Page 174 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“We are stupid for trying,” Locke muttered. “Leonie is very sensible.”

“We need another typic, too, besides Eron,” Brit said. “Garna could—”

“No,” Ola said sharply. “Leave her out of this.”

Nore cleared her throat. “I’m a typic in this system,” she said. “I can be the final piece.”

Locke was looking at her, her cool gray eyes unreadable. “You could die, you know.”

Nore shrugged. “You could have killed me,” she said simply.

Locke went back to studying her medallion. “And everyone else. You would agree to this? Even knowing the risks?”

“Grey,” Ola said flatly. “For the millionth time, yes.”

“Though I would like to have a normal, nondeadly friendship with you, at some point,” Brit said, contemplating. “It might be fun.”

“I’m sorry,” Eron said to Nore. “They are, actually, always like this.”

Nore rubbed her temple. “As long as they only do it with discretion, and in privacy, I cannot complain.”

“You know,” Brit said after a moment, “Eron, your name is just ‘Nore’ spelled backward.”

This time, when she caught Cas’s gaze, she was unsurprised—and faintly annoyed—to find him smiling. “Your name is Eronile?” Cas asked. Eron only sighed.

“Tonight, then?” Nore asked, ignoring Brit and Caspian entirely.

“Kier?” Locke asked.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. The commander opened his eyes. “I’ll set to adding extra shields to the Ghostwood,” he said.

A moment passed between them, a look that Nore could not read. “Tonight, then,” Locke said finally. “I’ll give you one chance, tonight, to see it through.”

I wish we’d married in the way he always wanted to, in front of those he loves—in Nadira, with his family. If we get to the other side of this, if I can promise him one thing, I hope I can give him that.

Nore Gordon’s personal journal, 1636 UCE

thirty-seven

IT WAS FULLY DARK when they met the rest of the group in one of the lower armories. The others looked as they always did, like guards and knights—but now Locke, too, was fully armored under her cloak, her hair braided in a corona around her head. She wore nothing that distinguished her as the High Lady of the Isle, and yet, the power still radiated from her.

“Is that everyone?” Caspian asked when they were assembled, after he’d had a quiet word to debrief Leonie, the doctor, who’d agreed to act as the final well. Nore recognized her as the woman in green from the ball, the unidentified woman Locke had danced with. She felt Leonie’s gaze on her now, studying and probably judging.

“Conspicuously, yes,” Eron murmured from beside Nore. She glanced over at him; he caught her gaze. She wondered if she was not alone in her worry over the High Lady.

“It’s my Isle,” Locke said. “I can go on an evening stroll with my closest friends, if that is my want.”

“It’s never your want,” Ola said.

They arranged themselves around her and the commander as they set out. They came upon no others as they passed through the fortress walls, nor as they wove down the path toward the Ghostwood. As they moved away from the fortress’s lights, Kier drew a magelight, lighting the way in shimmering gold.

Next to Nore, Caspian pressed his hand to his chest, to the pocket where he kept his inks. He had checked for them a thousand times, but still, she knew he was nervous. She reached out and took his hand in hers.

No one spoke as they drew toward the ruined abbey on the cliffs or the cemetery around it. Out of view of the fortress, Locke and the Viper had pulled ahead, arms linked as they spoke quietly. When they reached the altar, the Viper cupped Locke’s face and pressed a kiss to her lips—then, he took the medallion from around her throat and laid it on the cold stone.

Terlo cleared their throat. They held a book under one arm, the ritual they thought might work, written in Auldlochan—though, of course, the ritual was not written for these purposes. “Erm, Commander Seward, may I have a magelight?”

“Of course,” Kier said. He summoned another on his palm, then handed it to Terlo. Terlo joined Locke and Kier by the tomb and set the book on the stone, opening to a marked passage. Caspian helped them prepare, setting out a row of sharpened blades on the altar. “I will begin directing, then, if you please?”