Read Online The King’s Justice by Katherine Kurtz - Free Book Online Page A

even Nigel and Arilan did not know the latter. One must assume that the Camberian Council also knew at least what Arilan knew—and that they fretted over Dhugal and the mystery of his powers the same way they fretted over Morgan and Duncan—but other than those few, Kelson doubted anyone even suspected.
    He took a deep draught of the light, nutty ale Nigel had provided with supper—wine might have blunted their senses for the ritual still to come—and hid a smile behind his cup as he nodded and made noncommittal grunts in response to his mother’s continuing monologue.
    That Dhugal was Deryni, and Duncan’s son, still amazed and delighted him. The revelation had even eased some of the awful, heart-numbing shock of Sidana’s murder, that terrible Twelfth Night but a few months past. Letting the dull buzz of his mother’s voice carry him back, he set himself to savor the memory—able, from this distance, to let even the echo of his grief lap at his emotions as he anticipated the joy to follow.
    He had been sitting hunched in a bath before the fireplace in his bedchamber, trying to let the warm water ease the chill that seemed to penetrate to his very soul. He had long since washed Sidana’s blood from his hands, but a part of him still kept going numbly through the motions, as if further ablution could somehow wash her blood from his soul as well.
    He was vaguely aware of others moving about quietly in the room—Morgan, Duncan, Dhugal—and felt their compassion as a warm, comforting presence intended to ease his pain; but he was too tight-coiled in his own hurt and guilt and outrage to let their caring penetrate very deeply. He still did not know whether he had truly loved Sidana, but ultimate responsibility for her death remained squarely upon him in any case, even though another hand had wielded the dagger.
    She had been under his protection, and he had failed her. Her marriage ring glinted bright and accusing as his hands continued their vague movement underneath the water. He had slipped it on his little finger as he held her lifeless body in his arms, crouched there in the blood-spattered sanctuary that so short a time before had been witness to their marriage.
    â€œI think you’ve been in there long enough, my prince,” Morgan said quietly, suddenly appearing out of the shadows from behind him with a thick, thirsty towel. “Come dry yourself. Duncan’s making you a warm posset to help you sleep.”
    As he obeyed, dully standing to let Morgan wrap him in the towel, he became aware of small sounds in the room: the crackle of the fire, metal clinking against pottery at the small table where Duncan worked by candlelight, his own shallow breathing. Stepping damply onto thick Kheldish carpet, he allowed himself to be guided to a deep, engulfing chair nearer the hearth. When he had settled, Duncan put a warm cup in his hand and sat down on a stool; Dhugal had already taken a similar seat within reach of Kelson’s knee. Morgan remained standing, his back to the fire, one arm resting along the carved stone of the mantel, the firelight limning his golden hair from behind so that he seemed to be haloed.
    â€œDrink what Duncan’s given you,” his mentor said softly, jutting his chin toward the cup. “It will help to blunt some of the pain.”
    He was aware, as he drained the cup obediently, that the three of them were exchanging a curious set of glances, but he sensed nothing but concern for him in their manner—certainly no reason for alarm. The posset was laced with strong wine, and almost too hot. It was not until Kelson handed the cup back empty that he could detect the faintly tangy aftertaste of something Duncan had given him before—the expected sedative. Dhugal coughed, looking almost nervous as Duncan set the cup aside, and Morgan laced his fingers together, one elbow still resting casually on the mantel.
    â€œDhugal and Duncan