Page 86 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“Why did you choose it, then?” the woman asked.

“I didn’t,” Nore said. “Obligation led me there.”

“I see.” The woman looked away, to that crumbling building through the trees. Nore had the feeling she had come here seeking solace, too, and Nore had disturbed it, but even looking at her for a few minutes, she did not strike Nore as the type of woman who revealed much about her emotions.

Nore was, unfortunately, familiar with that.

“It’s very early,” Nore said. “Do you usually walk this early?”

“Sometimes.” The woman turned and recommenced her walking. KITALMA, she noted the stone read in full, then something else she couldn’t make out—the carving was mossed over.

Nore hesitated for a moment, unsure if she was meant to follow, then hurried to catch up. Looking at her askance, Nore thought the woman was about the same age as Nore herself—in fact, she could be younger, and she looked it when her eyes were closed. It was those eyes that looked ageless. “I like it when the sun has just risen, when the Isle is quiet. It allows me to think. To find a clear mind.”

“It is lovely,” Nore said.

“Your city. It is not in Idistra.”

“No,” Nore said. “I’m Lindle.”

“Here for the festival, you said.”

“Yes.”

“Have you attended before?”

“No,” Nore said, unsure why she was answering truthfully. “My husband wanted to see it.”

“And he did not come on your walk?”

“He was otherwise occupied,” Nore said. She did not know why she was still here, conversing—but it was the woman’s bearing. Her accent. A suspicion on Nore’s part—unfounded.

They broke through the trees. The cliffs spread out ahead of them, and then the line of the sea. Far off, Nore could see the dark shadow of Idistra. The wind caught her hair, swirling it around her head, tugging at the woman’s braid. Nore glanced down the path, at the crumbling stone structure that clung to the edge. It reminded her of the ruins of the churches all over Lindan, ransacked and left to rot when the previous settlers had been overpowered by invaders. Strong stone, an aisle down the middle, a tomb-like altar, and the remains of a great window, looking out to sea. There was something unspeakably sad about it.

“Do you often walk by yourself so early?” the woman asked, mirroring Nore’s earlier question back on her.

Never, unless she was on a job—but considering that kept her up at all hours and in motion, she supposed it counted. “Sometimes,” she said. “When sleep eludes me.”

“This is a nice path for it,” the woman said, nodding to the way they came, then looking ahead to the one that wound down the cliff. “It’s often deserted—too many think it’s haunted.”

Nore glanced back at the cemetery through the trees. She understood why that feeling prevailed. “Is it?”

“Probably.”

Nore watched the woman as she turned her face into the wind and closed her eyes. She was young, Nore decided. Young, and scarred, and cold, and inexplicably sad.

Garna had said that this was an Isle full of soldiers. Looking at the woman, Nore understood the ramifications of what that could mean. What battles this woman was fighting that kept her up at night, or woke her up early in the morning.

She wondered what Caspian had endured during his war.

“The sun will be up soon,” the woman said. She still did not open her eyes. “And training will finish shortly after.”

It was a dismissal if Nore had ever heard one. She wondered at the woman, taking her in, holding her suspicions close. It was impossible to tell anything from the cloak—it was good quality, but it was clearly old and a bit worn. The blade, too, had been sheathed before Nore could get a good look at it.

“Then I should start back,” Nore said. She hesitated, not fully certain why. “Will I see you at the festival?”

“Perhaps,” the woman said, with the ghost of a smile. “With a preference for ‘probably not.’”

Nore smothered a smile. “Here, then, I suppose,” she said carefully, “if you feel like enlightening an outsider about the ghosts.”