“You use it as a focus of concentration,” Cinhil repeated. “And that is what you were doing in the chapel?”
“Well, yes, I happened to be using it, but—” She glanced at him shrewdly, knowing that he was about to ask the question she had been leading him to for the past five minutes. “Your Highness, you surely aren’t thinking to try the shiral crystal yourself? I don’t think it will work for humans.”
“At least let me try,” Cinhil pleaded, taking the bait and swallowing, without even realizing the hook was set.
Wordlessly, Evaine laid the crystal in his hands and watched him settle back in his chair with a triumphant glint to his eyes. Holding the crystal as he had seen her do, he stared at it intently, tense with the effort of willing it to glow.
Nothing happened.
After a little while, he clasped the crystal in his hand and looked up at her, his swallow audible in the stilled room. It was obvious by the very line of his body that he had not given up.
“Show me how.”
His harsh whisper was a command, and with a nod Evaine moved her chair a little closer so she could observe him from slightly to one side.
“Now, you must follow my instructions exactly,” she warned, touching his empty hand lightly and gathering his full attention upon her. “I have never allowed a human to try this, and I would not see you harmed. I have told you, the crystal has power.”
“I will do only what you tell me to do,” Cinhil said. His eyes were bright and intent upon her as she turned slightly toward him.
“I want you to look at the crystal,” she said, noting that the firelight caught and flared in the stone even as he steadied it before his eyes. “Stare at the crystal and let all else in this room recede from your mind. Let my voice guide and guard you; for to enter the peace of the crystal, you must let all else slip away and recede for a time. Concentrate all of your consciousness upon the crystal, and let my voice be your guide. Imagine all the light of your essence pouring through your fingertips to gather in the matrix of the crystal. You see nothing but the fire of the crystal, hear only my voice guiding you, and now your universe is the crystal, and you are entering its domain …”
As she spoke, her voice low, almost a chant, his attention did focus on the stone, his breathing deepened and slowed, the taut lines of his face relaxed. Cautiously, then, lest she disturb the delicate balance which was forming, she extended her own senses around him and felt the resistance melt away, felt his consciousness receding. He was on the verge of a trance; he was in a trance. She closed her eyes and let her senses guide her around the interstices of his outer consciousness, felt them part before her as his shields crumbled and dissolved.
Insidiously, then, she entered and made certain adjustments, left certain instructions, forged certain bonds of will which would be undetected when she withdrew. She found his outer mind a place of order and beauty, as she had long suspected; but she dared not go deeper this time, for his trance was light and she must not tax his trust in her. Still, the seeds had been sown, and she knew that next time she could return him to this state—and deeper—at will.
Evaine withdrew then, erasing all signs of her passage as she went, and opened her eyes slowly. She glanced at him, his eyes unseeing, his face calm and untroubled—then felt her gaze drawn unbelievingly to the crystal between his fingertips.
It glowed! Faintly and haltingly. But it did glow!
Controlling the impulse to make some sudden motion, to let some word of wonder escape her lips, she softly began to speak again and lead him back to consciousness.
As his eyelids fluttered and his hands twitched a little in the coming back, the light in the crystal died—but not before she was certain he had seen it, and had realized that this had been his work. He blinked several times and breathed a sigh of wonder, then carefully put the crystal on the chair arm between them, not yet willing to meet her eyes.
“Did I—did I really see what I just thought I did?” he finally asked, when he had stared at the crystal again for several heartbeats.
“Yes, Your Highness, you did.”
He looked up at her then, a beseeching look on his face. “I know I should not ask, but I would like to keep the crystal, at least for a time. I—should like to examine this feeling more closely.”
“What did you feel?” she said, not really needing to ask, but knowing he would expect such a question.
“I—don’t know. A strange peacefulness, a—suspension of time.” He turned his gray Haldane eyes upon her and his lips parted again. “May I keep it? Please?”
“Very well. But there is a condition: you must not try to use the crystal unless I am with you.”
“That is understood.”
“Your royal word on it?” she insisted. “And more, your priestly word?”
He picked up the crystal again and looked at it, then nodded and gave a sigh of relief; he stood and slipped the crystal into a small box over the fireplace. He caught himself on the edge of the mantel and rubbed his eyes, then half turned toward her with an ill-disguised yawn.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly very tired. I think I ought to rest now.”
“Work with the crystal can be very taxing,” she said, rising and taking his arm. “Come. Let me help you to your bed.”
Half an hour later, Evaine was telling Camber and Rhys and Joram of the afternoon’s developments, sharing the experience with them arcanely. Camber’s face beamed with pride as she told her tale. When she had finished, Joram let out a raucous whoop of delight and Rhys kissed her soundly. Camber sat back in his chair and poured mulled wine for all of them.
“Let us drink to Evaine,” he said, handing cups around and lifting his in toast, “for doing what no one else could do, for breaking through our prince’s shields without a hint of battle. The way is clear now. We can go in and assess him, and he will never know, until it’s time to do what must be done. To Evaine!”
“To Evaine!” Rhys and Joram echoed, and drank her salute in joy.
They talked more, then, long into the night, evaluating and assessing what she had learned in the very shallow sampling she had made that afternoon, making plans, venturing theories.…
The following afternoon, after Cinhil had finished his studies for the day and taken his noon meal, she sought him out again. He had been waiting for her; and as soon as she was seated, he wasted no time in procuring the crystal and taking his place beside her.
“I have not touched it since yesterday,” he told her, putting it in her hand. “When I awoke this morning, I was initially angry at what you made me promise; but then I realized that it was too powerful a thing to tamper with on my own, and that it were best to go slowly. I had not thought to be so tired yesterday.”
“That is a common reaction when learning to use new abilities, even among Deryni,” she smiled. “But, you awoke refreshed this morning, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and in my bed, my clothes removed. I”—he lowered his eyes—“I don’t even remember falling asleep.”
“You were very tired when I left, Your Highness. I had Father Nathan come in and make you comfortable for the night, since I suspected that you might not awaken before morning. I hope you are not angry at the presumption.”
“No, of course not.” He folded his hands and studied them for a few seconds, obviously much relieved by her explanation, then looked up at her again.
“May—may we try it again?” he asked.
“Sit back and relax.” She smiled, moving the crystal before his eyes. “And as I now place the crystal in your hand, you will sleep.”
His eyes closed and his breathing changed, and he was deep asleep. With a sigh, she reached out and touched his forehead, taking him ever deeper, securing control. Then she rose and glided to the door to admit Camber, and resumed her place beside the sleeping prince. She could feel her father’s reassuring presence as she extended her senses and entered Cinhil’s mind.
She roamed its re
cesses for perhaps a quarter-hour, Camber watching through her mind, never touching Cinhil’s directly. Finally, she withdrew, shaking her head lightly to clear away the last vestiges of her own trance, for she had been very deep. Cinhil slept on, oblivious to what had happened, oblivious to their presence. Camber smiled and brushed his daughter’s forehead lightly with his lips, then quietly withdrew. After a moment, Evaine brought Cinhil back to the easy, gentle trance he had achieved on his own the day before. As before, the stone glowed faintly. She drew a sobering breath to steady herself.
“Cinhil, hear my voice only,” she said, “and listen to what I say. Though you are in this state of otherness, you can still hear my voice and you can do what I tell you. Do you wish to see the crystal glow? You may answer.”
The royal lips parted and breathed a scarcely audible “Aye.”
“Then, when I touch your hand, I want you to open your eyes. You will remain in this state of otherness, you will still be in contact with the matrix of the crystal, but you will be able to see it and react. It is real, and you have achieved this task. Do you understand?”
He nodded his head slightly.
“Very well, then.” She touched his hand. “Open your eyes and tell me what you see.”
He obeyed, the long lashes rising slowly, his eyes like pools of quicksilver, tracking dreamily to the crystal. For a moment there was no reaction, but then the ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and she knew that he saw.
“It glows,” he murmured, his voice flat in the trance, but tinged with a little wonder. “And I have done this?”
“Yes.” She touched his hand again. “But now it’s time to return, remembering what you’ve seen. Wake now, refreshed and relaxed. You’ve been successful.”
As his eyelids fluttered and he emerged from his trance, the light in the crystal died. But this time, though he sighed at the return to the real world, a smile was on his lips, and he closed the crystal in his hand instead of putting it down immediately. He stared into the fire for just a moment, savoring what he had seen, then looked at Evaine again and smiled, a genuine, relaxed smile such as she had not seen upon his face in all the time he had been in the haven.
“You remember, don’t you?” she said.
He nodded. “It was beautiful. And I did it, didn’t I?”
“You did it,” she smiled. “This still doesn’t mean that you should try it without my presence yet, but you’re learning. I think you can see, from the way you feel, that it wasn’t nearly as difficult this time. Oh, Cinhil, if you will only let us help you, we can make you such a king as the world has never seen!”
He looked away at that, as she had known he would, his face returning to its old, taut lines. But though the shields were back, they were not nearly so high or so fast as before.
She left him to ponder what he had seen; and though he stared long at the crystal after she had gone, he did not try to enter it again that day. He had, after all, given his word.
They worked with the crystal almost daily after that, until he learned to slip in and out of his Derynilike concentration unaided. After a time, she allowed him to use it in his meditation; she did not tell him he no longer needed it. After that, he seemed not quite so bitter at his lost priesthood.
He still was not eager to be king. And he still avoided intimate contact with the forlorn Megan whenever he could, for he did not like to be reminded of this part of his dynastic duty. But his education progressed smoothly, and in ways which he himself did not dream. His work with the crystal, especially, was establishing paths of discipline which would be invaluable once Camber discovered how to unlock the potential that they now knew him to carry.
It was May before they were ready—the culmination of six long weeks of research and partial trial and agonized planning. They argued over how much he should be told; over whether he should be told ahead of time; over what form the unleashing of his powers should take—for there were options available, and they must choose the ones which would be least threatening to Cinhil and his rigid theological orientation.
They chose Rudemas for the day of conferring power: Rudemas, called Beltane by the old reckoning. Early that evening, before the prince’s evening meal had been brought, Camber went with Evaine and Rhys to Cinhil’s quarters.
He had been sitting in his chair by the fire, his slippered feet propped on a footstool, the shiral crystal in his hand, though he had not been using the stone. He had been thinking about it, but it was more a thing to occupy his hands than a focus for his mind just now. His stomach was telling him it was time for the evening meal, and he wondered why they had not brought it yet.
The knock at the door was not unexpected, then, though he was a little surprised to see the three of them instead of Father Nathan. With a slight nod, he bade them come inside, motioning them to the chairs before the fireplace.
“I thought you might be bringing my dinner,” he said casually as he took his own chair. “Father Nathan is usually quite prompt.”
They had waited until he was seated before sitting themselves. Evaine was in her accustomed place to his left, Rhys on the arm of her chair away from Cinhil, Camber to Evaine’s left.
When they did not speak, Cinhil cocked his head quizzically and shifted uneasily in his chair.
“Is anything wrong?”
“No, all is as it should be, Your Highness,” Camber replied. “It’s time we had a serious talk, though. Of necessity, it will be brief.”
“Why brief? The evening is just begun, and I have no place to go.”
“But you do,” Camber said quietly. “That’s what we came to talk to you about.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Cinhil sat a little straighter and placed his hands deliberately, formally, on the arms of his chair. He was not sure he liked the tone of this conversation.
He glanced at Evaine, hoping for some clue, some hint of what was to come. Instead, he saw her hand coming toward his forehead, knew suddenly that if he let her touch him he would be lost. He shrank away from her, trying to avoid the hand, but it was too late.
“Sleep,” was all she said.
He felt the swooping, slightly heady sensation he had felt before when he used the shiral crystal—it was still in his hand, he realized dully—but this time he seemed to have no control over it. He felt his eyes close and he sagged a little in his chair. He could not seem to help himself, could not fight it.
“Now, listen to me,” he heard her voice say—and her voice was the only thing in his universe. “You will not resist us physically. You can open your eyes, but you will obey me. Look at me, Cinhil.”
His eyes opened and he did look at her, but there was a sluggishness about his response which he could not seem to shake. He swallowed and glanced at the others; he saw Camber rising to walk around in front of him, to lean both hands on the arms of his chair and stare into his eyes. He could not disengage from that gaze.
“Open to me, Cinhil,” the Deryni Master said. And Cinhil knew what they intended for him.
He continued to fight them, mentally, all the way to the chapel, but it was futile. They walked him down the rockbound corridors, and he could not run or cry out or make one move to thwart them.
The chapel door was guarded by a stern Michaeline knight—Cullen, Cinhil recognized with a start—a naked greatsword resting with its quillons between his mailed fists. At their approach, he touched a strangely glowing doorlatch, then bowed his head in homage as they passed. The door closed behind them with a thud of finality which made him long to wrench his head around for one last look at his now-closed escape.
But he did not. For they had not told him he might. Instead, he went where he was bidden, stood compliant and unresisting in the exact center of the faceted chamber, his feet on the jewel-toned carpet where they had crowned him prince. By the light of the Presence lamp and two tall altar candles, he watched with fogged detachment as Joram came into view peripherally and mounted the three low steps to th
e altar.
The priest genuflected and stood awhile in meditation, hair and surplice and brocaded stole glowing in the sparse candlelight. Presently, a taper flared as Joram turned to regard him; and then the priest was giving the taper to his sister, turning back to the altar to spoon incense into a smoking thurible. Cinhil could not see Camber or Rhys, though he knew they must be somewhere behind him.
New beeswax candles in free-standing brass holders had been placed at the foot of the altar and a few paces to either side of Cinhil, and it was to the first of these that Evaine now went. Cinhil seemed to recall that they had passed a fourth one as they entered, in which case he was standing at the center of a circle defined by the four new candles. He could not turn to verify that recollection—but that was not the issue, anyway. What mattered was that the very concept of the circle numbed him to cold panic. He told himself that there was a rational reason for his alarm—tried to dredge that reason from his memory—but his mind was not functioning properly.
Evaine lit the candle on the floor at the foot of the altar before him, then moved slowly toward the one to his right, shielding the flame with her hand as she walked. The otherness of the Deryni was like a sixth presence in the chamber, an icy finger prodding at the base of his brain. He had the impression that the cold he felt was not altogether the fault of the rock walls and floor.
Joram set what appeared to be a covered chalice on the floor at the base of the first candlestick, then gave Camber something wrapped in white silk. The object was small and delicate, from the way the Deryni lord was handling it, and Cinhil found his attention drawn to it almost irresistibly. It was as though time hung suspended, as though he watched through someone else’s eyes.
Evaine lit the candle to his right and began to move around behind him.
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