Page 164 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“I wasn’t calling him a worm—”

“Ally yourself with Scaela and Scaelas publicly,” Nore said, a little desperate to recenter the conversation. “And from there, we will work on alliances with the rest of Idistra.”

“And that will work to reroute the power?” the Viper said, sounding as uncertain as Nore felt.

“Well, no,” Nore hedged. “But we suspect that there is some other ritual that helps to shift the root of power from—”

“I will not.”

They all looked at Locke, and the room was so still, so quiet, that Nore could hear every one of them breathe.

“You will not… marry?” Nore asked.

Locke shook her head. “I will not put anyone else I love in a position to die for me. If publicly naming Kier as my husband puts a bigger target on him… I’m not doing it. It’s not a worthy sacrifice. And I will not risk any further rituals that may destabilize Locke, or Idistra as a whole.” She took a shuddering breath. “You can propose it in theory, but you do not know what it is like when that power turns back on itself. When it goes awry.”

“Grey—” the Viper started, reaching for her.

“I’m sorry if that makes me look politically weak. Perhaps we should all be more accustomed to my weaknesses.”

She stalked away, toward the back of the room. “Grey,” the commander called to her back. “They are going to kill you.”

“Let them try,” Locke said.

And with that, she swept out of the room. Nore turned to watch her back—she saw, as she passed through the doors, how the guard scrambled to fold around her.

Nore turned back to the others. The trio of Locke’s closest guards looked just as shocked as she felt. But the Viper only sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Ola,” he said. “Take them to a room, please.”

“Are we… prisoners?” Nore asked.

“Of course not,” the Viper said, just as the Hand commander said, “Yes, obviously.”

A pause.

“I’ll… guard them,” Brit said. “Ol and I will handle it.”

“Kier—” the Hand commander started.

He waved a hand. “I’ll reconfigure. Go with Brit. See that our new friends are comfortable.”

Comfortable was better than dead, and Nore found her head was still spinning after… whatever that had been.

What had gone so miserably wrong? How had she misread so deeply? She puzzled over it as she followed Ola and the blonde, Brit, up to a room on the third floor, in one of the towers that overlooked the sea. Caspian walked quietly by her side, clearly just as lost in thought as she was.

Ola and Brit did not linger in the room, but Nore heard the click of a lock as they left. Caspian waited a beat, then he reached for Nore’s wrists. He withdrew a lock-picking instrument from his coat, undid her restraints, and rubbed the feeling back into her wrists.

“What was that about?” Nore asked finally.

Caspian scoffed, going over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. “I have no idea,” he admitted, “but it couldn’t have gone much worse.”

Nore touched her fingertips to her throat. She still felt the scrape where Locke’s sword had rested. “Well. Maybe it could’ve.”

It was over an hour before anyone came, and then it was the Viper who stepped through the door. He brought with him a tray, laden with food.

“I’m sorry,” he said, letting the door shut behind him. Nore recognized the feeling of soundproofing, the tightness in her chest, before the room settled again. “As someone who was once a prisoner myself, I fully admit that I’ve been a bad host.”

“If we have done no wrong,” Caspian said from where he leaned against the wall by the window, “I ask you let my wife and I leave.”