“To murder love.” she answered, voice even.

“Heaven take me.” He moaned, face against his leather gloves. “I have done so. You have touched my sin; just so.”

Avialle stood, golden chain clinking delicately on the stones behind her. She threaded her long, thin fingers into his hair, noting with muted shock the deep vein of jealousy that flared up at his words.

“You’ll spend every drop of your years trying to touch half of mine.” she said, to comfort him.