Curse Painter (Art Mages of Lure Book 1)

by Jordan Rivet

  “A moment, my lords,” Donovan said before Larke and Archer could enter through the broad doorway. “The stronghold gates have two curses laid upon them. The first will kill instantly unless we invite visitors inside by their full names. The second ensures that no one who crosses this threshold may exit the mountain without our permission.” He looked at Archer then. “Unless they wish to die painfully.”

  “That’s very thorough of you,” Archer said. So Mae can’t leave through that doorway. Briar’s tunnel might be the only way out for all of them.

  He bowed, flourishing his hands as if ushering the man inside. “Please, won’t you invite me into my own ancestral halls?”

  Donovan cocked his head to the side. “Your full name, if you please.”

  “Ivan Archibald Larke. That’s Lord Ivan Archibald Larke.”

  The curse painters entered the fortress, ignoring the old captain’s glare. He watched them like an old guard dog—chained up and unable to stop an intruder from crossing his yard.

  The curse painters spoke quietly to each other as they arranged jars and brushes along the floor. An intricate pattern of stars and moons was painted all the way around the entrance, including across the ground and over the lintel, as if stepping through the doorway signified stepping into the dark night of the lower realms. How much purple paint would it take to break that curse?

  “Where did you find such friendly curse painters?” Archer asked his father while they waited for the Drydens to work their magic.

  “Do not trifle with them,” Larke said through clenched teeth. He was clearly annoyed at having to wait outside the door like any other visitor while the curse painters added his name to the design in intricate swirling letters. “They are exceedingly powerful. I’ve gone to great personal expense to secure their services.”

  “Why is that exactly?”

  “Play the fool if you must,” Larke said. “You know about my guest, or else you wouldn’t be here. Her father will try to retrieve her if he realizes where she is.”

  “And ignore the king’s orders about your fun little rivalry? Surely only you are brave enough to do that.”

  Larke looked as if he wanted to strike Archer. It wouldn’t be the first time. Archer tensed, waiting for the clenched fist, the raised hand. He felt young, as if the years and bravado he’d built up were being stripped away, even though he was as tall and strong as his father.

  But Larke didn’t try to hit him. Instead, his broad shoulders hunched. “I couldn’t let Barden get his hands on the child. I had no choice.”

  Archer quirked an eyebrow. “Did you have a choice when you gave a bunch of illegal mages control of Narrowmar?”

  “They won’t be here long,” Larke said, not sounding entirely convinced. “I only need them until—”

  “It is done,” Donovan Dryden announced. “All but the final stroke.”

  He dipped a brush as tiny as a bundle of eyelashes in a jar of pure-black paint, the deliberate precision of his movements so like Briar’s. One by one, Donovan called out the names of Lord Larke and his surviving retainers, adding little black symbols on the doorway as he invited each man across the threshold. He saved Archer for last.

  “This will be painful if you gave a false name,” he said. “The effects would be even more fascinating than if someone were to cross this barrier without permission.” His voice became animated, as if he were discussing an interesting phenomenon that had nothing to do with real people and real pain. “If you are impersonating another, now is the time to say so.”

  “That’s the only name I’ve ever had,” Archer said.

  Larke sighed. “He is definitely my son.”

  “Very well.” Donovan fixed Archer with an unblinking gaze, making a chill creep down his spine. “You have my leave to enter Narrowmar, Ivan Archibald Larke.”

  Archer glanced up at the sky. It was growing dark, and the stars had begun to flare to life, mirroring the curse on the door. If he entered Narrowmar, he might never see those stars again, but the others were counting on him, Briar and Mae and the child she carried. He crossed the threshold.

  Chapter 26

  Lady Mae ushered Briar into her prison chamber, leaving the guards where they lay, and pulled the door closed behind them. Briar took in the austere room at a glance—a small table, one chair, a narrow cot.

  “This door wasn’t locked?” Briar asked.

  “It usually is. I heard the click, as if they were about to come in. When the door didn’t open, I went out to investigate.” Mae’s eyes widened with excitement and fear. She looked younger now that she no longer wielded a water pitcher against her captors. “Did my father send you? How many men are with you?”

  “I’m alone,” Briar said. “I got separated from my friends. Are you well enough to leave this place tonight?”

  “Tonight?” Mae eased herself down onto the chair. Her cheeks were as pale as her pink gown, and her belly still looked large. She must have given birth recently indeed. “As in now?”

  “Yes,” Briar said. “Where is the—”

  Before she could complete the question, she heard a little sound, like the sneeze of a kitten. Then the distinct, piercing wail of a newborn filled the room.

  “Oh, dear. The commotion must have woken her.” Mae hoisted herself up again and hurried to a box resting beside the cot. Blankets lined the rough wooden sides. Mae reached into them and lifted a tiny, squalling baby into her arms.

  “It’s all they had,” Mae said, nodding at the box. “We’re making do, aren’t we, dear heart?” She cooed at the baby, already seeming comfortable with the swaying, soothing motions of motherhood. But when she looked up at Briar, her eyes looked slightly frantic.

  “She came early,” she said with a sort of terrified awe. “I thought I had three weeks left, but here she is, already three days old.”

  “Three days?” Briar wished she had a healer’s training—or a voice mage’s power. She had no idea if it was even safe to take a baby outdoors when it was only three days old.

  “Can you help us?” Mae asked. Her expression darkened, going from fearful to murderous with lightning speed. “Lord Larke wants to take her away from me.”

  “I’m going to get you out,” Briar said quickly. “We made a tunnel into the stronghold. Part of it collapsed, but I think I can break through at another point. It will take time. Can you keep her quiet until we’re safe?”

  Mae gave an unsteady laugh, and Briar was alarmed to see tears springing up in her eyes.

  “Sometimes I can get her to fall right to sleep, but sometimes nothing works. I know women do this all the time, but I didn’t expect it to be so hard!”

  “Uh, it’s all right,” Briar said. “Don’t cry. Um, I might be able to do something that will help, but I need you to trust me.” She would never risk using a sleep stone on a three-day-old baby, but she might be able to paint a smaller, gentler curse onto the baby’s blankets. “I … I don’t think it will hurt her.”

  “I don’t even know you!” Mae held the tiny baby to her chest, curving around her as if she could put the child back inside her body for safekeeping. She seemed to oscillate rapidly between fear and feral, protective anger.

  “Archer sent me,” Briar said.

  “I don’t know any archers.”

  “Lord Larke’s son, the younger, nicer one.”

  “Ivan?” Mae asked. “Ivan is here?”

  “He’s outside, creating a diversion,” Briar said. “I’ve been traveling with him and a woman named Jemma, his … tutor.”

  “I remember him speaking fondly of a Jemma.” Mae still didn’t sound convinced. “How do I know it’s really him out there?”

  “He has blond hair and dark eyebrows and the most piercing blue eyes you’ve ever seen,” Briar said impatiently. “He’s brave and kind, and he’s a terrible dancer and a great shot with a bow.”

  Mae’s eyes narrowed mistrustfully. “Maybe I should wait here.”

  “He’s intellige
nt, and he’s tall, and he’d do anything for his friends.” Briar’s tone sharpened. “He’d do anything for you, Mae, and we really don’t have time to stand around talking.”

  Mae bit her lip. “I don’t know how far I can walk.”

  “We just need to get out of the mountain.” Briar hadn’t expected she would have to talk Mae into her own rescue. Shouldn’t the girl be grateful rather than suspicious? “We have horses waiting. Sheriff—that’s Archer’s dog—is guarding them for us.”

  “Sheriff is with you?” A sudden grin lit up Mae’s features. “Why didn’t you say so? Let’s go!”

  Briar blinked in surprise as Mae spun into action. She swaddled up the baby then herself, using the nonbloodstained coats from the guards sleeping outside the cell door. She was like quicksilver, changeable and passionate, but determined once she decided to do something. Briar helped her retrieve the coats, making sure the sleep stones stayed in position. They wouldn’t have much longer before someone came to see why the guards hadn’t returned with the baby.

  “We need to find a large banquet hall in the eastern passage,” Briar said as they finished bundling up the baby. Jemma had described the place, which sat on the outer perimeter of the fortress. Briar hoped to use it to connect to an earlier point in the tunnel and hopefully save some time. She would drill all the way out of the mountain from Mae’s cell if she weren’t certain she would run out of paints before she made it halfway. “Do you know the one I’m talking about? The East Hall?”

  “I haven’t exactly been allowed to explore.” Mae pulled a guard’s burgundy coat over her pale dress and tucked her golden curls beneath it. “They’ve kept me locked up in here ever since the curse painters arrived.”

  Briar went still. “The curse painters?”

  “They’re two scary art mages who have taken over security from the captain,” Mae said. “He used to let me walk where I pleased as long as a guard accompanied me, but they put a stop to that.”

  Briar clutched a paintbrush in her fist. So her parents were still there. She had hoped they might have moved on after securing the stronghold. Why had they stayed? Protecting the entrance of a remote fortress wasn’t nearly as stimulating as the jobs they preferred to take. What else could Narrowmar offer them?

  Briar shook her head. There would be time to worry about that later. “Let’s just hope the curse painters keep busy for a little while longer.”

  She opened a jar of blue smalt to put the baby to sleep then hesitated, flinching at the thought of wielding her dangerous magic against such a tiny, innocent thing. But their options were severely limited. “Remember I said I could do something to help her sleep?”

  Mae clutched her baby closer, the suspicion returning in a flash. “Yes.”

  “And that Arch—Ivan sent me in to help you, and he trusts me?”

  Mae tightened her hold on the baby. “Yes …”

  Briar held up the jar of paint and her smallest, most delicate paintbrush. “Are you ready to test that trust?”

  Chapter 27

  Archer stalled his father and the curse painters as much as possible on their way down the main corridor of the stronghold. The passageway, a remnant of the original mountain fissure, had veiny walls reaching upward to a ceiling well out of range of the torchlight. The place smelled of mildew and boot polish, just as he remembered.

  The stronghold was busier than Archer had ever seen it. The men of the Narrowmar garrison buzzed with excitement over Esteban’s attack, their voices echoing through the broad corridor.

  “He sang twenty men to their deaths, I hear.”

  “I heard something about arrows of fire.”

  “That’s a load of dung.”

  “I swear it on my left knee.”

  The walls hadn’t seen that much action in a hundred years. Many of the men traversing the halls were new recruits, their uniforms almost as fresh as their faces.

  “Think more of the bleedin’ hedge wizards are lurking out there?” asked a particularly youthful soldier as Archer and the others passed.

  An older man at his side grunted. “I’ve met enough magic makers for my lifetime. What with those—”

  “Shh!” The young soldier gestured urgently. “They’re right there.”

  The curse painters paid no attention to the clamor. Archer listened for hints of what was happening to his team, hoping to find out if the cursed tunnel had been discovered. Unfortunately, the soldiers tended to fall silent when they realized the two curse painters were nearby. What had the Drydens done to make the men fear and respect them so quickly? Archer wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  The curse painters didn’t acknowledge the soldiers at all, and they barely listened when Lord Larke tried to engage them in polite conversation. Donovan and Saoirse moved in tandem, disconcertingly in tune with one another. Though they obviously weren’t blood relatives, they looked alike. It was something about the way they carried themselves, the way their hands moved, the twin fires burning in their eyes.

  Archer couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Briar to grow up with those two. Their self-assurance would be intimidating for anyone, much less their own child. Rich men and nobles tended to fear losing their power, but the curse painters were utterly confident in theirs. Nothing could take away their ability to instill fear in others—and they knew it.

  Half a dozen soldiers marching down the corridor squeezed aside to let them pass. Archer searched for familiar faces among them and found none. Why had his father hired so many fighting men? Defending Narrowmar didn’t require that many soldiers. Was he up to something else besides stealing Mae’s child?

  “How long do you plan to stay here?” Archer asked him.

  “That’s none of your concern,” Lord Larke snapped.

  “Isn’t it? You’d think you were getting ready for a siege.”

  Larke’s mouth tightened, and Archer wondered if he was onto something. “You don’t think Barden could really reach the ravine without—”

  “Later.” Larke stopped at his chamber door and muttered, “I need that drink.”

  Archer frowned, a chill creeping down his spine. If this wasn’t just about Barden and Mae, what else could his father have in mind? Insurrection? Surely not. Still, the idea made him uneasy. A man could get away with a lot in the outer counties if he had the right resources. His father was nothing if not ambitious, and he currently had a rather powerful pair of sorcerers on retainer.

  Before Larke could open the door to his sitting room, the Drydens stepped smoothly into his way.

  “Pardon, my lord,” Donovan said. “We have been using your antechamber as a studio in your absence, and it is cluttered with canvases and other tools of our trade.”

  Larke’s jaw tensed. “Is that so?”

  “Indeed. It might not be the best place for us to talk.”

  “We have had the East Hall cleaned up,” Saoirse said. “Perhaps we can speak there.”

  “Oh, yes,” Donovan said. “It contains some excellent examples of the ancient stone craft. It’s a shame it isn’t often used. Let us go.”

  Archer felt a stab of panic. He’d suggested the sitting room because it was close to the front of the stronghold. He needed to keep his father and his new friends away from Mae for a while yet.

  But Donovan and Saoirse set off down the corridor without waiting for a response.

  Larke’s face turned as red as a poison oak rash. He was not happy about his space being commandeered or his hired mages dictating their movements, but he managed to keep his voice polite as he caught up. “You mean the chamber at the end of the eastern passage? Very well. As I recall, it has a rather fine fireplace.”

  Donovan inclined his head. “I have never seen finer.”

  “Wait!” Archer shouted.

  “Yes, Lord Ivan?” Saoirse looked back at him.

  He scrambled for an excuse. “Isn’t … isn’t it nicer to chat in a more intimate setting?” If he remembered correctly, the East H
all was far too close to where they had planned to open their tunnel. At the end of the main corridor, two passages branched deeper into the mountain, east and west. Mae was most likely being held down the eastern passage. “Maybe one of the rooms in the western—”

  “Nonsense.” Larke’s voice was a whip crack. “The East Hall it is.”

  Archer had no choice but to follow. After being ordered around by the curse painters, his father would never put up with Archer disrespecting him too. Why was he tolerating those two? There had to be more going on there than the procurement of a Larke-Barden heir. Jasper Larke wanted something from the Drydens. How could Archer use that to keep them away from the tunnel?

  Saoirse glanced over at Archer with a faint smile. He grinned toothily back, praying the others had already gotten out of the stronghold. With luck, they were meeting up with Esteban and Lew in the forest. At least they wouldn’t be in the East Hall itself.

  They approached the fork at the end of the main corridor, where a stone gargoyle stood sentry between the two branching passageways. Water spewed from the gargoyle’s mouth into a wide stone basin. A freshwater spring bubbled up from beneath the mountain there, one of the reasons Narrowmar had withstood every siege in its history.

  “I heard this place was built by mages like you,” Archer said, slowing to examine the gargoyle and the basin beneath it. “Is that true, Mistress Dryden?”

  “Not curse painters,” Saoirse said. “Stone crafters, sometimes known as stone charmers. They are exceedingly rare. We have not managed to find one in over ten years.”

  “What do you do when you find one?” Archer asked.

  She ignored the question, trailing her paint-smudged fingers in the water basin. “Narrowmar is the finest example of stone craft in Lure and all the surrounding lands. We have yet to see its equal.”

  “Is that why you’re here?” Archer asked.

  “We were hired to protect this place,” Donovan said. “You ought to be pleased we are guarding your inheritance.”

  “He is pleased,” Archer’s father said smoothly. “Though Ivan does not stand to inherit Narrowmar. That will go to my eldest son, Tomas, and his son after him.”