Page 121 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

Bell had not heard them, nor was he paying attention. “We think these were the journals from the earliest settlers of the Isle—this, for example, is believed to be a journal belonging to Aban, the first of the Lochan mages who married onto the mainland into what is now Scaela.” Bell indicated another book close to the one Caspian had been reading.

“They’re not… real, though,” Nore said before she could stop herself. “They’re legends, right? Not history?”

Bell blinked at her—and gods, sometimes she, too, hated scholars. “They have bones, miss.”

“Nore,” Terlo said, “Caspian. Shouldn’t you think about getting ready for the ball?” They aimed a look at the pair of them, one that said, I will find out far more without either of you.

They exchanged a glance. Nore didn’t like leaving work to others, but unlike with Gail, she could at least be certain Terlo knew what they were talking about, and they would be thorough. She raised an eyebrow at Caspian. “Anything else you want to see?” Do you sense anything else powerful?

He glanced around the room. “No,” he said. He nodded to Terlo. “We will speak to you later, then, to hear about your discoveries.”

They didn’t broach the subject until they were away from the fortress, back on the road to Maerin, walking arm in arm. It was cold, as usual, but at least the wind was not whipping with its usual fervor, and there was some view of the blue winter sky above.

“The first part of that spell,” Nore said, thinking through each word. “It felt… visceral. Like a separation.”

Caspian frowned. “I know,” he said. “I’ve seen nasty work before—Lindle spells for pain, calculations to do harm, to injure, to maim. But they didn’t look like that at all. And, dare I say, I think part of it was restoration.”

“Separation,” Nore murmured. “Then restoration.” She thought about it more, looking at her boots. “I suppose, in some ways, some may call that a resurrection.”

They looked at each other unhappily. “What if it’s not a medallion at all?” Caspian asked. “What if what Celestine wants is actually a spell?”

“I don’t know,” Nore confessed.

“What does she want with it?”

Nore looked down, chewing her lip. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “I just know she does.”

Caspian sighed, running his free hand through his hair. Nore knew he had more he wanted to say, probably something biting about her undying faith in Celestine and her machinations, but he probably did not want to fight with her.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Finch,” he said finally.

Nore didn’t bother to answer. It didn’t matter what she thought she was doing; she was a tool, a vessel for the crown’s will. Whatever Celestine wanted her to be, she was. And when she made her proud, when she saw that glimmer of satisfaction in Celestine’s eye, when she looked at Nore as if she would claim her as her own blood, if only Nore asked… Well, that was close enough to happiness. It was as close as Nore allowed herself to tread.

Please, by the gods, I am begging you. I have invested too much time and resources for her to simply not attend this year—and you know the outside pressure. I need her for three evenings, at least. Whatever strings you have to pull, pull them.

Note from Garna Thrick to an unknown recipient, intercepted by a Nestrian spy, 1636 UCE

twenty-three

THE EVENING’S EVENT WAS yet another party, this time held in the grand ballroom of Maerin’s new festival hall, but it was improved dramatically by the thrill that hung in the air: Locke was coming.

In her line of work, Nore adored nights like this: when the tension hung so thick in the air that any slight upset might crack it; when everyone was working so hard to hide their loyalties and schemes that they betrayed themselves.

She knew, too, what her own hand could reveal: that she was here, in enemy territory, on a mission no one really knew of. Or that she’d found herself again falling for the one person she’d promised herself she’d never tangle with again. Or that she was so far out of her depth that the waves were growing higher and higher, and all she could do was keep swimming.

This evening, she wore a frosted-lavender dress with dainty, fluttering sleeves that buttoned in at her wrists and tulle pleated elegantly over her breasts, a sharply drawn-in waist, and a skirt that slipped over her legs like water. She found she preferred the looser style of Idistra’s formal wear over Lindan’s; she appreciated the freedom of movement the Idistran style allowed.

She stood in the corner of the ballroom, organizing her plan for the evening. Shortly after they arrived, Caspian had been whisked away by Ola and Brit to meet one of their other friends, and Nore had been all too happy to let him go. She needed to focus, but she couldn’t stop watching Cas—and every time she looked at him, she still felt her blood heat when she remembered the way he’d said, Not until you beg. Even in the most crowded of ballrooms, she wondered what would happen if she fell to her knees and pleaded like a maiden at the spring festival, asking the gods for a happy match.

Give me an unhappy match and let me be satisfied, she thought now.

It was easier, for now, to be alone. Especially since they were closing in on the potential artifact—she still wanted to know what exactly Locke was up to, even if she was no longer certain what she would do with that information.

“Can I beg a dance from you?” someone asked to Nore’s left. She glanced up, surprised—then not surprised at all to find Jessa Picantor-Donan waiting, a sparkle in her eye.

“Of course,” Nore said, setting her glass aside. She forced an easy smile as Jessa led her out to the floor, where more and more couples were spinning. It was a good way to survey the crowd—she hadn’t seen Locke arrive, but she thought she’d spotted the commander from across the room.

“I’ve not seen you for a few days,” Jessa said as they started the dance—it was Idistran, but an easy one; Cas had taught it to her at one point during her marriage and Nore slipped back into the steps without much effort. “Thought you might’ve run back to the mainland.”