Page 58 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

Well. It wasn’t unusual for discussion to lead that way organically.

“Why do you think I’m spying on Locke?” Nore asked. She thought about denying it outright—but if Caspian had made up his mind enough for a confrontation, there was probably no point.

“I’m not a fool, Finch. You’re forgetting one vital fact: Celestine wants me to steal a powerful artifact from the north. Clearly, she didn’t send you with me just to keep me in line—”

“You don’t know that for certain,” Nore muttered, taking up her pen again, “considering your… shall we say, historical indiscretions? Treason and theft from the Lindle crown?”

Caspian ignored her. “She wants you to find out something about the High Lady, doesn’t she?”

She wished she was working for Celestine—at least then, she’d have a better understanding of what she was actually doing. “It’s not your job to worry about mine,” Nore said, going back to her cipher. “If you’re in it for the money, you should be grateful we chose not to involve you.”

Caspian leaned closer, elbows on his knees, expression taking on a new urgency. “If Locke catches a whiff of what you’re up to, Finch, she will not hesitate to kill you—”

“Then you should be even more grateful that I’m sparing you from the threat of death.”

“As if you care whether I live or die,” Caspian snapped. He reached across the space between them, laying a hand over her hand, stilling its progress. “If you keep up with this mission, go all the way to the Isle and spy on the High Lady—though how you plan to get there is beyond me—then you will die. Do you understand?”

“You underestimate me,” Nore said.

“I don’t,” he said. “You underestimate her.” He turned his hand to take hers—and she did not pull away. The leather of his gloves was smooth and supple, warm against her skin despite the chill. Her heart thudded faster against her breast. “I am asking you to give up this farce. Whatever Celestine has told you—whatever benefit you think will arise from this, I am begging you to reconsider.”

Her stomach twisted. She couldn’t understand why he was asking this of her—why he even thought she would value his opinion in the first place. She had no reason to trust him, who had nearly killed her, stolen from her, and broken her heart, over Celestine, who had always done everything in her power to protect Nore. All she wanted was this one thing of her, this one final task for an ally, and then Nore would be free of demands like this with no hope of understanding.

She pulled her hand away. “You focus on your job, Caspian,” she said, keeping her tone lofty and uncaring, “and I will worry about mine.”

She felt every second he sat there staring back at her, the muscle in his jaw ticking. The carriage under them slowed, lights in the distance; they were nearing the place where they were to pick up Gail.

Slowly, deliberately, Caspian sat back. Folded his leg, ankle resting over his knee; the picture of ease. “I can’t save you, Finch.”

She snorted, looking out the window at the pub drawing near, at the cloaked figure waiting in the drizzle for their arrival. “You never did a good job of it before, Caspian.”

He didn’t answer. Nore stared out the window, allowing the fury to build. She didn’t know why Caspian suddenly cared what she was doing—he had been all too happy to cooperate with this mission before. And worse: she didn’t know why he would care about her well-being any more than she cared about his.

Except… she thought of that moment on the ship, when she had opened the door. It had felt like a kick to the stomach, seeing him like that.

All these years of hating him, of wishing him dead—and yet, when he was in front of her now, she struggled to summon the vitriol.

So perhaps he did care about her well-being just as much as she cared about his. Which was to say: they both cared far, far too much.

Her thoughts were disrupted when the carriage came to a stop. Barely a second later, Gail threw the door open—and Nore smelled the liquor on his breath.

“Elinore!” Gail cried. “We must celebrate the close of this leg of our journey. Do you have any wine?”

Nore was both too sober and not nearly sober enough for this. “I don’t think we—I already—I think I’m a bit sick,” she feigned.

“Drink more wine,” Caspian said, insouciant, sensing her annoyance. “At least you can be drunk and sick, then, instead of just sick.”

Nore glared at him, but Gail agreed and called for the driver to help him with the last of the wine in the storage compartment. They were still nearly an hour from the inn.

It wasn’t a good idea to drink more, not when they hadn’t yet discussed the events of the evening, not when they had places to go tomorrow, but perhaps she wanted to just to spite Caspian. Perhaps she wanted to watch him fold.

Nore sighed. She closed her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to fight with him anymore tonight.

“There’s an extra bottle of Ortissian blush,” she called to Gail. “Vintage. Second case from the bottom when you open the back.”

Caspian snorted. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to charm me.”

“Good thing you know better.”