Page 78 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

They were invited that night to dine at the home of Garna Thrick, the festival organizer who’d arranged for Nore’s invitation, close to their inn near Maerin’s center. Based on her research, Garna was formerly an officer in Cleoc Strata’s military and had some power on the Isle, but Nore couldn’t quite figure out how.

Nore changed her dress four times before she settled on gray silk—blending in, she decided, was the best decision until she knew more about the Isle’s fashion and customs—and wore her hair loose over her shoulders. When she was ready, she selected a mixed case of Lindle wines from some of her favorite vineyards. Caspian was happy enough to carry it as he walked beside Nore. It was just the two of them attending—Terlo was visiting one of their former university colleagues in an effort to learn more about the artifact they were seeking.

Garna lived in one of the narrow houses all in a row a street back from the main square of Maerin. She kept no staff; she was there to receive them when they arrived, glowing with a frivolity Nore herself had never felt as she whisked away their coats. She was tall and athletic in build, with short-cropped curls in a dark blonde shot through with gray. At a guess, Nore thought she was in her late thirties or early forties.

“I was delighted to get your letter, Nore,” Garna said, leading them back to a parlor. “We have lots of good things here on Locke, but gods alive, I miss decent wine.”

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” Nore said, scanning over the decoration on the walls, the layout of the house, and Garna herself. There were paintings hanging, most of them of cliffs and sea and villages that looked close to those on the mainland. There was another painting at the end, in a romantic style that differed from the portraiture Nore was accustomed to, of Garna gazing adoringly at another woman wrapped tight in her arms.

Nore wasn’t sure exactly what they would get from Garna. If she was in charge of organizing the festival and had been from the start, Nore suspected that she had some personal connection to the High Lady—or at least had worked with her for long enough to know something of her. If Nore could get a preliminary sense of who was close to Locke, she could start weaving her web in earnest.

Garna was dressed in black trousers and a white shirt with a persimmon vest. Nore read the interest on Caspian’s face as he eyed her. He preferred to dress ostentatiously, but in her bid to make them fit in, Nore had made him change his sleeveless doublet at least three times.

“You’re originally from Cleoc?” Nore asked, following Garna and settling down on a couch. Through the door, she could see the dining room with its table, laid for dinner.

“Cleoc Strata,” Garna corrected, not unkindly. “The two together are the nation; Cleoc alone is the title of our High Lady.”

“Of course,” Nore said. “My apologies—I know the language in a technical sense, but there are always nuances.”

“Your grasp of Idistran—any languages beyond your own, really—astounds me. I was never one for the trick myself.”

“Thank you,” Nore said.

“Now, what have you brought for me?” Garna shifted her attention to Caspian, taking the case from him. She set it down and Nore watched the glee in her eyes as she opened it. There was no way for Nore to do research on Garna’s preferences ahead of time, but she’d selected four of her personal favorites that were suitable for a wide range of tastes.

“Is this a vintage casabon?” Garna asked, going for one of the bottles of deep burgundy wine from Nisielle. “I haven’t seen this in decades. Nish wine is so difficult to get around here.”

“I wasn’t sure what you had already,” Nore said, “so I picked a selection. There’s that casabon, a Maroushan plum wine, an Ortissian blush, and our signature Lindle mead. Though it’s not technically wine, I like to include it, as it’s the specialty of my nation.”

“You are too generous,” Garna said, pulling each bottle up and squinting at the labels. “Anything they manage to import here is barrel piss in comparison.”

Caspian smiled at Nore—she wasn’t sure what to make of it. It looked almost like pride. He sat down next to her, stretching his legs out in front of her, and rested a hand on her thigh in a move that almost looked natural.

“Well, I’m happy to supplement it,” Nore said, hurrying to recover. She laid her own hand over Caspian’s. He turned his palm up to catch her fingers. “I hope we can build a relationship for the future—I imagine that establishing a supply of good wine was low on the priority list, but I’d love to expand my trade to Idistra. What is the Isle’s position when it comes to imports?”

“Oh, it’s… difficult.” She frowned, suddenly thinking of something. “Are you planning to import anything else during your stay? The port guard might not have been clear about the shields—you have to speak to the harbormistress before any ships enter the port. No ships without clearances can safely pass through the shields without previous arrangements.”

“Yes, worry not,” Nore said. She’d read the information from her preliminary acceptance so many times she’d nearly memorized it—and already spoken to the necessary parties to arrange for two more shipments.

Garna nodded, considering. “But yes. It would be nice to have more variety here and more… working relationships. I personally handle very little, but I can put you in touch with the minister of trade.”

“That would be wonderful,” Nore said. She felt the thread slip into place, tightening.

Garna poured them all small glasses of an Idistran liquor that was woody and rich with only a hint of a bitter aftertaste. “Beyond my own selfish interest, I was surprised to receive your letter, Nore. We don’t often have continentals taking interest in our little festivals or trade.”

Nore took another tiny sip. She wasn’t yet certain if she liked the liquor. “My husband is Luthrite. Now that the war is over, we’ll be spending more time here, and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to start establishing connections.”

If her lie surprised Caspian, he made no move to show it.

“Perfectly understandable,” Garna said.

“How did you come to be involved in the festival organization?” Caspian asked. Nore shifted, squeezing Caspian’s hand. She did not like to come right out with specific questions—she did not want her new acquaintances to feel that they were being interrogated.

“It’s a long story.” Garna twisted her glass this way and that, watching as the liquid shifted and the light caught the edges of the cut-glass pattern. “It was a curious time, after the war. There were so many of us here who did not know what to do with one another—we’d spent so long fighting that the idea of breaking bread together was almost laughable.”

“But you had to live here together,” Nore surmised.

“Right. So: a party.” Garna looked at Nore, not quite head-on. She had lovely eyes: clear, icy blue, wide, and bright. There was a scar over the bridge of her nose. Nore, who had only been on the receiving end of a blade a handful of times, wondered how much that injury had hurt. “The first one was just a few months after the Resurrection, but we decided to move it to its proper anniversary after that. And it’s gone from feeling quite like a forced community event to a real festival.”