Page 113 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

They were guided through a cold stone parlor and down a hall, then into an expansive room with a large table and a huge fireplace. To Nore’s surprise, the room was not warmed by the golden magelights that hovered through the rest of the Isle but a great fire in the hearth and candles lit all around. It oddly soothed her, to know she was at the home of the nation’s power and they’d chosen to use something nonmagical instead.

Garna and Ola were already there, laughing at some joke that she and Caspian had come too late to hear. “If it isn’t the man of the hour,” Ola said, kicking back the chair next to her and nodding for Caspian to take it. Subdued, Nore took the seat next to Garna. “Kier’s been waiting for someone to out-spar me for months.”

“The commander has only been waiting for someone to temper your ego, dear,” Garna said, taking a sip of her wine. “You need a solid knock to your ego every now and then.” Nore risked a glance at Caspian—she was familiar with Garna’s feelings.

There were two unoccupied seats, Nore realized. “Is your friend joining us?” she asked.

“Brit?” Ola said. “Nah. They have other duties tonight.”

Duties. Nore wondered what kind of thing that entailed, especially since they’d been introduced as a friend and not a colleague or knight.

There was murmuring down the hall, the sound of multiple voices speaking so quickly that Nore had trouble processing the Idistran. She looked at Caspian, who had paused with his glass halfway to his mouth.

The door opened, allowing in a flock of people: a swath of armored knights and a tall one in the middle, with dark hair and the type of handsomeness that would make anyone on the street look twice. He was seemingly arguing with someone much shorter, who said, with obvious annoyance, “Because I asked,” to some question Nore hadn’t heard.

Her accent was different here. Sharper.

The taller man sighed, briefly closed his eyes. “Yes, go,” he said to one of the gray coats, “but keep at the doors.”

“What’s this?” Ola asked lazily. “Don’t trust us anymore?”

The tall man looked over her with a long-suffering gaze that Nore felt deep in her soul. “We’ll talk later,” he said. His gaze flicked to Caspian, and his face cleared into a smile, only somewhat distorted by the scar that ran through his lip. “Lovely to have you. Apologies for the… abrupt start. And this is—”

But Caspian was already standing, and Nore felt herself standing, too. Because the other guards had cleared, leaving the much shorter person behind, and Garna was rising, too, even if it was only a courtesy. She fell to one knee, head bowed, perfunctory. Nore and Caspian followed suit even as Nore’s stomach clenched.

The woman sighed. She wore trousers and a soft-looking shirt, and a jacket with a high collar that concealed the scar on her throat, but there was no hiding it. No gowns tonight, no finery, even though Nore was fairly certain she’d seen a commissioned dress for tonight, for the festival gala that was currently taking place in Osar.

“There’s no need for that,” she said, moving to take the seat at the head of the table as the tall man moved to the end, to the chair closer to Nore. She had never feared the High Lady before—she was shorter than Nore and compactly muscled, and her main point of intimidation was the steel in her gaze, but even so, Nore could imagine her as an utter terror on the battlefield.

“My apologies for our rudeness,” the man said, turning to Nore, his eyes sparkling. He leaned to kiss the back of her hand—an archaic gesture but one she suffered all the same. “I’m Kier Seward, her highness’s commander. And this,” he said, waving to the other end of the table with a smile that was weighted with affection, “is Locke.”

“Oh,” the High Lady of the Isle said, her gaze shifting to Nore. “Lindan. It’s you.”

Found out the reason Aurelian was banished: left formal Lochan/Eprainish engagement early citing stomach ailments, was discovered in a larder with two of Locke’s attendants, apparently in a compromising position near some of the delicacies cooling for the evening’s feast. The Viper handed down the order of banishment for “Insulting my lady, embarrassing my staff, and ruining my dinner.”

Nore Gordon’s notes, decoded, 1636 UCE

twenty-one

“YOUR MAJESTY,” NORE SAID from the floor. Caspian was looking at her, his expression odd; Garna and Ola seemed pleased by this development. She couldn’t get a good look at the Viper’s face without craning all the way around.

“You’ve met,” the Viper said.

“Please, rise and… be normal,” Locke said, sinking into her chair and dropping her head back. “I don’t have these things for even more formality.”

“You don’t have these things at all,” Ola said. “I would classify this as Kier’s thing. Or, if we’re being truthful, mine.”

“If it were your thing,” Locke said, that dry humor creeping into her tone, “we would be at your house.”

“Can’t fit your whole guard in my house,” Ola said. “And Rabbit is still banned. He knows what he did.”

Nore and Caspian exchanged a glance. Caspian shrugged.

Nore rose, as instructed, and sat down. She felt the Viper’s gaze on her, inescapable. He can kill with only a look, they had said, and now the Viper of Osar was looking.

“I’m sure he does. But we met the other day, Lindan and I,” Locke said before Nore had the chance to answer. “When I was in Maerin.”

Two things struck Nore about this: first, that Caspian’s brow rose, as if he really believed that Nore had met Locke formally and neglected to mention it to him; and second, that the High Lady of Locke was lying. She was lying, and no one called her on it.