Page 73 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

She sat back, knees to her chest, as it heated. The opalescent colors quickened, moving outwards and going opaque. Wherever Celestine was, she’d feel a heat against her wrist on the bracelet of pearl-like beads she wore.

It took only a couple of minutes for the duchess’s voice to follow. “Report?”

“It’s Finch,” Nore said.

Celestine’s voice warmed instantly. “Finch,” she said, almost a sigh of relief. “I was worried about you. Are you on your way back?”

Nore covered her eyes with her hands. They weren’t even close. “No,” she said. “Still on our way north. We’ve hit a hitch getting to the Isle—”

“What kind of hitch?” Celestine asked, her voice sharper and also louder, as if she was holding the pearls close to her mouth. The top of the orb in the grate started to darken, a crack appearing. Nore frowned.

“Our friend did not secure the appropriate documentation for us to travel. I’m working on it, but it may cause a delay.”

Nore wasn’t sure what she was expecting: not comfort from Celestine, certainly, but possibly commiseration. Acknowledgment. “I see,” the duchess said.

“I’m doing everything I can to—”

“I need you on that isle,” Celestine said, her voice garbling slightly as the crack in the orb widened. They were running out of time. These communication orbs were fiddly, and really only useful for proof of life, not extended discussions on strategy. “Whatever else you’re doing, set it aside. Recovering the artifact for me is your only priority now. Do you understand?”

“I am doing my—”

The orb shattered, glass and magic sizzling in the grate.

“Best,” Nore finished. She sighed, falling back, lying flat on the floor. She draped an arm over her eyes.

She was running out of options. If the High Lady was as fearsome as everyone believed, Nore’s lack of knowledge would not stand. She did not have years of study or a personal understanding of years of politics within Idistra. Celestine had prevented her from building an information base after her marriage to Caspian had been revealed, so she had intentionally turned her back on all but the most commonly known information, lest Celestine find fault in her. She felt her mind running into walls, racing around corners only to find sheer drops that awaited, all because she fundamentally did not have the information she needed.

Gail was the least helpful person she had ever met, who was happy to use Nore for whatever he needed and unwilling to reciprocate on any front. What he lacked in malicious intent he made up for in sheer cowardice and incompetence, without the creativity to avoid the consequences of either. She could not rely on him for anything, knowledge or logistics or any other part of her job.

Caspian was right: she would make a mistake, show her hand at some crucial moment purely out of a lack of knowledge.

She needed help. She needed him.

Nore lay there, agonizing over it, for far too long. Long enough that she was still there when the door clattered in the jamb, the bolt catching—then Caspian somehow managed to bypass the locks and swung it open.

He took a quick breath—then sighed. “Finch,” he said wearily. “Are you dead?”

“I wish,” she muttered.

She heard him close the door, then tracked his footsteps as he crossed the room. She heard the rustle of his clothing as he knelt down next to her. Then his hand was warm on her wrist, pulling her arm away from her face.

She looked at him unhappily. Caspian searched her face. Gently, he put her arm down over her stomach, then brushed the hair away from her face.

She caught his hand. “When you offered to help me—I need to know. Why? What changed your mind?”

A dozen emotions flickered over his face. He pulled her arm up and sat next to her, mirroring her posture, his left hip pressed against hers. Nore wrapped her arms around her knees and drew them to her chest, making a study of his expression.

Finally, Caspian looked away. “Your scars,” he admitted. “I didn’t…” He shook his head. “A thousand times I had thought of you and whatever consequences you had to face. What consequences you would face, if I let you and this mission fail. And in none of my imaginings did I…” He met her gaze, the corner of his mouth turning up; the expression made him look no less agonized. “I thought of her reducing your business. Bringing in another spy to make you jealous. Going after some other unknown part of your life. But in no reality did I think she was capable of hurting you. You’re her niece. Her favorite. And yet…”

Nore looked away, the shame burning in her cheeks. The scars branded her as a traitor, a liability. At least the scar on her ribs showed she was willing to die for her job. The ones on her back? There was nothing honorable about that.

But Caspian had never loved her for being honorable.

“I want your help,” she said.

A silence. She didn’t dare look at him. But she heard the smile in his voice when he said, “Want, or…?”

“I’m not telling you I need you, if that’s what you’re waiting for,” she said.