Free King Javan’s Year by Katherine Kurtz Page B

apparently had sensed something, for his head was bowed to rest on the edge of the bed, both forearms arched over his head, rocking a little on his knees. Rhys Michael was sobbing unabashedly over the hand he still held.
    But Javan dared not spare them any of his attention just yet. One last duty to Alroy remained to be done. Very quietly, and without letting himself think about it too much, he eased the Ring of Fire from Alroy’s slack hand and brought it to his lips, bestowing a reverent kiss. Then, silently invoking the witness of Those he had called—Whom he hoped were still there—he slid the ring onto his finger.
    A chill shivered up his spine despite the heat, but he felt little else. He wondered if that was all there was to it—though all , in his case, might be a very great deal indeed, for he thought that no one else besides a Deryni or a saint could have experienced what he had just experienced. Given the unexpected appearance of his father, he had to wonder that no further memory had returned of what had been done to him—but no time just now to worry overly about that .
    No, first on the agenda, right now, was to ensure that he was, in fact, to be king; and that involved squaring things—or appearing to square them—with Archbishop Hubert. Time enough, later on, to perhaps reestablish the long-dormant links with his Deryni teachers and see if he could bring his talents to their intended potential.
    He slipped the ring back on the dead Alroy’s finger and lurched to his feet, intending to go and deal with the sleeping archbishop, but he was hit by such a wave of weariness that he nearly passed out. He jostled the bed as he caught his balance, also rousing Oriel.
    â€œSire?” the Healer breathed as he raised his head. “Are you all right?”
    Swallowing, Javan turned his gaze to focus on the Healer. The moment of light-headedness had passed, but it had reminded him poignantly of his fatigue, already with him when he arrived in Rhemuth and doubtless made worse by what he had just experienced.
    â€œI’ll be all right,” he whispered. “Too much exertion, not enough sleep—”
    â€œI can do something about that,” Oriel said.
    Javan shook his head. “No time just now. If I take the time to sleep, I may end up sleeping for all eternity.”
    â€œThen let me do something quick and temporary for now,” Oriel said, “and I’ll come to you later this morning and give you an hour of Healer’s sleep.” He reached across the bed to touch Javan’s wrist and assess his condition. “You do need the rest. I don’t think you want to face an Accession Council without it.”
    A sinking feeling assailed him. Oriel was right. An Accession Council would have to meet as soon as possible. He could delay it for a few hours, but not beyond the afternoon. And there were arrangements to be made for Alroy’s lying in state—
    â€œYou say you can do something quick?” he said.
    Nodding, Oriel came around the foot of the bed and set his hands on the new king’s head, thumbs pressing lightly on the eyelids when they closed and fingers cupping up around the temples.
    â€œRelax and think of this as just an ordinary Healing, the way Tavis used to do for you,” the Healer said quietly as Rhys Michael looked up dazedly through his tears. “You’ll feel it as a wave of warmth. You may feel a little dizzy for a few seconds.”
    Inhaling deeply and then exhaling, Javan let fall his shields, surrendering to the Healer’s ministrations. Restoration came as a flood, not just a wave, and made his knees start to buckle, so that Oriel had to catch him under the arm to steady him. But as he found his feet again, bracing himself on the bed, he could sense a new clear-headedness.
    â€œIt’s called a fatigue-banishing spell,” Oriel murmured, standing back a little to survey him. “Its duration is