Free King Javan’s Year by Katherine Kurtz

reverently extracting a single Host from the golden cup and holding it above, where Alroy could see it clearly.
    â€œ Ecce Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi ,” he murmured, shifting to the traditional Latin. Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world.
    â€œ Domine, non sum dignus …” Alroy whispered, echoed by the others. Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst come under my roof. Speak but the word, and my soul shall be healed …
    With that, Javan made the Sign of the Cross over his brother with the Host, recalling another prayer as he put it reverently on his brother’s tongue.
    â€œReceive, my brother, this food for your journey, the Body of our Lord Jesus Christ, that He may guard you from the malicious enemy and lead you into everlasting life. Amen.”
    â€œAmen,” Alroy whispered, closing his eyes until, after a moment’s labored effort, he swallowed.
    â€œJavan?” he whispered weakly then, before Javan could cover the cup. “One thing more—please.”
    â€œYes, what is it?”
    â€œWill—you and Rhysem and Oriel receive Holy Communion as well?” He stifled a little cough. “I know that no one can go with me on—my final journey, but—will you accompany me this far, at least?”
    Greatly moved, for he had not expected this, Javan bowed his head over the golden cup again, allowing the others time to prepare as well as himself, then dutifully gave them Communion. By the time he carefully put the cover back on the ciborium, he could hardly see for the tears; and as he set the vessel back on the table beside the bed, Alroy surrendered to a long-suppressed coughing bout.
    It curled him onto his side again and left him gasping when Oriel at last managed to control it. The cloth he had jammed against his lips as he coughed came away stained with red. The young king’s face was white but composed as he straightened once more in the Healer’s arms and cast his gaze first to Rhys Michael, then to Javan, finally laying his right hand atop Oriel’s, over his heart.
    â€œI—think it’s—time for that cup now—Master Oriel,” he managed to gasp out, the breath rattling liquidly in his chest. “I—never was very—brave.”
    â€œI have—always thought you very brave, my prince,” Oriel whispered, reaching blindly for the cup, which Rhys Michael tearfully set in his hand. “But you need not worry about bravery anymore. You have fought the good fight; and God’s angels surely await you, to escort you to His bosom.”
    He brought the cup to the king’s lips without wavering, his supporting arm strong behind Alroy’s shoulders, suppressing the coughing so that the king could drain it in a few labored swallows. Javan, watching them together, fastened on Oriel’s mention of angels, recalling something else about angels, and another cup …
    All at once other memory came flooding back to him, memory long buried both by his own condition at the time and the design of those responsible—of the long-ago night when their father had died, and the moments just before, when a cup had been prepared in the presence of Beings of such immeasurable power that Javan’s knees started to buckle, even thinking about them. He gasped as the returning memory all but overwhelmed him, catching himself on the edge of the bed as Oriel laid Alroy back on the pillows.
    As the images flashed before him, Javan knew what he must do now, before Alroy slipped into the Nether world and the power never quite uncoiled in him was freed at last in Javan, who was his heir. Clasping his brother’s left hand in both of his, he raised it to his lips and bowed his head over it, closing his eyes.
    They summoned Archangels to witness what our father did and to escort him through the Gates of Death , Javan thought, fingering the Ring of Fire that so loosely encircled the third finger