Page 136 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“What?” Nore said, speaking before she could stop herself. Gail was also fighting, his voice raised. Nore pulled against her restraints, but the other knight, Eron, did not let her free. “You can’t do this.”

Locke whipped around, turning to face Nore. She was close, crowding in. “It is my Isle,” she said, every word crisp, “and you are a traitor. I can do whatever I see fit.”

Nore fought back the fear. Her gaze flicked to Caspian, who was only now looking at her, his gaze even and open—

“Cas,” she said. “You didn’t.”

The corner of his mouth turned up, his gaze still weighted with sadness. “I’m sorry, Finch,” he said, so quietly it broke her heart.

I will give her one thing: despite the rumors of Locke’s quick temper and the Viper’s power, I have never seen anyone dealt with before they faced a fair trial. Perhaps the rumors are overstated… or perhaps she is just good at hiding her indiscretions.

Report from Hanne Dearnan, Nestrian ambassador to Locke, to Nestrias, eight months post-Resurrection (1634 UCE)

twenty-seven

IN ALL HER TIME working for Celestine and her life before, despite the hours she spent in prisons, Nore had never been a prisoner herself. She was beginning to understand why Caspian was always so ill after: Nore shivered, curled up into a ball on the stiff ledge of her bed. She was somewhere in Osar, in the dank stone prison that was almost as old as the fortress at the point of the Isle.

But she wasn’t dead. That was a positive, even if basically everything else was crumbling around her.

Nore hugged her knees tighter and rested her chin on her folded arms. There was nothing to look at besides the stone walls around her, wet with the permanent damp that permeated the Isle’s air. Even if she had magic, the cells were warded—and she bet those wards were upheld by the High Lady’s mage, whom Nore had no interest in tangling with further.

A plan. She needed to think of a plan.

But all those years ago, Celestine had been right—she was good at getting information, good at listening, good at interpreting and disseminating. She was not a killer or a fighter. She was not a thief. She could not think of a way to break herself out of prison any more than she could use her magic to stab Caspian in the heart.

Which, upon reflection, she should’ve done earlier. Much earlier. Before he could ruin her mission. Before he could betray her—before he could break her heart.

Nore pushed the heartbreak and fury away in equal measure. It would not do to get overemotional now—and besides, what had she expected? He’d ruined her once before. It was no surprise, now, that he’d done it again.

She tore her thoughts away from Caspian. What did she have, to get away from Locke? The ship she’d called for the day before was waiting in the harbor, she was certain. But she had no way back to the harbor. There were no windows in her cell, so no way she could find some arrangement to slip out. There was the chance that someone would come by to feed her, or to check on her, but she doubted one of the Viper’s guards would let her go so easily. She’d heard a rumor that half of them were anatomist mages, like the Viper, even if their powers weren’t as terrifying.

Nore got up and went to the door. There was no handle, but she ran her fingers along the edge. It was heavy and wooden, and she nearly got a splinter in her inspection. There were no seams, no weaknesses. She focused on the hinges next, but they were thick and iron, and she had no tools—all her weapons had been removed before she was put here.

She kicked the door, feeling childish foolishness settling into her bones. She had no talent in this arena: there was not a lock to pick, not a secret to steal, not a person to manipulate with silvered words. There were only stones and wood, and Nore was useless against that.

She kicked the door again, harder, and only succeeded in hurting her toes. But perhaps, that was some magic, too—because there was a noise on the other side, suddenly. She drew her breath, preparing to run, if need be, as the door swung open—and Caspian stood on the other side.

Caspian, and the Viper behind him.

Nore took a breath—before she could command her body further, she was already pulling her hand back, ready to strike.

“Nore—” Caspian gripped her fist, then her arm, then wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her over his shoulder. Before she could react, she was slung over Caspian’s shoulder like a sack of grain, his arm a vise against the back of her thighs, holding her in place.

“Put me down,” she snarled, hitting his back.

“You said she would come willingly,” the commander said crisply.

“Yes, well,” Caspian grunted as Nore landed a hit to his kidney. They were walking swiftly down the hall, away from Nore’s cell. “You shouldn’t always trust my word when she’s involved.”

“You fucking liar,” Nore seethed, trying to get the leverage to kick him in the stomach, if punching his kidneys was not an option.

“Locke already dislikes this plan,” the commander muttered. “Hang on—give her to me.”

“I can walk, thank you very much,” Nore said.

“Will you run, if he puts you down?” the commander asked, his voice somehow imperious and icy in equal measure. Nore wished she could see his face, to read him better, but all she could see from this position was Caspian’s back. “Because that would cause an actual problem.”

Nore gritted her teeth. “I’ll behave,” she promised.