Page 114 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“Your name is… Lindan?” the Viper said, uncertain.

“No. I’m…” She almost said Elinore. She really nearly did. “Nore. Nore Khari.”

For the second time that night, Caspian’s gaze seared on her. But she didn’t want the High Lady knowing her true identity, though she could not say why.

“My wife,” Cas said softly.

“I’m supplying wine for some of the festivities,” Nore said quickly, rushing to bridge the gap between Locke’s words and her own experience, to paint a picture they could both cling to. “It’s an honor to be at your table now—I’m sorry I did not know I would be here until just before, when my husband carried the invitation.”

“Nothing to apologize for at all,” Locke said. She held Nore’s gaze for a moment before she nodded, a small smile coming to her face.

Do not speak of the wood, Nore understood. Do not speak of me, alone, speaking to strangers.

“Well then!” Garna said. “If everyone is acquainted—”

“I’ve not met you,” Locke said, turning to look at Caspian, “but my commander has had much to praise you for.”

Now, it was Nore’s turn to be surprised—that Caspian was good enough to catch the commander’s eye, good enough for him to speak of Caspian to Locke, for Caspian to be so incapable of fading into the background. She had to accept the irony of it: perhaps invisibility was the only skill he never would’ve mastered on his own, without magic.

“We like Cas,” Ola said, though Nore was not entirely certain who “we” was. “You should keep him.”

The Viper sighed. “We cannot just keep people.”

The door opened, and all fell silent. There was an awkward bit of a shuffle as the first course was served, as quiet swelled between them—only broken by Garna, who leaned over to ask Nore her thoughts on the wine.

“It’s lovely, thank you,” she said.

“What do you think it is?”

Nore smiled. She was used to this kind of thing, this sort of party trick. She knew how to perform it, too; she swirled the glass under her nose, taking in the layers of the scent. Nore took a sip and rolled it over her tongue, letting the flavors unfold on her palate. She dramatized it even more because it allowed her to observe: the second the servants were out of the room, Ola shifted, switching her plate with Locke’s, avoiding Locke’s venomous glare in the process.

“I’m not as familiar with Idistran wine, as I’ve only just started getting acquainted with it,” she said. “But there’s something woody in the flavor—oak, perhaps?—and a note of cherry, with a dark, dry finish. Based on the samples I’ve been provided, I would say this is Scaelan, from the southern coast, and it tastes similar to a three-year-old casabon rote I was sent.”

Garna turned a gleeful eye to the High Lady. “Well? Is she right?”

“I have no idea,” Locke said. “Kier?”

“Um.” The Viper got up and went to the side table, where Nore spotted a bottle and a decanter. He skimmed over the label. “Yes,” he said. “I think. I also know nothing about wine. Not much of that in the army.”

“I seem to recall a lot of wine in the army,” Ola said.

“You had a better time than I did, then.”

He handed the bottle over to Nore. “Yes,” she said.

“Ooh, that is a good party trick,” Ola declared. She started on her meal, and Nore watched her for a minute, but she did not seem to be poisoned. Nore wondered if the plate switching was a nightly occurrence, or if it was because they had guests, or if there was some other suspicion of harm coming to the High Lady.

To Nore’s surprise, the dinner was not awkward at all. The High Lady had a sharp sense of humor, which she was already somewhat acquainted with from their walks in the woods. Though she didn’t like to think too fondly of the Viper (her suspicion outweighed any good feeling he aroused in her), he was unendingly courteous and clearly cared for the others at the table. He was comfortable, which surprised her, because she had expected cold detachment from both of them.

Perhaps this was who they were, unguarded, in their own home. Nore wondered who they were exactly when it was just the two of them here. Perhaps they were childhood friends, as she had heard—or former lovers. Maybe they just worked together well, and had for a while, like Nore and Tern. Perhaps they were two people who knew one another so well that their relationship surpassed labels.

She turned over that bit of gossip again that Caspian had learned: the commander moved rooms. Perhaps there was some other drama at play, or some wound long since healed? She wished, desperately, that she had an informant from Locke’s attendants.

“How are you finding the Isle, Nore?” the Viper asked when they were halfway through the second course, some kind of broiled bird (Garna switched plates with Locke this time around). He looked her over, and there was something in his face she still couldn’t quite parse. “Is it what you expected?”

“I wasn’t sure what to expect,” she admitted. Nore set her silverware down, thinking whether it was worth the risk—but if she wanted this mission to be a success, she did need the artifact. “I’ve had an interesting time, actually. One of our friends, a professor, accompanied us—they’re working on a research project about the Isle and its early inhabitants.”

Caspian was looking at her oddly. Locke only regarded her and said, “Oh?”