Page 125 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“But I’m sure you had another reason for requesting this dance. Perhaps one with less honesty.”

Locke smiled tightly. “I heard you visited. My commander was able to walk through the southwest wing without losing an hour or more to our historian.”

She had so many things to keep track of, and yet she’d still made note of Nore’s presence in the fortress. Perhaps Locke was more astute than her enemies realized—which raised the question of what else she observed.

If she knew they were coming for her, what was her plan? She couldn’t simply stay on her Isle and wait for them to strike, could she? Because someday, something would slip through her shield. Someone would discover her relationship; it had not taken Nore too much to get to the bottom of it. Someone else would start looking into her history, or her imports, or anything else and they would unravel the tapestry of Locke’s personal life with barely a tug.

And why did Nore care? Why did she care about the midwinter drought and what she thought might have caused it, or Locke’s secret relationship with the commander, or the way she couldn’t seem to get her footing with her allies or enemies alike? None of it had anything to do with Nore’s work—once she left here, Locke would live or marry or die and Nore would probably not hear of it for months, if she heard of it at all.

“It was an enlightening afternoon,” Nore said, instead of sharing any of those thoughts. Locke would certainly not take kindly to learning just how much Nore knew about her personal life—especially since, even though Nore had no intent of giving that information to Gail, she was technically working for the enemy.

“And you’re enjoying the festival otherwise?”

“There’s much to like,” Nore said, indulging in another spin. “Though the weather does not raise my opinion.”

“It’s a cold, hard place to live,” Locke said, moving through steps with the precision of a fighter.

“And I’ve heard it’s ruled by a cold, hard person,” Nore said, taking a risk. She was pretty sure (though not entirely certain) that Locke would not kill her for the observation. She let her gaze trail down the High Lady’s body to linger on her sword.

“Not all of us can afford to be warm,” Locke said. She came to a stop, and Nore realized that the dance had ended. Her hands were still clasped in the High Lady’s. “And it’s better, I find, to be cold and living than soft and dead.”

“Cold and wise,” Nore said, stepping away to bow. “Wise for your years, I would observe.” Other measures will be required.

Locke smiled. It did not reach her eyes. “It’s not the most flattering praise I’ve ever heard.” Locke stepped back herself, and Nore already saw at least five people in the crowd ready to take the High Lady’s attention.

“Your Majesty,” Nore said before Locke could disappear.

“Locke is fine,” the High Lady said, her lips moving into what Nore thought was an approximation of a smile, or a grimace.

“Locke,” Nore said, resting the consonant on her tongue. She kept hold of the High Lady’s hand, uncertain why. “There are so many friends here, and so many enemies. Will you… You will be careful, won’t you?”

Locke’s expression flickered for the barest second before she nodded. “Goodbye, Lindan,” Locke said, and Nore nodded. In the pit of her stomach, she felt something that felt quite a lot like a premonition, a betrayal, a decision yet unmade.

I saw the first of the poppyfinches today, since my return. Never have I felt such agony before.

Caspian Khari’s personal diary, 1631 UCE

twenty-four

THEY HAD SCARCELY RETURNED to their room before there was knocking at their door. Nore looked at Caspian, brow arched—he was the more likely suspect to have invited someone to their room—but he shook his head. Nore, halfway through taking down her hair, only shrugged. Caspian had already taken off his shirt and boots but he strode across the room bare chested and opened the door.

Terlo stood on the other side.

“I’m, um, sorry to disturb,” Terlo said.

“It’s no matter,” Caspian said. He leaned against the door jamb, and Nore could only just see Terlo’s mouth working as they searched for words. “I was only preparing to ravish my wife.”

“My sincere apologies,” they stammered.

“He’s lying,” she said, getting up and pushing Caspian out of the way. She hoped the sight of her, fully dressed, would put their mind at ease. “Come in, Terlo. We can call down for tea, if you want?” She let them in, clearing the vanity of her hairpins and the chair of her dresses, and shooed Cas downstairs for tea.

“Thank you again for letting me join you this afternoon, and stay later,” Terlo said, folding their hands on their lap as they sat in one of the chairs by the fire. “I found it most illuminating.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Nore said, settling on the arm of the other chair. “Really, it’s the High Lady you owe gratitude to—she’s the one who invited us.”

Terlo’s smile flickered at the mention of Locke. “I take it your dinner was successful, then. Have you two hit it off?”

Nore snorted, smoothing the cover before she sat on the edge of the bed. “I doubt one ‘hits it off’ with the leader of a nation,” she said, running her finger along the embroidery. “I think I entertain her, at the very least. And perhaps we share some common ground.”