I would prefer he gave it to me.”“He won't,” Sophia said with certainty. “He's greedy. Besides, Angela, you're the High King's descendant. The...sword belongs to you.”“Why not to my mom? Or my cousins?” Angela sighed and wiped at her forehead. “I understand what you mean. I just wished there was a better way. The more I think about it, the less I like it.”“Yes, it is a tricky, moral problem,” Faoril added. “The right of the individual versus the collective right of the public good.”“But it will. He was a grown man, was he not? Shouldn’t it be up to him to decide when he was ready to take a wife? He was only twenty-seven. As far as he was concerned he had plenty of time. ‘Wool! Get some freshly sheared wool!’ The words caught his ear and thus tore him from his remembrance. He looked to the right and saw a young boy of maybe twelve standing in front of table piled with wool. He might have moved on if his eye hadn’t also caught sight of a beautiful but sullen looking young woman, sitting. More

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