She nodded mutely.
"And believing me to be this kind of man, you dared rebuke me?"
"I didn't dare," she said quietly. "It wasn't that I thought you were a ... a ... murderer, but I yelled at you anyway, just because I was feeling brave. I spoke in anger. Without thinking."
"You need to learn to start thinking. If I allow you to hurl abuse at me, it won't be any time at all before someone else will do the same. And will they stop with verbal assault? No, they will not. They will refuse to pay taxes. Refuse to obey the laws. Chaos will reign. Do you see that?"
She nodded, considering his words.
"You not only rebuked me, you did it in front of a servant. And by now it is all over the palace. It cannot go unpunished." He gazed at her with a kindly look, like he really didn't want to punish her, and added, "I want you to know I've never killed anyone."
"I remember reading it in the fourth-year history book. You're saying the story was made up?" Maybe they made the whole thing up to intimidate the lowborns.
"I am saying that I am King Fawlin," he said. "As was my father before me and his father before him, and all the old-fathers, back to the ancients."
"Old-fathers?" She frowned, thinking.
"Your face, child. What a sight." He laughed. "Did you never get past fourth-year history?"
She thought back to her school. A damp, dark cave. Without the overlord teacher most days. More often than not he took the big boys out to the swamp and made them fish and hunt so he could sell meat and skins to the troopers who guarded the village.
The smaller kids never cared. Better to be alone than to have the teacher who loved to punctuate his lectures with knocks on their noggins. Her face grew hot. She was ignorant. She had always prided herself on being a trickle smarter than the rest of the villagers with their ambivalence and their superstitions and their beliefs in curses and such, but she was just an ignorant village girl in the end.
"You're not in your two hundred and fiftieth year?" she whispered.
They had few books in the school. No science. Nothing with maps. And only a couple of history books—all of which told stories of overlord victories and fierceness. She'd read all the school books. Several times over. She remembered nothing about the overlord kings all having the same name. She only remembered one overlord King. Sometimes the book called him King Fawlin the Dragon Slayer and sometimes King Fawlin the Wise, and sometimes King Fawlin the Banisher, and so on.
She put her hand to her mouth. Oh, she was so stupid.
"I must look to be in my two hundred and fiftieth year to a young girl, like you." The king said, chuckling. Then he broke up laughing. He laughed until he fell into a coughing fit.
He dug into a pocket, came up with his silver flask, and took a swig. The coughing subsided. "Ah. Better. Now where were we?"
"You didn't kill your button mate."
His eyes sparkled. "I'm not in my two hundred and fiftieth year, and I've not yet killed a single person."
She tried to sort through the information she had about him. He was still the overlord king. The sound of the ropes creaking in the courtyard in front of the slave market played in her mind like a badly-tuned lute. He did kill people.
"A slave is a person," she said.
He looked at her, confusion written on his face.
"You have killed a person. More than one person."
He shook his head. "I've always treated my slaves well. Never killed one." He gave her a hard look. "Never had one so unruly so as to need killing. You should tread carefully, Repentance, lest you be the first."
She scooted back in her chair, wanting to get away from him.
"What now? Your schoolbooks told you something else? Who did I supposedly kill this time?" he said, his voice held a tinge of anger.
"The day I entered Harthill on the slave cart, three bodies hung in the courtyard by the slave market." Her cheeks burned at the memory. "Three young men—boys, really. Hanged for runners."
His eyes narrowed. "I didn't kill those boys. Their disobedience killed them. They broke the law, knowing the consequences full well. You'll not paint my hands with their blood."
She looked at him, silent.
"Say it," he said. "I see you thinking something evil of me."
"You could change your law, your highness. Free the slaves."
"It's not my law." Exasperation filled his voice. "I didn't order it into effect. You've always been slaves. How can I change that? Our industry and commerce would likely collapse. I'd be assassinated, for certain, and slavery would continue. You are an ignorant child. You have no understanding about affairs of state. And you keep speaking out of turn."
Yes, she kept speaking out of turn, but that was only because slaves never got a turn. There was never a right time for them to speak. She hung her head and answered very softly. "We haven't always been slaves. Two hundred and fifty years ago we were not slaves."
"Do you think I can wave my hand and take away two hundred and fif—" He broke off, coughing.
"And now you will take my two remaining brothers into slavery. You say you don't kill anyone, but my brothers will be killed fighting your war and that will kill my mother as surely as if you pointed a dragon stick at her and hit the ignition switch. Please, your highness. Forgive me for speaking out of turn. But please don't take them. Surely your army can do without those two
