Camber the Heretic Read Online Free PDF Page B

unhappiness and ill health when Tavis is not about.”
    â€œYou coddle the boy, Sire. It is not good.”
    â€œI do not coddle him. I face the realities of his—deficiency. You are aware of my feelings on that subject.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Sire. I meant no disrespect.”
    â€œI know you did not.”
    Awkwardly the king reached out to press Murdoch’s shoulder in reassurance, and bowed his head as the younger man seized the royal hand and pressed it to his lips again.
    Camber almost could not bear to watch, amazed that Cinhil could let himself be so deceived. Cinhil could even Truth-See Murdoch if he wanted to; but Cinhil rarely used the abilities which Camber and his children had given him so many years ago. Please God, Cinhil’s children would not be so blind!
    â€œPlease forgive me, Sire, but it’s only that I care so much,” Murdoch was whispering.
    â€œI know. Fear not. You yet are in my grace,” the king replied.
    He stifled another cough, and his face went a little paler against his scarlet robe.
    â€œPlease go now, Murdoch. I think I must rest now. Alister, stay with me awhile, old friend. Though you are not a Healer, your company does much to ease my discomfort.”
    â€œAs you wish, Sire,” Camber replied softly, moving closer to stand with his hand on the king’s shoulder. “Earl Murdoch, my secretary will see you to the door. His Grace will surely send for you again later.”
    With that, he turned his attention to Cinhil, bending closer to the royal ear. “Try to relax, Sire. Take a slow, steady breath—not too deep, or you’ll start yourself coughing again. That’s right. Now exhale. Let the pain detach.…”
    Murdoch rose in annoyance, ignoring Joram’s polite and precise bow as he made his own way out. Joram, when he had closed the door after Murdoch, returned to stand attentively beside the stool Murdoch had just vacated. After a few minutes, Camber straightened up and glanced at Joram, signalling him to sit as Cinhil slowly opened his eyes.
    â€œIs that better, Sire?”
    â€œYes, thank you,” Cinhil whispered. “It helps. It really does. I should know better than to let myself get so agitated. I don’t dare breathe too deeply any more, or it starts me coughing all over again.”
    With a raise of one eyebrow, Camber leaned down to retrieve the napkin which had fallen from Cinhil’s hand after he stopped coughing, noting the browning-red stain on the fabric. Calmly Cinhil reached out and took it gently from the bishop’s hand, folding the napkin so that the stain could not be seen. When Joram started to open his mouth to speak of it, Cinhil shook his head and carefully laid the napkin aside.
    â€œI know, Joram, I need no lectures,” he whispered, very matter-of-fact in the stillness which his acknowledgment had created. “I am very ill. Only Rhys and I know precisely how ill. And this matter of Javan—I need to speak of it to both of you. Believe me, I trust Tavis. He is a fine young Healer. But—”
    A short, staccato rap on the door stopped him in mid-phrase, and Camber flicked a glance in the direction of the door. He recognized the mental presence on the other side, but it was obvious from Cinhil’s sigh that the king did not.
    â€œIt seems this discussion is not to be,” Cinhil said resignedly. “No matter. See who it is, Joram.”
    As Camber had known it would be, Lord Jebediah of Alcara eased past the door which Joram opened.
    â€œYour pardon, Sire,” he said as he approached, making a slight bow in Cinhil’s direction. “Alister, one of the Earl of Ebor’s men just delivered this. He said something about Gregory having been injured in a riding accident.”
    The greying earl marshal was dressed in worn blue riding leathers—from his rosy cheeks and the amount of mud liberally spattering his body, it was apparent that