Page 53 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

Caspian laughed. “I like all wine,” he said. She sensed the edge of flirtation in his voice. Her hand paused halfway through pouring the new grenoir blaus.

“I bet she pays you to say that,” Fiona said, smirking.

Caspian smiled in that aloof way he’d used on patrons at the pub forever ago. He hesitated, looking over Nore’s assorted bottles, and selected one seemingly at random. “This one has always been a favorite of mine,” he said, presenting the label.

Nore looked—and immediately wished she hadn’t. The bottle in his hands was the same kind they’d drunk on their wedding night. A different year, more expensive, but the same.

She hadn’t had it, willingly, in years. It always reminded her of things she’d rather not think about.

She didn’t realize he was studying her until she looked up, caught his gaze. Her cheeks flamed. Nore took the bottle from him a little too roughly. That smirk sparked across his lips, familiar and teasing, and she detested it.

“One of those, then, to try,” Lucia said, waving her hand. “And glasses for you, as well.”

Nore pasted on a fake smile, probably not one of her more convincing attempts. “If you insist,” she said.

It was Caspian who poured when the servants returned with more glasses. He pretended to drink, but Nore observed how he hovered dangerously close to one of Lucia’s potted plants, and moments later, how the soil was suspiciously damp.

“You speak with a Cloisters accent,” Elspeth said to Caspian, referring to a region in the southeast of Luthar, clearly in her cups. Elspeth offered her a piece of bread but she waved it away.

“I was born in the area,” Caspian said, handing Fiona a glass. “I’m from Darinot.”

“I think I once had a cousin of a cousin in Darinot,” Lucia said. “But one so often loses track of such things.”

“Shall we go over your order, then?” Nore interrupted with a smile. She held her own glass delicately—she did not usually drink more than a glass during these tastings. She needed to keep her head clear, even as her clients got looser and looser.

She had to ensure Caspian did not reveal information about himself, or them, or why they were really there.

“A case of his favorites,” Fiona said, making eyes at Caspian. Nore did not look to see if it was a gaze that he returned. Whatever he did was his business, as long as it did not fundamentally interfere with her business.

“Of course,” Nore said, making note. “The Ortissian blush.” If her pen made deeper marks on the paper than necessary, she did not think it was a matter of worry.

Though Nore tried to steer the conversation back to anything surrounding Luthos, Lennot, or other suitors, there was no more pertinent information to be gleaned.

After the women had made their selections and moved on to another room for a more filling meal, Nore packed up her things. Her thoughts keep turning to that well, trying to figure out how to inconspicuously get her alone without anyone else in the household—or Caspian—noticing. If she were Gail, she probably wouldn’t have to worry about the inconspicuous nature of it, but she was not.

Caspian was retrieving wine from outside when the girl approached her cautiously. “Ms. Gordon?” she said.

Nore smiled, straightening, wiping the dust and cork from her hands. They were alone in the room, but she could not be certain, with so many doors and the acoustics, that they would not otherwise be heard. “Yes, hello—”

“Additional requests from my mistress,” she said, thrusting forward an envelope: creamy white, sealed in wax, the monogram making a swirling and intricate letter G.

Nore fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, taking the envelope and tucking it into her pocket.

They left as sunset crept along the horizon and they made their way north, stopping for the night at an inn in a small market town where Gail was already waiting.

Once they had their rooms at the inn, Nore feigned thirst and went downstairs. She found Gail sitting in the back corner of the tavern, waiting for her to share what information she had or had not learned.

Nore handed him the envelope, deciding against her better judgment to abstain from commenting on the sealing wax. To her surprise, Gail opened the note right there in the pub, cracking the wax and scanning over the note. He sighed, then threw the paper down on the table and ran his hand through his hair.

Nore raised an eyebrow.

“Drivel,” Gail said. “Unhelpful.”

“Should I…?” Nore said, reaching for the letter.

“Please,” Gail said, waving a hand. “Burn it when you can, if you don’t mind.”

Nore pressed her lips together and did not comment. When she’d agreed to take on this favor for Celestine, she had wrongly assumed she’d be treated as an equal, not Gail’s subordinate.