Read Online King Javan’s Year by Katherine Kurtz - Free Book Online Page B

Javan had led the archbishop around to the other side, he turned to set his free hand on one of Hubert’s wrists, close to where he grasped the ciborium, at the same time using the physical contact to trigger the controls he had set so long ago and so rarely had dared to use.
    â€œClose your eyes, Archbishop,” he commanded softly, at the same time holding out his candlestick for Rhys Michael to take. “Close your eyes and hear my words. You cannot resist.”
    As Hubert meekly obeyed, Rhys Michael took the second candlestick and passed it to Oriel to set on the bedside table, prince and Healer both wide-eyed. Heart pounding, Javan shifted his now-empty hand under the ciborium’s veil to cup under its bowl, suddenly aware of the potency of what Hubert held—and that whatever he did would be Witnessed by the sacred energy focused in the Sacrament.
    Javan shivered at that realization. He meant no sacrilege, no disrespect. But he must ensure that his brother was allowed to receive that Sacrament in the manner of his choosing, from hands he could respect; and those hands were not Hubert’s hands. Trusting that God would understand, Javan took the ciborium away from Hubert and set it on the little table on his side of the bed, then led Hubert back across the room and sat him down on a stool that groaned under his weight.
    â€œMy brother will receive Communion now, Archbishop,” he said quietly, setting his hand firmly on Hubert’s sweating forehead, “but not from your hands. My Holy Orders still are valid, so I shall offer him this gift. You will sit here with your eyes closed and say and do nothing and remember nothing. Sleep deep now and hear nothing until I call you by name. Hear and remember nothing.”
    The archbishop actually began to snore, so deeply did he sleep. As Javan came back to his brother’s bed, Oriel was staring at him in amazement, and Rhys Michael looked very scared.
    â€œOriel, please help him to sit,” Javan whispered as he came and picked up the ciborium.
    Gently, tenderly, Oriel eased Alroy onto his back again, then slid one arm under the king’s shoulders and lifted him up. Alroy’s breathing had changed as the Healer turned him, and rattled faintly with a wet, liquid sound. Supporting him against his left shoulder, Oriel laid his right hand over the ravaged lungs.
    â€œCome back to us now, Alroy,” he whispered softly in the king’s ear, at the same time easing him back to consciousness and clamping his controls more tightly on the pain and the reflexes that would set him coughing again.
    At once the black eyelashes fluttered, no pain showing in the grey eyes that wandered dreamily for a few seconds, then focused on the veiled cup that Javan held. The king blinked once, then shifted his gaze to the one who held the cup.
    â€œThe Blessed Sacrament,” he murmured in wonder. “But what will Hubert—”
    â€œNever mind Hubert,” Javan whispered, shaking his head. “If you want it from someone besides him, it has to be me and it has to be now.”
    Alroy swallowed hard and nodded, tears welling in the grey eyes, and Javan bowed his head over the cup in his hand, casting back in memory for words he often had heard at Arx Fidei when nursing the dying.
    â€œO Lord of Hosts, Heavenly Father,” he said, translating from the Latin for Alroy’s benefit, “we beg Thee at this moment, above all, to deliver this Thy servant Alroy from all evil and to strengthen him with the Bread of Life, the Body of our Lord the Christ, Who lives and reigns with Thee for ever and ever. Amen.”
    â€œAmen” came the hushed response from Rhys Michael and Oriel, mouthed as well by Alroy.
    Hands trembling, Javan lifted the veiled lid off the ciborium and laid it aside on the table beside the bed. He had never actually given anyone Communion before, but again he called upon the memories of watching others do it,