For Emmaline it was a bit like she had been thrust into a story book. Boris Todbringer, like Karl Franz was almost a figure of legend, not someone that an average Imperial citizen was ever likely to meet. For a heart stocking moment she was tempted to confess everything, overcome by a naive belief that a figure with sufficient authority could make everything alright. Luckily the madness passed before it could reach her lips. She was a fucking professional after all.

"I waz coming back from ze ball and I found Sieur Oderick dead on his beed," she told the count. Recalling the sight and the smell of it made her gorge rise slightly but she swallowed it down, probably earning a few extra points of credibility by the very real reaction. 

"Run through with my son's sword?" the count asked. Emmaline hesitated then plunged forward committing herself. 

"No monsieur, deed yes but l'sabre it was nit zere nes pa," she continued, leaning into her Brettonian as though her accent were faltering under stress. The count did not interrupt her, which was frustrating as it denied her any chance to gauge his reaction to what she was telling him, his impassive bearded face not being very useful for this purpose.

"I heard someone coming and I thought.. mon dei ze killers av re'turned, so I hide," she continued, glossing over exactly where and how she had hidden.

"Zey talk about missing something, a note of some kind, and when zey go and I come out zoot alore l'sabre zat is to say ze sword is there," Emmaline continued with her all together truthful if somewhat deceptive account of events. 

"Ze vay zey talked it sounded like it vas more zan one man, a...what is the word...la conspiration," she shrugged in counterfit Brettonian physicality. 

"Yet you walked up to me like nothing had bloody happened?!" Kasimir half yelled, the shock in his eyes turning to anger. The Count did not look angry, but neither did he choose to interject.

"I do not know you, save perhaps zat you are rude and a killier," she shot back, "I dos not know who to trust only that mal'de'homme are loose and perhaps looking for me."

"But you saw them plant my sword!" Kasimir persisted.

"On sword monsieur looks much like aye-no-ther," she replied tartly. "I do not know who to trust, onze zat I must git cleeer and to...sanctuaire." She trailed off and shrugged her shoulders, feeling a certain satisfaction about having delivered her account without telling any actual lies.