Tawnic smiled, her lower lip quivering. "Of course, my lord."
The king put his fork down, burped softly, and coughed a couple of times into his napkin. He pushed his chair back and rose. All the others quickly stood with their heads bowed.
"Go on with your party," he said. "I'll take my old bones to bed." He looked at Repentance. "I trust you will accompany me, my dear, and tuck me in."
Several of the men snickered.
Not the prince. A muscle along his jaw twitched, but he didn't crack a smile.
Repentance took the king's arm, her knees weak, her stomach churning, and her mind wondering if she'd make it to the suite without throwing up on her velvet slippers.
At the top of the narrow stairway, a slave took a torch from the wall to light their way down.
They were going down to the guest rooms by the hot pool. Down to the dark, damp heat.
The king disengaged himself from Repentance, and, turning his thin back to her, he followed the slave with the torch.
She could push him. He was feeble. The steps were stone. It might work. And Providence knew he deserved it. He was evil.
Hatred rose in her chest until she felt like she might scream. All her trouble, all the pain she had ever born, all the pain of her family, and of the village, and of every lowborn for the last two hundred and fifty years could be laid at the feet of the wicked man in front of her.
The slave carts.
The dead boys on ropes.
All of it.
His fault.
And there he was, tottering down stone steps, practically begging her to give him a shove. But the slave in front would break the fall.
She clenched her hands into fists, and followed, her feet moving somehow, even as her mind screamed out in protest.
The lower level, usually dim, was lit by torches poked into holes in the walls. Apparently, the royal party gave Jadin enough beads to make it worthwhile for her to light up the cave like noonday on the mountain. The slave left them, heading back to wait for the next overlord noble who needed him to light the way down the stone steps.
The king led Repentance through the door to the largest, hottest pool and entered the first private room. As soon as the door closed behind them, he let out a strangled cough—as if he'd been holding it back. That first cough opened a floodgate. He fell into a coughing fit and dropped onto the bed, terrible spasms racking his chest.
Repentance watched, unsure of herself. If she did nothing, he might die. But if she did nothing and he didn't die …. She stepped forward thinking she'd pat him on the back, then stopped. A slave girl couldn't hit a king.
Instead, she filled a glass of water from a pitcher on the table, but when she offered it to him, he knocked it aside. Gasping for breath, he pulled a small, silver flask from his pocket and took a slug. Then another. The coughing subsided.
"Better," he said, exhaling slowly. He unbuttoned his silk shirt, revealing a wrinkly, pale chest.
Repentance thought about touching that withered flesh and fought down a gag.
The king slipped his shirt off. "Make yourself useful then, and unwind my turban."
She obeyed in silence, freeing a his shoulder-length, white hair.
"Now," he said, pushing himself off the bed with some effort and tottering for a moment before he gained his balance, "we will soak in the hot pool before we sleep. Before all the revelers finish their drinking and come down to invade our quiet. Get my robe." He waved toward the wardrobe in the corner of the room.
Repentance took a silk robe from a hook behind the door and turned around. The king stood with his back to her, naked, his pants in a pile at his feet. She focused her gaze on the back of his head—she couldn't bear to look at his shriveled body—and managed to slip the robe on him without touching him.
The king led the way out of the room.
The pool was lit like the passageway with torches closely spaced in the walls, making the whole cavern bright and warm.
The king stopped at the top of the steps, which led into the pool, his back to Repentance. She stopped next to him.
He sighed. "You are to help me off with my robe." His tone was tinged with irritation.
She stepped behind him and gingerly pinched the shoulders of his robe, lifted it, and slid it down his arms.
He walked sideways down the steps, balancing carefully, testing each step so as not to slip. He moaned with pleasure, when the water was deep enough to cover his chest. "Yes, that loosens me up," he said, softly. Then he turned to Repentance who still stood at the top of the steps.
"I don't care if you swim, or not," the king said, "But for appearances sake you must get in the water with me." He coughed into his fist then bent his face forward and took a deep breath from the steam rising off the pool's surface.
He turned and started paddling slowly toward the other end of the pool.
Repentance draped his robe over a nearby bench. She unbuttoned her gown, dropped it off her shoulders so it slid to the ground, and hurried into the bubbly water.
She found the bench cut into the side of the pool and sat with her back pushed against the wall.
He reached the end of the pool and turned to slowly paddle back.
Going up and back several times, he completely ignored Repentance. His breathing came regularly with an occasional cough echoing across the water.
Finally,
