Page 111 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

Nore squinted at the plaque beside it. There were two lines of text, one in what she recognized now as Auldlochan, and the bottom translated to common Idistran. She felt Terlo as they came to stand behind her, as they cleared their throat.

“‘The Exile of Lady Aban,’” Nore read.

A pause. “Or, translated differently, banishment. Or…” Terlo trailed off, looking back up.

“Or?” Nore asked.

“Or sacrifice,” they said. “It could also be ‘The Sacrifice of Lady Aban.’”

Nore shuddered, wrapping her coat tighter around her. Though the tapestry was old and worn, the artist had been talented: she read the agony in Taran’s face, the sadness in Aban’s.

The more she learned about Idistra, the more she understood the push and pull of duality: wells to provide power, mages to use it. Balances on Locke’s power, pressure from the mainland. The High Lady had a sibling, Nore recalled, who had died when the Isle was decimated. Nore stared up at the portrait, trying to figure out why her stomach ached.

Pairs, all of them—pairs for the system to function, bound pairs for the Isle to maintain a line, to sustain. Taran and Aban, one to stay and one to go. And yet she thought of the High Lady, the wind tearing through her hair as she looked out to sea. The last one left, carrying a burden that could not be split.

Alone.

Nore swallowed hard, turning for the door. “I don’t think we’ll find anything else here.”

They stopped at one of the carts for cups of hot chocolate and folded cheese pastries to eat on the walk back to Maerin. Nore was relieved they did—her stomach was growling when they left the temple; she realized as she sipped her chocolate that she’d had little more than coffee earlier, and it was already late afternoon.

“What are you doing with your free evening?” she asked Terlo as they reached their inn. “Have you made plans, too?”

“I might attend one of the folk dances. They hold them in a few different restaurants across the Isle,” Terlo said. They licked a bit of cheese off their thumb. “Or perhaps I’ll have a bath and a glass of wine and be asleep before nightfall.”

“That sounds tempting,” Nore said. “Perhaps I’ll do the same.”

Terlo held open the door to the inn for her—and sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you will.”

Nore started to ask, and then she followed their line of sight. Caspian held court at a table by the fire, his cheeks high with color, caught in a laugh—and oh. Nore’s heart clenched painfully at the sight.

That feeling dampened the second she took in his company because of course, Caspian was not alone. He was sitting there with Garna Thrick—and the Hand commander. They were joined by a pale, blond-haired person she’d not met before.

“There she is,” Caspian called, overloud, drawing looks—looks that lingered, once those who knew the sight of her processed the Hand commander’s presence. She could not flee. “My wife.”

“Nore!” Garna called.

“Help,” Nore hissed as Terlo laughed and headed for the stairs before she could run away. Nore sighed and made her way over to the table. She was struck by the similarities in the group, though they looked nothing alike: they had the same easy grace, the same confidence, the same clear charisma. There was no chair, so Nore perched on the arm of Caspian’s. He looped an arm around her, resting a hand on her hip. To keep their cover.

“You’ve made friends,” Nore said.

“Did you meet Ola the other night? Yes?”

“Yes, lovely to see you,” Nore said, nodding to Garna’s partner. The Hand commander was not dressed in armor today, but she still wore a leather baldric, studded with daggers, and a sheathed sword leaned against the chair. Nore doubted she was ever without her weapons.

“And this is Brit,” Ola said, waving to the final person. “They’re a dear friend.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Nore said, flashing a smile. Caspian’s hand was searing on her hip, even through her layers.

“Darling,” Caspian started, and Nore heard the edge of caution in his voice, “we’re free tonight, right?”

“Yes,” Nore said. She suspected something was coming, and she was not certain she was going to like it.

“Well, good for you,” Ola said. “Because Caspian beat me at a sparring match.”

“Ah,” Nore said. She tried to make sense of the meaning and soon realized she could not. “And that means…?”

“Caspian beat Ola, so he gets to go to dinner,” Brit said. “And it’s only fair that you can come, too.”