Page 168 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

The other nations were so sure that someone had to marry Locke to preserve the power systems, but she’d not come across any stories of Taran’s bride bringing a renewal of power. In the records, the biggest sacrifices were always made by those who left—those who were sent back to the mainland to marry, to show favor, to bestow power. Even if they weren’t wells. Even if they didn’t rule.

Nore frowned, finding her notebook in her pocket, then flipped back through her notes. Last night, she’d been copying down a genealogy for the Isle, trying to see if there was any pattern there. She’d discovered that Terlo was right: only one well from every generation remained on the Isle. All others were sent to marry, and most of them died and remained on the mainland.

She thought of the bones at the altar on the other side of the Isle. The power rooted in them—maybe from the medallion, but maybe something else.

She had read a binding ritual earlier, with help from Terlo to understand some of the translations—but what if there was more to it than that? What if there was something that surpassed a binding of wells and mages, power to magic?

If there was an object in this system where power could be rooted… could it be rooted in other places? And if that object had survived the first death of the Isle and returned intact—

“Are you hungry?”

Nore startled. Caspian stood above her, looking just as wet and cold and miserable as she felt. “Did you follow me?” she asked.

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “I’m a spy, Elinore.”

He pulled a cheese pastry from his pocket, a little damp, and handed it to her. Cas folded himself next to her and stared up at the tapestry.

“You’re working on a theory,” he said after a moment. “Aren’t you?”

Nore frowned. “I don’t think I know enough about the system to solve it.”

“I do. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She took a bite, chewed, swallowed. “What if…” Nore prodded the pastry, searching for words. “The Isle exists to hold power, yes. But it was raised on years of alliances, forged in blood.”

“Right,” Caspian said.

Nore took another bite. “This is probably wrong. But I keep thinking about… the feeling, when we uncovered those bones. There was something wrong. And it got me thinking… What if there’s some connection that’s been severed? Not with the High Lady herself, or her power. But what if, in killing the Isle and resurrecting it, it severed a connection that took decades to build?”

Caspian was quiet for a moment, considering this. “And you think it would take decades to repair.”

“I don’t know,” Nore admitted. “It doesn’t seem enough for the regular binding ritual—it seems that Locke and the commander have already done that, and that hasn’t made any difference. Unless… unless there’s some way to reconnect what has been severed. To fix what was broken.”

Caspian went still. She could see the wheels turning—and she loved watching Caspian think. She loved knowing his brain.

Then, like the sun behind the clouds: a smile. Caspian grinned at her, bringing her close to kiss her. “I think I know how to fix it,” he said, pulling back just enough to brush the wet hair from her face. “But for this, I fear we really do need Locke.”

“What is it?” Nore asked, leaning into him as they started on their way back to the fortress.

“This whole time,” he said, “we’ve been looking at how the High Lady is connected to the mainland, but that’s not it, is it? Think of the medallion—that’s not connected to her power—it’s connected to the Isle.”

“So the medallion is…?”

“A rooted power source,” Caspian said. “But not rooted in a person. It’s rooted on the Isle—as Locke’s power itself should be, and as the decades of binding that built the system should be.” He frowned. “And the medallion is a form of the Isle’s power itself… which is probably something I should tell Locke.”

“Don’t get distracted,” Nore murmured, tucking her head against him to try to get farther out of the rain. He placed a hand on her back, firmly steering her as the drizzle became a deluge. They didn’t hurry; they were going to get soaked anyway, so there was no point.

“Your tapestry,” Cas said, his voice a little louder. “That sacrifice—it’s a sacrifice of personhood, too. Every spouse from the Isle completes a binding ritual. My grandmother told me about hers when I was just a child. It’s performed alongside marriage.”

“But the High Lady and commander are already bound, right?”

“Yes,” Caspian said. “But what if she’s become disconnected from the Isle itself? Terlo said something about Locke acting as a gateway—and what if she’s shut the gate? Trying to catch fish in her hands instead of with a net?”

“I’m not sure about the metaphor,” Nore admitted.

He smirked, glancing at her, and nearly slipped in the mud for his efforts. Nore caught his elbow. “If we can find a way to bind her to the Isle, and then to the mainland—I think that will work. And if anyone knows how to do it, our Terlo will be able to find it.”

Nore looked up, closing her eyes, letting the rain wash over her face. Caspian reached over, sweeping back the strands of copper that stuck to her cheeks. “I suppose we don’t have another choice,” she said. “Though someone has to convince Locke.”