"Eet does sound seeh-l" Elanor agreed, a smile on her lips to show she was joking. In truth she could sympathize with Kasimir. Most of her short adult life had been spent in service to one scam or another, with only a few months in the College when Albrecht was away or two sick to invent new mischief for her. She supposed it might be different for her because she knew that at some point the scam would end and so all things were temporary. On the field below a pair of nobles were taking the field, both wielding swords. This was a duel between men who had quarreled over a woman, using the days spectacle to settle a score. In Altdorf this would have been settled with pistols, or with knives in an alley, but the taste for such blood sport was less acute this far north.

"An électair counts son, even a bastard un, must 'ave many oppairtunitees much risk much ruard," she observed as the two men below began to hack away with their blades. Emmaline was no judge, but they seemed to have more enthusiasm than skill. She wondered idly if she might pretend to be the bastard daughter of an Elector count at some point, it would have the advantage of not compelling her to adopt such a ridiculous accent.

"What about you? Are you happy here?" Kasimir asked. Eleanor tittered with amusement.

"Given zat mon lovair 'as already been keehled, ét zumone 'as tried to keehl mé twice, ai cannot sai ai am exact-lee 'appy," she giggled, a touch of nervous hysteria in her voice. She felt she should tell Kasimir that the cultists had mentioned killing him too, but she couldn't figure a way to do it without destroying her pose.

"Tryeng to gathair ransom eez exhausténg when ai 'ave nothéng to tradé but coy glancés, and ai miss mon 'omeland," she expanded, the sentiment true, though she was thinking of the taverns and play houses of Altdorf rather than the drafty keeps of Brettonia. She had gathered considerable wealth by her own standards, mostly in jewelry and other small gifts. She even had a few promissory notes for gold which in theory she could draft on banks. True wealth had been offered to her, but only in exchange for marriage and land. This she would have promised, though not delivered, but any actual moves in that direction would reveal her fraud. She was starting to feel the prickling in her palms that meant that this seem had nearly been mined dry. She thought about the arrogant Lucien Shroder. Maybe not quite mined try. One more score. One more and then she would be out of this flee infested nest of provincials if she had to ski over the winter snows. One of the nobles screamed as his opponent hacked down into his neck with a spray of arterial blood. The crowd howled their approval.

"Eez la mélee abut to bégin?"