King Javan’s Year by Katherine Kurtz Page B

would have dealt with the question, stepped forward and cleared his throat. “It is—true that, by primogeniture, Prince Javan unquestionably is the heir. However, I was given to understand that there was some question of—stepping aside, in light of a religious vocation?”
    As he looked hopefully, almost pleadingly, at Javan, the new king made a point of folding his arms on his chest so that the Ring of Fire was clearly visible beside his Haldane signet.
    â€œLet us lay that fantasy aside from the outset, my Lord Chancellor,” he said. “As his Grace the Archbishop will surely attest, my trial of a religious vocation has entailed only simple vows, which are temporary. Even were they permanent, such vows can be dispensed, as was done for my father. I am ready to take up my crown.”
    â€œAnd I, to support him!” Rhys Michael cried, seizing Javan’s hand and dropping to one knee to kiss it. “The king is dead. Long live King Javan!”
    â€œLong live King Javan!” Charlan responded, echoed by the other young knights, who drew their swords in salute and brandished them as Javan’s name became a chant, daring anyone to gainsay them. The baron who had come to Javan’s support was among the first to kneel with them, a grim look of satisfaction on his face, followed by the household officers and gradually the great lords who were present, until every knee in the room had bent except Hubert’s, who bowed to kiss the royal hand as the chanting died away.
    In the silence that followed, Javan inclined his head to the archbishop, raised up his brother, then gestured a little self-consciously for the rest to rise. The Ring of Fire glinted on his left hand, and its sparkle reminded him of what he was trying to take on, even if not all his audience were entirely convinced. As they got to their feet, a few of them exchanging dubious glances, he hooked his thumbs in the front of his belt to keep the ring in their sight—and to keep his hands from shaking.
    â€œI thank you, my lords,” he said. “In the interests of the heat, and the long night most of us have spent, I shall be brief for now.” He drew a deep breath, heartened when no one seemed disposed to interrupt—though he knew it was not over yet.
    â€œFirst of all, regarding the final disposition of the late king, my brother.” He had forced himself to think about this moment on the ride from Arx Fidei and had made inquiries of Charlan and some of the other knights when they stopped to change horses.
    â€œI have decided that my brother shall lie at Saint Hilary’s until his funeral. The Chapel Royal is too small,” he added, to quell the objections several started to raise. “Saint Hilary’s possesses sufficient size and dignity for a royal lying-in-state, and was often my brother’s favored place of worship. In addition, Saint Hilary’s being within the outer wards of the castle, it is accessible both to the Court and to those good folk of Rhemuth city who may wish to come and pay their respects. I shall ask Sir Gavin, who was his squire, to organize a guard of honor to escort his body thence at noon, at which time and place I should like a Solemn Requiem sung for him.”
    At his somewhat tentative glance at the archbishops, Hubert gave him a forbearing nod, but Javan suspected he had not heard the last from Hubert MacInnis.
    â€œFollowing Mass, a vigil guard will be mounted through the rest of today and tonight and throughout tomorrow. I should like the funeral to take place at noon on the following day.”
    â€œSo soon?” someone murmured in the back of the room.
    â€œFor shame!” someone else muttered.
    â€œHis father lay in state for a full week ,” a surly voice said from the left side of the room.
    Javan bit back the sharp retort that almost escaped his lips and took a deep breath instead.
    â€œHis father died in February , when heat was