Page 10 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

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NORE STOOD ON THE dock, two of the port guards flanking her. They watched the workers secure the lines to the cutter before her, then set up the ramp to unload her wares. The guards waited impatiently, their swords clinking against their land-sea modified armor; Nore had the sense that, after a full week of this process, they were growing tired of her. She was certain they thought her paranoid and foolish. She was certain she didn’t care.

They had fallen into a routine: Every one of Nore’s ships that docked was to be searched by her personally; then, the unloading was to be overseen by at least two members of the guard to ensure no one was getting on her ship who was not in Celestine’s pocket. After unloading, Nore counted the cases herself, searched the hold, and signed off on the delivery.

Of course, they did not know she was securing a talisman to the hold on her first search, nor that she was recovering it again on her final checks. But no magic had been uncovered. If anyone was using spellcraft to steal from her, she had not yet found it. No more cases had been stolen, so either they hadn’t tried, or Nore had been successful in warding off attacks.

And now that the doubt had sprouted within her, now that she knew of the connection between her thief and Idistra, she was growing more certain that it would be better for everyone if she didn’t catch the thief after all.

But Celestine had given her a job, and unfortunately, that meant she had to fulfil her duty to the crown.

Once the ship was secure, Nore greeted the captain and made her way to the hold. The port guards followed her, chattering on about a fight in the harbor the night before between one of the their own and an Isbetan laborer. Nore half listened, but she was more focused on drawing the knife she wore in her sleeve, sliding it down, and nicking her skin. Her thumb ached, bruised from a week of drawing her own blood, but she needed only a drop.

The Karathak stone sizzled with heat as the blood took, as Nore whispered the words the old man had taught her. She’d tried the stone herself, at home, and had been relieved to find that it worked—then annoyed when she was unable to call on even weak magic for nearly a day after.

But if someone was using spellcraft to rob her, Lindle or otherwise, this would certainly put an end to it.

You cannot ward every ship forever, that small, sensible voice whispered in the back of her mind—but that didn’t matter. She didn’t need forever.

The port guards waited at the top of the ladder as Nore descended into the ship’s hold. She secured the stone in place with a nail, then dragged the cases marked for her just a little closer, hoping to tempt the thief.

When Nore emerged from the hold, the two guards looked bored as ever. Nore nodded to the one on the left, who had been on more than one watch this week.

“You know what to do?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“Good.” Nore gathered her skirts and went back through the bowels of the ship, up to the surface. She shifted her bag to her other shoulder. It was weighted with account books—she needed something to do while she sat in the small office in one of the quayside buildings, usually reserved for merchants waiting for appointments or shipments. Nore had booked this particular one for the entire week: it had windows that looked out clearly onto the berths Celestine’s ships used most frequently. She settled in next to the window, waiting for the all-clear signal from the guard—and the frustration that would accompany it.

Nore split her time between looking through the figures and squinting out to the cutter, looking for any sign of something amiss. She hoped the thief was cocky and would not care about Nore’s intrusion; after all, if they had not yet been caught and had otherwise thwarted her traps, they had no reason to fear her.

But the Karathak stone was powerful, stripped all magic, and was otherwise undetectable—and Nore had not heard of anything like it before. If it worked, she had no doubt that even the most confident of thieves would be caught unawares.

And thank the gods, it was not long before her suspicions were proven correct. The horn sounded, the signal of the port guard calling in reinforcements.

Nore looked up. There was a knot of guards moving down from the harbor post, calling out, drawing swords.

Before Nore could stop herself, she was moving, heart in her throat. She left her account books behind, lurching out of the office and onto the balcony that overlooked the quay.

One of the guards emerged on the deck. Nore leaned on the railing, hands gripping the iron, as the little figure pulled a lone man across the deck, then down the gangplank to the gathering group of armed guards. She could not see exact details from here, but she could see his dark, curly hair whipping in the wind—and she didn’t need light nor proximity to see the rest.

To know it by heart.

Nore felt the acid in her stomach as every fear she’d had over the last week was confirmed with brutal agony. But perhaps it was a foregone conclusion—perhaps she had known, since the very first theft, exactly where this would lead.

Her ribs ached. “Shit,” she muttered. “Shit, shit, shit.” This was not something that she had prepared for. Not something she could save herself from.

Nore watched, heart in her throat, as they dragged the thief away.

She somehow made it through dinner with the Millens, smiling through Audrick’s fanciful and deeply unnecessary seven courses—and discovered that he had persuaded his cousin to sell a parcel of land to an Ortissian musician whom he was dear friends with, for reasons she did not get to the bottom of. Nore forced herself to focus, to keep every single thought from turning to her thief, but by the time she finally escaped Audrick’s grasp, she had only one destination in mind.

She did not bother changing before visiting the prison. She supposed she would be expected, so it did not matter if she looked like a serving boy or a queen. As it happened, her green gown and heavy gray cloak were comfortable and allowed her the room to move. The spell-stripping medallion hung heavy around her neck—she refused to go into his cell unprotected.

Nore drew her hood as she approached the prison. She opened her hand as she neared the guard, revealing the coin in her palm: the official seal of the crown. She was here on their business.

Or at least she could make it seem that way.

The guard stepped aside without a word. It was long past dark, the shadows long and deep, as she made her way along the stones. She wore her soft-soled boots, which made no sound as she walked past the shadowed corridors. She showed her coin again to the guards at the end of the hall. They were accustomed to her coming here, questioning prisoners with her face covered.