“I’ll give you a hint,” Tiagasa said, poking Iola in the center of her chest with one hard, insistent finger. “It’s not you.”
With that, Tiagasa strode out of the garden, swirling the hem of her plain novice’s robe as if it were made of the finest silk.
Myril did her best to look away from Iola and Thorat as they melded into one being before her eyes. She was embarrassed, or was it something else? The other scrapplings hooted, but those who didn’t know Iola and Thorat soon became bored and returned to their festival bread. The kiss went on and on. Myril couldn’t help herself. She stared at them, locked in their embrace. Another blue-robed elder priestess arrived and set her hand on Iola’s shoulder. Slowly, Iola and Thorat loosened their grip on one another.
“You will come with me now
