Page 120 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

Nore nodded, following him numbly as he passed through the next room—which seemed to be dedicated to cataloging the older books in Locke’s possession. The tables along the back wall were lined with books, leather-bound tomes, and crumbling notebooks, scrolls, parchments, and writing scratched onto boards.

But it was warm in here, with a desk in the corner and a fire burning in the hearth, and the quiet murmur of voices from the next room—and before she could think it through, she reached out again, catching his wrist.

“You never told me,” Nore said. She didn’t know why this mattered; gods knew they’d both told one another so many lies. She remembered the secrets she held close to her chest. But even now, knowing the things he’d hidden about his work, she hadn’t thought he had hidden so much of himself.

He cupped her chin, raising her face to look at him. His thumb stroked her lower lip. “Perhaps,” he said, “neither of us was the best at honesty.”

She laughed, bitterness rising in her chest. “I just thought… At the time, I thought our vows were real.”

Caspian looked away. “At the time, they were.” He drew a breath, opened his mouth to say something—and stopped. Caspian frowned, eyes narrowing; then, he went to the far corner, to the farthest of the books laid out. He reached into his pocket—he had brought gloves, Nore realized; but he’d always been a good thief—and gently picked up one of the tomes.

Nore joined him at the table, leaning over. The cover was dark leather, completely unreadable. Caspian winced at the crackling noise the pages made as he opened it. He frowned, looking at the page, written in a script that was nearly indecipherable. It was handwritten, tightly packed, the words spaced irregularly.

“I don’t think it’s Auldlochan,” Caspian said, uncertain. “But it almost…” He carefully turned another page, revealing an algorithm.

But Nore looked at it again—and caught the calculation. “That’s not Lochan at all,” Nore said, leaning closer. She felt the sluggish part of her brain fighting to reach a conclusion that would not go anywhere anyway, considering she was out of her own system. “Cas, that’s Lindle. It’s an old Lindle spellbook.”

He leaned down, too; then, after a second thought, he went out and retrieved one of the golden magelights, bringing it down for a closer look.

“Look,” she said, reaching to point at one of the spells as he flipped.

He caught her hand. “Don’t get the oils from your hands on the pages,” he murmured. “If this is really Lindle… it is probably so old, I’m sure Bell would have a heart attack to know we’re touching it.”

Nore rolled her eyes, but she did not touch the paper. “That’s a spell to encourage harvest,” she said. “And that one is for tidying. That’s for fevers.” She cocked her head, thinking. “When you actually do Idistran magic, is it like a calculation?”

Caspian thought, then shook his head, then hesitated, his lips pursing. “Yes and… no? Lindle magic is more like… sums. They call it calculation for a reason. You follow the path and you come up with a result. Idistran is more like intent.”

“Almost as if the calculations were somehow condensed into shorthand,” Nore said. “So if Lindle is working out a sum, Idistran is just saying the answer.”

“I suppose so,” Caspian said, turning another page. “This is probably priceless, you know.”

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” Nore murmured, leaning against his shoulder to read. Then, she caught his hand. “Cas,” she said. “What is that?”

He’d flipped to a calculation that ran nearly three pages—which was deeply unusual, as even the most complex of Lindle spells only ran a few lines.

He frowned, leaning closer. “I don’t… I don’t know. And there’s no explanation…”

Nore ran over the figures, the impression of it making her head ache. Perhaps, in Lindan, she’d be able to follow each line to a conclusion and carry on—but here, she couldn’t get through half a page without feeling nauseous, an automatic reaction from her body as she tried to pull magic she did not have.

“Don’t press it,” Caspian murmured, his hand lighting on her back. “I think it might be some sort of energy transfer…?”

“Are you wearing gloves, young man?”

They jumped back, Caspian letting the pages flutter shut. Bell and Terlo stood at the door to the room, Bell looking confused and worried as he took in Caspian.

Caspian held up his hands, clearly showing his gloves. “Of course,” he said, and Nore noticed the tinge of arrogance. She clasped her own ungloved hands behind her back, like her mother used to make her do when she was walking through the glassware storage room when she was a very young girl.

“Well. Good.” Bell came closer, gesturing for Terlo to follow. “As I was saying, these are the books. Do you mind if I…?” He made a motion, obviously wanting Nore and Caspian to move aside. They stepped back, Nore’s thoughts racing over the algorithm. She wished she’d found some way to copy it down, even if she couldn’t memorize it.

“According to her highness, these were originally kept with the records in Osar’s temple but were moved to the fortress archives when a previous sovereign converted the temple into a festival hall.”

Terlo made an appreciative noise. “And how old would you say they are?”

“I can’t say conclusively—she does not have the resources, unfortunately, for accurate study. I’m hoping my assistant will be able to bring some of my supplies when she joins me in the spring.”

Caspian leaned close to Nore’s ear to whisper, “Do you think the High Lady knows his assistant is joining him in the spring?”

“If not, I do not want to be here when she finds out,” Nore murmured back.