Curse Painter (Art Mages of Lure Book 1)

by Jordan Rivet

  Briar studied the older woman closely. “You’re the one in charge?”

  Jemma chuckled, her skin creasing around her mouth. “Oh, I like her already.”

  “Didn’t you say—”

  “She’s the brains, yes, but I’m the boss,” Archer said. “Jemma used to work in the castle where our fair maiden is being kept. She’s the reason we are going to succeed where other merry bands of outlaws have failed.”

  “How many?” Briar asked.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “How many others have attempted this mission and failed?”

  “Let’s just say, it won’t be as easy as it sounds.” Archer headed for the cookpot, seeking to fend off further challenges. “Hope you saved some stew for us.”

  “Esteban almost finished it off,” Jemma said. “You shouldn’t have taken so long.”

  “Oh, right, that’s Esteban.” Archer nodded at the shriveled figure dressed in black sitting at the very edge of the ring of light, giving no further explanation.

  Esteban wouldn’t respond well to being labeled, even if Archer called him charming and brawny and as handsome as the king himself. In truth, Esteban was none of those things. Gaunt, gray haired, and surly, he had been with them almost since the beginning, but he hadn’t warmed up to anyone. Only Jemma—who was nicer than they all deserved—made much of an effort with him.

  The six of them gathered around the campfire, sitting on fallen logs or sprawling in the dirt. Briar perched on a stump, watching the others closely, and Archer was reminded again of a petite owl. But owls had talons, and he couldn’t forget she had the power to hurl him across a room when she felt like it.

  After scarfing down a few bites of Lew’s special squirrel stew, Archer explained the mission to rescue Lady Mae.

  “The castle is a ten-day ride from here, deep within the boundaries of Lord Larke’s territory. It has a regular garrison of fifty retainers, and their commander is no fool. He won’t leave the lady unguarded, even during the most dramatic diversion. This will be a stealth mission. Jemma knows her way around the castle, so we should be able to sneak into the tower, break open the lady’s door, incapacitate her guards, and get her out again without anyone realizing we’re there. Lord Larke should be away on his annual tax-collecting jaunt, so that’ll make our job a little easier.”

  Briar listened closely, her chin in her hand. “What are the magical protections on the place?”

  “Esteban?”

  The old man gave a dry cough. “A Nightshade Illusion at the border wall, a few hexed doorways in the tower, and likely a Marin’s Lock on her door.”

  Briar raised an eyebrow. “Why do you need me? You already have a mage.”

  Lew and Jemma exchanged glances, but Esteban didn’t seem surprised Briar had figured out what he was. He watched her sullenly. Truth be told, sullen was his resting state.

  “Esteban’s power comes with limitations,” Archer said. “He’s licensed, you see.”

  “Then why do you need him?”

  Lew chortled, and Esteban muttered something about disrespectful children.

  “Everyone has a part to play in this.” Archer thumped Nat on the not-quite-brawny shoulder. “Even him.”

  Briar was still studying the mage. She was tense, a bird poised for flight. “You have the tattoos?”

  Esteban pulled up his sleeve to reveal the faded black ink looping his wiry arms. The spelled marks meant every bit of magic he performed was catalogued in the mysterious Hall of Records in faraway High Lure, the king’s city.

  “Where did you train?” Briar asked.

  “I have studied at several of the best art mage schools in Lure,” Esteban said. “I won’t have my credentials questioned by an illegal—”

  “I don’t doubt your credentials,” Briar said. “When were you last at court?”

  Esteban’s mouth tightened irritably. “I have been my own man since before you were born, little girl. You ought to show your elders more respect.”

  “Forgive me,” Briar said. “I meant no offense.” She adjusted her position on the tree stump, already seeming less nervous.

  Interesting. Archer would have to see if Jemma had any theories about why Briar cared whether someone had recently been at court. Jemma was better at reading people than he was. Esteban was easier to figure out than Briar. The older mage begrudged the fact that they’d hired outside magical help for the job. The resentment was practically written on his face among the wrinkles. Archer hoped that wouldn’t become a problem.

  “Back to business,” Archer said. “Can you paint curses that will break those three spells in addition to ones that will open normal doors and knock out guards?”

  “With some planning, yes.” Briar looked around the campfire at the band of thieves, then her gaze flitted to the tunnel through the thicket, as if she were still thinking about running away. “But if I agree to help you, I’ll get a price on my head for my troubles.”

  “Only if you’re seen and somehow recognized. I don’t expect that to be an issue, do you?”

  Briar touched a lock of her frizzy hair. “Of course not.”

  Had that been hesitation, a note of falseness? Archer couldn’t be certain. Lord Larke’s retainers were unlikely to recognize her, especially if Jemma and Archer himself didn’t know her. They were acquainted with most of the lawbreakers in Larke and Barden counties, even though they’d spent most of the past year farther afield. She couldn’t be that notorious. So who was she worried about?

  “We shouldn’t discuss any more details until she gives us a straight answer,” Esteban muttered. “Are you in or not?”

  Briar cast a swift look at the old mage then focused on Archer. She had turned him down flat before, but this time she might actually need the coin. It wouldn’t be cheap to restart her business after what had happened back at the cottage. Still, he held his breath. They needed her too.

  “I’ll do it,” Briar said, “but I have a few conditions. First, after this job, I will take my money and go. I am not joining your merry band, and I’m no thief.”

  Archer released a sigh. “Fair enough.” Rescue missions were outside the job descriptions of most thieves anyway, but then, Archer and the others were not most thieves.

  “I’ll need a few things for my curses,” Briar went on. “New paints and brushes, for starters. I lost all of mine when …” She trailed off, looking into the fire, twin flames dancing in her eyes. She blinked them away. “Do you have money, or will we need to steal them?”

  “I’ve never lifted paints before,” Nat said, cracking his stubby fingers. “Sounds like a challenge.”

  “Those we can buy,” Archer said. “Discretion is essential from here on out. We have enough coin to purchase whatever you require to get the job done.”

  “I need a rare shade of purple,” Briar said. “It’s made from crushed marine snails, and only one supplier has the right kind in this county. He keeps a shop in the Mud Market.”

  Lew combed his red beard thoughtfully. “That’s a little out of our way.”

  “The curse won’t work without it,” Briar said. “It’s the only paint that will unravel another’s magic.”

  “We can work in a detour,” Archer said. “Anything else?”

  “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

  Jemma and Lew exchanged quick glances, and Esteban muttered something under his breath. They’d run enough jobs to know casualties weren’t always something they could control. They all looked at Archer.

  “We’re thieves, not murderers,” he said. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do everything in my power to see that you don’t have to kill anyone, providing it doesn’t endanger the mission.” He met her gaze across the fire, his voice going cold. “But all bets are off if you allow any of my team to be hurt out of some misguided attempt to be principled.”

  “Understood,” Briar said. “I will not hesitate, if it comes to that.”

  “See that you don’t.”

>   They stared at each other for a beat longer, and Archer remembered the teacup exploding in his hands. The girl was powerful, and he would have to be careful of her in the days to come.

  They couldn’t afford to fail. Lady Mae’s safety was too important. No matter what they said about the reward—and the bonus—the real stakes were much higher. Only Archer among them knew how vital it was that they succeed.

  The deal made, they finished their stew and set about cleaning up the campsite and settling the animals for the night. The weather had cooled considerably since the sun had gone down, hinting that the end of summer was drawing near. They retrieved extra blankets from their cache of supplies—a half-buried trunk they replenished whenever they were in the area—and rearranged their bedrolls so everyone could sleep with their feet to the fire.

  Briar accepted a bundle of blankets from Nat with a polite nod and lay down at the farthest edge of the clearing, her back to the brambles and her face to the team. Her eyes remained open, her wariness visible from ten feet away.

  I guess I’d be nervous around a fearsome band like ours too. Archer deliberately ignored Lew, who was scratching a poem on the notebook he kept in his vest pocket. Esteban had scuttled over to the far side of the clearing to pick blackberries for dessert.

  When Nat and Esteban got into a rousing argument over who had the first watch, Archer took the opportunity to pull Jemma aside.

  “What do you think of the curse painter?”

  “She’s hiding something.”

  Archer laughed. “Aren’t we all?”

  “Some more successfully than others.” Jemma folded her red shawl tighter around her body and peered up at him. She was a head shorter than Archer, but she could still make him feel like a scruffy kid with more energy than sense. “Be careful with her. I’m not sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just don’t let a pair of pretty eyes distract you,” Jemma said. “That girl is dangerous.”

  “I know she is.” Archer chose to ignore the part about Briar’s eyes. He supposed they were rather pretty. “She hurled me out of her house in a chair and nearly embedded a teacup in my face.”

  Jemma’s mouth tightened. “I’m more worried about the killing.”

  “The fact that she doesn’t want to? I reckon that’s good. Larke’s men don’t deserve to pay the price for their lord’s actions.”

  “It’s not that she doesn’t want to kill,” Jemma said. “It’s that she has done it before and knows how it feels.”

  Archer blinked. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “It’s in those pretty eyes of hers,” Jemma said. “You’ll see it, too, before this is done.”

  Archer shifted uncomfortably, scraping his boots in the dirt.

  “The important thing is that we get Mae back,” he said. “Whatever this girl is hiding has nothing to do with us. She’s exactly what we’ve been looking for. With her abilities, the mission will succeed for sure.”

  “And that’s why you’re the boss.” Jemma reached up to give him a motherly pat on the cheek. “Someone needs to believe we have a chance.”

  Chapter 5

  Briar awoke to a large pink tongue licking her face. She yelped and scrambled back. The huge dog followed, anointing her with slobbery kisses and trampling her blankets with his massive paws.

  “Go away,” she mumbled.

  Instead of obeying, the dog turned in a complete circle and planted himself in her lap like an overgrown kitten. He gazed up at her with a plaintive expression. Strings of saliva dripped onto her shirt. Her legs began to go numb from his weight.

  “You have to watch out for Sheriff. He’s very affectionate.”

  Briar jolted at the mention of the man who’d ordered her execution, upsetting the dog’s position on her lap. Hazy dawn light filled the camp, and the smell of burnt stew and blackberries lingered. She saw no sign of Sheriff Flynn. The dog gave her a reproachful look and retreated with his shoulders hunched.

  Archer sat on his heels a few paces from Briar’s blankets, a quiver and bow slung across his back. He rubbed the dog’s wrinkled face vigorously, making its jowls flap. “Aw, I’m sure she didn’t mean it, Sheriff, old boy.”

  Briar wiped her cheeks with her scratchy blanket. “You named your dog Sheriff?”

  “I thought it was clever.” Archer stood and clapped his hands briskly. “Up and at ’em, Miss Painter. We have a long ride ahead of us.”

  Briar scrambled to her feet, groaning as every muscle in her body reminded her she’d fallen out of a tree yesterday. She’d slept poorly, unable to fully relax surrounded by strangers. She took a few tottering steps.

  Archer quirked a dark eyebrow in amusement. “I see you’re not a morning person.”

  She grumbled something unintelligible back.

  “Ignore him,” Jemma said, strolling over with two steaming tin mugs.

  Briar caught a whiff of strong tea.

  “He’s insufferably chipper most of the time, but mornings are especially bad.”

  Briar accepted the tea gratefully. The lines in Jemma’s face looked a tad deeper at dawn than they had in the firelight. Strands of silver threaded her thick ash-blond hair. Briar estimated the woman was in her midforties.

  “We have miles to cover, people to rob, and ladies to rescue,” Archer said. “What’s not to be chipper about? Come on, Sheriff. I can see our charms are wasted on these two.”

  Briar and Jemma smiled sleepily at each other and sipped their tea as Archer sauntered over to pester Nat and Lew, who were sound asleep by the fire. Briar felt a little shy around the older woman, who looked more like a kindly librarian than the mastermind of a gang of thieves.

  “We should be able to find you a spare shirt in Lew’s pack,” Jemma said, adjusting her red shawl over her shoulders. “Yours is a tad conspicuous at the moment. I can take in one of my skirts for you this evening.”

  “Thank you.” Briar brushed at the paint stains on her clothes, which had bits of dried leaves sticking to them. The wrap on her arm looked just as bad, but she didn’t undo it. She rotated her wrist and winced.

  “If you catch him in a good mood, Esteban might fix that for you,” Jemma said.

  Briar glanced at the gaunt man currently kicking dirt over the campfire with his surprisingly ornate boots, their leather tooled with silver. His black coat sleeves covered his tattoos completely.

  “Won’t the spell be tracked?”

  “We’ll be on the move today,” Jemma said. “A stray healing spell in the woods shouldn’t give away our scheme. He’s careful.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Jemma smoothed back her silver-and-blond hair and smiled. “Oh, and don’t do anything to hinder this job, or I will personally cut your throat.”

  Briar froze. “Excuse me?”

  “I trust these louts with my life, but I don’t know you from the queen.” Jemma maintained her pleasant smile. “If you intend to devote anything less than your very best efforts to the team, you’d best leave now, or you will have no other chance. Do I make myself clear?”

  Briar stared at Jemma, something dark and destructive rising within her. How dare this woman threaten her after offering tea and healing. She had no idea what Briar was capable of. The most talented curse painters in the kingdom used to speak respectfully to her. Briar was trying to live by a new code, trying not to fill the world with ruin, but she could still make Jemma sorry she’d ever suggested raising a hand against her.

  But as Jemma stared back, eyes as cold as iron in her sweet, lined face, Briar remembered that Sheriff Flynn and Mage Radner were still after her. She had nowhere to go, no paints, and no money. Being a curse painter without hurting people was proving more difficult and complicated than she had expected. She would have to create a hundred smaller curses to earn as much coin as these thieves were offering her, adding a hundred little bits of evil to the world. This mission was a
chance to help someone and earn enough to start over for good. Briar would do this one job then be done with these people and their threats.

  “I understand you perfectly.” She returned Jemma’s icy smile. “Shall I wash the teacups before we pack up?”

  Archer had finished rousing the others from their bedrolls, and they broke camp with much grumbling and swearing about the early hour. Despite their complaints, the outlaws saddled the horses and loaded their supplies onto the pack animals with an efficiency that suggested they relocated often. The sun was barely peeking above the trees when they left the dense thicket, rearranged the branches in front of the entrance, and set off into the woods.

  The forest felt far less ominous that morning than it had the night before. Light flooded through the canopy, and birds serenaded overhead. The smell of warm earth, crushed ferns, and summer-dry pine needles rose from their horses’ hooves. As they rode, Briar stayed a little apart from the others, ruminating on the challenge ahead. Nightshade Illusions and Marin’s Locks were highly advanced magic, and breaking them wouldn’t be easy. Someone must really not want Lady Mae to escape.

  Curse designs had started taking shape in Briar’s mind as soon as the thieves had described Larke Castle’s protection spells. She considered the possibilities as they got deeper into Mere Woods, imagining the strokes in slightly different orders, comparing the pictures in her head with memories of long-ago lessons, long-ago assignments. Her fingers tingled at the prospect of such serious magic.

  She had studied curses since she was old enough to hold a paintbrush. The magic was second nature to her, and it had actually been difficult to learn to paint something with no magical properties to cover her tracks. Her parents had been so proud of her talents, of how cleverly she could rip the world to shreds. Their encouragement had come at a cost, in the end. Briar shuddered at the memories of the worst curses she’d painted in their service, the ones that had made her realize she wanted no part of their business. The colors stirred and morphed, bone black, lead-tin yellow, indigo, umber. So much destruction and decay. So many nightmares. She wished it were as easy to stop being what she was as it had been to walk away.