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a lot of blood, and that's one thing I can't cure."
"Agreed. Any other objections?"
There were none. Joram glanced at the others dubiously, sharing some of his Michaeline
superior's mistrust of what his father might be planning, then turned his attention back to
Camber.
"Very well. You're going to do it anyway, so there's no use trying to talk you out of it.
Where do you want to set up, and do you need assistance?"
"Ideally, I'd like to use consecrated ground, but I don't suppose that's feasible here in the
keep, for secrecy's sake, and I don't think we ought to leave. That being the case, I suggest
that we use the dressing chamber adjoining my quarters. I think it can be adequately
secured for our purposes."
"Assistance?" Rhys reminded him.
Camber shook his head. "I'll set this one up myself, if you don't mind. I will need a few
things that you can gather for me, though. Evaine, find me a large silver bowl, at least as
big around as a man's head. I don't care about the outside, but I want the inside plain."
"Just plain polished silver?"
"That's right. Ah, Joram: incense and something to burn it in." , Joram nodded.
"And, Alister "
"I'm not sure I really want to know, but go on," Cullen muttered under his breath.
Camber chuckled as he stood and gathered the bloodstained folds of his robe around
him, putting on a special nonchalance for Cullen's benefit.
"Relax, my friend. You might even find the entire process interesting. Here's what I want
you to bring..."
chapter two
But continue thou in the things which thou hast learned and host been assured of,
knowing of whom thou hast learned them.
II Timothy 3:14
Cinhil was out of breath and panting by the time he reached his tower quarters. When he
had locked himself in, he stood with his back against the door for several minutes, heart
pounding, his hands resting behind him, trembling on the bolt, as if to reassure himself
that he was, in fact, safe. He tried not to think about what had just happened. For a time,
he even succeeded.
But when his breathing had slowed nearly to normal, mindless panic and anger gave way
to guilt and fear. Fighting down a queasy sickness in his bowels, he took a deep breath and
forced himself to stand away from the door, to cross slowly and with dignity to the tiny
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oratory built into the leaded window of the room. There he collapsed with a shudder,
burying his face in his hands to pray.
God, what was he to do? He had tried so hard and for so long to do what was right,
despite the awful quandary they had put him in by making him king and then, in the
same day, in the same hour, he had been cursed, induced to kill, and healed.
He shuddered, knowing he could not hope to reconcile the killing on his own that
would have to be worked out later, with his confessor, when he could think more
coherently. True, the man was an assassin, and had deserved to die had he killed him
during the struggle, it would have been simple self-defense. But he, Cinhil, had not killed
out of self-defense, nor even out of justice, but in anger, from fear of mere words. Though
his act might have been technically lawful, he had done it for the wrong reason and the
Word of God forbade men to kill. Camber had been right to chastise him.
And the curse had Camber been right about that, too? Were the curses of a Deryni
enemy no more than those of ordinary men? How could he trust the word of a Deryni on
such matters? After all, they had tricked him before, these men called Deryni although,
he grudgingly had to concede, he supposed they had always acted in the best interests of
the kingdom.
But what of his best interests? What of Cinhil? Did he not matter? Was he forever to be
only their pawn, their ill-made tool, to be used as it pleased them, for purposes fathomable
only to them? He was a man, with an immortal soul a soul they had already grievously
endangered, almost past redemption. When they took his priesthood away, they had
No! He must not allow himself to pursue such reasoning, to wallow in self-pity and
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