Page 160 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“The shields,” Nore said quietly to Cas. “How do they work?”

“Steady drowning, I think,” Caspian said pleasantly. “Choking on air and magic together. It leaves time for a change of heart, or for the bay patrol to question inhabitants.”

“So there is the possibility that things will get uncomfortable,” Nore said.

“I would call it a probability.”

Nore glanced over at the captain, standing a few feet away. She was not concerned about her hearing; the wind was too loud for that. “Do they know?”

“They have been informed, yes,” Caspian said tersely. Nore doubted that had been a pleasant conversation—but Isla had not turned around. “They will go to the edge of the shield, right where things start to get tense, and wait for an escort to meet us. From there, I have been warned that it’s up to us, and the captain will not risk her crew for two scoundrels on the run.”

Nore did not feel like pointing out that she already had, and that the cost to risk her crew for two scoundrels on the run was apparently five thousand marks, because it didn’t feel like the time.

She felt the tightness in her chest intensifying as they sailed farther past the mouth of the bay. At first, she thought it was only her own anxiety, but then she saw Caspian rub his chest, frowning; and near the captain, Nicodemus coughed twice and aimed a glare in their direction.

“Easy on, Nic,” she heard Isla say. To her credit, if the captain was uncomfortable, she made no show of it.

They pressed forward.

Nore clenched her jaw around the growing pressure, the panic mounting. Logically, she knew both were a result of the shields that kept the Isle safe and that she was not, in fact, dying. But mentally… Mentally, that was an entirely different battle.

Nore felt something shift as Cas came close, as he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. She felt the rise and fall of his chest against her back, heard his labored breathing as he struggled to keep himself calm. Nore gripped him back, her hands digging into his arms as he wrapped around her, working to keep her breaths in time with his.

“This close enough?” Isla called. The captain sounded unaffected, but Nore suspected it was posturing and nothing more.

She could only just see the dark shape of the Isle rising from the sea. “I don’t think so,” she said, struggling for air.

“Do you have a flare?” Cas called, so close and loud that Nore’s ear drum rang for a moment, but at least Isla heard him over the wind.

She only just heard some form of profanity behind them, and then, a moment later, a whoosh, and the darkening sky exploded with a bright red flash of sparks.

“And now we wait,” Cas gasped, breathless.

Nore could only nod. Her chest was so tight, she couldn’t imagine using her precious oxygen on words. There was a shout behind her, a rattle, and the ship lurched as Isla dropped anchor.

They waited.

Nore’s eyes streamed as she wheezed, breathless, the aching in her chest never easing. Caspian did not let go of her. Nicodemus, the first mate, sat on the deck and rolled himself into a ball with his head between his knees. For some inexplicable reason, Isla decided the best course of action was to pace back and forth along the helm. Nore could not fathom moving, nor understand how Isla was managing it, especially at the pace she was going.

It was probably only ten minutes before she saw a small boat on the waves, coming closer, though with the discomfort grating, it felt like hours. But when she did spot the boat, Nore called, “Captain!” in a voice so ragged she barely recognized it herself.

Isla stopped pacing. She squinted out at sea, leaning far over the rail, so far that Nore worried she’d fall.

“Arm up, Nic,” Isla called. Behind her, the first mate let out a withering sort of moan, but he got to his feet and drew his weapon, and Nore heard the sound of metal as the crew behind her did the same.

Only ten minutes later, the small, fast boat reached them. It was using some kind of magical propulsion, Nore surmised, but she did not know the method. Isla dropped a line from the deck for one of their crew to board, and Nore struggled through what she hoped were the last moments of discomfort before it would be eased.

She did not recognize the two guards who boarded. “Do you have permission to enter the harbor?” one said to Isla after she identified herself as the captain.

Isla jerked a hand toward Nore and Caspian. “I’m delivering them,” she said, “and then I’ll be on my way.”

The two turned to them, confusion on their faces.

If she had sent word ahead, she could not have been certain it would reach Locke—she did not have the appropriate channels, and if her guard had been infiltrated, there was no telling who else had already betrayed her. There was no time to go to Cleoc for assistance in their plight, nor to seek other diplomatic help. She could not wait any longer because Celestine knew now that Nore had betrayed her, and she had no doubt that the Nestrians were working on a plot to free Gail—and if Lindan and Nestria acted together, Nore did not think Locke would survive their plans.

Nore needed to deliver the information herself, directly to the Lady, as quickly as possible. And unfortunately, she had thought of only one true way to do that.

Their confusion only grew when Nore freed herself from Caspian and said, “I’ve come to seek the High Lady.” She dropped to her knees, only half faking the drama with the lack of air to her lungs, and held out her hands in front of her, lowering her head in supplication. “I am her prisoner, to do with as she pleases—and I come bearing further details regarding a plot against her, and how it could be thwarted.”