlan would accept it all, grateful that he would not have to
force
Charlan to accept it.

“When there is need, you will be able to remember all of this when alone or in my company,” he whispered, setting his safeties in place, “but you will be unable to speak of it or communicate it to any person in any way unless I am present and give you leave. This is for your safety as well as my own. Do you agree?”

From deep trancing, Charlan whispered, “Yes.”

“Then wake up,” Javan said, dropping his hand. “In future, I'll do what's necessary to protect both of us, but I'll always try to give you a choice—even if it's only to do willingly what you would really rather not do but has to be done.”

After a few seconds, the dark eyes fluttered and then opened, unfocused at first, then flicking fearlessly to Javan's grey ones.

“I thank you for trusting me enough to tell me, my prince,” the young knight murmured. “I'm—deeply honored to be a part of what you're doing and that you should think me able to help you.” He nervously cleared a throat gone dry with emotion.

“You—mentioned earlier that there's something else you need me to do for you,” he said. “I'll do it, of course—there was never any question of that—but may I know what it is?”

Javan sighed and picked up his cup of wine again, handing Charlan his. “This is something more directly to do with Deryni,” he said, “and
I
don't even know everything that's involved. What I haven't told you before, because I didn't want to put you in a position where you might have to lie and be caught in it, is that my association with Deryni didn't end when Tavis O'Neill left Court. He and Joram and a few of the others who were so loyal to my father are part of the reason I'm able to be sitting in this room talking to you tonight, and part of the reason I'll be able to keep my crown—if, indeed, I do manage to hang on to it. You know the kind of men I'm up against.”

Charlan nodded, wide-eyed and avid.

“For my Deryni allies to be of much use to me, though,” Javan went on, “I have to have access to them, and they to me. Infiltrating the Court with secret Deryni like Guiscard and his father helps, but their usefulness is limited, since they don't dare let themselves be discovered—and they aren't that highly skilled as Deryni, or they'd be known for what they are. The most useful ones are also the ones best known; and obviously, my former regents—and, in particular, the
Custodes Fidei
—are not going to be inclined to tolerate any of them.

“All of that means that a Transfer Portal needs to be set up here in the castle. Do you know what they are?”

“Yes.”

“Well, setting one up takes Deryni—more than several and at least one of whom knows precisely what he's doing. The de Courcys don't, though they'll help; and I'll help, to whatever extent I can—though I also know next to nothing. That doesn't really matter, because the extra bodies merely provide the energy sources that the principal operator draws upon to establish the Portal. We can import an expert for that, for one night, and get him out via the Portal we establish—provided everything works—but we need one more person to be sure there's enough energy to call upon. I don't want to risk that many Deryni in the same place, only to have us fall short and have to try again later—or worse yet, get caught.”