King Javan’s Year by Katherine Kurtz Read Free Book Online Page A

physicians agree. They—” He stumbled and came to a halt, suddenly blinking back tears, and swallowed hard, shaking his head.
    â€œJavan, they say his lungs are nearly gone. All Oriel or anybody else can do is ease the passing. It’s a question of letting him literally cough his lungs out or—letting him dream away what little time he has left.”
    As Rhys Michael knuckled at his bowed forehead, shaking his head despairingly, Javan had to fight back his own tears, grieving already for the elder brother who had never really stood a chance against the circumstances of his position. He had tried to prepare himself for news of this sort, but actually hearing it was far more difficult than he had expected.
    â€œDear, gentle Jesu , it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he breathed, trying to get a grip on himself. “He’s only sixteen, for God’s sake! His life should be just beginning!”
    â€œSire, Lord Manfred is coming up fast,” Charlan murmured, just ahead of him, calling his knights closer with a gesture. “I’d hoped he wouldn’t get here so quickly.”
    Stiffening, Javan forced back his tears and made himself look up, dropping his hands to his sides and raising his chin defiantly to the first of the great lords he must either win over or subdue. His eyes locked with Manfred’s as the older man approached, and Javan decided then and there that he was not going to be the one to look away first.
    â€œLord Manfred,” he acknowledged tonelessly as the man came within hailing distance.
    â€œYour Highnesses,” the cool, clipped reply came, edged with disapproval.
    The Earl of Culdi had changed very little since Javan last had seen him: a more faded blond than his brother Hubert and slightly taller, but merely beefy where Hubert was undeniably fat. He held himself like the soldier he was, the blue eyes keen as flint above a sweeping pair of blond moustaches beginning to go grey.
    He eyed first Javan and then Rhys Michael with an expression just short of distaste, quickly taking in the crimson cape, the ring on Javan’s hand, the twisted gold in his ear—and the six armed knights surrounding him. But whatever his true emotions, his words sounded of careful solicitude, calculated not to cause blatant offense in this new, unexpected, and undesired presence.
    â€œYour arrival is most timely, your Highnesses,” he said. “The king is awake and asking for both of you. My brother has had the physicians delay his medication until I could locate you. Please come with me.”
    He made them both a brisk bow, just short of arrogance, then turned on his heel and headed back the way he had come, not waiting to see if they followed.
    They did, of course. Javan pulled off the crimson cape and handed it off to Charlan as they walked, for the heat of the day already was becoming unbearable, even within the insulation of the castle’s thick stone walls.
    The buzz of voices ahead got louder as they rounded a turn in the corridor and approached the end; there three steps led down into an open colonnade where fifteen or twenty men were lounging. Those seated came to their feet as the royal party approached, a few of them bowing, but whether to acknowledge the royal brothers or the Lord Manfred was hard to tell.
    Manfred drew up just before the steps, at the last door on the right. Setting his hand to the latch, he stood aside as he pushed it open. Javan did not like the smile on his face, just before he bowed so that Javan could not see it. As he had feared, others of the former regents were in the anteroom within, chiefest among them Manfred’s brother, Hubert MacInnis, Archbishop of Valoret and Primate of All Gwynedd.
    The archbishop bestirred himself to stand as Javan entered, Rhys Michael and Charlan following. At Hubert’s gesture, Tomais and Bertrand and the other knights remained outside, though not without Rhys Michael’s