Page 26 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

Nore went across the ship to the stern, the wind tangling her hair. She leaned her elbows against the rail and looked at the churning sea.

I cannot stand you. She felt that, deep in her bones. And even if she had received the letters, she wouldn’t have written back. No—she would’ve burned them. He was a fool if he thought she owed him anything, let alone a letter, a note, a single second of her time.

She couldn’t believe he’d written to her, that he’d taken any time for her at all—and she couldn’t believe that even just the curve of his handwriting had made her feel like this.

Nore buried her hands in her pockets, tearing the letters and notes of Caspian’s history apart, raking her nails down the pages as she was not permitted to rake her nails down his skin. To make him bleed, as he had made her.

When she was satisfied that the correspondence was reduced to nothing, she brought the shreds out of her pocket a fistful at a time and released them into the wind and sea.

It felt even colder back in her cabin after nearly an hour on the deck. Nore’s waning magic did not come when she called it. They were officially outside the realms of Lindle magic, outside her reach of influence. Instead, she layered a heavy sweater under her coat and drank a thin, tasteless soup, followed by a scalding cup of tea. Begrudgingly, she activated the heat stones, suffering through the faint smell. She read the rest of the duchess’s instructions and the detailed description of the artifact Caspian was to recover from Idistra.

Then, she could put off her second task of the day no longer.

She stopped, foolishly, to check her reflection in the mirror. Nore’s hair fell long and thick around her shoulders—she considered tying it back, but… it wasn’t worth thinking about.

Nore set out once more through the halls, now empty. They were making their first stop early the next morning, depositing most of the other passengers at the northernmost port in Lindan. The day after, they’d make one more stop at the island of Morran, largest of the northern territories, for the last of the passengers; and then there would be no further stops until Idistra.

For most of the journey, it would be Nore and the crew—and Caspian.

Nore forced her spine straighter, her hands buried in her pockets as she made her way down to Caspian’s room. He is your prisoner, she repeated, a mantra, a reminder, a shameful token against her true feelings. He has no power over you.

He is no one.

He is nothing.

Outside the locked door, Nore hesitated only long enough to remind herself that when this was all over, Caspian would be dead—and no longer her problem.

She put the key in the lock and turned it.

The door creaked open, moonlight shining over a cabin not much smaller than Nore’s own. There was no bed, no dressing table, none of the creature comforts that made Nore’s own cabin livable. She fought through the surge of guilt until her eyes lit on him.

Caspian was chained again, the fetters on his wrists and ankles connecting him to the wall. He sat with his back against the wood, cross-legged, wrapped in blankets. When he gazed up at her, his eyes shone damp with heat, his cheeks fever bright. Nore stopped in the doorway, blinking at him.

“You’re unwell,” she said, forgetting completely the speech she’d rehearsed on her way downstairs.

“I’ll live,” Caspian said.

Nore pressed her lips together. “Pity, that.”

Fevered as he was, the intensity of his gaze did not waver. He looked her over from head to toe, nearly invasive in the force of it. Nore shut the door behind her and took slow steps to the center of the room, her hands folded behind her back. By her estimation, he would still not be able to reach her, even if he lunged.

“I imagine you’ve been briefed on the mission.”

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Caspian’s lips. His lower lip was still split but healing, the slightest edge of a bruise marring his skin. He had the remnants of a black eye, too, but Nore was certain that had not been her doing. She did not look at the scab on his throat, just over the open collar of his shirt, where her knife had marked his skin.

It was freezing in here. She glanced around the room, but they hadn’t bothered to bring heat stones to Caspian’s cabin.

“I have,” Caspian said.

“Good.” Nore stood, uncertain what to say next, feeling like she needed to enforce her authority… somehow. She swallowed. “I got your letters.”

“Oh?”

“I burned them,” Nore lied. It was what she would’ve done, she reasoned, if she had received them outright.

“Well, well. Look at you.” Her gaze flicked to his, uncertain; she did not know if he meant it literally. His smile darkened. “What sharp teeth you’ve grown, Finch. I never took you for a feral dog.”

Nore stepped back, bracing. “I’m no one’s dog,” she spat.