Page 50 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

Nore smiled back. She didn’t even think, then, to question the cost.

I’m hoping to seek clarity on the devotion they do or do not have to those who rule. I hold much affection for my own queen, though I don’t believe I’m in awe of her. But, thinking back, I don’t think Caspian ever spoke highly of his own Luthos, if he spoke of him at all. There were so many other discussions we had about Idistra, but that one—well, I suppose there’s no point trying to dig into the past.

Nore Gordon’s notes, decoded, 1636 UCE

ten

NORE WOKE ALONE.

Panic seized her for only a moment—the sheets were mussed on Caspian’s side of the bed, obviously slept in, still with the lingering trace of his warmth, but he was not there. But then she heard the voices in the kitchen, Caspian’s and Gail’s. She pressed her hand to her chest, forcing her heart to calm.

Caspian came in, his hair damp from bathing, beard neatly trimmed, wearing a clean white shirt rolled to his elbows and gray trousers that were perhaps a bit too snug on the thigh.

“Coffee,” he said, voice gruff. He handed it down to her; Nore took the mug with some perplexity.

It was milky and white, and probably rather sweet. “Oh,” Nore said.

Caspian hesitated, halfway through lacing his—well. Nore didn’t have a precise word for the garment, which was seemingly common in Idistra—to her, it looked like a cross between a peasant’s jerkin, a soldier’s gambeson, and a nobleman’s sleeveless doublet, but slightly padded to accommodate the cold. “What is it?”

Nore took a tentative sip. The taste of the coffee was visceral, plunging her back into memory: it was lazy days off, rare as they were, in the sanctuary of their bed; it was her back against his chest, his legs bracketing hers, both of them reading their own respective books, Grimsby somewhere angrily purring as Cas scratched behind his ears; it was home.

Nore couldn’t meet his eye. “I drink it black now.”

His brows drew together. He was wearing his gloves already, and Nore wondered if they were always among the first garments he put on, or if he was just doing it for her benefit. “You hate black coffee.”

She did, but she’d long since grown accustomed to its bitterness. “Black is less memorable,” Nore said. “Less distinctive.”

Caspian stared at her for a moment, the words coming together, his surprise locked down into disappointment. “Oh,” he said. “I can get you another, if—”

“No,” Nore said, her fingers tightening on the mug. His coffee was always her favorite. Though she knew it was the better decision to pour it out, forget everything, she could not bring herself to do it. “It’s… kind of you. Thank you.”

He nodded, saying no more. She did not look at him as he went out.

She drank her coffee and tried to forget the flicker of disappointment on his face. When she finally got up to prepare for the day, her thoughts kept skirting around that moment.

She was pinning up her hair when the sharp knock sounded on her door. She frowned at her reflection; Caspian wouldn’t knock. He would simply intrude.

“Yes?”

Gail stepped inside, fully dressed minus his boots. “I have your orders for this morning.”

Nore didn’t wince at the use of the word “orders,” but she certainly didn’t like it. She turned back to her reflection and her pins, partially so she could keep an eye on her own reflection. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

“Ah, well,” Gail said, shutting the door behind him. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and even without his reflection so clear behind her, she would have felt the force of his study on her. “I’m too deeply entwined in the politics of our nobility and too well known socially—that is one of the reasons my lord needed to outsource. It would be noted, if I went tramping through this.”

“Hmm,” Nore remarked around a mouthful of hairpins.

“I have a girl in the house permanently,” Gail said. “She’ll give her reports to you at a time that suits. And if anyone knows who Luthos is sending to court the High Lady of Locke—and possibly Epras and Scaelas too—it will be Lucia.”

“Then I will get that information from her,” Nore said, securing the last of her pins, “and we can be swiftly on our way north.”

Nore kept the latest updated map of Idistra open on her lap under her dossier, checking landmarks. As they drove, she found herself enchanted with the landscape. It was almost like the northernmost reaches of Lindan, where the mountains carved dark tracks across the horizon, and the valleys were a mix of lush grasses and scrabbly hills, sprouted with moss and lichen.

By early afternoon, they had dropped Gail off at a pub in a nearby market town and were riding down the great drive that led to the first of their meetings. Gail had arranged for them to meet with the adult daughter of Luthar’s trade minister, who was also related to Luthos, the High Lord, by a convoluted family tree Nore knew too well.

(It was the same family tree that had a scratched-out branch to Audra Corrigan, who then became Audra Khari—but the branch was far enough that she did not fear Caspian’s identity or relation to Luthos would be discovered.)

She reviewed her notes one last time as Caspian went to help the driver unload the case needed for this house. She’d spent the morning before they departed the cottage curating a sample case for Lucia Knight, her client.