Curse Painter (Art Mages of Lure Book 1)

by Jordan Rivet

  “Oh yes.” Saoirse looked up from the water, a strange light dancing in her eyes. “His son.”

  Archer didn’t understand why she suddenly looked so gleeful. It didn’t matter. Mae and the heir she carried would soon be out of reach of both the Drydens and the Larkes. He imagined her emerging from a mountainside tunnel, holding her belly, surrounded by Jemma, Nat, and Briar. They would race through the forest, find the horses and the others, take to the open road. They would be free, as long as Archer could distract these three a little longer. He grinned at the stone gargoyle the Drydens admired so much, already feeling a hint of relief.

  Then they turned down the eastern corridor—and abruptly found themselves facing Briar and Mae, who had just entered it at the other end.

  Briar was covered in gray dust, and she wore pure determination like armor. Mae was wide-eyed and pale, clutching a bundle of burgundy cloth in her arms. Only a few dozen paces separated them from Archer and the others.

  The two girls stared at the curse painters and Lord Larke with looks of twin shock. Which was nothing compared to the shock on the faces of Donovan and Saoirse Dryden.

  Chapter 28

  Briar’s parents had never been slow to react before, but she was clearly the last person they expected to find attempting to steal their prisoner. Their astonishment gave her the tiniest edge. She used it.

  She plucked a black curse stone from her pocket and hurled it as hard as she could at the distinguished man with thick brown hair standing between her parents. It struck his forehead, cutting deep. Briar was already reaching for her paints.

  “Run,” she hissed to Mae.

  “But—”

  “Go! Get as far away as you can.”

  With a frantic gasp, Mae clutched her baby tighter and ran.

  Briar yanked paints indiscriminately from her satchel and began daubing rough lines on the floor. Her parents had turned to look when the curse stone struck their companion—Lord Larke presumably. He was bleeding heavily, crimson streams dripping onto the collar of his fine coat. Briar’s father reached for the man to try to stop the bleeding.

  Her mother advanced toward her, eyes blazing with cold fire. She had a paintbrush in her hand, and her lips were pulled back in an angry rictus.

  Briar painted faster, using her largest brush to streak umber and carmine across the stone, counting each stroke. Four. Five. Six.

  Her hands shook, making her work sloppy, and her fingers burned with magic. She had to finish the design before her mother reached her. Footsteps drummed down the corridor, counting down like a clock.

  Eight. Nine. Ten. The rough image of a volcano took shape, its mouth pointing down the corridor. Someone said her name like a curse.

  Briar glanced up to check how far away her mother was as she prepared the final strokes, dipping her brush in carmine lake. That’s when she saw Archer running after Saoirse Dryden, as if he could stop the legendary mage with his bare hands.

  Panic seized Briar. If she finished painting the volcano, the curse would strike Archer with just as much force as it struck her mother. She didn’t want to hurt either of them, but her mother was almost to her, eyes alight with the particular rage of betrayal. Briar’s hands felt as hot as a blacksmith’s forge.

  Archer sprinted after Saoirse. He wouldn’t catch up in time.

  “Do it!” he shouted. “You have to!”

  Briar tightened her grip on her paintbrush. He was right. Blocking the passage and stopping her mother was their only chance to escape.

  Saoirse was almost to her, the brush in her hand dripping bone-black paint.

  “Hurry, Briar!” Archer bellowed.

  Twelve.

  Briar painted the final stroke. The painting exploded.

  A wave of pressure hurtled from Briar’s position, blasting right into Archer and her mother. Both of them flew backward, sliding the length of the corridor. Chunks of stone broke away from the ceiling and rained down on them. A plume of acrid smoke filled the air.

  Briar lurched forward a step, ears ringing, but Mae was going the other way, running as fast as she could under the circumstances. She and the baby weren’t safe yet. They didn’t deserve to die. Briar had a job to finish.

  Not daring to scrutinize the carnage left by her curse, Briar caught up to the young mother and baby and pulled them through the nearest doorway. They ran full speed across a room cluttered with bunks and open-mouthed young men. The soldiers’ barracks. Briar paused to throw a handful of red exploding stones in their midst. Then she and Mae burst out the other side into a broader corridor. Briar remembered Jemma telling her the large barracks had entrances on the eastern and main passageways. She turned left, and they headed toward the front of the fortress.

  They couldn’t go back through the tunnel. Briar would never be able to curse her way to a clear section before her parents caught up. But she might have enough of a head start to blast straight through the front door before they recovered from her last curse.

  “Was that Ivan?” Mae demanded as she struggled to keep up with Briar. “What did you do to him?”

  “He’ll be okay,” Briar said. Please, let him be okay.

  The torches flickered as they ran past, and their footsteps echoed around them, announcing their progress. Briar breathed in smoky air and linseed oil and ash. She had to get Mae and the baby girl out of Narrowmar before she worried about what she had done to Archer and her mother.

  Thanks to the tiny curse on her blankets, the baby remained asleep as they charged down the corridor. Armed and uniformed men rushed by them, running toward the big explosion. They weren’t looking for escaped prisoners, and they didn’t glance at the bundle in Mae’s arms. Still, it would only take one soldier to raise the alarm. Briar and Mae ducked into alcoves and empty rooms whenever they could, which slowed their progress. How long before her parents came after her? They would surely use their nastiest curses to punish her for daring to stand against them.

  Mae’s steps were becoming labored. Briar didn’t know how long it took to recover after having a baby, but it had to be more than three days. There was nothing she could do about that at the moment. She just had to get Mae and the baby out the front door, then Esteban could heal whatever ailed the young mother.

  If Esteban had survived. Briar didn’t know how Archer had ended up with her parents and the tall, distinguished man she assumed was Lord Larke. What if the rest of the team had already been killed?

  Nothing you can do, she reminded herself as she pulled Mae through a doorway to allow another group of soldiers to run past.

  The soldiers were streaming toward the explosion site now, but once word spread that Mae had escaped, they would comb through every room in the fortress.

  Briar pressed her ear to the door, listening to the footsteps receding and the shouts echoing from deep within the stronghold. Her pulse raced, and sweat dripped down her back as she waited for her moment.

  She was about to charge back into the corridor, when Mae grabbed her sleeve. “Wait! Could you use this?” Mae held up a jar of purple paint.

  Briar whirled around, taking in the room they’d ducked into to avoid the last group of soldiers. The large, richly decorated chamber was filled with paint supplies, brushes, canvas, ground-up pigments, vats of linseed oil, detailed sketches of future paintings. Her parents must be using the room as their studio.

  Hardly daring to believe her luck, Briar took the purple from Mae and began stuffing her satchel with as many additional paints as she could carry. Mae helped, balancing a few small jars on top of her sleeping daughter and slinging another satchel over her shoulder. Briar found several containers of the marine-snail purple that had given her such trouble. Of course her parents would have plenty of the rare shade. Her father was obsessed with studying the unravelling of magic.

  “What do we do now?” Mae asked.

  Briar blinked at her trusting expression. She wasn’t used to people looking to her for leadership. “I think we’re close t
o the exit,” she said. “When we get there, I’ll hold off the soldiers and curse painters as long as I can. You get outside and run until you can’t run anymore. My friends will find you and help if I can’t.”

  Mae nodded. “What if they don’t?”

  Briar hesitated. What if they were all dead? Nat and Jemma and Lew, even Esteban. They had begun to show her what a family could be like. She couldn’t accept that they might all be gone, but Mae was right. If they were dead, she would be helpless out there, no matter how fiercely she wanted to protect her child.

  Briar cast about for another idea. “Do you remember a village called New Chester?”

  “Yes, it’s a day or two south of here.” Mae scowled. “He took me through there.” She looked as if she was ready to crack heads with a water pitcher again. She apparently didn’t have any lingering affection for her erstwhile lover.

  “You can hide there, and none of the people will bother you,” Briar said. “Stay until you’re well enough to travel. The place is under an enchantment, but you’ll be safe enough.”

  “What about Ivan?”

  “I’ll go back for him after you’re safe,” Briar said. “I promise.”

  Mae gave her a considering look then nodded. “Do you have enough paint?”

  Briar patted the satchel weighing down her shoulder. “With all this, I could bring down the mountain.”

  Mae flashed a quicksilver grin. “Good.”

  They gathered their precious burdens and listened at the door. When the corridor was clear, they slipped out of the room full of paints and began their final sprint. In a few minutes, they would cross the threshold of Narrowmar’s only door.

  Chapter 29

  The old captain stood before the great stone door, running a hand over his sword hilt. The burgundy leather wrapped around the grip had begun to crack.

  The captain had never shirked his responsibilities. Even in the dark days after his wife left, when he’d questioned his commitment to the forgotten mountain and a liege lord he rarely saw, he had kept his watch. When vile sorcerers had come to the mountain with their talk of art and pain, he’d stayed, ignoring his aching bones and his seething conscience in the name of duty. He was the stronghold of Narrowmar, and he refused to forsake his guard.

  Until a frightened girl dashed toward him with a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes. Lady Mae looked desperate and terrified and determined, as she had when she pushed out that tiny little girl in a rush of blood and water. She had been valiant despite her captivity, despite the cruelty of the Larkes and the malevolence of the curse painters. Now, with her damp curls plastered to her face and a bundle in her arms, she ran as if there was still hope of escape, as if she might one day walk beneath the sun with wildflowers in her hair. At the sight of her wide-eyed determination, the captain’s resolve wavered.

  He realized that he didn’t care if he was stripped of his honors and exiled for the rest of his days. Mae and her child were innocents. They didn’t deserve to be kept beneath the mountain, subject to the machinations of mages and lords. The captain had always followed orders, but he saw at last that keeping his duty wasn’t worth the cost.

  He ordered the two soldiers with him to go inside the guard station to the right of the main door. They looked at him questioningly but obeyed. As soon as they were gone, the captain stepped into Mae’s path. A wild-haired girl skidded to a halt at her side.

  “Stop!” he said. “There is a curse on the door.”

  “Who are you?” asked the wild-haired girl.

  The captain waved off the question. “If Lady Mae walks across that threshold, she will die instantly.”

  The strange girl scanned the doorway, her large, luminous eyes taking in the pattern of stars and moons. There was something familiar about those eyes.

  “He’s right,” she said, turning to Mae. “This is a powerful barrier curse.”

  “Then we’re trapped?”

  “Not if I can help it.” The girl reached into a satchel at her side and pulled out a jar of purple paint. The glass glinted in the torchlight.

  Mae’s arms tightened around her baby. “Are you going to tunnel through the walls again?”

  The captain grunted. “Tunnel?”

  The other girl shook her head. “There’s no time for that, but if I can unravel this—”

  Quick footsteps sounded behind them. A group of soldiers advanced up the corridor toward them. The old captain recognized the broad-shouldered young man leading them and grimaced. All this was his doing.

  Mae’s face had gone milk white. “What do we do?”

  The other girl had the jar of paint open in her hand, and she was scrutinizing the curse on the door. “This is complicated,” she muttered. “It’ll take ages to—”

  “We don’t have ages!” Mae said. The soldiers were getting closer, their broad-shouldered leader shouting commands.

  The wild-haired girl touched the stone doorpost where the names of everyone in Narrowmar had been scrawled among the celestial lights. Some had flourishes beside them. Mae’s didn’t.

  “Names,” the girl whispered. “The curse painters demanded everyone’s names for this curse, didn’t they?”

  The captain nodded, keeping his attention on the approaching soldiers, unsure what they would do when they closed the distance. He had always imagined he would die defending the door from enemies on the other side. “No one can leave without their permission.”

  The girl wiped a smear of sweat and dust from her forehead. “Have they done the baby?”

  “The baby?”

  “After she was born, did they scribe her name on the wall?”

  “She doesn’t have a name yet,” Mae said.

  “Okay. Give her to me, then.”

  Mae’s eyes flashed. “What?”

  “There are two curses here—one to keep people out and one to keep specific people in.” The girl screwed the lid back on the jar of purple paint and dropped it in her satchel with a clink. “I came in through the tunnel, which is why I didn’t fall to the first curse. My name and the baby’s are not held by the second curse. I can get her out of the way then use some more dramatic curses to fight them off.”

  “You want to take her?”

  “Larke will never let her go if he gets his hands on her.”

  The old captain didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he had to agree. Jasper Larke was a ruthless man, and he’d proved willing to hurt women to serve his own ends. The captain had seen it before and—to his shame—he hadn’t spoken up. He had protected a powerful man’s interests instead of defending the woman he had hurt. No more.

  “Give her the babe, lass.” The captain put a hand on his sword, which he’d rarely drawn except in training. “I’ll look after you until she returns.”

  Mae gave a ragged sob and handed the still-sleeping baby to the other young woman. It was a marvel that the child could nap through all the commotion.

  “You get her to safety,” Mae said fiercely. “Don’t come back.”

  The wild-haired young woman gave her a searching look, then she nodded. Clutching the baby tight to her chest, she took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold. For a moment, the captain feared they had been wrong.

  The girl paused, swaying on her feet. Then she peeled back the blankets and bent her head over the baby. She looked back at Mae and the captain. “She’s all right! It worked.” Then her eyes widened, her lips parting.

  And the captain noticed a red-tipped sword had suddenly appeared, sticking clear through his back and out the front of his chest.

  Chapter 30

  Briar gasped as the old captain was stabbed from behind. Mae screamed, leaping back as her would-be protector fell to the ground. She teetered at the threshold, nearly falling across it. Then she pitched the other way and crawled away from the fallen captain and his murderer.

  The newcomer was broad-shouldered and young, with a mop of thick brown hair and a barrel chest. Briar didn’t wait to lea
rn more. She wrapped her arms tighter around the baby and ran.

  It was pitch-dark outside, and rocks and boulders rose out of nowhere to trip her. Clouds had gathered overhead, blocking out the starlight. Despite her unsteady footing, Briar ran like she had never run before, pure terror driving her onward. She had faced her parents. She had risked crossing the most complex barrier curse she’d ever seen. Worst of all, she now had a very fragile, very fresh baby in her arms.

  So she ran, with nowhere to go, no one to help her. She could be the only member of her team left. Archer wouldn’t come to her aid with his knack for knowing which way to go, his certain kind of vision. He was under the mountain, knocked down by her curse. If he still lived, he wouldn’t escape that fortress unless Briar’s parents willed it.

  Briar winced at the thought of that burst of power she’d hurled across the corridor. Her father had been far enough away to avoid the blast, but her mother and Archer…

  Did she really have to paint such a powerful incendiary? She could have painted a border that would put her pursuers to sleep if they crossed it. She could have created a flashbang to divert their attention while Mae escaped. Why had she turned so quickly to one of the deadliest curses she knew? What was it inside her that allowed her to unfurl such destruction when a simple stop curse would do the trick?

  You know the answer.

  She gritted her teeth, trying to push down the little voice whispering to her like the deadly hum of a voice mage.

  You wanted to show them, didn’t you? You wanted to prove you are more powerful than even they dreamed you could be. You’ve been practicing that curse, that blast of destruction, for far too long, imagining their reactions when they saw it. Well, congratulations. You sure showed them.

  Briar wanted to scream at the voice, to deny the assertion that some part of her wanted to shove her power back in her parents’ faces. She refused to admit she had become exactly what they’d always wanted her to be.