King Javan’s Year by Katherine Kurtz

inversely proportional to the amount of restoration demanded, and it can’t be renewed indefinitely. Also, once it wears off, the bottom is going to drop out quite suddenly, and you’ll seem to feel even more tired than before I did it. But I’ll be back to you by then. This should get you through the next couple of hours.”
    Javan nodded, feeling more and more restored as he settled into the spell. “Thank you. I’ll remember this.”
    Not smiling, Oriel only glanced pointedly at Hubert, still snoring on his stool on the other side of the room. “Just make certain he doesn’t, or we’re all dead.”
    Nodding, Javan looked over at the archbishop, then back at Oriel.
    â€œI’ll take care of Hubert,” he murmured. “Would you blur all of this for Rhysem?”
    â€œOf course.”
    Squaring his shoulders, Javan crossed to the snoring archbishop. Very little tampering would be necessary, for him or for Rhys Michael.
    â€œArchbishop, listen to what I say to you,” Javan said quietly, setting a hand on Hubert’s. “You will come with me now. The king is near his end. You have given him the Sacrament, and he received it peacefully. Now he needs only your prayers to speed him on his way.”
    The blue eyes fluttered open as Hubert roused, and he gave a little sigh with the effort it cost him to stand. Javan led him to the royal bedside, keeping his controls in place as he released Hubert’s hand and knelt once again. The archbishop stood close behind him, hands folded piously before him, and Javan gently took his brother’s hand and kissed it.
    â€œI will begin the prayers now, Archbishop, and you will join in and carry on,” Javan whispered, “remembering only that the king’s passing was gentle, and that he died in a state of grace.” He drew a deep breath and began.
    â€œCome to his aid, O Saints of God; come forth to meet him, Angels of the Lord, receiving his soul, presenting it to the Most High …”
    Blinking, Hubert picked up the versicle, his tone more reverent than Javan had expected, even under control. “May Christ, Who has called you, now receive you, and may the angels bring you to Abraham’s bosom.”
    â€œReceiving his soul,” Javan murmured the response, knowing that it already was so, “presenting it unto the Most High.”
    â€œEternal rest grant unto him, O Lord.”
    â€œAnd let perpetual light shine upon him,” Javan responded, now joined by Rhys Michael and Oriel.
    â€œFrom the gates of hell—”
    â€œSave his soul, O Lord,” Javan said strongly.
    â€œMay he rest in peace.”
    â€œAmen.”
    â€œLet us pray,” Hubert went on, bowing his head over his folded hands. “O Lord, we commend to Thee the soul of Thy servant Alroy, that when he departs from this world, he may live with Thee. By the grace of Thy merciful love wash away the sins that in human frailty he has committed in the conduct of his life. Through Christ our Lord—”
    â€œAmen,” the others responded.
    Javan, trusting that Alroy was indeed now in the hands of God, slowly got to his feet and, as Hubert looked at him sharply, took the ring once again from his dead brother’s hand and slid it onto his own finger beside his silver signet. Before he could do more, Rhys Michael reached across and took the hand, murmuring “My liege” as he bent pointedly to kiss it in fealty. Ducking his head and throwing caution to the winds, Oriel did the same.
    Hubert simply looked on in amazement for several seconds—Javan with no idea what he was going to do, for he was no longer controlled—then ducked his head to Javan in what might be interpreted as a bow.
    â€œYou have made your decision then,” the archbishop said, his blue eyes hard and cold. “You will have an earthly crown rather than a heavenly one.”
    â€œI hope that eventually I shall