Page 140 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

Tern inclined his head. “Well met, Starling. It’s been too long.”

I have taken on a new protégé. He is scrappy but graceful—I think I can make something great of him.

Dove to Goldcrest, 1619 UCE

twenty-eight

TIME SEEMED TO SLOW as Nore watched the two sailors grip Caspian and guide him bodily across the deck. At the harbor, days before, Tern had asked about Starling—but Nore had figured he was talking about Gail. Never, in her gods-given years, did she think he was talking about Caspian.

Because Celestine had said from the beginning that when Caspian had betrayed her, he had been spying for the Maroushan emperor. Because Nore had just accepted that—just believed that. After he had nearly killed her, she would have believed anything of him.

But what if…

She didn’t know. Gods, she didn’t have the pieces to try to figure it out.

“Come on,” Tern said, breaking through her reverie. “Let’s get you fed and warmed up. I’m sure you have stories about your adventures.”

“Of course,” Nore said, faking a smile, forcing herself together. She followed after Tern the opposite way as the first mate took over, his call rising above the crashing of the sea.

“We shouldn’t be too long on the voyage,” Tern said, leading the way down the stairs into the hold. He had a cozy cabin that Nore had shared with him on more than one occasion—Tern’s ship was not a passenger vessel, and he was not putting her with the crew. Instead, she stayed in his cabin, sleeping on a mattress on the floor next to the captain’s bed. This time, when he led her to his cabin, she wondered darkly if she, too, was a prisoner. “Your trunk is here, but I can send for warmer—”

“Your orders were to imprison him,” she interrupted slowly, uncertain how much to reveal—even if she once thought she could trust Tern, he was in Celestine’s employ, and she knew what that meant. Any hint of Nore’s doubt would be reported as easily as mission notes.

“They were,” Tern said, opening the door and letting her in first. It was warm in here; she shed the blanket and leaned on the edge of Tern’s table, bolted to the floor. She wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep, but her clothes were filthy from the prison and her hands were still dusty from bones. She shuddered at the invasive memory of the medallion, hot on her palms, and pushed it away. “The duchess thought it best, for your safety.”

Nore pressed her mouth into a line. “For my safety.”

“Yes.” Tern hesitated, halfway through taking off his gloves. “He is conniving, Finch. He knows what to say. That does not mean he is trustworthy.”

Nore turned her face away. “I know that better than anyone,” she said quietly.

“Do you?”

Nore shook her head, pushing off from the table. She set to angry pacing, her arms crossed over her chest. “If I asked you for the truth, Tern,” she said bitterly, “would you tell me?”

A note of caution entered Tern’s voice. “I would tell you all I could,” he said.

She nodded. It was as she suspected. He would tell her as much as the duchess allowed and no more. It didn’t matter if the information he withheld was crucial for the survival of her sanity.

But wasn’t that Nore’s way, too? Holding everything close to her chest, keeping every secret she’d ever known away from him because, at any point, he might betray her.

How many times had Caspian tried to talk to her, only for her to cut him off? How many times had she convinced herself she already knew everything he was going to say?

Nore traded in information. She’d chased it with a fierce desperation—and yet, when it came to Cas, she’d utterly shut him down. And he’d let her, certain that everything important was contained in the letters that Nore herself never saw.

And now he was somewhere on this ship, with all of the information she could want, all the things Tern wouldn’t tell her—and she was starving for it.

“Then tell me,” Nore said, even though she knew that Tern’s version would be compacted, slanted, redacted into a version that Celestine thought she could handle. She went to her trunk and pulled out a new shirt and trousers and went behind the screen in the corner, which he’d probably put up for her benefit. Nore turned to the wall and stripped out of her cold, wet clothes, shedding all remnants of the Isle. “Tell me about Starling.”

“Nore…”

He so rarely used her name. Nore spun, clutching the fabric to her chest, glaring at Tern over the top of the screen. “Tell me.” She seethed.

“Do you love him?” Tern asked.

“No,” Nore lied.

Tern shook his head, running a hand through his hair. He dragged the chair from his table and spun it, sitting with his chest pressed to the chair’s back.