by Jordan Rivet
“Nat?”
“Archer. Have you figured it out?”
Briar hesitated, wondering whether to reveal how much she had guessed. “He’s Lord Larke’s younger son, isn’t he? Tomas is his brother.”
“Very good.” Jemma didn’t smile. “I always thought you were sharp.”
“He knows too much about the Larke household,” Briar said. “And he hasn’t really hidden the fact that this mission is personal. No one gets people riled up like family.” She twirled her paintbrush between her fingers. “I’ve heard the names of Jasper Larke’s sons before. He was called Ivan, right?”
“You know a lot about the powerful families of this kingdom.”
Briar met Jemma’s gaze steadily. “I lived in Barden County, remember?”
Jemma glanced at the paint smearing Briar’s hands, and Briar flinched, resisting the urge to hide them from view. She doubted Jemma had started the conversation out of friendship. She turned to the wall and began the curse again. Yellow ochre, umber, green earth, carbon black, carmine, umber, brown ochre, lead white, carmine, yellow ochre, bone black, carmine.
“So why did Archer leave home?” she asked as she worked, magic swelling and shivering in her hands.
“He saw how Jasper Larke’s hatred for Lord Barden corrupted him,” Jemma said. “Larke would happily ruin his entire county to prevail over his rival—if they weren’t already impoverished by his draconian taxes.” She paused. “And Jasper is cruel. Tomas suffers from corruption of a different sort, but neither lord is what you’d call noble. Archer became disillusioned with his family and tried to wash his hands of them by becoming an honest thief.”
It fit with almost everything Archer had told her about himself. He’d sworn he was neither prince, nor duke, nor long lost king. The Larkes were barons. And he had a noble streak, one that had nothing to do with fine breeding and education, but he had been drawn back into his family’s affairs.
“I take it Tomas getting Lady Mae pregnant changed things?”
Jemma nodded. “Archer and Mae Barden both summered in High Lure in their youth. Archer struck up a friendship with her, hoping to bridge the divide between their two houses. He thought the younger generation could heal the old wounds.”
Briar dipped her paintbrush in a jar of brown ochre. “Were they courting?”
“They got on well, but she never looked at him the way she looked at his dashing older brother when he visited the city to make sure Archer wasn’t getting into too much trouble.”
“So Tomas never would have gotten close to Mae if Archer hadn’t done it first.”
“He feels responsible for her and for that child,” Jemma said. “But he also sees the potential if the two households are united. He wouldn’t condemn anyone to a life with his brother, but he could still serve that function himself.”
Briar wiped her brush and switched to the jar of lead white. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you?” Jemma asked quietly. “Archer intends to marry Lady Mae and raise the child as his own.”
The tunnel became very still. White paint dripped onto the stones at Briar’s feet. That would explain why Archer had gone to such lengths for Mae, why he had resisted kissing Briar for so long. If the way he’d finally pulled her into his arms was any indication, he’d been wanting to for a while. She pictured him striding toward her, reckless, intense. Stop. That’s not helping.
She frowned at Jemma. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” Jemma said. “That kiss back there … Archer got swept up in the moment. You shouldn’t think it means anything beyond that. Archer has a greater mission, one that could heal this land of the damages the Barden-Larke rivalry has caused, and he would raise a better son than his brother to steward both counties in the future.”
Briar lowered her brush and turned to Jemma, feeling that old destructive impulse rising up. The mountain seemed to tremble in response. “Are you telling me to stay out of the way of this grand destiny?”
“I’m telling you to stay away from Archer,” Jemma said. “I’ve warned him you’re dangerous, but he doesn’t listen to me.”
“He hired me because I’m dangerous.”
Jemma snorted. “I’m not talking about your ability to destroy wood and stone. You have the power to offer that boy exactly what he has always wanted. He envies freedom. His quips about his horse and his bow and the open road are sincere. You broke away from your past, and you are tempting him to run even farther from his.”
“That sounds like his decision not mine.”
Briar returned to her work, refusing to be intimidated. But as she painted the mountain with the nimbus of fire, the aroma of linseed surrounding her, she thought she smelled dry thatch and wood smoke, too, heard laughter and fiddles and drums. The image collapsed before it could form.
“Archer won’t abandon his duties,” Jemma said. “He set out on this mission to restore his family and change the way they treat their people. He could do such good for this land. Don’t make it harder than it has to be. If you care for him at all, walk away.”
The ground rumbled beneath them, above them. Somewhere on the mountain, the fight was escalating. Somewhere, Archer was risking his life to atone for his brother’s sins. Briar had known Archer and Mae had history, possibly romantic history, but she hadn’t fully understood they had a future too. Still, she resented that Jemma was telling her rather than Archer himself.
“What’s your stake in all this?” she asked. “You worked in the Larke household. You were Archer’s tutor or something, right?”
“I’m his mother.”
Briar’s hands jerked, paint smearing on the wall. The response seemed to have slipped unbidden from Jemma’s lips.
“You are never to repeat this.” Jemma stepped closer. “Archer himself doesn’t know.”
Briar turned slowly to face the older woman. Only the lantern stood between them, illuminating Jemma’s silver-and-blond hair, the same shade of blond as Archer’s.
“How is that possible?”
“I worked as a clerk for Jasper Larke. He took advantage of me.” Jemma’s voice was calm, matter of fact. “He kept my little boy—born right here in Narrowmar—just in case anything ever happened to his firstborn. His wife was already sickly then, unable to have more children. I swore to keep it secret to keep my position in his household, first as a clerk then as a tutor for his sons. I was willing to live in the home of my attacker if it meant I could see my child grow up. When Archer ran away, I was only too happy to follow.”
Briar released a breath, the exhalation echoing through the tunnel. “Why haven’t you told him?”
“I meant to when I caught up with him a few months after he left Larke Castle,” Jemma said. “But I worried he would go after his father in a rage and get himself killed. He controls his anger much better now than he did in his youth. But the longer I waited, the harder it was to explain why I hadn’t told him earlier.”
“Does Lew know?”
Jemma adjusted her red shawl. “Lew knows I had a child before I met him, but he thinks it died at birth. I am only telling you because I believe you will do the right thing.”
Briar blinked. “You do?”
“Yes.” Light flickered across the lines in the older woman’s face. She sounded sincere, and it caught Briar off guard. People had rarely counted on her to do the right thing.
“Whatever awful things are in your past,” Jemma said, “I believe you really are trying to be good. This is one of the ways you can show it. Mae is a sweet girl, and I believe she and Archer can raise a child who will not continue his father and grandfather’s legacy. They can change what it means to be a Larke.”
“And you want bigger things for Archer than a life of crime.”
“He deserves better than this,” Jemma said. “I think you see it too.”
Briar didn’t answer. Jemma’s revelations tumbled through her mind like stones in
an avalanche. She understood what Jemma wanted for her son—and why Briar didn’t fit into that plan—but she didn’t know if Archer shared her ambitions. Did he really plan to marry Lady Mae? He had seemed to mean that kiss. On the other hand, he’d held back when he’d had other opportunities to kiss her. Was it because he had a different future waiting for him?
Her heart sinking, she looked at the other woman, seeking confirmation, reassurance, even sympathy. Fierce resolve showed in the set of Jemma’s mouth—but there was pain in her gaze too. This woman had sacrificed so much for a child who didn’t know her. Unsure what to say in the face of that pain, Briar turned back to the wall and opened her jar of carmine paint.
“I’d better go check on Nat,” Jemma said after a minute, her voice betraying just a hint of emotion, like the beginnings of a sore throat. “I should check the tunnel’s length anyway. We’ll need to turn left soon.”
“I’ll keep going here. Tell Nat he’s a hero.”
Jemma didn’t leave right away. “Will you be okay?”
“We have a job to do.” Briar kept her eyes on her work, on the meticulous shape of the curse. “We’ll worry about the rest of it later.”
Jemma still didn’t move. Briar knew what she was waiting for.
“I will keep your secret. I promise.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Leaving the lantern on the ground, Jemma hurried back up the tunnel. Her stride sounded confident as she traversed the treacherous path. Briar heard Archer in that stride, heard the truth of Jemma’s story as the darkness swallowed her.
Briar sighed. Archer and Jemma had been on a mission before she’d met them, and it would continue long after she left. Perhaps she had been foolish to think she might have a part in his life. She would finish the job she had been hired to do, and then it would be time to move on.
She painted the final strokes of the curse a bit bigger than before, hoping to accelerate her progress. Her fingers had gone numb from the magic, and she felt the beginnings of a sore throat, too, the beginnings of a heartache. She wanted to be done.
The usual cracking and rumbling began as the curse ate into the rock, scattering dust and rubble at her feet.
Suddenly there was a distant boom she felt more than heard. An explosion far larger than the others shook the mountain. Briar lurched sideways, clinging to the tunnel wall as the earth shuddered. The candlelight flickered wildly.
A hairline crack appeared beneath her fingers. It spread, widened, reaching to the ceiling. The stone was cracking all around the tunnel.
Briar threw herself at the curse eating into the stone in front of her, willing it to work faster. A terrible rumbling sounded overhead. She pressed against the curse, flinging more paint to push it just a little bit farther.
The tunnel began to collapse around her, snuffing out the light. Briar strained against the magical image she could no longer see, her hands slipping on the oil paint, scraping against the stone.
Then the cursed wall gave a shudder and crumbled before her. She broke through the rock into an open space and tumbled to the ground in a pile of dust.
Chapter 23
When Archer opened his eyes, Esteban was singing. At first, he thought the fight must still be going, but the song didn’t have the violent timbre he remembered from right before he’d lost consciousness. This song was rather pleasant. Unfortunately, at the same time Archer realized that, he noticed he was in a great deal of pain. The location of the pain was indiscriminate, as if his body were one giant throbbing welt.
He tried to lift his head and groaned. “What happened?”
Esteban paused in his song. “You broke your back falling out of the tree.”
“What!”
Esteban planted a hand on Archer’s chest to keep him from moving. “I have fixed the worst of it already. Now, will you allow me to finish healing your lacerations as well, or would you like Lew to sew them up for you?”
“Continue.”
Esteban gave a delicate cough and resumed singing. As his voice poured over Archer, the pain receded, and a dull itching sensation replaced it as his torn skin stitched back together. Soon even that discomfort faded, along with Esteban’s melody.
“Finished?” Archer asked as the mage fell silent.
Esteban didn’t answer, and Archer feared he’d suffered some other ailment Esteban didn’t want to tell him about. Perhaps one of his limbs had been severed when he’d fallen out of the tree or half his brains had ended up outside his skull. But the older man was simply very tired. He ran a gnarled hand over his face and slumped down beside Archer.
“You will live,” he rasped. “At least long enough to face the next assault.”
Archer sat up carefully, attempting to get his bearings. He and Esteban were alone in a shallow hollow. It looked entirely different from where he had climbed the wych elm to ambush his father’s carriage. Fallen trees surrounded them, and piles of rocks were strewn about, some steaming as if a fiery volcano had thrown them skyward. The ground had peeled back, uprooting shrubs and loosening the earth for a hundred yards. The setting sun further altered the landscape.
“What happened?” Archer repeated.
“Do you remember attacking the caravan?”
“I thought we were winning.” Archer rubbed the back of his neck. His pain might be gone, but the events were still hazy. “I killed their voice mage, but then some riders came from Narrowmar, and at their head …”
Archer pictured dark eyes in proud faces, hands dripping with paint.
“Curse painters,” he said. Briar’s parents. He had dared to hope they hadn’t stuck around after punishing New Chester. It was a wonder his father had kept them on if their services cost as much as Briar said. Jasper Larke was famously stingy.
“I have heard of those two,” Esteban said. “Donovan and Saoirse Dryden. Mages across the kingdom, licensed or not, speak of them in hushed voice at their firesides. The Drydens work outside the law, believe themselves above it. Some still seek their services, though their help does not come cheap. I didn’t expect to find them all the way out here.”
“I did,” Archer said. “Briar recognized their work in New Chester.”
Esteban frowned. “She has some link to them, then?”
“You could say that.”
“So my initial suspicions were correct. I had begun to think she … no matter.” Esteban cracked his knuckles, looking resigned and maybe even a little hurt. “Can we assume she has already done away with Jemma and Nat and she is even now making sure Lady Mae will remain imprisoned until her child is born?”
Archer blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“Briar. You implied she’s in league with these dark mages. I thought she must have had unusual teachers. I suppose she was placed in our group to betray us.”
“No, she left them,” Archer said. “She cut ties with those two. She’ll help us fight them if it comes down to it.”
Esteban went quiet, and Archer heard all the skepticism he needed to in the silence.
“You truly believe she is with us by coincidence?” Esteban asked at last.
“Yes, I do,” Archer said stubbornly, though he understood Esteban’s wariness.
They had all kept secrets upon secrets buried beneath more secrets. It was plausible that Briar had joined his crew in order to sabotage them, but could her pain when she’d described her work with her parents have been faked? Could she have lied about her desire to use her dark magic for good, which had so inspired Archer?
“I hope your trust in her is warranted,” Esteban said gruffly, as if sensing Archer’s doubts. “It will almost certainly be tested before the night is over.” He glanced up at the setting sun. “We cannot remain here, but I’ve had no word from Lew.”
Archer felt a tight pinch in his chest that had nothing to do with his fall from the tree. “Think he’s hiding on the other side of the ravine?”
“I hope so. Lew is not equipped to face those cu
rse painters, but he should have the good sense to remain hidden.” Esteban got to his feet slowly, his joints creaking. “The Drydens know we’re here now, but more importantly, they know I am here. My reputation is also spoken of with fear at certain firesides.”
Despite his brave words, Esteban swayed. The fight and the healing song had taken too much out of him. His face was paler than usual, and his hands trembled. Archer leapt up and offered him an arm. He was grateful to be whole, but he wondered if Esteban should have saved his power instead of wasting it on healing him.
He helped the older man over to where the trees were still standing, the autumn leaves blown off them as if by a fierce wind. Esteban had only managed to drag Archer a little way from the ravine after they were flung from the trees.
“What will it take to defeat the Drydens?” Archer asked when they reached a more sheltered spot in the woods.
Esteban pursed his lips. “A variety of spells that require more time than we have and more power than I have left, at least without rest.”
“Can we keep them busy while Jemma and Briar finish their task?”
“If you wish to scream in the face of impossible odds, then yes,” Esteban said dryly. “We can keep them busy.”
“They don’t know Briar is here,” Archer said. “I reckon we have the advantage.”
Esteban snorted, but he didn’t try to argue. He sank down to sit against a tree trunk, looking as tired as if he’d been running for three days. No matter what he said about screaming in the face of their odds, Archer didn’t think Esteban had a whisper of power left in him. They would have to finish their task without magic—at least from Esteban.
Archer refused to contemplate the notion that Briar had been working with her parents all along. He had to believe children could choose a different path than their parents’, a better path. He had to believe a son wasn’t always doomed to repeat his father’s mistakes.
His own father had made plenty of mistakes. Perhaps it was time they had a chat about them. Archer grinned. “Sit back and rest as much as you need, Esteban. I have an idea.”
