Page 153 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

I think far too often about that night when you asked me to marry you. If I had just said that I’d nearly died and Celestine was to blame, if I had only told you… Would you have changed anything? Would you have left her? Would you have agreed to marry me, knowing then?

I lied to you, even with your blood on my hands—and I didn’t know then, how you were lying right back.

How was I to know that she’d caught you, too? That she was both the reason I found you and the reason I’d lose you?

I didn’t know, Finch. Of course I couldn’t. When she questioned me, after I was captured, she teased me with the knowing—how I couldn’t have suspected you to be duplicitous. And yes, I was hurt. Of course I was hurt that you lied to me.

But how could I keep hurting when I knew that I had lied to you just as deeply, and for even longer?

Facts. Maybe you’ll open these and write back if I stick to the truth.

C was a sponsor for the theater. More than one of us boys started working for her when we were young, all covered by her generosity. Most of them failed in some way. I never did. I worked for her, taking on more and more difficult tasks, until the year we married.

You remember the glass? The window? I remember your hands, reddened with my blood. After that night, I told her I couldn’t do it anymore—and that was when she gave me the cost that I owed her.

I started taking on more shifts, but it wasn’t enough. There was no way to pay her back all I owed. But I had talent, and skill, in my own way—so it was just a matter of finding private work.

There are a lot of buyers with deep pockets, Nore. Many who are willing to pay for things they have lost. I had a personal code: I only wanted to return what was wrongfully taken, and no matter what, I didn’t want to be caught in anything that could be construed as treason. I made my payments to Celestine, and I rejected all attempts she made to reel me back in.

I was almost done, you know. When a buyer sent me to investigate that vase, to see if it was one they’d lost, I was certain there were only a few months left—and then I could tell you the truth, my conscience clear, and we could put Nettlepool behind us. Find a new start somewhere else.

I think of that night constantly. I don’t have many nightmares anymore, but that’s the one that haunts me: the magic flickering, revealing your face. I don’t know if you remember how close you were to death at my blade. It’s a miracle my brain was clear enough to attempt the magic I did, and I barely remember doing it.

Do you still walk past that house and remember what transpired there? Do you wonder if your blood still stains that room?

Are you still in Nettlepool? Is there absolutely anything I can say that will get a response from you?

I miss you. I hope you’re well. I hope you’re alive.

Good news: I don’t love you anymore.

Bad news: I’m still a liar.

She finished the last letter as the sun just started rising on the horizon, dyeing the sea orange and red. Nore took a shaky breath, wiping the tear tracks away from her face. When she looked up, she found herself grimly unsurprised to find a figure leaning on the stern rail, his hair whipping in the wind as he watched her. His mouth curved when he saw her looking at him.

“You should be resting,” Nore said as Caspian approached.

He held a hand down to help her up. She took her time putting the letters away, wrapping the leather cord around the sheaf to keep them sealed, then accepted his hand.

His free hand went to her cheek, thumb skimming over the tear tracks. “I don’t want you to cry,” he murmured.

“It’s not for your benefit,” Nore lied.

Cas rolled his eyes. He cradled her face and kissed her cheekbones, then the tip of her nose, then her lips. “Do you have questions?” he murmured.

“Thousands,” Nore said, hugging the letters to her chest. She swallowed, looking past his shoulder, out to sea. “Do you still remember every freckle along my spine?”

He looked at her, serious, for a moment. “I remember everything,” Caspian said solemnly. “Every moment of being yours. Every lie I ever told you. Every lie you told me.” Her eyes fluttered closed, the memories flooding in. He leaned close, his nose brushing hers. “Every time we told one another the truth, even if it was unintentional. Even when we weren’t supposed to.”

She twined her hands in his hair, knocking his forehead against hers. “Tell me,” she said against his mouth. “Tell me everything. I have to know we’re on the same side.”

“I’m on your side, Nore. That is not defined by nations.” He broke away. “But ask what you need.”

Nore ran her fingertips along the edge of his jaw. He shifted, settling next to her, and it felt even safer here than it had in their little cabin. Perhaps it was the sound of the sea crashing below, or the thin darkness of dawn.

“What happened?” she asked. “In Nettlepool—did you betray her? Were you working for Marous at all?”

Cas laughed, the sound bitter. “Not in any technical sense,” he said. “I… Well. When I was sent to Lindan, it was with terms: I would work for Celestine for as long as she needed me—and there was an illusion, when I was a boy, that I could walk away, or maybe that I wouldn’t want to. At the time, there was nothing else more important. The arrangements were made through contacts—I only ever knew Celestine as Dove and had no idea what her holding or title was then. She barely factored into my life when I was young; my tasks and information came from other spies.