Page 79 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“How lovely that is,” Nore said.

“Does the High Lady attend?” Caspian asked. Nore squeezed his hand again, harder.

“Locke?” Garna asked.

Caspian smiled uncertainly. “Is there another?”

Garna laughed. “The Isle is privileged, believe it or not, in its relationships. Cleoc visits often, as does the High Lord of Scaela, and there are sometimes visits from others as well.”

Caspian’s line of questioning was clumsy, but it did get results. Locke was closely allied with Scaela, then—unsurprising, considering the fact she’d grown up Scaelan—and Cleoc Strata. Scaela, she recalled from Aren, had not sent a suitor. But what of Cleoc Strata?

Garna continued, “Your own Luthos is here now.”

Caspian stiffened fractionally. “Luthos is not mine,” he said with a tight smile. “I actually was on the side of your Cleoc, during the end.”

Garna stopped, brow rising, as she collected the glasses. Nore, too, found herself surprised—Celestine’s reports hadn’t mentioned that at all. Perhaps Celestine hadn’t known. “Is that so? What company?”

“By sea. On the Searaven.”

“Oh?” Garna said. She recovered quickly, masking her shock with another smile. “Well, thank you for your help. Did you never think of settling here instead of on the mainland?”

Nore watched their interactions with a high degree of caution. She realized, with a sinking heart, that Caspian was telling the honest truth—which was something Nore did her level best to avoid.

But also—she wasn’t sure how this new piece of information fit in with what she already knew of him. She also made a mental note to do more research on the Searaven—the name of the ship was not included in Celestine’s dossier, and Nore wondered if the exclusion was intentional.

Caspian shrugged. “I wanted to go home, to my wife,” he said.

So now you see it fit to lie, Nore thought, annoyed.

“But do you think Locke will be there, at the festival?” Caspian asked.

Garna shrugged. She put the dirty glasses back on the sideboard. “One never knows with her highness. She usually only comes one or two evenings, but with the—well.” Nore noted the moment Garna seemed to catch herself, as if she was about to say something she wasn’t meant to share. “We may not see her at all this year. I daresay she is more comfortable alone in the Barrens than at a party. Though considering the months spent on her festival wardrobe,” Garna said wryly, “one hopes she would make an appearance.”

Nore glanced up from her glass, watching Garna’s face. Garna had not mentioned anything about the United Council’s bid to make her marry—so either it wasn’t widely known or it wasn’t openly spoken of. “Is she reclusive, then? Locke?”

“No,” Garna said quickly, laughing at the idea. Nore took this to mean that, socially, Garna Thrick saw the High Lady often—or at least understood something of her calendar. “No, Locke does not keep to herself as a rule. When things are calm, she often holds open sessions in Osar and Maerin, or takes a meal with her guards at a pub, or visits the theaters. She’s a known face; she sometimes even spends mornings at the commander’s sparring sessions, though that’s been rare of late.” Garna shook her head. “No, all who live here have seen Locke personally, many times, even if they haven’t spoken to her through her circle of guards.”

If there was bitterness about that, Nore couldn’t be certain how to parse it. But there was no more time to chase the topic, as Garna nodded through to the dining room. “Well, shall we eat?”

“Please,” Nore said, rising to follow.

“What are these sparring sessions?” Caspian asked.

“Oh, most of us are, or were, pledged to some military or another,” Garna said. She waved to the table; Nore and Caspian took their respective seats on either side, leaving the head empty. There was a fourth place set, but Nore wasn’t certain whom it was for. Garna went into the room past—the kitchen, Nore thought—and returned with a basket of bread. She darted back again for a large dish of stew. Nore’s mouth watered at the smell of the vegetables, meat, and grain cooked in a thick sauce.

Garna served it as she continued, “The commander and her majesty’s guard hold an open practice session every morning. That, too, fosters a sense of community, now that we’ve all stopped killing one another.”

Nore did not like the look on Caspian’s face at this. “Anyone can go?”

“Yes,” Garna said, settling in her own chair. She did not wait before picking up her cutlery and starting in on her plate. “You would be most welcome, if it interests you. I can have my wife take you—she’s the Hand commander.”

Nore’s hand stilled.

Idistran magic required a mage and a well, and within official rankings, she understood that the well was referred to as the Hand of the mage’s position. The commander was the very same Viper of Osar that Terlo had warned them about—and Nore did not know the extent of his magic, nor what it could detect. Her truce with Caspian was still fragile, and Caspian had a habit of getting himself in trouble.

She certainly did not want Caspian going alone to get close to the Viper or the Viper’s well. That left too much room for treachery.

“Are we waiting for another?” Nore asked before Caspian could say anything ridiculous, like declaring his interest in one of these sessions.