Free The King’s Justice by Katherine Kurtz Page B

I—several years before Kelson was born. He was even younger than you. As I understand it—”
    A knock at the door cut off further retelling of that story, and Duncan rose to admit Morgan and Richenda.
    â€œIf Kelson weren’t my king, I’d be tempted to box his royal ears for making me sit in for him at table tonight,” Morgan said, as he and Richenda shed their hooded cloaks in the warm room. “Do you have any idea how boring it was, having to play at being the gracious host while I knew you and Dhugal were already here, making preparations? And why is it so hot in here?”
    â€œBecause,” said Richenda, loosening the throat of his tunic, “the windows are closed and you’ve let yourself get in a dither.” She glanced at Duncan. “I suspect it will be warmer still in the chapel, with as many bodies as we’re going to have generating heat. Is there any ventilation in there?”
    Duncan smiled and shook his head as he seated her at the table.
    â€œVery little, I’m afraid. We’ll just have to cope as best we can.”
    A second knock at the door heralded the arrival of Arilan, immediately bringing a greater degree of formality to the gathering. He glanced half disapprovingly at Dhugal as he swept past all of them to inspect the preparations in the chapel, calling Duncan to join him for several minutes.
    When the two bishops rejoined the others now waiting expectantly around the table, Arilan automatically assumed the role of senior, gesturing briskly for them to be seated as he took his seat. He did not seem to notice that Morgan and Richenda had neatly interposed themselves to either side of him, thus shielding him from close proximity to either Duncan or Dhugal. Later on, Arilan would be too busy to notice any hint of the true relationship between father and son, but for now, it had been agreed that they would take no chances.
    â€œNaturally, it will be Kelson’s part to direct matters when we actually begin,” Arilan said quietly. “However, until he and our—ah—subject actually arrive, I believe a period of meditation would not be amiss for any of us. A great deal of this will be new to young Dhugal, so I suggest we join hands around the table before we begin centering. The physical link will help to balance out the disparities in our levels of experience.”
    An expected hint of condescension was in his tone, but even Dhugal sensed Arilan meant well. Without demur they joined hands and obeyed, gazing through the candleflame for focus at first, then gradually dropping, one by one, into deeper rapport; breathing more slowly, eyes closing, even Dhugal easing at last into calm, floating receptivity, passive yet alert, waiting for king and kin.…
    And in the castle, the king led their intended subject into a darkened apartment that had been his own as prince. It was Dhugal’s now. The door was not locked, but even if it had been, that would not have stopped a Deryni of any training whatsoever.
    Drawing Nigel into the gloom and closing the door behind him, Kelson paused just a moment to conjure handfire. The faintly crimson ball of light cupped in his left palm revealed a tight-jawed and apprehensive-looking Nigel, now that there was no need to maintain the facade of casual competence he had worn all through supper. Concerned, Kelson motioned Nigel farther into the room, away from the door, pausing before the darkened fireplace to turn and glance at his father’s brother with apparent casualness of his own, though his next words came of a far from casual concern for the response he would receive.
    â€œYou don’t want to back out, do you? Because even if you did, at this late date, I couldn’t let you.”
    Nigel managed a shaky grin and a chuckle. “Kelson, I outweigh you by half. What would you do? Knock me out and carry me to—where is it that we’re going, by the way?”
    â€œYou’ll