He swigged on his tonic and got his coughing under control. "What are you babbling about? War? Where would you get such an idea?"
"The prince dropped the parchment pages you signed in the—"
"You read pages that are none of your concern?" Anger burned in the king's eyes.
"But my brothers are my concern. When you take them to put them on the front lines of your war, I am very concerned."
"Your rumors will ruin me! We are not at war. Don't you dare breathe one more word of this nonsense."
She pressed back into the seat, trying to get away from his anger.
"What parchment did you read? I signed no parchment about war."
"I didn't read it. The prince was talking to a boy in the hall. He had dropped the parchment pages you signed in the carriage yesterday. He said something about a provision for the Ministry of War. He said all the boys between their sixth and fourteenth years would be taken to the trooper camp and would be trained for the front line."
The king's nostrils flared. "I signed nothing of the sort. We are not at war." He swallowed several times as if trying to calm himself.
Repentance waited.
The king sighed. "The kingdom is not at war, anyway. The prince and I? Oh, yes, we are at war."
Relief flooded her. There was no war.
"You needn't look so relieved," the king said. "The fact that my nephew is so bold as to slip a sheet of parchment into the provisions I signed for is all the more reason for me to punish you severely. I must show myself strong. I cannot allow your outburst to go unanswered. The thought that a slave could call me a warthog at my own table, and live, is unthinkable." His face looked gray and weary. "No wonder my nephew thinks he can get away with such a scheme. I've been too lax. Too willing to let him run the kingdom. Too kind to insolent servants. Well ... no more."
"And that's why I was relieved, your highness. I could see that you will not let the prince get away with this. I can go to the swingman in peace, knowing you will keep my brothers safe from the prince."
His face softened. He pushed himself from the chair, grimacing over painful hips or knees, she supposed. Maybe both. "I must needs take my weary bones to bed. It's been an exhausting week. And now it looks as if my nephew is going to give me no rest in the immediate future." He paused, thinking, then looked at her. "And you? What will I do with you? Rescuing young women from virile young princes is no easy task for a man of my advanced years. And the thanks I get for my efforts? You insult me to my face in front of the servants. I'll pronounce judgment on you tomorrow."
He toddled out.
An hour later she lay in her bed, the suncloths on her walls filling the room with artificial daylight. How was a person to sleep?
Her head ached. Her heart felt tight and sore. And she kept going over in her mind the words of the king and thinking about the arguments she'd made. Maybe she should have said less about slaves and murder.
But her brothers were safe. For the time being. So she couldn't be too sorry for the whole exchange.
Still ... she should have told the king she was sorry even if she wasn't.
Had she even apologized for calling him a warthog?
It hadn't come up.
She should have at least apologized for that.
She should have apologized to others, too. She spent the night thinking about her family. Remembering mean things she'd said to the people she loved best and wishing she could tell them how much she loved them.
She even thought about Goodwoman Marsh.
And Sober with his earnest expression as he pronounced the blessing on her. It hadn't worked—the blessing hadn't—but it had been a nice thought all the same. She would have liked to have been able to tell him that she was sorry.
Sober.
Why didn't he fight back when the overlords beat him before they sold him on the slave dock? Why didn't any of the villagers ever fight back? Maybe they were not as stupid and cowardly as she had thought. She pictured Sober as he was on the slave dock, forgiving her instead of hating her. That took strength. Sober wasn't powerful, but he was strong. She had never thought about that before. She had always thought that the overlords were strong because they were powerful and the lowborns were weak because they were powerless. But maybe it took more strength to live without power than with it.
The light from the suncloths melted into the morning light, which slipped through her window. Repentance gazed out at the sky wondering what her punishment would be. The king hadn't seemed too angry with her when he'd left. He'd been more angry—or worried—about the prince.
But he'd also been determined to stop being lax. He would make an example of her.
And he had said it was unthinkable that she could call him a warthog and live.
The music filled me with peace. Like a bucket overflowing with second chances, graciously being poured from the hand of Providence, melody washed over my soul.
~Lady Timminn, an essay
The Value of Music in the Education of Children
Chapter 17
Generosity burst through the door. "Good morning," she said cheerfully, settling the breakfast tray on the bed. "Did you sleep well?"
Repentance looked at the fruits and cakes on the tray. The thought of eating made her stomach cramp, but she reached for the cup of steaming tea.
Generosity studied the suncloths on Repentance's wall. "You didn't drop the
