Page 19 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

Nore gazed at her for a moment, her throat drying as she worked it out—“Seventeen thousand and fifty-six, ma’am.”

“And what are the colors of the Isbetan standard?”

She folded her hands in her lap, searching back for her lessons. “Maroon and gold, ma’am.”

“If you were serving in the duchess’s household and your hands were empty, where would they go?”

“Behind my back, ma’am. Folded or clasped.”

“What languages have they started you on?” Celestine asked.

“We study Lindle, of course. Standard tongue and classic. Isbetan, Maroushan, Whistish, and sometimes Ortissian.”

“She should also be started on common Idistran and one of the high Eastern, perhaps one of the far-continentals as well,” Edith said to Celestine—not to her. “And of those, are you conversational?”

“Beyond Lindle, I am conversationally fluent in Isbetan and Maroushan. The others are a work in progress.”

“But she has been learning from the cradle, I would wager,” Celestine said, looking Nore up and down. “With my nieces and nephews, and the other children of the house, I suspect.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And I hear you have been elevated into the advanced subjects. Is that correct?”

Nore chewed her lip. “Yes, Your Grace—on all subjects barring the magical arts. The serving children are not taught much in terms of magic, beyond what is needed for household use.”

There was a weighted silence at this, then a sigh. “Well,” Edith said, “she is quite a peculiar sort of talent, I suppose, and you’re right—one cannot have it all.” She stood, motioning for Nore to stand as well. She moved to her feet, standing as tall as she could, her hands clasping behind her back.

“You say she has both trained as a servant and learned the norms of polite society?”

“She is as polished in polite company as any one of the noble children, I am sure, and just as educated.”

Edith circled her. Nore tried not to flinch when she reached for her hands, when she scrutinized her nails. “I do not mind a girl whose hands show her work,” she murmured, “but she should wear gloves when doing more… distasteful tasks.”

“I imagine she can learn that,” Celestine said. There was already a note of pride in her voice, or maybe victory.

“And her hair,” Edith said. Without asking Nore’s permission, she pulled the pins out, letting the red waves fall loose around her shoulders. Nore did her best not to react, but she did dig her nails into her palm. “It’s… distinctive.”

The duchess was quiet for a moment—You must know, you must know it’s beyond questioning—then said, “Surely, when need be, she can wear a cap.”

“Hmm,” Edith said. She came around to Nore’s front. Gripped Nore’s chin in her hand. Turned her face to one side, then the other. “She is fair, but her loveliness is unremarkable.”

“With polish, she would shine in a ballroom; yet with a cap and some dirt, she would fade on the docks.”

Edith made a small noise at that. She took another step back, her eyes raking up Nore. “And she knows courtly dances?”

“She has been taught, yes. Of course, she is still little more than a girl—any further development, she must learn.”

“Yes, yes,” Edith said, as if that wasn’t something that worried her. “And her family?”

Another pause. “Only her mother. A maid. Still young herself—probably thirty, if I had to guess.”

Edith crossed her arms over her chest, obviously deep in thought. “And her nature?”

“Sweet, by most accounts; a dry sense of humor, and I hear she has a stubborn streak.”

Nore did her best not to wince. Her stubbornness, she had been told, was not among her greatest qualities.

“I appreciate a spine,” Edith said. She nodded once, coming to some decision. “I agree. I will take her on.”