Page 68 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

He didn’t seem to struggle with the pretending so much. Not anymore. If only the pretending didn’t feel so real.

The scholar’s office was in the back of the library, overlooking the manicured lawn below. The room reminded Nore of Edith’s study in the big, old house she used to own: all carved wood and thick leather-bound tomes, coated in a healthy layer of dust. Nore had inherited the house, too, along with the business; she’d found it too full of bad memories to consider keeping and had sold it off instead.

Unlike Edith’s study, the room was also full of illustrations of artifacts and small bits and bobs: she recognized a vase of cracked spellstones by the window and a rack of Pzyetan potions on one of the shelves, in front of what she suspected was a Lindle calculations book for early magic users. She’d worked through a similar one in her youth with agonizing slowness. There was a desk in the corner, laden with papers, and a large table closer to the door that could fit all of them—though that, too, was crammed with even more books, papers, and illustrations.

The scholar in question paced near the window, their arms crossed in front of their chest. They wore a blue suit so dark it was nearly black, picked through with brown thread. They were lean and tall, with close-cropped black hair and rich umber skin. The professor turned toward the trio when they entered but did not speak until the door closed.

“Lovely to see you, Borry,” the professor said, moving around the table to hug Gail. Behind Gail’s back, Caspian mouthed Borry? to Nore, like they were on the same side, like their discussion that morning hadn’t happened. It took quite a lot of effort to suppress her smile.

“And you. It’s been too long.”

“But please, I’m being rude. Who are your companions?” the scholar asked, a kind smile easing across their face. It had been so long since Nore had seen an expression like that, without presumption; a smile that didn’t need something of her.

“Professor, this is Ms. Nore Gordon and her husband, Mr. Caspian Khari. And this is Professor Terlo Augustine, who leads the Idistran department of history, archaeology, and folkloristics at the university. I thought Professor Augustine would be uniquely positioned to advise you on your search.”

He didn’t, Nore noted, say our search. She filed that away for later prodding.

Caspian pulled out a chair for Nore; she sat without complaint and he settled in the chair next to her. “That does seem useful,” she agreed.

“I hope so,” Professor Augustine said. “My particular focus is on archaeology and how it connects to folkloristics through artifacts of the past. Magical artifacts, more particularly.”

Nore couldn’t help herself. She looked right at Caspian. “You know a thing or two about magical artifacts, don’t you?”

Caspian appeared unruffled. “Not in any truly critical way,” he said, as if he didn’t understand the weight of what she said. But she saw the way his hand tightened under the table—he, too, was probably thinking of their long-over game of cat and mouse. “And certainly very little about Idistran artifacts. I imagine Professor Augustine knows far more than I could ever hope to.”

“Terlo, please,” the professor said. “No need to treat me like my students do.”

Nore inclined her head. She preferred to lose formalities anyway.

“Idistra has a rich history of folk artifacts,” Terlo continued, opening one of the heavy tomes. “Though the nations of Idistra operate on an inherent system, as with most inherents, there is folkloric overlap into a constructive one. For when a body holds magic, is it not the next step to question what also can hold that power? What can strengthen it?

“None of them are fully Idistran, really—our magic is inherent, stemming from the body, so it cannot be placed within an object. But tracing where the artifacts came from tells us our history, and how our system interacts with others.”

They flipped through pages and pages of close-cramped text—the sight of it was enough to make Nore’s head spin and served as a reminder of why she had never gone to university or thrived in Lindan’s calculated magic system. She did not have the brain for that type of study. She preferred figures over all of it; figures always made sense to her. Spycraft was as far as her intuition went, and that was a more enticing puzzle than any spell ever was.

Terlo found a page of illustrations, turning it to face Caspian and Nore. Gail was over by the window, looking at the spines of other volumes; Nore wondered if he already knew much of this.

“These, for example,” Terlo said, waving a hand over the page, “are prophecy coins from Cleoc Strata. It is said that foreseers can push their visions into them for storage, and they can be reactivated by any, not just a mage or well, to understand the vision.”

“That’s very interesting,” Nore said.

“And these,” Terlo said, flipping a few pages, “are protective icons. They went out of fashion during the war, but it is said that making an icon of protection has the power to redirect magic.”

“Hmm.” Nore wondered if they went out of fashion during the war because, like most magical artifacts peddled in Nettlepool’s many markets, they didn’t actually work.

Terlo pushed the book aside, folding their hands on the table in front of them. “So. What is it you’re looking for, then?”

Nore exchanged a glance with Gail, over by the bookcase; Gail nodded minutely. “We’re looking for an artifact that has the power of resurrection,” Nore said.

Terlo paused, clearly waiting for more. When Nore did not add to the statement, they asked, “What kind of resurrection?”

A silence. Caspian looked at Nore. Nore looked at Gail. Gail cleared his throat delicately. “The… usual kind?” Nore said, trying with all her might to make it not sound like a question, and failing magnificently.

“Well,” Terlo said. “Most of the items I’ve heard of that have anything to do with resurrection are Calderan—you’ve been to Calder?”

“No,” Nore said quickly. The bone resurrections of north Calder always gave her a bad feeling. “We’re sure this is Idistran.”

“Intriguing—then we will need specifics. A resurrection of the soul?” Terlo asked. “Of the body? Of health? Of magic? Of power? A resurrection of the womb? Or a resurrection of love?”