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He stared at her as if she had lost her mind. “I can’t very well wield myself, lady.” Oh. Perhaps he’d go blind.
Halla had tried to love her and then had tried to like her, and then had tried to be dutiful and compliant, and finally had settled for not being too obviously relieved when the woman had dropped dead.
Sarkis grunted. “At any rate,” he said, “if anyone asks, I trust you’ll simply do that thing you do.” “What thing?” “You know.” He waved his hand irritably. “Begin asking unexpected questions until everyone in the conversation starts doubting their senses. It’s a talent. Like some strange form of diplomacy that goes so far in the wrong direction that it comes out the other side.”
If she owned any fashionable shoes, it was purely by accident, because she’d owned the pair long enough for the fashion to come around again.
“I’ve laid out the bodies of my sisters, my mother, my husband, one of the fieldhands, my great-uncle, and Old Nan the cook, when her heart gave out in the kitchen. Dead bodies don’t worry me. It’s the live ones that get you.”
This comes of always being the practical one, she thought, a bit wearily. Nobody will comfort you, so you learn to do it yourself.
“Far more swordsmen have need of housekeepers than housekeepers have need of swordsmen, I expect.”
“She is lovely and kind and generous of spirit and someone has to keep her from walking off a cliff.”
“I admit, I find that delightful. It is so rare that I meet someone who asks questions because they want to know the answers.”
