Page 143 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

And now… Even knowing what he’d been through, she was unable to align her version of Celestine with his. Because Celestine was her aunt, and she cared for Nore—didn’t she? Nore was not shackled to Celestine or the crown. She had made her vows willingly, on her knees, with adoration in her heart.

Hadn’t she?

Or had she made them while still bleeding from the wounds he’d inflicted, the burn of the crown’s brand on her back, the hurt of his betrayal in her heart? Had she chosen because of loyalty… or because of some misplaced spite?

It was an awful feeling, to reflect on her own decisions with the knowledge she would hurt him all over again. The horror at stepping back, at acknowledging that she had once seen him, her Caspian, as expendable.

“Why did you do it, then?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Why did you betray me?”

A pause. “I’m Idistran, Finch. I won’t betray my people for yours—and even removing that, I don’t believe in what Gail or the duchess are trying to do.”

He was right—of course he was Idistran; that was the entire point of his value to this mission. She’d known it as long as she’d known him, closed up his past and proximity to the war in a box that she didn’t prod too much unless it was convenient to her.

“Then why are you coming back?” she asked, her throat too raw.

The silence went on a beat too long, so long she was certain he wasn’t going to answer. Then, “Because I’m yours, too, Finch, and I won’t let you die for what I’ve done.”

“Finch.”

Nore looked up. There was a shape, a darker shadow in the hold. A lamp flared to life, illuminating Tern’s face, lined with unspeakable sadness.

“I thought I was clear,” he said, resigned.

Nore smiled sadly. She switched back to Lindle. “You know I can never abandon a lead.”

Tern sighed. He rubbed a hand over his face, then held it down to Nore. “Thank you for sparing the salacious details, Starling,” he said, louder. “Though the duchess does find them so entertaining.”

Nore pressed her lips together. She was not sure how long Tern had been listening, nor how much he understood, since they’d been speaking Idistran—but looking at his face, she suspected that it was enough.

“Come back to bed,” Tern said to Nore.

She winced, realizing how that would sound to Caspian. She did not say goodbye to her husband, her prisoner, as she followed Tern back through the hold. He didn’t speak to her until they were back in his room.

“Finch,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I told you the consequences.”

But Nore was so tired of consequences. “I knew them already,” she said, as she curled herself into a ball on her mattress. “I was just finishing the job.”

I did have some worry, but that has abated. As far as I can tell, Finch remains uncompromised.

Tern to Dove, 1636 UCE

twenty-nine

PERFECT WEATHER. NO STORMS. No stops. They were home in a week.

She knew better than to go seeking Caspian again, but there wasn’t much choice, even if she wanted to. Tern kept her closer for the remainder of the voyage, and if he was unable to be by her side, he had his first mate watching over her. At night, he locked the door and slept with the key around his neck.

Nore stood at the rail as the thick, black smog of Nettlepool came into view. The wind whipped her hair, lashing her across the face with strands of red. Behind her, the sailors were all working furiously to dock the ship, and the familiar harbor front came clearer and clearer into view. She could even see her own office, rising up above the short buildings in front.

They docked. Lines were thrown. People moved around Nore. But all she felt was ice in her heart, seizing, forcing the beating to slow.

She knew how this would go: she would be summoned to see Celestine, and she would be asked for her information. And Nore didn’t know what she was going to do.

Once she had disembarked, she went to the third guard booth in the harbor, where no one questioned her about her papers when she showed the coin in her palm and quietly said, “Finch, returning.” She was waved through without another word.

She took the steps up to one of the streets that ran along the harbor and hesitated, looking out over the ships and the workers. There was a pub below her and the air smelled like fetid water and ale and roasting meat. Nore watched as long as she could, keeping track of what they unloaded from Tern’s ship—but she did not see Caspian.

Sparrow came for her that night.