The King’s Justice by Katherine Kurtz Page A

eyeing the jewel as it was passed back to Kelson, and Duncan moved closer with the wad of cotton wool. As Morgan held his head steady from behind and Duncan swabbed his earlobe with something cool and pungent—welcome relief in the heat—Nigel braced himself for the bite of a needle, but it came as only a slight pressure and popping sound. He wondered whether Morgan had blunted that sensation for him. Intrigued now despite his apprehension, he watched Kelson remove the Ring of Fire and bring it close to his ear for a few brief seconds—marking it with his blood, he sensed—then lay it on the altar. Next, the Eye of Rom was brought close in a similar manner, though Kelson’s hand came away empty this time.
    Nigel felt a brief sting as Duncan threaded the earring’s wire through his flesh, faint weight of the stone as adjustments were made to its fastening, but then Duncan did something else and the sting became a tingle and then nothing. As the bishop withdrew and Morgan released him, Nigel brushed the earring lightly with his fingertip. He was surprised to feel no discomfort.
    â€œWe’ve healed that for you,” Morgan murmured, helping him to stand.
    Somehow that did not surprise him. Nor did the piece of parchment lying on the altar, inscribed with all his royal names.
    â€œI am told that the Deryni have a tradition of Naming their children by means of a brief magical ritual,” Kelson said quietly, drawing the parchment nearer the edge and reaching for the tip of the sword with his right hand as Duncan steadied the hilt. “The child’s mother generally performs this ritual between the ages of four and eight, depending upon the maturity of the child. Besides confirming the child’s bloodline as Deryni, it is also the first formal ritual in which most Deryni children are involved.”
    He met Nigel’s eyes briefly and managed a quick, nervous grin. “I daresay, I am hardly your mother, and you have a few more years than eight. Still, this will be your first true ritual experience. And it does provide a useful framework in which to shift the succession to your bloodline—if only for the present. As one might suppose, a shedding of blood is required.”
    He ducked his head at that. Nigel suddenly realized that Kelson was as nervous about the whole affair as he was. Holding the end of the blade over the parchment, grasped firmly between the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand, Kelson drew the tip of his left ring finger along the edge until blood welled from a fairly deep cut. His jaw tightened at the sight, whether from pain or some other emotion Nigel could not tell, but he made no sound, only touching the blood to the parchment beneath Nigel’s name with solemn deliberation. He held the wounded finger curled into the palm of his hand as he surrendered his place to Nigel.
    â€œNow yours,” he said softly.
    The blade itself held no terror for Nigel; as a soldier, he had sustained far greater wounds than was required now. Grasping the blade as Kelson had done, he drew his fingertip along the sharpened steel in a brisk stroke, letting the slight burning sensation of the cut help keep him from thinking about what might come next. When he had smudged his blood alongside Kelson’s on the parchment, the king pressed their wounds together briefly in further symbolism of the joining of the two bloodlines.
    â€œBy this mingling of blood do I acknowledge thee Haldane: Nigel Cluim Gwydion Rhys, son of King Donal Blaine Aidan Cinhil and only brother of King Brion Donal Cinhil Urien, who was my father and king before me.”
    There was a bowl for rinsing off the blood after that, linen for drying, then Morgan’s hand enclosing Nigel’s wound briefly while Duncan ministered to Kelson. When Morgan released him, the wound was gone as if it had never been. As Nigel stared at his finger in the candlelight, Duncan wiped the sword clean with a