Page 49 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

Nore searched for words. “Yes. Of course.”

“And Elinore.”

“Yes?”

“You are not to bear children while in my employ. You must remember that I took on the costs of your upbringing—to lose you now, in any way, would force my hand, and I have no desire to force you into repayment.”

Nore swallowed hard. She didn’t like thinking about what she owed Celestine—but again, the response came easily. “I did not intend to, Your Grace. I will take measures to prevent it—permanent would be preferable, actually; I have no desire for children, ever.”

Celestine nodded. “See to it that these measures are taken. And my final condition?”

Nore waited, her breath caught. “Yes?”

“Anything you hear,” Celestine said, “related to the interests of our nation, you are to report back to me. Is that understood?”

It wasn’t so different from what Celestine already asked of her. Nore was no fool: she knew, by now, what Celestine wanted of her. “Yes, Your Grace. I can do that.”

Celestine smiled, her berry-pink lips curved with joy that was convincing enough for Nore to release the breath she held. “Then I wish you contentment, Elinore, for as long as you can keep it.”

A month later, Nore had two days off of work for a saint’s day. Nore and Cas traveled together to a village down the coast, staying in a cottage that belonged to an uncle of one of the other dancers. The next morning, he presented her with an emerald green dress of fabric finer than anything Edith had ever given her. Later, as she braided her hair up around her head, Cas went out and returned with a crown of flowers, like the ones worn by Idistran brides. His gaze on her was soft and warm when she gave him a stone for each pocket, a symbol of grounding and steady foundations, following a Nadiran custom he probably thought she’d forgotten about.

They were married by the closest town’s priestclerk in a ceremony that took maybe fifteen minutes, twelve of which were occupied by signing various bits of paperwork. After, they went to one of the town’s secondhand shops and found rings they liked: two simple bands, brushed gold. Nore wore it that day, then looped it through a chain around her neck for every other.

And so, life went on.

Nore did not think often of the duplicity of it, because to do so was to drive herself insane, and why would she deny herself such happiness? Why, when she could have Edith’s favor, and the promise of Miller & Sons, and Celestine’s trust, and Cas all to herself?

She grew her client list. She started taking her own meetings, accompanying Edith out of town. Soon, she was trusted enough to travel on her own. She spent her evenings learning languages, speaking Idistran with Caspian at home and moving outward in different language groups. He seemed enchanted by the idea of Nore speaking his mother tongue and often praised her plentifully. Just as much as language, he helped her try to claw back some of the understanding of magic she’d neglected in her youth—but he rarely praised her for that, for there was often nothing to praise. When he was gone, she pored over spellbooks and calculations until she learned how to soften her features, to make herself unmemorable, if not indistinguishable. She practiced this in the mirror while the bath grew cold behind her, blurring her own features until she did not know her own face.

After weeks of discussion, when the time came that Nore’s temporary procedure was no longer effective, they decided that children were not in their future—Cas accompanied her in the early hours of the morning to the healer and held her hand as the procedure was carried out. When it was over, he lay next to her in bed and read to her, keeping her comfortable with a constant stream of tea and warm compresses to ease the cramping.

Cas still taught at the academy, filling in for local performances when he was needed, and he switched to a pub closer to home.

Half of the evenings, he was out working, returning so late that Nore was already asleep with their mercurial cat. On these nights, he bathed before he came to bed and crawled in next to her, his damp hair leaving spots on her nightgown as he buried his head in her shoulder. He cut his hair then, too; claimed it got in his way. Nore never told him that she missed it.

Sometimes, she accompanied him to the parties, lining her eyes in kohl and hiding her red hair under wigs as they lounged in smoky dining rooms full of artists—and if some of that salacious gossip made its way back to Celestine’s ear, Cas was none the wiser. When he was working late or covering performances, she spent evenings in disguise at the pubs on the quayside, nursing an ale. She listened to the chat around her, searching for anything that mattered. There were rumors of a young general in Marous raising his forces, rumors that would not pan out for years—but information was of value, and Nore saw that. Rumors, too, of the worsening situation in Idistra, and a peace between Isbeta and Nisielle. Nore filed these shifts away, news of foreign shores she had never been to—one of Celestine’s favorite lines was that, long before any battle was fought, many wars had already been played out in intelligence.

And Nore convinced herself that it didn’t matter. She was happy, so happy she was effervescent with it, happier than she could’ve ever hoped to be.

Even as she turned twenty-one, then twenty-two and beyond; the years came and went. Even as the duchess sent her on longer and more complex errands, and Edith began to give her more and more responsibility. Even as Caspian asked her, with growing frequency, if she would ever consider leaving Nettlepool—even as she played along, letting him believe that it was an option, even as bitterness twisted in her heart. She even went so far as to raise the question with Celestine, that summer when she was twenty-five: if Miller & Sons was so prosperous, surely they could move the base operations somewhere else?

Celestine only sighed. “Darling,” she said, taking Nore’s hands in hers. “I need you in Nettlepool. You understand, right?”

“Of course,” Nore agreed.

“There’s nothing else pushing this desire to move, is there?” Celestine asked, her gaze lingering on the chain around Nore’s neck. They were in one of the safe houses in Nettlepool’s outskirts, Celestine listening to Nore’s report from her latest trip to visit one of her trading partners in the northern territories.

“No,” Nore said, possibly too quickly. She did not want Celestine having any idea that it was Cas’s request for them to look farther afield. “It’s only the air,” she said. She glanced at her hands. “I miss Arlowe, sometimes, you know.”

Celestine examined her face, and it was as if she could see right through her. Nore had been working for Edith for a decade, and Celestine was all too good at reading her.

“I think the pressure of this hiding might be getting to you, and I need you focused,” Celestine said, leaning forward to pull the chain free, then weighing Nore’s wedding ring in her palm. “With that in mind, it’s time we talk about you taking on more responsibility, preparing to take over the business—and if you choose to make your relationship public once Edith is no longer in control of your wages, that is up to you.”

Nore chewed on her lip. It was something she wanted. If she could be open about her marriage, she would be able to better navigate relationships with clients and suppliers—and perhaps that openness would give Cas what he wanted, even if they couldn’t leave Nettlepool. Maybe he could travel without her, find his parents, and bring them back.

“You think I’m ready?” Nore asked.

Celestine smiled at her. “I know you are. Another year of training, maybe two, and then everything you want, Elinore, will be in your hands.”