Do not you begin to defend her to me, Mother. You still think it shameful? Morgaine lowered her head. She was weeping with rage, feeling Avalloch's hot hands again on her arm and her breast. Morgaine had had time to decide what she must do and had found a moment to speak alone with Accolon the day before.
I drink to you, my son, and to your reign when mine is done. But you, Mother, when you were blessing her, you looked so beautiful, you should have been the Spring Maiden yourself- Come, come, she chided the boy, laughing. Try as I may I can make it no fewer than five and no more than thirteen. She thought she had long outgrown shame for this-I am priestess, I need make no accounting to any man for what I must do-but she could not force herself to meet Accolon's eyes.
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