Page 76 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

They had lived this moment before. She knew how it had ended differently, how easy it would be for her to ask for what she wanted, to grip his chin and bring his mouth to hers, to fall to her knees and beg.

She felt her flush growing even darker. She would rather die than discuss any of the last ten minutes with Caspian, even though it felt as if everything she’d been thinking of was written plainly on her face.

Nore made her gaze steely. “What is it?” she asked, willing each word to be sharp as a blade.

His wrist twisted and he revealed an envelope, sealed with wax. A slip of his thumb—she did not look at his fingers, and did not remember all that they were capable of—and another appeared behind it, then a third.

“Post for you,” he said, one eyebrow arching as if daring her to come closer. “Came on the afternoon ship. One from your clerk, one from a vintner, and one from a Captain Garna Thrick.”

Nore took the letters from him and pushed past, keeping one hand firm on her towel. She grabbed one of her daggers from the desk and slit the wax on the letter from Thrick, leaning against the desk as she read. Caspian sat down on the desk chair, perilously close to Nore’s bare thigh—so close that, when he stretched his legs out, she felt the heat of him through his trousers.

She read the letter once. Twice. One last time, to commit it to memory.

“Anything interesting?” he asked, his gaze skimming lazily up her body.

Nore smiled at him, and it was so easy to believe sometimes that they were on the same team. “We’ve been invited to celebrate the Peacetide and present our wares on the Isle of Locke,” she said.

Caspian’s answering smile was just as dangerous as a blade to her throat. “Never doubted you for a moment, Finch,” he said.

I have included orders for the festival attire needed, based on our meetings last week. Please do let me know the cost of materials, so that I may seek approval from her highness.

Message from Tress Ordalic, chief attendant to the High Lady of Locke, sent to Relina Lark, two years, eight months, fifteen days post-Resurrection (1636 UCE)

Is this just another waste of time

Have you asked explicitly if she plans to attend the event in question

You know, making dresses takes time and effort, and

Just put her in armor because the likelihood of them making it out of the workshop and onto her person is

Discarded notes from Relina Lark, undated

Excellent, thank you. I will keep you updated.

Response sent from Relina Lark to Tress Ordalic, seventeenth day, eighth month, two years post-Resurrection (1636 UCE)

fourteen

IT TOOK ONLY TWO days to gather what she needed for Locke. She had already ordered new varietals of wine from vineyards and warehouses around Idistra, which arrived into Eprain’s port and were reloaded onto their ship, and she managed to get a message to Kota on a fast messenger ship—with an update for the duchess. She met with a representative at the Lochan consulate to arrange for letters of permission for the three of them while Caspian spent long days with Terlo. He helped the scholar gather resources that could help them on their journey and marked up maps of the Isle, noting anywhere that might be relevant or hold information pertinent to their search for the artifact. Nore fidgeted through two fittings for her new dresses, her brain packed with things that she was not to overlook. Gail was scarce, putting distance between himself and the trio—but not before he’d given Nore a list of questions, more things to investigate during her time on the Isle on his behalf. Nore did not burn it out of frustration, which she thought was very level of her.

She was exhausted by the time they finally boarded the early morning ship to Locke, fidgeting with pent-up energy. She’d stayed up late the night before, too late, looking over the lists of wares she already had and the orders coming in. All of it was muscle memory, the regular dullness of her day-to-day work, but now she could not make any mistakes. If she was wrong on a quantity or an invoice, they could be held up, and she had no time for even more delays.

She also found herself looking up the night before, more often than was healthy, to study Caspian’s face as he slept.

She wondered when the familiarity would stop hurting.

Now, he sat next to her, his arm pressed to hers in the small compartment they occupied on the ship. There were only two daily ships to the Isle, Terlo had told her the day before, for deliveries and post and the occasional passenger. Those passengers had permission, like they did, to enter the waters surrounding the Isle—but Nore supposed it was easier for an Idistran. She suspected there were more opportunities to get an invitation via Idistran connections, or whatever qualifications now made someone Lochan.

She was still willing to find some information for Gail, as long as it didn’t take precedence over their search for the artifact.

And perhaps… perhaps she was curious. She had learned something of the High Lady, and yet her motivations remained unclear as ever to Nore.

She let her thoughts turn back to the High Lady. The best thing she could do was build an understanding of her circle of trust and then move outwards: if she knew where the information flowed and what sources were reputable, she would be able to infiltrate them.

She let her mind wander, watching Terlo momentarily. They were playing some sort of puzzle game that could apparently be done alone—Nore had only seen them play once before, with Gail as an opponent, but now Terlo moved the pieces on both sides of the board.

Nore opened her notebook and went back to one of their previous visits. Aren, the solicitor, had mentioned something about Locke’s close ties to Scaela, hadn’t he? He had—but he was also the one who thought the power was most stable, as if there was no fault remaining at all.