Page 105 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

And if Locke was already in a relationship, it was an obvious explanation for why she was continually turning down other offers.

But then why wouldn’t she announce it officially? That was the conundrum Nore could not unravel.

There was the chance, of course, that other nations would kill the person who held Locke’s affections, so perhaps it was protection…

Or perhaps she just didn’t want to marry, or be forced to bear an heir, or carry a title, or lead a nation. She remembered the weariness in the young woman’s face and considered marriage was yet another responsibility in a life with so few true choices.

She was still puzzling through it when she arrived to her room to find Caspian in the final stages of dressing—an improvement, considering this time yesterday, he was still in the ice bath.

Nore closed the door. Leaned against it. She took an unsteady breath, unsure how to say what she wanted to. Thinking is not your job, Finch.

“Are you okay?” Caspian asked, catching her eye in the mirror.

“I don’t want to work for Gail anymore,” she said finally, all in a rush. “I know it’s my job and what is asked of me. But I think… I think he plans to do something terrible to the High Lady, and I have a feeling, a gut feeling, that that is not the right thing to do.”

Cas froze, confusion crossing his brow for the barest moment. He stopped fussing with the buttons on his shirt and turned, scrutinizing her. “Are you okay?” he repeated.

Nore glared at him, then set to pacing. “What, you think I’m incapable of introspection?”

He laughed softly, leaning back against the dresser. “Obviously I know better than that.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, watching her pace. “Since when have you cared about the right thing to do?”

She opened her mouth to protest, indignation rising—but answering that would require Caspian to understand her, wouldn’t it? “I do try, you know,” she said.

He shook his head slowly. “You don’t,” he said, softer. “Because doing that would mean questioning the duchess.”

Nore whirled to face him, dangerously veering away from what he was implying; she couldn’t start to unravel that thread. Not now. “This isn’t the duchess’s mission,” she said. “Celestine barely knew what Gail wanted from me. But I fear what Nestria is trying to do—I think it could end very, very badly for Locke, or Idistra, or both.”

“You’re not Idistran, Finch,” Caspian said, looking down at his hands. “So why do you care?”

He was right—she shouldn’t. But there was something that just kept bothering her about this. She didn’t answer his question and instead went charging ahead: “I want to investigate why Locke won’t marry.”

Caspian’s gaze flicked back to hers. “I thought you said—”

“Not for Gail,” she said quickly. “I want to know because I want to know. And if Locke is evil and selfish and willing to destroy the system and force Idistra back into war with her stubbornness, then I won’t stand in her way. But…”

“But?” Caspian asked, brow raised.

“But if she’s not,” Nore said, that feeling tightening in her stomach. “If she’s not, then I don’t want to just… leave her here to whatever fate they’re planning.”

Caspian was silent for a long moment, so long she thought he would disagree. But then he said, “And the artifact?”

Nore rubbed her eyes. “We’ll find it. And I’ll only look into this as long as we’re here for it—if you find the artifact before I’ve gotten to the bottom of this, we’ll just go home, as planned. Celestine is not the most patient to begin with, and I think I’m wearing her thin.”

Another silence. Then she heard his tread, crossing the carpet. Gently, he took her hands away from her face, cupping her chin in his hands.

She looked up at him, terrified, wanting—

He kissed her on the forehead. “It’s the right thing, Finch,” he said softly, his lips brushing her brow.

She reached out, knotting her fingers in his shirt, bringing him close. Nore buried her face in his neck—muscle memory. His arms wrapped around her.

“I have to go out to meet Terlo,” Caspian said even as he pulled her closer. “They want to visit one of the Isle’s archives and have arranged for an appointment.”

“That’s okay,” Nore said. “I have a plan, but it’ll have to wait until tonight, if you’re willing to help me.” She hesitated, thinking it over, then: “Do you have any spare ink?”

The tailor’s shop was indeed on the top of the hill, and Nore was nearly gasping for air by the time she reached it. She leaned against a nearby wall for a moment to catch her breath.

“You need to work on your stamina, Gordon,” the empty space beside her said, sounding completely at ease. If he weren’t invisible, Nore might’ve kicked him in the shin.