Page 6 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“No, thank you,” Nore said, forcing a placid smile. She was always polite to Celestine, even as her heart tripped in her chest. It was that old emotion, as if she were a girl again. Choose me, she wanted to beg, falling to her knees at the duchess’s feet. Make use of me, and see that I am true.

How many years, she wondered, would she feel she needed to make up for her own mistakes?

Until your scars fade, that dark, inner voice whispered. Until you forget.

Celestine settled back in her seat, ankles crossed, hands placed delicately in her lap. Her suit was pale violet, her gloves white as milk and frothy with lace. Nore was impressed that the duchess had managed to wear that ensemble in Nettlepool without getting it dirty, though she supposed they were far enough from the industrial quarters. Nore glanced down at her own hem to see that the dark fabric was damp and speckled with mud.

“Tell me, darling,” Celestine said. “The traps you laid—how are they faring?”

Nore winced, looking away. She hated admitting to Celestine when she had been outmaneuvered.

“The thief returned, and they did not trip the enchantment to strip Lindle magic, nor did they seem affected by the paste spread on the boxes, which should disable other instructive magic. They remained similarly unaffected by any shielding attempted—so if they’re using something constructive, it’s impervious to such means.

“The thief dismantled the tracking spells I placed on one of the stolen crates and removed all other ensorcelled objects from the next shipment. Physical barriers, magical barriers, increased guard presence… nothing works. There has to be some way they’re detecting the magic or dismantling it, yet not tripping any of the protections that would interfere with whatever magic they’re using to avoid detection. They’re getting bold—increasing frequency. I believe we’ll only have one or two chances left to catch them before they disappear.”

Also, Nore did not say, not yet: I think this thief may outsmart me, and my clerk has caught on, and I am exhausted.

Celestine nodded, taking this in. It was a disappointing report. Nore searched for anything that would reinforce her competence. “I have also done a… more thorough investigation into my staff,” Nore said, a note quieter. “I don’t believe my chief clerk is involved, though I have my suspicions on the sixth clerk.”

Celestine waved a hand. “I’ll set one of my lower spies on them—don’t waste your time. What is your next move?”

“I’ve spoken to a contact about an artifact that may be of use, to try to strip enchantments more effectively.” Nore laced her fingers together more tightly in her lap. She hoped that Hands would come through for her, as he often did—because she really was running out of ideas here, and disappointing Celestine was not an option.

But what was she to do? Put herself in a crate and… what? Spring out at them?

Perhaps, she thought, that may not be the worst plan. As if in protest—or reminder—the scar over her ribs throbbed.

Besides, she’d tried planting watching guards in her ships: the thief avoided robbing her any night there was surveillance, so they’d probably be aware of her hiding in a godsforsaken crate, too.

“It sounds like it’s all in hand, then,” Celestine said.

A pause. A beat. A moment for Nore to confess her frustration, to say that it was too much. But she liked a challenge, didn’t she? That was what Celestine expected of her.

Except this didn’t feel like a challenge. It felt vexing and familiar in a way that got her hackles up.

“It is,” Nore said. She smiled, close-lipped.

“Good,” Celestine said. She shifted in her chair, unfolding gracefully and then repositioning, all fluid motions that made Nore wonder if Celestine had any training herself. In the years of working for her employer, Celestine had never gotten her hands dirty—but that didn’t mean there weren’t risks, in their line of work. “I’ve traced some threads on what has been stolen. All correspondence lifted specifically pertains to Idistra.”

Nore looked up, her thoughts screeching to a halt. “Idistra?” she repeated, her lips barely forming the word.

Of course, she knew the duchess kept a careful eye on the northern collection of nation-states—after all, everyone kept an eye on them, and they were uneasily close to Lindan’s northern reaches. Idistra was comprised of five—No, Nore corrected herself, six, don’t forget the sixth—nations with one shared system of magic. It was an inherent system, relying on two types of people to operate: wells, who generated and held power, and mages, who tethered to wells to perform magic. The nations were fractious, only a few years removed from a brutal war, and, to Nore’s limited understanding, deeply complicated.

“Yes,” Celestine said, her gaze on Nore far too canny. “In case that narrows things down.”

Nore paid particular attention to what her mouth was doing, and her hands. She knew her tells (middle finger rubbing upper knuckle of index, mouth flinching down at the corners), and Celestine could read her better than anyone. Sometimes Nore wondered if their shared blood had anything to do with it; if there was a layer of familial similarity in their stressors; if Celestine ever looked at Nore and saw an echo of Nore’s father, with his red hair and freckles and charming charisma.

“I don’t work on Idistra,” Nore said, careful her tone showed no change. “But if it’s necessary, I can look into anyone who would be targeting that information.” She saw the spark flare in Celestine’s eye. “But I personally don’t have a handle on their allegiances, and I have no connections. I don’t know the high families for each nation, nor do I know their tension points, so I’m not sure how much I would glean from the context.”

“I’ll send Sparrow with details,” Celestine said. “You still speak the language, don’t you?”

“Rarely,” Nore said. Language came easily to her, the way magic did for other people. It was good for her profession, to be able to speak to customers in their own tongue. She had not done much business in Idistra—there wasn’t much need for a foreign wine merchant in a place where, until recently, the associated nation-states were entangled in a war—but she’d had more than enough exposure to the language in her early adulthood to speak it with near fluency.

But she could not let herself get distracted, not now. “I’m still at work on getting to the bottom of Audrick Millen’s plight, so it may take time.”

“The thief is your priority,” Celestine said. “All other assignments should be set aside.”

Nore pressed her lips together. She’d spent a lot of time getting everything in order for this dinner—she couldn’t just set it aside. She couldn’t set any of her work aside, because the second she did, it suddenly became relevant and urgent.