God's Teeth,' he says. 'I was only trying to wake you. You were crying out in your sleep.' 'I was not,' I say, then look from his neck to my knife. 'When I tried to wake you, you stabbed me.' He sounds sore put out. and I cannot blame him.

It is this kindness of his that unsettles me most. I can dodge a blow or block a knife. I am impervious to poison and know a dozen ways to escape a chokehold or garrote wire. But kindness? I do not know how to defend against that.

Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours.

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

This is what I want to be. An instrument of mercy, not vengeance.

Jewels can be replaced, cousin. Independence, once lost, cannot.

I stare at him coldly. "I do not care for needlework." I pause. "Unless it involves the base of the skull.