Page 112 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“Dinner?”

“Dinner,” Caspian said, “with the commander.” He looked at her, a challenge clear in his eyes.

She looked back at him, the words ringing dully in her head.

Dinner with the Viper.

“He could kill us.”

Across the carriage, Caspian sighed. He had stolen one of Terlo’s puzzle orbs (Borrowed with intent to return, he’d corrected haughtily) and was spinning the variations between his fingers. “For the thousandth time, Finch. He is not going to kill us.”

“But he could.”

“He could actually be very nice, you know. His Hand is.”

“What if she’s not his Hand at all? Haven’t you heard the Eprainish rumor about the Viper and the High Lady?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen the commander use magic dozens of times during training, and at no point has Locke been in range. But you know who is? The Hand commander.”

“I don’t trust nice,” Nore grumbled, returning to her previous point.

“You’re being mulish for no reason.”

“I’m not,” Nore snapped, which was true. She was annoyed because Caspian had gotten to the Viper first, yes. But she was also annoyed because she was definitely making ground with the woman in the woods, and if Locke came to recognize her, Nore was certain the illusion would shatter. She’d been hoping to persist a little longer, to be able to watch her during one of the afternoons when she sat in the hall in Maerin and listened to her people, but now Nore would lose all sense of anonymity.

And she certainly couldn’t let Caspian go alone. Even though he’d done well the other night with the Nestrian noble, this was another matter entirely.

So, she was going to go to dinner and blow her cover.

Caspian muttered something under his breath that Nore chose to ignore. She watched the scenery pass outside—they’d taken the path that skirted the wood and were reaching the other side of it now. The side with the fortress.

The commander had sent a carriage for them, which was nice. But he was also the strongest mage on the most powerful Isle, and the trained killer of the ruthless High Lady herself, so Nore would reserve judgment.

They drew to a stop at the end of a long drive. Caspian slipped out first and held out a hand to help Nore down—to her credit, she did not ignore it. She gazed up at the fortress as they walked closer.

It was a hulking stone thing, with a series of crenelated walls and turrets—it had none of the charm of the Lindle palaces or estates that Nore had seen. The stone was dark, like everything on this godsforsaken Isle, and lit with shimmering gold magelights.

“Is all magic here gold?” Nore asked, annoyed despite herself to find it beautiful.

“I think so,” Caspian said, reaching to touch one of the floating lights with his fingertips. “They say it’s because of her power. Because it’s so pure.”

“Hmm.”

He bumped her with his shoulder. “You’re just mad that I got to Locke before you could.”

It was quite the opposite, but Nore had not told Caspian about the woman in the woods, and she had no plans to. “Dinner with Locke’s commander does not mean dinner with Locke herself.”

“We shall see, Finch.”

She elbowed him back. “Smugness never suited you.”

“A lie, and you know it.” He stepped up to the large door and hesitated. “Does one simply… knock at a fortress?”

There was no point reminding him that they’d been waved through by at least three sets of guards on the way in; certainly, the inhabitants knew of their arrival. As if on command, the door creaked open. A guard stood there, their face lighting with something like recognition when they saw Caspian. “Oh. The victor.”

He flashed a winning smile. Nore rolled her eyes. As if he needed another boost to his ego.

“That would be me,” Caspian said. “And my wife,” he added, possibly as an afterthought.