“Both, actually,” Morgan amended. “We are distant cousins through the paternal line. But Duncan’s mother and mine were actually sisters. Of course, that’s been a well-kept secret. Deryni blood could definitely be embarrassing, if not fatal, to one in Duncan’s position. There are few among us who don’t remember Deryni inquisitions and persecutions a little more than a century ago. The bad feeling is far from gone, even today. You know that.”

“But you aren’t afraid to let people know you’re Deryni,” Kelson replied.

“No, but I’m an exception, as you well know, my prince,” Morgan countered. “For most, there’s little future in being a kept Deryni. As a result, most of us conceal our Deryni heritage, even if inclined to use our powers for good.” He cocked his head wistfully. “There’s a basic conflict that arises from that decision, of course: wanting to use one’s native abilities on the one hand, yet bound by guilt, by the condemnation of Church and state, if you do.”

“And yet, you made that decision,” Kelson persisted.

“Yes. I chose to use my powers more openly from the start, and damn the consequences. And I was extremely fortunate to have your father’s protection and patronage until I could take care of myself.” He glanced down at his hands. “Being only half-Deryni helps.”

“And Duncan?” Kelson asked quietly.

Morgan smiled. “Duncan chose yet another solution: the priesthood.”

DUNCAN paused at the sacristy peephole to scan the nave, mentally thanking whichever of Saint Hilary’s builders had shown the foresight to install the spying device. No doubt, this was not precisely what the architects had had in mind—the peephole was intended as an aid in timing services and the like—but Duncan didn’t think they would object.

He could see the entire nave from where he stood, from the very first row to the doors at the rear, from one clerestory aisle to the other. What he saw but reinforced his belief that this would not be as easy a task as he had hoped.

The queen’s guardsmen he’d mentioned to Alaric were still there, including the two he thought had been watching him in particular for the past week. He knew that they were members of the queen’s personal regiment, and he wondered in passing if they did, indeed, suspect him. He didn’t think he’d done anything to warrant their special attention—other than being Kelson’s confessor, and Alaric’s cousin—but one could never tell with men like these.

He took a brocaded purple stole from a cabinet to his right and touched it to his lips, settled it around his shoulders. With his royal watchdogs out there, it was obvious he could not simply walk out, open the compartment in the altar, and retrieve the contents. They would be suspicious the minute he entered the sanctuary. He would have to create a diversion.