"But worst of all, the Tsingani had strict rules about what defines a woman's laxta--her purity. Her worth, as though such a thing could be counted and valued like coin." Hyacinthe's fist clenched in the sheets. This had been a truth of his entire life and yet it still infuriated him. "Sleeping with a gadje merchant--a foreigner--made her lose hers, though 'twas not her fault. So they mourned her as lost and moved on without her."

He lay there in angry silence another moment before sharply shaking his head and looking back at Xanthippe with apologetic brown eyes. "I'm sorry, cherie," he murmured. "Hearing such an unpleasant tale of woe was not why you asked to share my company."