Camber of Culdi by Katherine Kurtz

do with a lost heir except depose the current monarch and restore the old line?”
    Joram had picked up the two rushlights as Rhys spoke, and now he turned to face his companion once more, his face lit eerily from below by the flickering yellow light.
    â€œYes, it’s high treason, quite clearly. It’s treason even to be searching for him—never mind whether we plan to put him on the throne or not. On the other hand, the whole thing could end very shortly. We may find that our Brother Benedict, even if he’s still alive, is so entirely unsuitable for the Crown, after twenty years in seclusion, that even Imre would be preferable.”
    â€œMy God, I hadn’t even considered that possibility.”
    â€œAgain, just a matter of perspective,” Joram smiled. “Think about this, though: Even if he should be willing to forsake his vows and reclaim his birthright—which is by no means certain—that’s only the beginning. A man may be born to be king, but if he hasn’t also been trained to be king, chances are he’ll have a rough time of it. Even we Michaelines, critical as we are of Imre and his policies, haven’t yet preached his overthrow.”
    He glanced down at the rushlights, his lips a firm line of shadow.
    â€œNot that we haven’t considered it, I’ll grant you,” he added. “When Imre proclaimed the tariff for the new capital at Nyford, there was nearly a mutiny in the ranks. A military order like the Michaelines—Well, you know our reputation. But deposing an anointed king is serious business, even with due cause. Thank God, even our hotheads realized that.”
    Rhys stared at Joram silently for several heartbeats, then averted his eyes. “Your Michaelines—they could make much of the information we’ve gathered tonight, couldn’t they?”
    â€œI suspect they could,” Joram murmured, “if they had it.”
    Rhys looked up. “And do you intend to tell them?”
    â€œI don’t think that decision is entirely mine to make, do you?” Joram countered. “Perhaps some of your native caution has rubbed off on me, Rhys, or perhaps I’m just remembering the thin edge my order rides just now. In any event, any action we take if we do find Cinhil, and he is suitable, will involve a lot of other people. I’d like to tell Father about him first, if you have no objections.”
    â€œCamber? Aye,” Rhys breathed. “If he thinks a Restoration is the only answer, I’d feel a lot better about the whole thing.”
    â€œCome on, then,” Joram yawned. “We’d best get what sleep we can before they roust this place for morning prayers.”

C HAPTER F OUR
    Hear counsel and receive instruction, that thou mayest be wise in thy latter end .
    â€”Proverbs 19:20
    They got little sleep in what remained of the night, though neither counted that amiss in light of the information they had gleaned. No sooner had they staggered back to the receiving room and rolled up in blankets by the fire than it was time to rise for morning devotions. Far earlier than they had hoped, in these days of slackening ecclesiastical discipline, they were roused by one of the abbey’s lay brethren, who stood vigilant watch in the doorway until both men were on their feet and pulling on still-damp clothes, however groggily.
    Rhys thought the brother’s behavior a little odd, and said as much when they were finally left alone to finish dressing. But Joram merely laughed at that and reminded his friend that this was, after all, a monastery. The brother had obviously taken them for ordinary travellers, who had prevailed upon the abbey for shelter from the night. In the brother’s estimation, if said travellers could be induced to reclaim their undoubtedly lapsed souls in exchange for the night’s lodging, so much the better.
    Rhys had to agree that the logic of the argument was probably