Page 40 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

They reached the small station at the end of the dock, guarded by Scaelan soldiers. Nore reached in her cloak and withdrew the packet of papers Sparrow had prepared for her.

“Good evening,” she said in Idistran.

The guard only grunted. He took the packet from Nore, opened it, and slid out Nore’s and Caspian’s Lindle identification cards—Celestine had, Nore noted, updated Caspian’s recently. She didn’t know what to make of that.

“I need your permission papers,” the guard said.

Before Nore could present the proper paperwork, Caspian said, “I’m Luthrite.” His voice was flat, emotionless. “Traveling with my wife.”

In his voice, the word sounded profane. He’d once whispered it into her skin with a reverence that astounded her.

He stepped forward to push Nore’s packet aside, withdrawing a similar packet from his coat. Nore had not seen it before—she wondered where he had hidden it.

Darkly, she realized Caspian hadn’t hidden it. Sparrow had—probably another fail-safe to ensure Nore did not kill or otherwise dispose of Caspian before they reached Idistra. If she had, she would be returning to Celestine now with her tail between her legs. She was accustomed to the duchess only giving her as much information as she needed to know. She was unaccustomed to the gaps in her information involving Caspian.

The guard looked over their marriage certificate, which was absolutely the original—and Nore had no idea how Celestine had gotten ahold of it. Last she checked, it was buried at the bottom of the trunk in her bedroom. Nore made a mental note to do a better survey of her possessions when she returned home. He then focused on Caspian’s Luthrite identification—magic sealed, nearly impossible to forge. She gritted her teeth.

“Very well,” the agent said. He slid their papers back to them. “Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Khari.”

Caspian managed a tight smile. Then they were moving, relief surging through Nore’s chest. She looped her arm back through Caspian’s without a second thought.

“Do they know you fled from Lindan? Or stole from Eprain?” Nore asked, unable to let the curiosity go. With his record, in Lindan, he would’ve been apprehended at the harbor if his crimes were linked to his identity. Either the Idistrans didn’t care, or after the war, much was forgiven. “Does it mean anything?”

Caspian raised a brow. “I thought you burned my letters.”

Nore glanced over at him. “When the mood struck,” she said. “But I know what I must.”

“You didn’t know about the ink until last night, Finch,” Caspian said smugly.

She cursed herself again for that slip. She could not let another one stand.

They passed a shop advertising wells for hire. Nore glanced inside, surveying the rowdy group of young people lounging, playing card games, and drinking.

“Scaela is rich in wells,” Caspian said, answering the question Nore had not asked. “Luthar is not. It’s common, in border towns between Scaela, Luthar, and Eprain, to have outposts like that. Probably the border with Nestria, too. Turns a tidy profit and fights some of the inconsistencies in power.”

Nore frowned. “Inconsistencies?”

“Who are we looking for?” Caspian asked, changing the subject—without answering her, she noted.

“I’ll know when I see them,” Nore said crisply. She did not feel like telling Caspian the truth, not when he was avoiding her questions, even as she continued searching the crowd.

She was searching for Gail Borrel: their well for this mission and the Idistran spy she would be teaming up with for her little side project. According to the information Celestine provided, he was Nestrian by birth, but his father had been an assistant to an ambassador to Ortissia, and he did not return to Nestria until after the war ended. He’d inherited much from his mother’s line—after all, Gail was nephew to the High Lord of Nestria—though his mother had married outside of Idistran nobility. Now, Gail was a free agent and socialite, well acquainted with continental kings and queens and Idistra’s high courts alike, living on his late father’s fortune. Nore did not know how he had ended up associating with Celestine, but it was not her job to hold that information.

She wondered what he knew about Ortissian wine. It had always been her personal favorite.

The rendezvous point was on the other side of the harbor, where imported goods waited for collection. Nore scanned the waiting carts and carriages, quickly finding the one loaded with carts bearing the seal of Miller & Sons.

“You should wait in the carriage,” Nore said as Caspian picked up his stride to match hers. “I have to find the clerk and pay the import fees, and it might take some time.” He was mostly recovered from his illness, but the air was frigid and it would only get colder as the night darkened—and though Nore cursed the fact that she had even thought kindly of him at all, she wanted to get him inside and out of the cold as soon as possible.

Even if it meant taking her eyes off him.

“I’ll bear it,” Caspian said. He was looking at the carriage, she realized, something unreadable on his face as he regarded the crates of wine. He looked away for a moment, chewing his lip.

“What’s wrong?” Nore asked.

For a second, she was certain he wouldn’t answer. She wondered if it felt too close to home—if he saw that crest and thought about the bottles of wine they drank on the floor of their small apartment, forgoing glasses, giddy with mirth.

“I was just thinking, it’s a little conspicuous.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “A little sloppy, isn’t it? For the duchess to have your business so closely tied up in your… other activities?”