Page 55 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

-Luth visiting tomorrow. Cook upset about prep. Insufficient notice.

-New house well brought in. Scaelan. He is uninteresting.

This reminded Nore of something Caspian had said: Lucia probably had a Stratan or Scaelan on staff to maintain passive castings. She thought about asking what that meant… and thought better of it. Not yet, when she didn’t have a proper way to spin the question without pointing to a distinct gap in her knowledge.

-Luth brought news of competition: Lennot chosen. Picantor-Donan also?

-Lucia moping. K. Aurelian also put forth for marriage.

-Luc & F denied permission from Luth to join Isle party. F thinks Luth knows about Luc & Kason.

At least she understood now what Gail had meant about the other suitors. But the note wasn’t even in code, so anyone could’ve read it—anyone could’ve known someone was keeping an eye on the household.

She didn’t care so much about the supposed affair between Lucia Knight and the Aurelian put forth for the festival, but she did wonder what the timing of these events was, and the girl hadn’t dated this version. Was it a shorter period or the same, covering most of the year? And if these were the observations she’d made over the course of nearly eight months, then what had Gail been instructing her to look for?

Nore folded the note, pocketed it again, and rubbed her eyes. If this was the sort of report she was to expect from all of Gail’s spies, she was deeply unimpressed.

She trudged up the stairs to her room, finding it empty when she opened the door—but there was the sound of water through the closed door to the bathing room, and Caspian’s clothing cast over a chair. The fire was lit, and she thought about burning the notes… but maybe. Maybe they would be useful later. Instead, she went into her trunk of possessions and quickly transcribed the notes into her journal in her own shorthand. Information secure, she dropped both letters into the fire.

Once they were nothing but ash, Nore relaxed. Sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced her boots. A moment later, the door behind her opened—and Caspian emerged from the bathing room. Nore’s fingers dug into the quilted duvet at the sight of him, wet hair curling over his ears, water dripping over his broad shoulders and the curve of his collarbones. Every time she looked at him there, she recalled a memory of an overlaid bruise, the shape of her teeth imprinted on his flesh from a winter morning years ago.

Her mouth was dry. She was staring. It was all unacceptable, and yet her stomach thrummed in a way it hadn’t on the ship, when she was caring for him in the throes of his fever. She remembered that heinous urge from earlier, that desire to feel the heat of his skin under her hands, audience or not.

“The bathtub is still a viable option for sleep, Finch,” Caspian said casually as he dug for his sleeping clothes. “If you find sharing a bed too great a distraction.”

“The only thing distracting me is the fear you’ll drip water all over my pillows,” Nore said, stripping her dress off with possibly too much force. He was a menace, and that was out of her control; but she would rather die than show, yet again, how much the memories of him still haunted her.

NESTRIA: Eluna Teineck-Achers, Jonash Teineck

CLEOC STRATA: Abstains. Sends no note nor reasoning.

EPRAIN: Kason Aurelian, Tomas Senson, Amalia Trent

LUTHAR: Lennot Knight, Jessa Picantor-Donan

SCAELA: Abstains. See attached note from his highness (please refrain from sharing note publicly at committee and/or in polite company).

Classified records from United Council small committee discussion pertaining to the marriage of Locke to further mainland alliances, two years and six months post-Resurrection (1636 UCE)

eleven

IT WAS UNNERVING, WHEN she thought about it, how quickly they fell into a pattern. They spent their nights in inns or small rented accommodations. In the morning, they set out, usually only traveling for two to three hours before they reached their appointments. In the afternoons, Nore was the charming merchant, flirting when the need called for it or acting the perfect gentlewoman.

She tried not to notice how quickly Caspian learned his role, leaning into flirtation with the clients or standing surly in the back like Nore’s bodyguard if there was a sign of rowdiness. Nore and Gail debriefed in taverns and on walks through towns, Gail using his servants to report back to him through Nore while Nore worked out the intricate map of what nobility was vying for Locke’s hand.

At each inn, Nore shared a room with Caspian—and Caspian was a puzzle she could not solve. He was himself but guarded; she had the sense he couldn’t relax around her. Every morning and night, she found herself watching his face when he was dressing or running through his stretches or reading. She wanted to grab his shoulders, shake him until he looked at her. Who have you become? she wanted to shout at him. Why won’t you look at me?

Every morning, she woke to the smell of him in her sheets and the warmth he left behind. For a few minutes she could pretend before he was there, surly and distant and pressing her favorite coffee into her hands.

He never brought it to her black.

They met with two more nobles and learned very little, then spent an afternoon with the owner of a wine shop over the border in Eprain, who’d happened to learn of a new trade agreement between Locke and Cleoc Strata that would perhaps precede a stronger alliance. Through it all, Nore watched Caspian, waiting for the moment when the peace would shatter, the moment when he would finally unmask his true intentions.

There was no way, she reasoned, he actually intended to be docile.

Their final client meeting was in southwest Eprain, only an hour or so from the tri-point border between Luthar, Eprain, and Scaela. Gail came to find Nore in the morning, as he had every other day, in the time when Caspian was reading in the tavern downstairs as Nore finished her preparations.

She secured an onyx earring in one side and emerald in the other, twisting her head back and forth as she tried to decide which to wear. “You said he’s a solicitor?” Nore asked, tilting her head again, fussing with a lock of her hair that had come loose.