Page 44 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“Yes,” Gail said. “That is what would be best for everyone.” He watched Nore with the crate but did not offer any assistance. “My lord has measures in place, but they have failed thus far—he is certain there is something keeping the High Lady from accepting a suitor, and the Idistran United Council grows restless. They are pushing her to choose a partner by the end of the harvest, for there is fear of what will happen if we go into another winter without a guarantee of consistent power—she must be bound to a mage, someone with a strong hand to support the power she has.

“We fear what would happen if she continues to stall—my own Nestrias is patient, but I cannot say the same for Epras, nor Luthos, who faced particular humiliation in the way the war ended. She has finally agreed to marry before the year’s end, but my lord does not trust she will follow through and wants to ensure that the safest option is chosen.”

“Very well,” Nore said. She had been assigned more difficult missions than this, even knowing the High Lady of Locke had a bloodthirsty reputation. She was familiar, too, with the well-worn dance of political matches. “And the artifact? What do you know of that?”

Gail shook his head. “Not much. That’s why I’m going outside, for consultation. We have an appointment with my dear friend in Eprain next week, after we’ve made some connections. Your spycraft follows your trade, correct?”

Nore nodded. “I use my connections through my clients to learn information for the crown. It helps that, by nature, people are far more forthcoming when they’re drunk. Even more forthcoming when you’re the one supplying the drink—you’re less than a conversation partner, then. Somewhere between a confidante and an employee. Whatever you are, you’re below their notice beyond the conversation you can foster.”

“That’s very interesting,” Gail said, and she felt his eyes on her again, regarding her more closely. “I’ve met other merchant spies, but never a wine trader. I certainly see the benefit.”

“Precisely. People don’t always remember what they tell me—but I do. Of course, it takes some time to follow leads, to figure out what is drunken gossip and what could be real information, but I enjoy it.” Nore wiped the dust off her hands and retrieved her bottle. “Well, shall we?”

“Please,” Gail said. “It’s freezing.”

They locked up the outbuilding behind them, and Nore tried to bury her hands in her pockets as deep as they would go. The walk back was short, but it was so cold, distance barely mattered.

“Is it hard,” he asked as they were nearly back to the front porch, “to be married, and yet still keep secrets like this?”

“No,” Nore said. She searched for words. “We’ve always been good at keeping our secrets.”

Caspian did not join them for wine. Nore had one glass, idly discussing Ortissian politics with Gail, before the anxiety of Caspian’s absence got to her. She made her excuses and retreated upstairs, leaving Gail the rest of the bottle.

The fire in their room was lit but banked low, the crackling warmth turning the room cozy and close. Caspian was shirtless, hair still wet, kneeling on the floor as he dug through his trunk. He’d taken his gloves off, and Nore looked away sharply, focusing instead on latching the door.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Marvelous, thanks.”

Nore sighed. “I need your honesty. I’m responsible for you.”

“No one said you had to be responsible for me.”

“If you die, you know what I lose.”

He stood, pulling on a softer pair of trousers for sleeping. How quickly they’d defaulted to domesticity, Nore thought. She looked away, cheeks blazing.

He pushed past her, toward the bed. She caught his wrist. “Caspian.”

He turned toward her, just enough. She pressed her free hand to his forehead. He was nearly back to a normal temperature.

He took her hand from his forehead, gently removing it, then disentangled her other hand from his wrist. “I’m fine,” he said, seriously this time. His eyes flickered shut, an exhalation of breath; she sensed the moment of honesty before it came. “I don’t do well with prisons. Always get sick after. And I’m sure the voyage did nothing to help.”

“You’ve never been good with illness,” Nore allowed.

Caspian’s mouth turned up at the corner; a smile, weighted with mourning. “I thought we weren’t speaking of the past.”

Nore looked away.

He slid into bed first, taking the side against the wall and allowing Nore to be closer to the door. She appreciated it, even though she knew that if Caspian truly wanted to escape, she would not pose a threat.

She watched him settle, still standing by her side of the bed. Last night, she had hesitated sleeping in a bed with him, but there had been no other choice, and he’d been burning with fever. It hadn’t felt like much of a decision, and even then, it had weighed on her.

Now… This room, with its warmth and dim light, felt like a different scenario entirely. It reminded her too much of the thousands of nights they’d done this before—not of love, or even of sex. But of the consistency of it: of going to bed, and knowing Caspian would be there on the other side of the mattress, within reach.

It was agony, considering doing that again, even for a mission. And what if she allowed herself to get too comfortable? What if this was all a farce, and he would betray her and humiliate her all over again? What if she lost everything she’d ever wanted, all over again, because of Caspian?

What if he found out how weak she really was?