King Javan’s Year Read Online Free PDF Page B

and Javan led the young knight quickly along the dormer corridor, limping only a little on the flat, ignoring the occasional sleepy head that peered out of a doorway.
    â€œIn here,” Javan murmured, pausing to take up the night-light set in a niche in the corridor before leading Charlan into the tiny room designated as his monastic cell.
    He lit the rushlight in another niche inside, then handed the night-light to Charlan to replace in the hallway while he began unbuttoning his soutane, starting to formulate a plan of action as he did so.
    â€œI hope you don’t mind squiring for me, the way you used to do,” Javan said as the young knight ducked anxiously back into the room. “You’ll find my other boot and my riding things in that chest at the foot of the bed. I want to get out of here as quickly as we can, before the abbot decides that his Custodes men are a match for yours.”
    Grinning, Charlan bent to the task assigned.
    â€œThe possibility had crossed my mind, your Highness,” he said easily, quickly producing the desired boot and then beginning to rummage through the stacks of uniformly black garments. “However, I think the presence of a dozen armed knights in his yard may have dampened the good abbot’s enthusiasm for such rash action. Are these the breeches you wanted?” he asked, holding a handful of black aloft by one leg.
    Glancing up, Javan gave a nod.
    â€œAs for being your squire,” Charlan went on, tossing the breeches onto the bed, “I shall always count those months in your service as my honor and privilege. I—hope you’ll be gracious enough to accept my continued service, when you are king.”
    â€œWhen I am king—”
    Javan had been in the process of stripping the hated Custodes cincture from around his waist, and he stiffened and then swallowed before deliberately dropping it onto the bed like a limp snake—the braided cincture of crimson and gold intertwined, whose colors the Custodes Fidei had usurped from the Haldane royal house to lend credibility to their mission against Deryni.
    â€œI hope I needn’t tell you that being king is the last thing I would have wished, if it meant that harm would come to my brother,” Javan said quietly. He shrugged out of the heavy soutane and let it fall in a pool of wool around his feet, stepping free awkwardly to sit on the edge of the bed, now clad only in the baggy underdrawers the monks were allowed.
    â€œI have to face realities, though,” he continued as Charlan knelt at his feet and began unbuckling the special boot. “I hope that doesn’t sound disloyal. But if he’s to die before he gets an heir—”
    Charlan shot him an appraising look before returning his attention to the buckles.
    â€œBetter you than Rhys Michael,” he said shortly, not looking up. “Oh, I have no quarrel with your younger brother, Sire, but you’re the heir. And you have the backbone to stand up to the lords of state—which I don’t think your brother does. The king certainly doesn’t.”
    Anger flared in the grey Haldane eyes, and Javan kicked his good foot free of its sandal.
    â€œIt isn’t Alroy’s fault that he’s been under their thumb,” he said sharply. “He’s always been frail. And once the regents had driven Lord Rhys and Bishop Alister from Court, the court physicians had orders to keep him just slightly sedated all the time, even when he was healthy otherwise. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but I saw it for myself, the last few times I had a chance to be alone with him.”
    Charlan freed the last buckle, glancing up as he eased the boot from Javan’s crippled foot and rocked back on his heels. “Did Master Oriel tell you that, Sire?”
    The question could be taken many ways. That Charlan was even here bespoke a loyalty to all three Haldane brothers that went beyond whatever duty he