The old slave set a stool down and sat. "Kneel here in front of me, then," she said. "No, no, with your back to me." She shook out a straight razor as she spoke.
"You slit my throat right here?" Her voice came out in a whisper, like sand sifting over rock. "I thought I was for the swingman."
"And have you ever seed long hair on a body what's on the swing frame?"
"My hair?"
"I'm to take it off."
She twisted so her back was toward the woman.
Shouts floated down the hall.
Running.
The door flew open, flooding the room with light.
"Out, you hag." It was the prince, his blonde hair blown back from running. "And don't you ever even think of touching this girl's hair."
The old woman jumped up, grabbed her stool, and scuttled through the door.
The prince glared at Repentance, his pale blue eyes glittering with hatred. He picked up a strand of her dirty, stringy hair and let it fall again, a sneer of disgust on his face. "You've not been keeping yourself up, my Lady. Such a waste. But we can't let anyone cut your hair. We want you in all your glory when you swing."
"My birthmark! This is all about my birthmark?" She jumped up, intent on scratching his eyes out.
He grabbed her hands and clamped them in his grip. "Of course it's about your birthmark. Once I saw it, I knew either you or he had to die. If he died, there would be no way you could prove you were his daughter and since I very much preferred to have you sleeping nearby in the palace, I went to great trouble to arrange his death and save you. But you wouldn't have it."
"To save me? No one was trying to kill me, but you."
"All you had to do was keep to your own affairs. The entire city was laughing at the king over his pretend concubine. My friends made sure to plant serious doubt in the minds of the most influential people regarding the king's fitness for the throne. A king who is a laughingstock is not an asset to a kingdom. It was the perfect time for me to act. He had lost the respect of the troopers. All you had to do was wait, and the king would have been dead, and you would have had the queen's chamber."
She struggled to free herself.
He pushed her so that she fell back against the wall, burning her forearm. Then he dodged out the door and slammed it.
Repentance sank down on her lavacloth, her knees weak, but she lifted her chin defiantly. She'd messed up his plans at least—the wretched, wicked man. The King lived and the prince would never crawl into Repentance's bed.
There was some comfort to be had in that.
But she was going to swing.
Soon.
The king had ordered it.
The woman had come to cut her hair.
The swingman would come next.
She buried her face in her hands and wept.
To save my honor, careless words were spoken,
They left me empty, lost, and broken.
But truth was proclaimed, and wounds were healed.
Love was poured out, and hearts were sealed.
~Repentance Atwater, The Fawlin Palace Poetry Collection
Chapter 28
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Repentance sat up, tense and ready. She'd been waiting. Her crying was done. She'd walk to the frame with her head up.
The door creaked open.
Generosity came in, followed by Tigen.
Repentance, relieved, let a sob escape.
"I'm sorry I've not been back." Generosity said, reaching down and laying a gentle hand on Repentance's shoulder. "The prince would not allow it. We had to sneak down."
"No, no," Repentance said. "Don't apologize. I'm so happy to see you. I've gotten water and broth and dried bread twice. One of Goodwoman Hardscrabble's girls brought it."
Generosity handed over a bowl of thin soup.
Repentance lifted the bowl in salute. "Providence is in keeping with his own generous nature today, I see."
"He most certainly is," Generosity said, pulling two pork pies from the big pocket of her work smock.
Repentance took them eagerly. "Now that's an answer to prayer."
"And this," Tigen said, reaching under his sweater and producing a flask. "Yak's milk with mountainberry wine and honey."
"You are my hero, Tigen. This will be a day of celebration." She took a swig of the cool liquid. "What day is it, anyway? I can't keep track down here."
"It's Monday." Generosity's breath came out in a puff of fog.
She'd only been in the dungeon six days. Six weeks would have been more believable.
"I delivered your message for you, too, my Lady," Tigen said proudly.
The memory of that botched plan made the pork pie she was eating turn bitter. But he didn't need to know that. She ruffled his hair. "A fine job you did of it, too."
"Did the king come, then?" Generosity asked, her face aghast. "I thought he'd not come yet. When he sentenced you—"
Repentance shot her a look. "He did sentence me, then? I knew he did. They sent a woman to cut my hair."
"Did you show him your birthmark?" Generosity asked.
"It went wrong. He's convinced I tried to kill him."
We'll think of some way to change his mind." Generosity said. "But you need to keep your strength up. Eat the lovely pork pies Providence has provided."
Repentance had to smile. "With a little help from Cook."
"She is convinced you are a foolish girl but no murderer, and she's determined to do for you what she can. She'll send no extras to the man next door, though. She can't forgive him for wanting to kill the king."
Repentance handed the second pork pie back to Generosity. "Take him this one then, when you leave me."
"The assassin?"
