[It makes a difference whether you held the blade or gave the money, she wants to say. Not in her opinion of Isabela, but rather in how it effected the woman. But she falls silent as she continues, and finds out that it was neither after all.
Which changes things entirely, doesn't it?
So. So she was married, and that fact leaves her breathless for reasons she doesn't understand right away. It isn't a possessive thing; Isabela's past, her lovers, her companions, are all her own, and Rosalind wouldn't dream of having such a claim on her. But . . . no. It's not the fact that she was married and Rosalind hadn't known. It was that she was miserable as someone's wife, and Rosalind can so very well imagine what kind of marriage would result in that kind of despair.
And she was that desperate, clearly. She was so miserable that when a man came to kill her husband, she did nothing but cheerfully point him in the right direction. So her husband was wretched, and Rosalind has no idea in which ways, but she can well imagine.]
. . . what was his name? Not-- not Zevran. Your husband.
no subject
[It makes a difference whether you held the blade or gave the money, she wants to say. Not in her opinion of Isabela, but rather in how it effected the woman. But she falls silent as she continues, and finds out that it was neither after all.
Which changes things entirely, doesn't it?
So. So she was married, and that fact leaves her breathless for reasons she doesn't understand right away. It isn't a possessive thing; Isabela's past, her lovers, her companions, are all her own, and Rosalind wouldn't dream of having such a claim on her. But . . . no. It's not the fact that she was married and Rosalind hadn't known. It was that she was miserable as someone's wife, and Rosalind can so very well imagine what kind of marriage would result in that kind of despair.
And she was that desperate, clearly. She was so miserable that when a man came to kill her husband, she did nothing but cheerfully point him in the right direction. So her husband was wretched, and Rosalind has no idea in which ways, but she can well imagine.]
. . . what was his name? Not-- not Zevran. Your husband.