He does not start guiltily, as he should, but frowns in annoyance. "Who are you?" I slip my hand through the slit of my overskirt, and my fingers close around the hard wood of the crossbow tiller. "Vengeance," I say softly.

I am beginning to think that love itself is never wrong. It is what love can drive people to do that is the problem.

I bear a deep red stain that runs from my left shoulder down to my right hip, a trail left by the herbwitch's poison that my mother used to try to expel me from her womb.

So.... You are well equipped for our service.' 'Which is?' 'We kill people.

Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours, until Death do us part. Whatever that may mean when consorting with one of Death’s handmaidens.

Do you need anything before I go? I want you to return my wits, I long to say.

I cannot tell her I have been moping over a broken heart when I have worked so hard to convince her I have no heart at all.