Page 133 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“First,” he said, “a note for your employer—a report she requested.” He handed Nore the envelope, sealed with wax in his initials, and she fought the frustration that she would have to encode yet another of his reports.

“Thank you,” she said anyway, because if it was important for Celestine, it was important for her. She forced a courteous smile. She needed to keep Gail on their side for whatever magic Caspian would need tonight—and the only way to make it work was to do his bidding. “And what is it you need with Loren?”

“He will be passing through this afternoon. I need you to give him this.” Gail retrieved something from his pocket and opened his hand, revealing a stoppered bottle.

She recalled, against her will, the way the others had traded plates with Locke at dinner. The girl at the party who had drunk from the goblet before handing it over. If it was poison, he would certainly succeed in dispatching one of her closest, but he probably wouldn’t succeed in killing the High Lady.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” Nore said carefully. “Locke has someone testing all of her meals—”

“Oh, Nore,” Gail said, his smile widening as he leaned in, conspiratorial. “It’s not for Locke—don’t you see? She is too strong, too unpredictable with the Viper of Osar by her side, and there are too many rumors of their history.” Gail shook his head. “Nestrias does not want to go through all the bother of marriage negotiations only to be killed in his new home by the commander of his own forces, at his new wife’s command. The existence of the Viper is a weakness we cannot allow. The poison is for Commander Seward.”

Nore felt her own mouth go dry. “Oh,” she said.

Gail set the bottle on the table between them. “It has been a delight working with you, though your tactics have been sometimes… unconventional,” he allowed. “But I feel I’ve learned a great many things from you. You are careful, Nore, and I hope to be that careful in my own work.”

She didn’t even like the Viper of Osar, but she couldn’t pretend that she wanted his demise. And that line of thought was frustrating, too: How many times did Caspian throw it in her face that she followed the duchess’s orders without considering the implications?

“Thank you,” Nore said, distracted with her own line of thought. “That’s too kind.” She could not get her thoughts to slow down.

“And if you are willing to venture to Idistra again,” Gail said, “if all goes well… Well, I’d love to host you at my Ascension.”

That got Nore’s attention. “Your… what?”

Gail smiled at her, the sort of grin that Celestine wore when she had the measure of a particularly meaty challenge. “Nore, my dear. Locke is taking the bait, isn’t she? If Loren is right, she will marry either my uncle or aunt—and if that is the case, I will become the new High Lord of Nestria.”

She blinked at him for a moment longer, the memory of his lineage clicking back into place in her brain—and of course he had some sort of motive that was not just the betterment of his nation. Someone like Gail wouldn’t do anything for the greater good alone.

“That is… quite the achievement,” Nore said, remembering herself.

“It is,” Gail agreed, as if being born into a system with a familial pattern of inheritance was some massive feat. He inclined his head, feigning humbleness. “Perhaps next time I meet with your nation, it won’t be through your beloved duchess, but as a guest of your Queen Morenna. Unless—” Gail cut off, laughing. “But no, that is not my remit.”

Nore recovered as quickly as she could. “Well,” she said. “I suppose time will tell.” She swallowed hard, her mouth still tasting bitter, and took another sip of her tea. “We do have one more thing to ask of you, though, if you are amenable.”

“Oh?” Gail said, raising his eyes, looking perplexed, as if he couldn’t understand why anyone would ask something of him.

Nore ran a finger along the edge of her teacup. “Tonight,” she said, her voice pitched lower. “We think we have found our artifact, but we’re in need of a well. If I give you the information, would you lend us your services for an hour?”

“I don’t know if—”

“Only an hour,” Nore said, making her voice kind but firm. “Then we will be done with our own wretched business and away from this place for good.”

Gail frowned, looking out at sea. Nore folded her hands in front of her. There was every chance he would say no—but he couldn’t. To remind him of her value, Nore wrapped her fingers around the vial of poison, tapping it lightly on the table.

If you don’t help us, she tried to convey, I will not deliver this, and you’ll need to get your hands dirty yourself. Future High Lord of Nestria or not.

“Very well,” Gail said, though he clearly was not happy about it. “Name the time and place.”

After she gave Gail the necessary information, they took leave of one another: Gail went to hail a carriage to some Nestrian soiree in Osar, and Nore took a less crowded path down the cliffs.

And if she spilled some liquid into a bush on the way down, none were the wiser—and if anyone stopped to see her fill a vial with one of the Isle’s many trickles of freshwater that ran down the formations, it was of no note.

She kept her afternoon appointment in the harbor district, slipping a handkerchief-wrapped vial to a passing guard, and then went to help Caspian pack.

That night, she and Caspian both dressed in all black and walked to the appointed meeting point: a tree on the road that led to the wood, just a bit away from the fork that led to Osar. They mostly blended in with other stragglers still making their way to the hall in Osar for the High Lady’s event. Gail was waiting for them on the road and had the sense to join silently as they made their way toward the wood.

Even without Nore’s knowledge, it only took them half an hour to trek through the wood and find the graveyard. Through the edge of the trees, Nore could see the crumbling remains of the temple, clinging to the cliffs. Caspian and Gail started in that direction with Cas’s thinly glowing magelight, but Nore found herself hesitating. She stopped at the sepulcher where she and Locke had sat only days before, her fingers digging into the ledge of stone.

“Are you okay?” Caspian asked quietly, turning back to her.