Page 163 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“Caspian?” Nore said.

His mouth thinned to a line. He looked at Nore, then back at Locke.

“I’ve been told to tell you,” he said finally, “if I lost my token of my employer’s favor, that Cleoc’s heir sends her love from Isidar, and hopes you will clear your diaries for her birthday feast, for which you’ve not yet confirmed intent to attend.”

“Gods,” the Hand commander said. “You’re working for Sela.”

“No,” Caspian said carefully. “I was working for Cleoc.”

Locke sheathed her sword, focusing on the papers with more attention. “We already have the Nestrian arrested. But there are other plots?” Locke asked. “Who else?”

Nore inclined her head. “I am out of resources because I… surrendered my position in Lindan’s court of spies,” she said. “I have given it up in order to come here and warn you.”

Locke’s face was unreadable. She glanced over her shoulder, having some sort of silent conversation with the Viper. He dropped his hand and moved away from her then, back to the Hand commander, to say something to her on the other side of the room.

Locke turned back to Nore. “Why would you do such a thing?” she asked. “Leave your position, your life, for me?”

Nore swallowed. She sat back on her knees, folding her hands in her lap, trying to look as put together as one could while bound and imprisoned. “Because… you care. There’s something about you that makes people trust you. That makes them willing to die for you. And I love my nation, and I love my queen, but I would never expect her or anyone else to sacrifice themselves for my sake.” Nore looked away, chewing her lip. She thought of Cas, and how he was when he was just a boy. “My… employer asked abhorrent things of me, and I did them because I trusted her, and I was wrong for that. But you, Locke—I want to work for you instead. Because I think you would die for anyone on this Isle just as soon as they would die for you, and I am jealous of that kind of devotion, and maybe that makes me terrible. Maybe I want that for myself. And maybe it’s because I don’t want to die, and I think I could be useful to you—if you knew what the threats were, you could let your guard down, even a little. And because I think we—Cas and I—can find a way to fix your power, hopefully for good.”

“And what do you want from me, then?”

“A job, perhaps.” Nore took a breath, feeling the press of fear. “And diplomatic immunity in both your own nation and the continent, if you can grant it. I have proof that my former employer is acting against the crown, but I need support to show it—and with your help, I could fight for a dismissal of the charges against Caspian and me in Lindan.”

“I don’t think I can ask for that in a country that is not my own,” Locke said.

Nore nodded. “Perhaps not, but if you leverage that request against the reality that Lindan plotted with one of the other Idistran nations against you… that is the kind of information that would lead to such an arrangement. In fact, it is in direct violation of the agreement the continent had with Lindan, the breach of which grants you the means to declare war against the nation of Lindan, should you wish it.”

“That is not a small request.”

“No, but I am not asking you to declare war—only to remind them what they risk when meddling with your power. Due to your history and that of Lindan, I have no doubt the other continental powers will support you if that is the choice you make.” Nore hesitated, searching for words. “And perhaps I see diplomatic immunity from your court commensurate with what I have sacrificed on your behalf.” Nore raised her eyes to look at Locke’s face, her distantly imperious eyes and the cold ruthlessness that lay beneath, and she took a chance. “Do you like wine, Your Highness?” Nore asked.

Locke looked at her. Nore looked back.

Finally, the High Lady took a step back, a breath, and said, “Kier?”

“Yes?”

“Thoughts?”

Silence. A pause. A weighted moment in which Nore didn’t dare take her eyes from Locke’s face.

“I do like wine,” the Viper said finally. “And if there is some way to fix things…”

Locke sighed. She crossed her arms over her chest as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself, and she was once again morphing from a goddess of war back into a young woman in that odd way she did.

“What do you propose we do, then?” Locke asked.

It took Nore a second to realize Locke was talking to her. She was so good at gathering the information—but advising on action was never her job. “Um.”

There was a slight cough behind her, one that almost sounded like “Finch.”

“I think you and the commander should marry. Or, if you already are married, declare yourselves publicly. It aligns you with a powerful nation and allows you the protection of Scaela.”

“Perhaps I don’t want the protection of Scaelas,” Locke grumbled.

“He always manages to worm his way into these things,” Brit said from their position behind Locke.

Nore only just caught the way Ola elbowed them in the ribs and said, “It is not appropriate to refer to the High Lord of Scaela as a worm.”