Mildly confusing. No nitpicks please, and I beg of you, don't ask questions when they even might be answered later--unless it's absolutely crucial that they be answered right this second. Thankies!
“Hannah Slate,” the captain said, looking down his nose at me as though I were a bit of sludge he wished not to dirty his hands with. “And that I might believe, if you were not near exactly reminiscent of the description I was issued by the Duke himself.” He drew out the last three words almost painfully, and I knew at once that here, Duke Warrington was held in the highest respect.
“Th-the description of…whom, sir?” I asked calmly, only my voice wobbled in the slightest, and by the smirk on the captain’s face, I understood it had been noted.
“Lady Mariadelle Tadstreet, Grand Count of Ape’erafer’s eldest daughter, betroth of Duke Warrington of Jharrim. Does that…ah, ring a bell, Miss Slate?”
Silence.
“I may have heard a thing or two about her, but—”
“It may also interest you,” he interrupted, “to know that you have allowed me numerous ways to confirm this merely by walking into my tent and introducing yourself. Would you, Miss Slate, like to know how?”
My eyes fell to my short, pleated skirt, unable to hold his cold gaze any longer. I nodded, ever so slightly.
“On occasion, I have visited Ape’erafer. To be precise, Therien. All there of – ahem – high birth have a very certain way of speaking, Miss Slate. It is what I would call, The capital pronunciation.”
Beside me, the sergeant chuckled to himself. Not cruelly, but rather as though he were watching his favorite play, and it was going just as he liked it to.
“You have it, Miss Slate.”
I did not dare speak; from his expression, I feared a sudden whip of his sabre that would leave me quite headless.
“High-born Therien women have a very particular way of curtsying – it is the way you curtsied when you entered this tent.”
The sergeant chuckled again.
“And if these snippets of evidence do not convince you as they have me, I am forced to remind all present of His Excellency’s most specific description, which so matches your own. Do you – do you dare – deny your true identity, milady?”
The words came out of me slowly – painfully, as though the captain had caught them hiding in my throat and was dragging them into the light with a hook. “I do not, sir.”
The captain allowed himself a fleeting sneer, before continuing triumphantly, “I shall not pretend to understand, milady, how you brought yourself here, league upon league from the inn you had been staying in. Whatever the means, the ends were that you were found in the forest bordering Ape’erafer and Jharrim. His Excellency told me”—he came to my side and offered his hand to me, as though I could not stand without assistance”—that if you refused to reveal your identity, the one conclusive piece of evidence were the whip-marks on milady’s skin.”
I rose slowly, puzzled as I had been before at the lack of pain. How could they possibly have healed so very quickly?
“Due to the unfortunately, shall we say, small amount of cloth allowed this so-called gown, the scars upon milady’s back are perfectly clear, to any who are looking for them. Healed, as he said they would be, but quite clear.”
I blushed, turning ‘round to face the captain.
“There was a letter I received nigh on two hours ago; a letter from His Excellency.” He strode over to his desk, plucking a folded bit of parchment from its smooth wooden surface. “There were a great many long sentences in it that I am sure you would not understand…”
I made a sort of humph! noise at this – as though to say wordlessly, I am no less intelligent for my trek into Jharrim, thank you very much.
“But what may greatly surprise you, and may just be simple enough for you to understand, is this excerpt at the end: Her ladyship has escaped me twice, and is more liability than asset – you, mon capitan, know what my wishes be with such as she.”
The captain turned his dark, cold eyes from the letter, and I was struck by how very much they resembled the duke’s own.
“You will die, milady,” he said, in a voice most deadly quiet.
“He…what?” I croaked, falling back into my chair with very little grace.
“He demands…your eradication, that is, in less fancy language, he calls for your execution.”
“Yes, of course, but…the duke – His Excellency – could not have said that!”
The captain gave the sergeant a very meaningful look, and the latter stood abruptly, “He didn’t say it, yer ladyship, he wrote it. Now get t’yer feet, m’gel, and off ye go t’the prisoner’s tent.”
Wordlessly, I stood, and allowed the sergeant to tie my wrists fast behind my back with a length of scratchy rope. Why, why on earth would Duke Warrington want me dead when he had spent the better part of a year searching for me?
“This cannot be right,” I murmured, caring little if he heard. “He—he wouldn’t.”
It seemed he had, however, for in less than no time, we were away from the captain’s tent and the camp itself – which was not at all hard, considering the captain’s tent was on the very outskirts of the campgrounds – back towards the forest. The gritty dirt beneath my feet crunched as we marched along, and the plain’s lack of greenery made the trek all the more depressing. Am I…am I never going to see another sunrise?
It was a terrible thought.
Still no italics. All thoughts and useful comments appreciated!
