King Javan’s Year by Katherine Kurtz

said slowly. “He’d been given medication, after all. He must have been asleep when it finally happened. One of the physicians told me last night that it would be like drowning.” He shook his head. “I don’t think he suffered, there at the end.”
    Oriss gave him a quizzical look, but did not comment.
    â€œJavan surprised me, though,” Hubert went on. “I’d really come to believe that he thought that he had a genuine vocation—or at least that he was resigned.”
    Oriss snorted. “Obviously not. And what on earth made de Courcy come to his defense that way? I thought he was Tammaron’s man.”
    â€œApparently he’s the king’s man,” Hubert replied. “I shall be very surprised if he doesn’t show up at the Accession Council. If he does, and there are many more like him, we can forget about overturning the succession.”
    â€œThen Javan’s in,” Oriss said. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”
    â€œA temporary setback,” Hubert assured him. “We’ll give him a chance, since we have no choice, but if he remains a problem, we’ll give him a chance to hang himself.”
    Oriss looked up sharply. “You wouldn’t kill him? He’ll be an anointed king!”
    â€œMy dear Robert,” Hubert replied, with a look of astonished affront. “I am not a regicide. The boy has been like a son to me.”
    â€œWell, what do we do, then, if he refuses to cooperate?”
    â€œLet’s wait until he does,” Hubert replied. “If all else fails, there are other ways to ensure a cooperative king.”

C HAPTER S IX
    Separate thyself from thine enemies, and take heed of thy friends .
    â€”Ecclesiasticus 6:13
    In Rhys Michael’s bedchamber, meanwhile, the new king had stripped down and immersed himself gratefully in a deep wooden tub of tepid water, hastily filled by a parade of earnest and curious servants. The bath was cool and refreshing, and the temporary solitude seductive, once Charlan had shooed everyone out, but Javan knew he dared not indulge the luxury of staying very long in it. Not only were there things to do and people waiting to talk to him, but he truly feared he might fall asleep and drown.
    He was saved from this danger by Charlan’s return, all too soon. A brisk sudsing revived him somewhat, as did several submersions to rinse the sweat and travel grime out of his hair. His former squire provided further diversion by lamenting the state of Javan’s barbering as he toweled the royal head.
    â€œYou’re fortunate the Custodes don’t use a full tonsure as some orders do,” Charlan said, briefly testing the stubble on the fist-size shaven patch on Javan’s crown. “This is going to look bad enough until it grows out. When was it last done? About a week ago?”
    â€œAbout that,” Javan said. “I hate it, too.” He stood up to climb shakily out of the tub, unsteady on his bad foot, then wrapped himself in the linen sheeting Charlan offered. He was almost cool for a few minutes, while Charlan went to find him clean clothes, but body heat soon began to reverse the benefits of the dunking, and he had to throw it off.
    He would have preferred to stretch out naked on the canopied bed and simply succumb to sleep for about a week. Instead, he dutifully pulled on the clean breeches Charlan brought and hobbled into the outer room to sit in the cool of a shady window, where a faint breeze stirred across his skin and Rhys Michael chattered at him while making his own lesser ablutions.
    Very soon Tomais brought him the first of the promised briefing documents to begin reading, after which Tomais and Charlan disappeared for several minutes. They returned with another of the young knights who had fetched Javan from Arx Fidei —Sir Sorle Dalriada, who had been the last of Cinhil’s squires to be knighted by Cinhil himself and was