Page 119 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

Caspian surveyed the room, then decisively strode down the length of it. He frowned as they passed one of the tables—this one was laden with small stone objects—and hesitated there, hands behind his back, as he studied each one. To the side, Terlo and Bell had apparently made up, and Bell was giving an impassioned monologue on a collection of hammered metal sticks.

“What are you doing?” Nore asked Caspian as he leaned over the next table of stone items, running his hands over the space above them.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he murmured, frowning at the table. “You don’t have that Karathak stone on you, do you?"

"Me?" Nore patted her pockets. "No. I didn’t think we’d need it.”

“Oh—we don’t,” Caspian said, his frown deepening. He stood back, cocking his head at the table, then turned in a slow circle. “It muffles… Well.” A line of columns ran down one side of the hall, obscuring shadowed doorways behind. “Locke said he had the other rooms here, right?”

“Yes,” Nore said, hurrying to keep up once he started moving. “Cas, what are you doing?”

He flashed her a smile over his shoulder. “Looking for the medallion, darling. I thought that was clear.”

“Chances are, we won’t just find it lying on a table,” she said. That felt… wrong. Too easy.

“Presumably, it has not been lying on a table for a thousand years,” Caspian said, leading the way into the first of the rooms. This one was dedicated to ancient-looking jewelry, old necklaces and carved bracelets. Nore’s spirits lifted for a moment as she started to the rows of necklaces—but Caspian only gave the room a cursory tour before he shook his head. “Not in here.”

Nore turned on her heel. There were at least five carved stone medallions on that table. “How can you be so certain?” she snapped.

He raised an eyebrow, then turned, continuing into the next room. This one had fewer tables but it was full of stands: every spare table was covered with illustrations on paper, painted scenes on canvas, and images etched on stone. Again, Caspian only glanced around the room, then shook his head.

Nore felt her frustration growing. “Look,” she said, catching his wrist. She glanced to the side; Terlo and Bell were still deeply occupied. “I know you don’t want to be here, and I know you don’t want to steal something from the fortress. I know you would love for Celestine to fail. But I actually have quite a lot tied up in this mission, and if you fail, I fail.”

He looked at her coolly. “Have I given you reason to suspect I’m sabotaging you?”

“Not recently,” Nore said, gritting her teeth.

“Then trust me,” Caspian said, pulling his wrist free—but catching her hand anyway, then leading her into the next room.

“Cas,” she said, exasperated, as they passed through two more rooms with barely more than a cursory look. Frankly, they were running out of rooms.

She heard his own frustration when he said, “Not all historical objects are magical, Finch. Huge difference there. And Celestine didn’t ask me for an object with historical significance—she sent me for a magical one.”

She pulled her hand free, turning him to face her. “But how can you—” she started, then she stopped, the words tangling on her tongue.

How could he tell the difference with merely a look? How had he evaded her, years ago, when she kept setting up false magical artifacts? How had he foiled her again only weeks ago, finding all of her traps no matter what system she used?

Unless he knew what was and wasn’t magic just by sight. Unless he could see the traps in ways she couldn’t.

“You can see magic,” Nore said.

Caspian raised an eyebrow. “Surely, you know that’s—”

“Do not say impossible,” Nore said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You can sense it somehow, can’t you? That’s how you’re so good at finding the objects. You can rule out fakes with a glance—and you can probably tell if something is powerful.”

Caspian crossed his arms over his chest, not looking at her.

“But the Karathak stone,” she said, understanding. “That messes with your perception. Doesn’t it?”

A tick of his jaw. “It doesn’t make things easier, no,” he said, which was all the confirmation she needed.

“How can you do it?” Nore asked, fascinated. Her mind was already whirring with the possibilities.

“I don’t know,” Caspian said, terse. He glanced away. “I think most amalgamates can, in some sense, and Idistran is inherent, so there is a natural affinity for magic.” He shook his head. “Maybe other amalgamates don’t sense it as strongly as I can, but I… cultivated the talent. With practice.”

Nore studied his face. “And that,” she said, “made you a better thief.”

He did not answer. “Those rooms,” he said, nodding behind them. “If there’s any power in those artifacts, it’s weak. I sense something up ahead, but I’m not sure where, or what it is; nor can I tell, from this distance, if it is strong enough to be what we seek.”