by Jordan Rivet
Lew pummeled an attacker—who’d lost his weapon—with heavy fists. Jemma stood behind him, feet planted, swinging a cudgel at anyone who tried to come at her husband from behind. Esteban fought with a blade for once, a silver cutlass with a wicked curve that matched his silver-worked boots. His thin lips were clamped shut, as if to prevent himself from using any magic. Nat fought at his side, barely managing to hold his own against the older and stronger enemies.
Briar and Archer entered the clearing near Nat and Esteban, knives already drawn. The fighters were too entangled for Archer to risk using his bow. He gave a wild battle yell and hurled himself directly into the fray. He fought better than he danced, and an enemy fell to his blade within seconds of their arrival.
The soldiers turned to meet Archer’s assault, giving Nat time to finish off one of his assailants. The others renewed their efforts, and the clash of steel against steel rang through the night, punctuated by grunts and screams.
Briar hung back from the tumult, seeking an opening where her curses would help the most, but the tide turned quickly after Archer arrived. His movements were swift—if not smooth—and their enemies weren’t prepared for the fury with which he defended the team.
“Take one alive,” Archer called as he skewered a man trying to stab Esteban. “We need information.”
“I got it!” Nat shouted.
He drew back his arm and threw something blue at one of the attackers, using his sleeve to protect his hand. The man dropped into a pile of leaves with an almighty snore then immediately got back up again. Nat yelped and ran to retrieve the curse stone from among the dead foliage.
“It has to keep touching him!” Briar called.
“Right. I forgot.” Nat snatched up the curse stone with his bare hand then immediately dropped to the ground, clearly forgetting it would have exactly the same effect on him.
His opponent gaped at the lad who’d fallen asleep in the middle of the battle, and Esteban leaped forward to engage him before he could hurt Nat.
Another attacker lunged at Briar and attempted to pin her arms to her sides. She smelled campfire ash and a meaty odor on his breath. Before she could twist around to touch him with her own curse stone, he stiffened and slid to the ground, nearly dragging her down with him. Archer’s knife was sticking out of his back.
“Are you all right?” Archer bent to retrieve the blade and wipe it on the dead man’s coat.
“Never better,” Briar breathed.
Archer winked at her and turned, putting his back to hers, his long knife at the ready. She held up a curse stone in each hand. They stood back to back, prepared to meet the next assault together.
No one was left to fight. Their enemies were laid out on the ground, either unconscious and bleeding or as dead as the leaves littering the forest floor. The team was victorious.
Briar’s shoulders sagged in relief, her heartbeat nearly drowning out the crackling of the campfire.
“Nothing like a good brawl to get the juices flowing.” Archer sheathed his knife and turned to the others. “Any idea what they were after?”
“We can ask this one,” Jemma said. She and Lew had managed to take a man alive using another of Briar’s stones. They tied up the sleeping soldier, tucking the curse stone into the bonds around his wrists to keep him docile, and dragged him over to the fire for questioning.
“It’s almost too easy with those curses of yours,” Lew said, going over to pluck the sleep stone out of Nat’s hammy fist to rouse him. Nat sat up, looking bewildered after his midbattle nap. “A man could get complacent.”
Esteban sniffed primly. “I think it was rather difficult enough.”
Briar surveyed the fallen attackers. There were five of them, all wearing the burgundy uniforms of Lord Larke’s retainers and armed with standard-issue short swords. “Where did these men come from?”
“New Chester?” Jemma asked.
“Probably not.” Archer explained what they had seen in the village, leaving out the part about Briar’s parents.
The others looked slightly ill at the description of the curse.
“So that painting is why I couldn’t see them?” Lew asked when Archer finished. “And they can’t see anyone who comes into the village?”
“Nope.”
“And they can’t leave it?”
“Doubtful.”
Lew shuddered and moved a little closer to his wife.
“If they’re not part of the New Chester watch, these fellows must be from Narrowmar,” Jemma said.
“What are they doing all the way down here?” Nat asked.
“Let’s find out.” Archer donned a pair of gloves and knelt beside the prisoner still sleeping by the campfire and pushed back his burgundy sleeve so he could remove the curse stone wedged against the man’s wrist. Just before it came loose, Jemma put a hand on Archer’s shoulder.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t be the one to talk to him,” she said. “This close to—”
“Good point,” Archer said. “Esteban, would you do the honors?”
Briar frowned as Archer and Jemma moved out of the prisoner’s line of sight. They were afraid of being recognized close to New Chester? Or was it Narrowmar itself that worried them?
Esteban crouched over the prisoner like a scrawny vulture. He removed the curse stone with a black silk handkerchief and held it gingerly away from him, as if it were goat feces. “Wake up.”
The prisoner’s eyes popped open. Disoriented, he blinked at the mage glowering down at him. Blemishes pitted his face, and he couldn’t be much older than Nat. He jerked his wrists a few times, but his bonds held.
“Who is your liege lord?” Esteban asked.
The young man jutted out his spotty chin. “I don’t have to answer your questions, villain.”
Esteban sighed and mumbled something that sounded like “one of those.” He seized the prisoner’s coat. “These are Lord Larke’s colors. Unless you’re an imposter—”
“I serve Lord Larke, as do all loyal freemen in this county.” The young man looked affronted at the imposter suggestion.
“You’re a long way from Larke Castle,” Lew said calmly.
The prisoner started at the sight of Lew’s hulking form at Esteban’s side. “His lordship’s dominion stretches—”
“We know where the county borders are,” Esteban said impatiently. “If you’re this far out in the woods, you must be based at Narrowmar, correct?”
The prisoner paled, the spots standing out on his chin. “I’m not going to tell a bunch of thieves anything.”
“What makes you think we’re thieves?” Esteban leaned closer, and the prisoner pulled back as far he could with the campfire behind him. The firelight cast lurid shadows across Esteban’s gaunt face. “Did you know we’d be out here?”
“I don’t even know who you are.” A youthful squeak snuck into his voice. “I swear.”
“Then why attack us?” Lew asked. “We were minding our own business. Last I heard, even Lord Larke doesn’t order his men to murder private citizens for no reason.”
The prisoner looked around nervously. Lew loomed beside Esteban, his arms folded over his chest in an intimidating fashion. Nat mimicked him, with slightly less successful results. But the blood on their clothes made them all look ghoulish.
Then the prisoner’s gaze fell on the bodies of his comrades. “You’re obviously criminals,” he said. “We—”
“Attacked us without provocation, forcing us to defend ourselves.” Esteban gave him a shake. “How did you know we would be here?”
“I … I didn’t. You were just … that is, we thought …”
“You thought you’d kill us in the woods and steal our horses perhaps?” Esteban rasped. “I wonder what Lord Larke would have to say about that. You’ll be responsible, of course, as the only survivor.”
“It wasn’t … I didn’t …” The prisoner broke out in a sweat, looking genuinely scared.
Briar didn’t blame him. Esteba
n looked ready to cut the prisoner’s throat out of pure irritation. She’d never seen the team look so dangerous.
When Esteban muttered, “I am bored of this circular conversation,” the prisoner cracked like a pigeon egg.
“Everyone knows who you are,” he blurted out. “There’s a wanted poster in every village from here to the Northrun River with your faces on it. They’re offering a reward and everything!”
“Really?” Nat relaxed his intimidating pose. “What’s the reward?”
Lew rolled his eyes. “Would it be worth temporarily selling out the lad here?”
“They want us alive, right?” Nat asked, giving Lew a wounded look. “We’re no good to them dead.”
“You’re no good to anyone.” Lew cuffed Nat on the back of the head. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’ve seen plenty of wanted posters in my day. They probably have one drawing to represent all the young farm lads who’ve ever turned to thievery.” He combed a hand through his red beard. “The more distinguished among us, on the other hand—”
“You’re both on the poster,” the prisoner said to Lew, some of the color returning to his face. “And your woman and the voice mage.” His eyes darted to Esteban, whose mouth twisted sourly at the news.
“What about me?” Briar asked.
The prisoner leaned sideways to get a better look at her. “No, you’re not on there.”
Archer’s face was unreadable in the quivering shadows. He signaled something to Lew, who nodded and squatted down beside Esteban and the prisoner. “So the young lad, myself and my lady wife, and the mage are all called thieves on these posters?”
“That’s right.”
“But not the girl?”
“No.”
“And no one else?”
“No one.”
Briar looked at Archer again. If the authorities had such detailed knowledge of the gang, why weren’t they asking for information about its leader? He didn’t quite meet her eyes.
“Were these posters commissioned by Lord Larke?” Lew asked the prisoner.
The young man nodded. “He’s the one offering a bounty for your capture, and he doesn’t mind if you’re dead.”
“How did you know we would be here?”
“We really were on patrol.” Since he had started talking anyway, the prisoner didn’t hold back. “We’re supposed to keep folks from wandering into New Chester, but when we saw you, we reckoned we’d try for the bounty too. We didn’t account for the sorcery.” The prisoner’s gaze flitted from Esteban’s face to the blue curse stone lying in the dirt beside him.
“Can you tell us what happened in New Chester?” Briar asked.
The young man shifted uneasily and glanced at the shadowy trees. “The villagers angered Lord Larke something fierce. His lordship’s son was staying in the village inn a few months back, and they caused him some trouble. Something to do with a woman.”
Esteban loosened his grip on the prisoner. “At last we are getting somewhere.”
Lew frowned, his beard twitching. “Larke’s son was giving a woman trouble?”
“I only know what I heard. She didn’t want to leave the inn with the young lord, and the villagers tried to step in. His lordship got mighty upset, and he cooked up that nasty enchantment somehow.”
“What happened to the woman?”
The prisoner shrugged. “Left with the young lord, I guess.”
Archer signaled that he needed a minute. Esteban picked up the curse stone with a grimace and pressed it to the prisoner’s skin again. The prisoner flopped sideways and began snoring.
“Lady Mae,” Lew said as soon as the young man was unconscious. “The young lord must have brought her through New Chester on the way to Narrowmar. She revealed she was being kidnapped, and the villagers intervened.”
“He cursed the entire village for that?” Nat asked. “For standing up for a scared girl?”
“I’ve seen worse curses laid for less,” Briar said softly. The more she learned about Lord Larke and his son, the less she cared for them. They seemed like exactly the sort of people who would hire her parents to take revenge on a bunch of poor villagers.
Jemma hadn’t spoken during the interrogation. She was studying Archer intently, as if his face held the answer to an old riddle. She wrapped her red shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Larke’s son,” she said at last. “He’s the one?”
Archer paused for a beat. “Yes.”
“The one what?” Nat asked.
“It all makes sense now,” Jemma said.
“What does?” Nat asked. “What did I miss?” He looked at Briar, but she was just as confused as he was.
Archer and Jemma seemed to be communicating through eye contact alone. They looked a lot alike, Briar realized, standing on either side of the fire, the light illuminating their golden hair.
“They have to know sooner or later,” Jemma said after a long pause.
“All right.” Archer sighed and turned to the others. “This is a secret, so don’t go shouting about it in your cups.”
“More secrets?” Briar asked.
He met her eyes. “Secrets upon secrets next to more secrets.”
“Whatever that means,” Nat said impatiently. “You going to tell us or not?”
“Lady Mae is with child,” Archer said.
“With what child?” Nat asked.
Lew rolled his eyes. “It means pregnant, dimwit.”
“With a baby?”
“With Larke’s son’s baby,” Archer said. “The father’s name is Tomas. He is twenty-five years of age, and he has spent every one of those years being a raging scrotum face.”
Briar wrapped her hands around the strap of her paint satchel, surprised but not entirely shocked that Mae’s situation was more complicated than she’d been told. So she was carrying the grandson of her father’s bitterest enemy. That was a dangerous secret.
“Tomas Larke is too old for Lady Mae, ain’t he?” Nat asked. “She’s practically a child herself.”
“She’s barely eighteen,” Archer said. “And yes, that’s part of why he’s a raging scrotum face.” His eyebrows drew down, mouth twisting as if he tasted something sour. “She was smitten with Tomas when they first met. She threw herself headfirst into their secret romance, believing it would last forever. To him, it was only ever a conquest.”
“How do you know all this?” Nat asked.
“It’s complicated,” Archer said, catching Briar’s eye again.
She was developing a theory about Archer’s real identity and the unrequited affection he must feel for the girl they were going to so much trouble to rescue. Archer was risking his life to help Lady Mae out of a difficult situation another man had caused. It made Briar admire him more, but a sense of melancholy tinged her admiration. Archer’s mission had only ever been about Lady Mae. Briar was an assistant, an accessory, a hired paintbrush.
“The important thing,” Archer continued, “is that Tomas Larke discarded Lady Mae before she realized the baby was on the way. It would have been better for her to keep it a secret, but the elder Lord Larke must have learned his grandchild was to be born to the daughter of his worst enemy. He sent Tomas to Barden Vale to steal her away before her own father could find out.”
“Are you sure Lady Mae didn’t go willingly?” Briar asked. “If they had this secret love affair, maybe she wanted to be with the young Larke.”
Archer ran a hand through his hair. Blood from the fight stained his cuff. “I wondered the same thing, but what happened in New Chester confirms she’s being held against her wishes. Even if she left her father’s house willingly, by the time they made it this far, she wanted to go home. She asked for help at the inn—and we’ve seen the result.”
“I want to make sure you all understand what this means,” Jemma said. A breeze sent the sparks from the fire swirling around her, ruffling her silver-and-gold hair. “We’re not just taking back a prisoner of this petty rivalry Barden and Larke call a war. We
’re not just earning a reward or saving a kidnapped girl. We are stealing a man’s heir out from under him.”
“Potential heir,” Archer said. “I suspect Jasper Larke is waiting to see if the child is a boy. If it is, they’ll announce that the young lovers eloped, and the child will be declared legitimate. Mae’s son will inherit both Larke and Barden counties—and Jasper Larke will bring him up to be all Larke.”
“And if it’s a girl?” Esteban asked.
Archer grimaced. “Unlike in the Barden family, there are other Larke males who’d inherit ahead of Tomas’s daughter. Lord Larke might force Tomas and Mae to try again for a boy in that case, or he might want to brush this embarrassing incident under the rug and marry his son into a more suitable family. He might even kill the child.”
“And what will happen to Lady Mae?” Nat asked.
“Her life is in danger either way,” Archer said. “Larke could kill her to ensure that the child inherits all the Barden lands. Tomas has no lingering affection for her, and he’ll be all too happy to have her out of the way. I doubt Tomas cares about the baby, but Jasper Larke wants an heir. Maybe he thinks if he has another chance to raise a boy, he can prevent him from becoming an amoral philanderer.”
“And a raging scrotum face,” Nat said.
“Yes, no one wants that,” Archer said. “But no matter how the child turns out, it’ll give Larke an opportunity to take over all of Barden County when his rival dies and subject it to the same draconian taxes and cruel treatment as the rest of Larke County. They don’t deserve that.”
Briar remembered the farmers who’d shared their food with her and Archer—Grampa and Juliet and little Abie. They’d been squeezed so hard by the Larkes. But even if Archer didn’t want Jasper Larke’s dominion to spread, it still didn’t entirely explain why he knew so much about Tomas and Mae and Lord Larke himself. She remembered something Grampa had said as he’d fixed them a plate of food in the barn. He’d called Tomas the eldest son. Her theory about Archer’s identity began to solidify.
An owl hooted in the trees, bringing her back to the campfire and the outlaws and the sleeping prisoner dressed in Larke burgundy.
