Page 37 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

His invisibility. The medallion stripping the enchantments away. “That’s how you robbed me,” she said, her thumb stroking idly at the chain she wore around her neck. “You wrote an enchantment for invisibility over your skin.”

“Perhaps I did,” he said. Of course he would not give her a straight answer, but it didn’t matter.

She went to her trunk, going to a small box Celestine always left for her, full of artifacts that could sometimes help her on her way. Of course, there were three vials of Nadiran ink.

She looked over at him. Caspian winked. Nore rolled her eyes, shoved the ink back in the box and the box in her trunk, and locked it all securely.

Caspian sank into the bath, sighing as the water hit his skin. He’d washed between the prison and the ship, but she was certain he’d been unable to since then. Caspian loved his baths and always had. The kindness in this annoyed her, so Nore turned her attention back to her own food. She drank the soup, wincing slightly at the flavor.

“Are you hungry?” Nore asked, because she would not let him die on her watch, now that he had agreed to cooperate on the mission.

“A meal and a bath? Gordon, you certainly know how to treat a prisoner.”

She didn’t gratify that with a response, but she brought his mug over and started to give it to him—then caught his right hand.

Caspian hissed, trying to pull back.

Nore looked at the angry red wound that ran across his palm, burnt and blistered. But besides that, his hand was whole.

Carefully, she set his mug of soup down and knelt beside the bath, drawing his arm toward her to have a closer look.

“What is this?” Nore asked, her fingertip prodding the edge of the wound. It was an ugly thing, but not infected.

Caspian tried to pull his hand back; this time, she let him. He held it protectively to his chest. “Port guard got to me before Celestine’s order of protection reached them. They bound my hands with flame-poisoned ropes. Common treatment round these parts.”

Annoyingly, the feeling most prevalent rushing through Nore was anger that someone would raise a hand against him—then relief that they had not done worse. She tried to bury the sudden flare of hatred for the brutality of the port guard, swallowing it down best as she could. “They didn’t otherwise harm you? And they didn’t take a finger when they caught you?”

Caspian held both hands up, fanning his fingers: five on his right, four on his left. “No,” he said. “No fewer than the last time you saw me.”

She did not miss the bitter edge to his tone. Nore shifted, sitting more comfortably on the floor beside the bath. Unthinking, she reached forward, her fingers tracing the outline of his right palm, the bottom of each finger.

“You still have all nine,” she said. “You haven’t been caught since. Not in Lindan.”

Caspian pulled his hands back, sinking them under the water with a wince. “I only seem to get caught when you’re involved.”

Nore looked at his face. He was watching her—searching for weaknesses.

He broke the contact first, ducking his head underwater. He took the soap Nore offered and washed his hair with only his left hand. Nore stood, her knees creaking.

“Finch, the things I said in my letters—”

“I don’t think we should speak of the past,” she said. “It complicates things, and I would like this to be as easy as possible.”

There was a pause behind her, a soft splash, then quiet. He was sitting upright when she turned, his hair pushed back from his face. “If that’s what you want,” Caspian said. He reached out and took a mug of soup, settling back in the bath. His cheeks were still pink, high with color, but the bath seemed to have improved things. He took a slow sip of soup, not quite meeting Nore’s eye.

“Good,” she said.

“Good,” he echoed.

Once he was clean, dressed, and back in bed, Nore felt like she was in slightly less danger. She gave him a tonic and checked his fever, which was present but ebbing. He watched her, eyelids drooping with medicinal drowsiness, as she tidied up the cabin. She fancied a bath herself, but she felt too vulnerable, getting naked and bathing with him in the room. Maybe when he was asleep.

Once she was satisfied with the state of the cabin, she found her medical kit in one of the bags. Nore took the gauze and antiseptic ointment and sat on the very edge of the bed, bracketed by the heat of Caspian’s thigh.

“Give me your hand,” she said.

“I don’t—”

“Give it.”