King Javan’s Year (67 page)

She held her head like a queen as she knelt beside Rhys Michael, and the two repeated the vows they had exchanged in Culdi. After Hubert had confirmed them husband and wife, laying the end of his stole across their joined hands to pronounce the blessing, she remained kneeling as Rhys Michael rose and turned to remove the wreath of holly and ivy, giving it into her hands while he pulled out the pins that held her hair in place—for it was time-honored custom that queens and princesses came to their crownings with hair unbound, regardless of their married status.

Her brother now brought forward the silver coronet on a cushion of royal blue, kneeling before Hubert so that he might cense and asperse it in blessing. Then Hubert was offering it to Rhys Michael with a bow, the prince turning with pride and joy to place it on her head and raise her up with a ceremonial kiss on each cheek and then a more loverly one on the lips.

Afterward, the pair presided at another banquet in their honor, with Javan yielding pride of place to the bride. There was dancing that afternoon and into the night, and Javan made a point of partnering nearly every lady present. Though he hated himself for it, he continued to feign special attention toward Juliana of Horthness—who flirted outrageously, to the guarded approval of her doting father.

Increasingly aware what a dangerous tightrope he was walking, Javan decided to back off just a little. The next morning he made a point of seeking out the new confessor Paulin had designated for the Chapel Royal, and again repented himself of entertaining lascivious thoughts where Juliana was concerned. A fleeting touch of the unwitting priest's mind ensured that the confession would find its way back to the ears for which it was intended. Within a few days, Rhun's attitude softened markedly, and even Hubert seemed a trifle more indulgent—though Paulin continued to be aloof.

The whirl of holiday festivities continued for the next fortnight, with hunting in the daytime, feasting at night, and occasional informal Courts in between. Daily came new arrivals, as the great lords from farther away gathered in preparation for Twelfth Night, the most important Court of the year.

The day dawned cold but clear, with new snow on the ground. For the formal Court at noon, Javan wore the State Crown of leaves and crosses intertwined, and cream-colored wool heavy with gold embroidery under a scarlet mantle lined with ermine. Rhys Michael and Michaela sat at his left, regally coronetted and in royal blue, and both archbishops stood at his right in golden copes and mitres as the Court paid their respects.

One of the more welcome offerings of the day was the assurance of loyalty from far Cassan, both the formal greetings of the Princess Anne and Fane Fitz-Arthur and the shakily lettered missive from the four-year-old Duke Tambert, declaring
Friends
—
Tambert and Javan
. The boy's obvious hero-worship and affection elicited an indulgent chuckle around the great hall when Javan read it out, for many had been present when the king received the boy before his coronation. The letter also helped lift Javan's spirits when the time came to knight Cashel Murdoch and several other senior squires of the Court, mostly relatives of the great lords. He far rather would have withheld the accolade altogether, for these young men were not of his choosing or in his trust, but he knew he dared not risk offending the men's relatives. At least Robear's hand was on the sword with his when he dubbed them, distancing him a bit from responsibility; for since he was not yet of an age for official knighting himself, and only a handful present knew of his private knighting the day he returned to claim his crown, he might not confer the accolade alone.

“Next year you will be the first, my prince,” Robear murmured in a private aside as the first candidate approached the throne to be presented. “God knows you've more than earned your spurs.”

Even far Kheldour was heard from, at that gala Twelfth Night Court. Duke Graham sent his respects and duty to the king in this new year, as did his uncles, but Earl Hrorik sent a further missive a few days later, advising the king that letters had been received, as expected, from the King of Torenth. He enclosed the letters, along with fair copies of Lady Sudrey's reply and his own comments.

Some there may be who would claim that love blinds me, Sire, but even those of the most suspicious nature could find no fault with my lady's faithfulness or loyalty, either to her husband or to the king whose justice extends even to these far northern climes. I believe that your Highness may safely put aside any further concerns regarding my Lady Sudrey, for there is no possibility that she would ever return to Torenth or provide information to her Torenthi kin that might damage her family in Kheldour or Kheldour's rightful liege. I am and beg to remain your Highness' loyal subject, Hrorik, Earl of East-march
.

At least Kheldour seemed to be back in the fold. Would that those lords closer to home were as loyal. Javan still had not decided how to deal with the treachery of Paulin and Hubert in engineering his brother's abduction.

And the plot was bearing fruit already. Javan tried not to let his imagination run rampant the first few mornings Michaela declined to join him and Rhys Michael hunting, but toward the end of January, he had Guiscard make quiet inquiries among the servants who looked after Rhysem and his bride—though none of them would ever remember being questioned on the subject.

“I'm afraid your suspicions are confirmed, Sire,” Guiscard said as he helped the king undress for bed a few nights later. “One of the royal laundresses had some fascinating insights into your brother's domestic details. It seems that the new princess has twice missed her monthly courses now, and for the last several weeks has been increasingly unwell in the mornings. If you ask your brother about it, I'm sure he must be aware.”

“Damn!” Javan breathed softly. “I'd hoped he'd restrain himself.”

“In all fairness to the prince, it may already have been too late when you had your little talk with him,” Guiscard replied. “And once he knew she was pregnant, there was no real reason for further restraint, was there?”

“But isn't there some danger?” Javan asked. “Though if there were, I suppose I should be glad. Maybe she'll miscarry.” He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “No, I don't wish her that. And it's out of the question to ask Oriel to do something about it.”

“I'm afraid so,” Guiscard said. “But don't you think you ought to confirm this with Rhys Michael?”

The next morning, when he and Rhys Michael returned from their ride—again without Michaela—Javan confronted his brother. They were rubbing down the horses, a task both princes liked to do for themselves if no other duties intruded. Baron Hildred, who had been their riding master when they were boys, had once said something about the outside of a horse being good for the inside of a man.

“So, when is she due?” Javan said, watching his brother sidelong as he curried at the mud on his horse's flank with a plaited twist of straw.

They were standing between the horses, and Rhys Michael stopped in midstroke, turning sheepishly to glance at his brother.

“Who told you?” he asked in a low voice.

“That doesn't matter. Is it true?”

Rhys Michael sighed and leaned one arm over his horse's back, playing nervously with a wisp of mane. “I suppose it is. We didn't plan it this way, though. I swear we didn't. I—suppose she was already pregnant in early December, when we came back to Rhemuth. It—ah—could have started as early as mid-November.”

“I see. That means an August or September baby.” Javan sighed. “You haven't given me much time, have you?”

“I still think you're overestimating the danger,” Rhys Michael muttered, throwing down his twist of straw. “Besides, now that you're wooing Juliana—”

“That's all sham, and you know it,” Javan replied. “And if Rhun finds out, I'm
really
dead.”

“But it's still turned speculation from me to you,” Rhys Michael pointed out. “Even if you're right, I'm sure they'd much rather have an heir from you than from me.”

“How reassuring,” Javan said dryly.

The prince did agree to keep his wife's pregnancy quiet for as long as possible. Javan's own ongoing attentiveness to Juliana helped to improve the general atmosphere in the Council. Though Rhun's attitude could never be described as friendly, he did became more indulgent of what Javan had to say, and even seemed to develop an interest in the results of the land inquests being gathered by Javan's commissioners.

After about a month of reasonably civil interaction in a Council somewhat diminished by winter absences of some of its members, Javan at last decided to take up the project he had put aside at word of his brother's kidnapping. Increasingly he had become aware that the Deryni question would have to be approached indirectly, perhaps on a case-at-a-time basis in the beginning. One of the more obvious places to begin was the plight of the families of Deryni collaborators like Oriel.

“Gentlemen, I've been doing some thinking about the Deryni situation, in light of their involvement in my brother's abduction,” he said as they settled down for an afternoon session on a particularly gloomy March day. “I concede that I was mistaken when I asked the Council to consider relaxing the Ramos Statutes. Obviously, the Deryni problem is far more complex and insidious than I wanted to believe.”

His listeners exchanged glances with one another, uncertain whether to be suspicious or pleased. The scatter effect of the statements stirred vague resentment at Deryni being mentioned at all, yet hinted that the king's attitude was not altogether in favor of the Deryni presence.

“The Deryni involvement has also reminded me that we still have several Deryni held hostage here, in addition to Master Oriel and your Master Sitric, Lord Rhun. And my Lord Archbishop,” he said to Hubert, “I apologize again for having complicated matters when I allowed Oriel to see his wife and daughter.”

Hubert inclined his head. “Your Highness has a kindly heart. Unfortunately, kindness toward Deryni is misplaced.”

“I don't know that I would agree with that,” Javan replied uncomfortably. “I render kindness to my horses and my hounds; they serve me better for it, even if we were not so instructed in Scripture, to deal gently with our servants.

“Yet I
am
cognizant of the potential danger that a continuing Deryni presence in Rhemuth may pose,” he went on. “Oh, I know we must keep the hostages necessary to ensure the continued obedience of Oriel and Sitric, so long as we choose to retain their services, but what of those whose service is past, like Ursin O'Carroll? While losing his powers may have been of benefit to his Deryni soul, it also made him quite superfluous for the purposes of his former employment. After three years, I should think it clear that his powers are not likely to return.”

“‘Not likely' is not good enough!” said Hubert with a vehemence that startled Javan. “Oh, I have seen him tested repeatedly, and his wife as well, and I
know
the drug was potent—but what if his powers
did
come back?”

As the others muttered among themselves, Javan scanned around the room. These were the core of the Council, all of whom he must win if he hoped to make this work. His own people would follow his lead, but Hubert, Paulin, Albertus, Rhun, Manfred, Tammaron—all of these were of the old guard and were already suspicious.

“Gentlemen, it seems to me that perhaps it's time to reevaluate this situation,” Javan said when he had called them back to order by rapping his knuckles on the table. Jerowen and Etienne were seated at the other end of the table, flanking Rhys Michael, and Javan had their notes on the table before him. “Am I to understand that Ursin
and
his wife continue to be tested, and that they both test human?”

“The wife
is
human, Sire,” Tammaron conceded, looking uncomfortable. “There's never been any question of that.”

“Yet she's been kept prisoner, even after Ursin lost his powers—”

“Because she married a Deryni, Sire!” Paulin declared. “And she bore him a brat who may be Deryni!”

“Who
may
be Deryni?” Javan said. “You mean you don't know?”

“The child was an infant when his parents were taken into custody, Sire,” Hubert said impatiently. “With only one Deryni parent, it's possible the child was spared the curse. Furthermore, I'm reliably informed that the effect of
merasha
on the very young, whether human or Deryni, can be erratic. I should think you would count it a mercy to spare a possibly fatal reaction in a child who could well be human. For now, the boy is better off with his mother, who is human, even if it means they must remain in custody.”

Javan scowled. If he persisted, he was likely to get the boy tested with
merasha
, regardless of the danger. But Oriel had also told him that regular doses of the drug, even in humans, could have a cumulative effect. He did not know how often constituted “regularly” in Hubert's book, but Oriel's indications were that anything more frequent than every eight to ten weeks might begin to do irreversible damage, depending on the concentration. He did not want to force a premature testing of Ursin's young son, but that might become necessary, if he hoped to relieve the plight of the boy's parents.

“I'd like to see Ursin,” he said. “I haven't seen him since that day.”

The clergy fidgeted among themselves, though his own men had been expecting it.

“Sire,” Hubert said, “with all due respect, you were cleansed of Deryni contamination that day, if you believe that Ursin was also cleansed. You already risk recontamination by continuing to use Oriel's services. Do you wish to compound that risk?”

“Ursin isn't Deryni anymore,” Javan replied, ignoring the remark about Oriel, almost wishing he could tell Hubert just how contaminated he was. “You've just told me that he's been tested repeatedly and that he shows none of the signs. Surely, if he were Deryni, he would have managed to escape by now.”