Page 90 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

He laughed at that. “You’re not wrong.”

They did not speak again until they were installed at a seafront table in a noisy pub. Tern ate heartily, but Nore could do little more than poke at the lamb stew in front of her. When she could bear it no longer, she sighed and set her fork aside.

“Why did she send you?”

Tern looked at her, as if the words she’d spoken had spoiled his appetite. He reached for his napkin and wiped his already clean mouth. “She is… restless.”

“Impatient? You’ve spoken to her recently?”

“Yes, on both counts.”

Nore took a sip of her ale. “I am still within the boundaries of the mission,” she said.

“Yes, but I believe her highness expected more progress by now.”

Nore’s gaze snapped up. Tern had his lips pressed together like he, too, knew this was an unfair message.

“How am I to send reports?” Nore asked harshly. “I am cut off from everyone and everything. I have one orb remaining, and even if I wanted to use it, Caspian is always there, and I won’t waste it on a useless report. Even post is searched, Tern. And we are making progress.”

“It is not I who doubts you,” Tern said softly. He laid his hand over Nore’s—he’d always had such warm hands, even in the coldest winter sea. “But the duchess… knows the complications.”

Nore stared at Tern, horror dawning. “You know. About Caspian. About me.”

He looked away.

“Tern.”

“She has only said,” Tern said, his voice level and slow, “that any distractions should be dealt with as you see fit. But she wishes to remind you to keep them as only dalliances and nothing more.”

Nore laughed before she could help herself. “She thinks I’m fucking Caspian. That everything is taking longer because of it.”

Tern flinched, barely perceptible. “Not in a word.” He pulled his hand back, took a long sip of his drink. “She doesn’t care if you’re, to use your words, fucking Caspian. In fact, her exact instruction was, if it makes you move quicker, you should do everything in your power to… handle the distractions.”

Nore blinked, shocked. “She wants me to fuck Caspian?”

“Finch, I do not want to have this conversation with you,” Tern said, and there was a raw edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “I don’t like that Starling is here, either—I don’t trust him. I don’t trust Caspian. I don’t trust that scholar of yours. I don’t like this situation you’re in.” He set his empty glass down roughly. “Finish it, and come home. That is the duchess’s message. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Nore said. Something inside of her twisted.

“Good.” Tern stood, throwing a few bills on the table. Nore quickly put a glass over them before the wind could scatter the money. “I need to be heading back. I have another task to finish before I come back to bring you home. But I hope you heed my words, Nore. The duchess never warns twice.”

Nore winced. “I understand,” she said.

She walked him back to his ship. He hesitated, looking at her. Nore reached forward and took his hand, squeezing it twice. “You’re a good friend, Tern,” she said.

He nodded. Tern paused, looking at her for a moment of decision before he reached and cupped one hand against her cheek, his fingers gentle in her hair. He stooped low and kissed her, quickly, just once. The scruff of his beard scratched her cheek and he tasted of salt. “I’ll see you when I get back,” Tern said.

My dear boy, if you are asking me what comes after? What happens after the great love of your life is over? After they’re gone? I cannot say, and I’m sorry that I have no true guidance. Since your mother’s death, there has not been living, not for me. There is only existing.

I keep thinking of all the things I could’ve done differently, how I would’ve saved her, if I had only been there. If there is a way… well, you have always been braver than I. If there was a way, you would not squander it.

Letter from Mitan Khari to his son, Caspian, translated from Nadiran, 1632 UCE

eighteen

FOR THE BALL AT the harbor, Nore selected one of her new dresses. It was diaphanous silk in silvery blue, with a corseted bodice and a skirt that fell soft against her legs. It was nothing like Lindle fashion, where the ball gowns were structured with layers of full skirts. This felt airy, giving her space to move.

Caspian sat in the chair in the corner, reading a book as Nore prepared. She braided her hair up into a complicated style, secured with pins, and wore dark sapphire earrings that she’d gotten as a gift from a client two years before.