Page 81 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“Hmm.” Caspian leaned in, his face so close to hers as his lips brushed the shell of her ear. She raised her fists to protect herself, to keep some sort of space between them. “You’re a liar, Finch,” he whispered.

Nore sucked in a breath, her hands flattening against his chest. She leaned forward, skimming her nose along Caspian’s jaw until she found that spot on his neck that had always driven him mad. She pressed her lips to it and felt his hands come around her waist. He sighed, just a bit, tilting his head to give her better access. Nore nipped at the flesh, her hands slipping down Caspian’s chest to his sides, then to his hip—she found what she wanted.

Nore slipped the dagger out of its sheath and drew it back, pressing the tip to Caspian’s back. One sharp thrust and it would sink into his kidneys.

He froze in her arms.

She pressed one last kiss to his throat without really knowing why. “I am,” Nore said against his skin. “But so are you.”

His hand came up to cup her chin, every move careful so he didn’t press farther into the blade. He guessed correctly that she wouldn’t pull it back.

“That may be so,” he said. “And yet, I trust that you will do what’s in your best interest—which, for now, aligns with mine.”

She didn’t see his hand move, but then her wrist was in his hand, and his thumb pressed into the pressure point—Nore gasped; the blade clattered to the ground.

Caspian stepped away. Nore pulled her hand back, cradling it to her chest. It didn’t hurt, not really, but something still ached inside of her.

“You’ve never been able to follow through when it came to action.”

“Action is not usually my remit,” she allowed.

Caspian retrieved his dagger. “Don’t worry, Finch,” he said. “I’ll report back.”

Nore did not know how to protest. He was right, she thought as she watched his back as he departed. Celestine asked many things of her. Nore had been all over the world, had met and learned and gathered so many different people and pieces.

How many times had Celestine warned her? Your job is to think and listen, Finch. Not to act.

She remembered the consequences of the one time she had violated that rule. Of searing pain, a blade buried in her body, the iron tang of blood, a night sky painted with stars, the shocked horror of his face.

Do not act. She was Celestine’s ear, not her hand. I need your mind. Your reports move armies if you only stay your hand. You will make change, if only you do not reveal yourself.

She had been told to wait, to stand still, to hide so many times that it was second nature. Even with Caspian’s body at her mercy, even with her own blade to his back, she could not make herself act.

before

Nore became single-mindedly focused. When she wasn’t meeting with clients or arranging shipments or sampling new wares, she was searching for a magical artifact. She had caught the thief’s attention, but it wasn’t enough. Perhaps the tracking stone was the issue—or perhaps the thief had somehow known the artifact was not all it was rumored to be.

She would not make either mistake again.

In the end, the opportunity arose naturally. She was visiting one of her clients to discuss a new shipment of Whistish ice wine, walking through the halls of their fine house in the wealthy flower district, when they asked if she wanted to see the new artifact they’d just brought back from Ruskaya.

“What is it?” Nore asked.

Mx. Ionas waved a hand. “It’s meant to be a feather, from one of their enchanted creatures. Encased in resin.”

Nore followed them into the crowded back study, full of different oddities. “Does it have any power?” Nore asked as Mx. Ionas drew the shrouded object down from the top shelf and lifted it out of its box. There, as advertised, was the feather: shimmering gold, trapped in clear resin. Nore reached to touch, her hand hesitating just outside.

“Well,” Mx. Ionas said, tilting the rectangle this way and that. Their eyes darted left and right, as if searching for servants. Seeing none, they leaned closer to Nore. “It’s meant to bring good luck.”

Nore stepped away, subdued. That wasn’t enough to get the thief’s attention. If the thief was after luck, she could lure him in with a hare’s foot and a prayer. “Is that all?” she asked.

Mx. Ionas laughed. Nore had always liked them; they were one of the first clients she’d taken on herself a few years before. “Is that not enough?”

“For some,” Nore allowed.

Mx. Ionas shook their head, still laughing, as they put the artifact back in its box, then back on its shelf. “You never cease to delight me, Miss Gordon.”

“Pleasure to be of service,” Nore said, folding her hands in front of her. Patient.