Page 80 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“No,” Garna said. She took a bite, and Nore started on her own dinner. “I’d hoped my partner would join us, but she is otherwise occupied. But I’m sure you’ll meet her at the festival.”

“I look forward to it,” Nore said. In her mind, she was constructing a plan: first, the trade minister; then, Garna’s mention of Locke’s wardrobe had started her on an idea… And then, if she found a way to speak to Garna’s wife, the Hand commander, there was a clear path to the Viper, and maybe even to Locke herself. But it was in everyone’s best interest if Nore made those arrangements herself, without Caspian’s influence.

She cleared her throat. “So please—I’d love to hear more about how you started the festival,” she said, steering them toward safer topics. Topics that did not encourage Caspian to draw arms.

It is a cold place, but the true warmth is from the people. Unlike on the mainland, they are welcoming enough and do not seem inclined to scheming. I have been invited to no fewer than four dinners and Caspian my companion has been invited to at least three more. They are perhaps too trusting, but that may be a result of weariness from years of disputes.

Report from Finch to Sparrow, decoded, 1636 UCE

fifteen

EARLY. IT WAS TOO early.

That was Nore’s first groggy thought as she woke the next morning. She sat up, taking a second to align the shadows of the unfamiliar room with the memory that she was here, on Locke, in preparation for a festival.

And Caspian’s shadow was there by the window, which explained why she’d awoken.

“What are you doing?” Nore asked, resting her head in her hands for the barest moment. She’d let her guard down at Garna’s and probably had one too many glasses of good plum wine and that evil Idistran liquor. Nore didn’t usually drink much with her clients, but this was the second day on this mission that she was suffering the ill effects of it—after she had passed thirty, she found with immeasurable annoyance that tipping a glass of wine over her arbitrary limit was now enough to give her a searing headache or a bad night’s sleep for a day or more. She had to watch herself, lest anyone think this was a new habit of hers.

Though, upon reflection, perhaps that would not worry Gail. They’d passed him stumbling up the stairs as they’d returned from Garna’s, and he’d definitely been further in his cups than she was. He’d even winked at Caspian in the hall. Nore hadn’t even known they were staying at the same inn.

It was Caspian, she thought darkly. Caspian’s presence, which forced her to break her own rules.

“I’m going to the training session.”

Nore sat up straight. “You’re what?”

“You heard Garna.” He went to the wardrobe and withdrew his boots. He was fully dressed, Nore saw now, with a sword strapped to his hip and a dagger on his belt—where or how he had gotten them, she had no idea—and he was clearly… going.

“Caspian,” Nore hissed. “I don’t care what you want. We’re on a mission.”

“I know that.”

“And what you’re about to do does not add anything to that mission.”

He looked up at her, and even in the dark, she saw that edge of malice in his look. “Because you’ve done so many jobs like this. You must admit that this is my area of expertise.”

“And fighting does not factor into it,” Nore said. She rose, going to the pitcher on the dresser for a glass of water. Her head pounded.

“Camaraderie does,” he said. “If you want to know what Locke is up to, the best way to do that is by getting in with her guard. How do you expect to find out anything real about her? Gossiping?”

Nore’s muscles tensed.

“What happens when you realize your leads are speculation? That no one really knows what she wants or why? And that’s not even getting into this artifact—how do you expect to know if it’s guarded? Who knows of it? For a job like this, you can’t just ask everything. You have to understand it. Be trusted. Be known. Not just your detached subterfuge—”

Nore whirled on him. “Stop telling me how to do my job.”

He stepped close, so close that his chest was nearly touching hers. “Then stop telling me how to do mine.”

Nore felt herself suddenly unable to form a coherent thought. He was so close, and his gaze flicked down to her lips. She deflated, mostly to get space between them, sagging back against the wall.

“I find it fundamentally difficult to work with you,” Nore said, and it was the truest thing she’d said since she’d left Lindan, for all the wrong reasons.

And yet, his mind. When she looked at him, she knew his brain was going through processes just as thoroughly as hers. He was difficult to work with when it came to distractions, but she knew no one else whose mind aligned so deeply with hers. That, too, was horrific.

Something sparked in his gaze. She did not understand, even as he took another step closer. “Do you?” he murmured.

“Yes,” she said, tilting her head up. He wasn’t that much taller than her. She hoped he did not hear her heart hammering in her chest. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides.