years since, always she had dressed her hair low on her brow, so that none might see the blue crescent tattooed there. to Arthur, but still she remembered a fair-haired little boy, clutching a wooden painted knight in his hand. Arthur looked coldly at Gwenhwyfar, and Morgaine drew back; this was not the brother she knew well, this was the stern face of the High King as he sat in his hall to dispense justice. never once has he reproached me.
Someone softly but audibly whispered, Witch! Harlot! Morgaine colored, but her hands did not falter as she handed Accolon the cup. Not a boy, after all. Morgause felt herself shaking with the unexpected power, as if she were spreading out through the whole of the room, through the -whole of Lothian, through the whole of the world . MORGAINE SPEAKS .
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