Curse Painter (Art Mages of Lure Book 1)

by Jordan Rivet

  The team halted a safe distance from the mountain stronghold, where they could prepare without risking discovery. They took shelter behind a large, misshapen stone, the lower half of a gigantic statue. Only the knees and booted feet remained, covered with lichen and a scattering of fallen leaves.

  While the others hobbled the horses by the broken statue, Archer beckoned for Briar to scout ahead with him on foot. The captain of the Narrowmar garrison might know they were in the area by then. The old man had been stationed there for as long as Archer could remember, and he’d guarded it well. They had to be careful.

  The ravine leading to the tall spur of the mountain and the fortress entrance had a narrow, rocky road down its center. They approached along the upper ridge so they could watch the road without being seen, picking their way through twisted trees and thorny brambles, wincing at the snap of every branch underfoot. Taller and healthier trees—mostly wych elms—lined the ridge nearer to the mountain, providing enough cover for Archer and Briar to get close to the ravine and the fabled stronghold unseen.

  They crawled to the edge of the ridge on their bellies to survey their target. The stronghold was built into a narrow fissure, a mere crack in the rock guarded by a large stone door. One could look at the entrance and think it hid nothing more than a stable or a shepherd’s hovel, but within the mountain lay a vast womb that had never been breached in its three-hundred-year history.

  Archer was determined to break that record.

  “That’s the only entrance,” he whispered, pointing out the large door, which was the same shade of pale gray as the mountainside.

  Briar gave a low whistle. “It wouldn’t be easy to get through that even without the enchantments.”

  “It’s worse once you’re inside,” Archer said. “There’s a central corridor with tunnels and doorways leading off it. Soldiers could be waiting to jump out at you at every step.”

  As he spoke, the door opened a crack, and six men marched out, wearing burgundy uniforms and carrying pikes. They crossed the bare rocky area in front of the door and proceeded up the road, passing just beneath Archer’s position on the ravine.

  “I think it’s safe to say Larke sent reinforcements to the garrison,” Archer said. “Seen enough?”

  Briar didn’t answer, busy scrutinizing the stone door. Archer was deeply relieved she hadn’t abandoned them when she’d discovered her parents were tangled up with the Larkes. Jemma’s plan would be impossible without her. It might be impossible anyway, but he wasn’t prepared to accept that.

  Archer studied Briar covertly out of the corner of his eye. She had done darker things than he had ever dreamed of, and he couldn’t discount the dangers she presented to his mission and personal safety. But she had also stepped away and tried to live a better life despite terrifying obstacles. He couldn’t help admiring her. He wished he could lift some of the weight she carried.

  The wind shifted, and a hint of Briar’s linseed oil and rose scent reached him, reminding him of their dance on the threshing floor and the way she’d laughed. He had a sudden urge to cup her face in his hands and bring it closer to his.

  He shook his head. Dangerous mission, remember? Powerful enemies and mortal peril and betrayal and—

  “I’ve seen enough.” Briar looked up at him then blinked as if surprised at the look on his face. “Are you okay—”

  “That patrol could look up here anytime,” he said gruffly. “We’d best be getting back to the others.”

  They picked their way back through the twisted trees, taking even more care to be quiet, and rejoined the rest of the group by the ruined statue. Esteban was crouched on the giant stone feet like an old crow, massaging his throat. Jemma was examining a wound Nat had received during the fight by the campfire. Lew was scribbling furiously in his notebook.

  “You’ll be unsurprised to hear that Narrowmar looks as unassailable as ever,” Archer reported.

  “So, what’s the play, boss?” Nat asked. “We impersonating Larke’s men? Sneaking in with the ale? I reckon they go through a few barrels a day.”

  “Nothing so elaborate,” Archer said. “I can guarantee every method of attack has been tried before—except this one.” He grinned, leaning jauntily on the statue’s cracked left boot. “We’re going to make our own entrance.” He nodded at Briar. “Or more specifically, she’s going to make us an entrance.”

  Nat’s eyes widened. “What, by cutting through the mountain?”

  “Cursing through the mountain,” Archer said. “With a little luck, we’re never going to get near that stone door again.”

  Lew departed to keep an eye on the road from the safety of a tree branch while the others prepared for the operation. They fed the horses—keeping them saddled in case they needed to leave in a hurry—sharpened their weapons, and reviewed the plan Jemma had devised after Briar revealed she could curse a tunnel straight through the mountain. They would wait until just before the dinner hour to make their move, when the soldiers were looking to their suppers after a long, uneventful day guarding an unassailable door. Archer hoped to be far away by the time the stars came out.

  Nat looked increasingly nervous as the shadows began to slant from the broken statue. The lad’s clothes were more disheveled than usual, and he kept pulling on his ear and looking at Briar, who was too preoccupied to offer any reassurances. Her lips were moving, as if she were reciting her curse order—or perhaps a prayer—over and over again.

  Archer strolled over to Nat and thumped him on his rounded shoulder. “You all right, mate?”

  “You reckon it’ll make noise when she blasts a hole through the rock?”

  “Almost certainly,” Archer said. “That’s why we brought a mage with a very fine voice.”

  Nat frowned. “I thought Esteban wasn’t going to use his magic.”

  “Everyone has a role to play,” Archer said. “Esteban is going to attempt to sing his way into one side of the mountain, covert-like, and while the defenders are busy catching him, our curse painter will burrow through the other side with a different sort of magic.”

  Archer had convinced Esteban it would be good for his reputation to get the credit for breaking Mae out of Narrowmar. His license tattoos would place him at the scene, even if he failed to breach the fortress. His voice, for all its power, didn’t have the sheer destructive force of a painted curse. He couldn’t punch a hole through a mountain.

  Nat didn’t look convinced. “Won’t he need to be rescued then?”

  “I have faith in Esteban’s ability to evade capture,” Archer said. “Besides, Esteban has been seen often in Barden County. Anyone who recognizes him will think this is an assault from Mae’s father, which is the primary threat they’ve been expecting all along. They’ll be too busy defending the fortress against him to see the real attack coming.”

  “If you say so.” Nat wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead. “Remind me what I’m supposed to do again.”

  “You will watch out for Briar while she works and help get Mae out through the tunnel—carry her if necessary. You’re the brawn, remember? You need to be extra careful with her in her condition.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going to help Esteban with the diversion.” Archer counted the arrows in his quiver, making sure the fletching was straight on each one. “Between us, we’re going to cause a ruckus to wake the lower realms.”

  They had only decided that part earlier that morning. Archer had originally planned to go into the tunnel with Briar to find Mae himself, but after their brawl with the patrol by New Chester, they had to assume Narrowmar’s defenders knew his crew was in the area. One of the soldiers could have escaped amidst the confusion around the fire. If Archer wasn’t with Esteban, they would know the voice mage was only a diversion. There was an outsized chance Archer would be captured, but that was a risk he was willing to take.

  Nat still looked worried. “What about Lew?”

  “He will be acting all diverting
with me and Esteban. Don’t worry, Nat. He’ll be fine.”

  “If you say so.”

  Nat ambled over to Briar, who was rearranging the contents of her paint satchel with meticulous hands. “Are you really powerful enough to make a tunnel all the way into that mountain?”

  “Let’s hope so,” Briar said.

  “How do you know we won’t punch right through to a room full of soldiers?”

  “That’s where I come in,” Jemma said. She was tying stiff leather bracers onto her arms, knife hilts poking out above each wrist. Her cudgel swung at her belt, and her red shawl was knotted across her chest. “I lived inside that mountain in another life. I know it well.”

  “I thought it was Larke Castle you knew,” Nat said.

  Jemma’s mouth tightened, pulling at her spidery wrinkles. “I’ve spent time in both places.”

  “And Archer?” Briar looked up from her paints. “You’ve also been inside Narrowmar before, right?”

  Archer slung his quiver over his shoulder. “In another life, as Jemma says.”

  Nat looked between the two of them. “Am I the only one who doesn’t have a secret history?”

  “You’re making your secret history as we speak,” Archer said. “The reward for rescuing Mae will make you rich. You can set up as a gentleman somewhere and keep the story of how you came by your riches to yourself as long as you want.”

  “Huh,” Nat said. “I’d never thought of that.”

  He wandered off to make sure the horses were securely tethered in the shadow of the broken statue. They would make their final approach soon. Archer was ready to get on with it. They had crossed river and forest and field for their mission, and the longer they waited, the more he thought of all the ways it could go wrong. They still didn’t know what surprises the curse painters had prepared for them, but they were counting on the magical defenses being centered around the ravine road and the great stone door.

  Archer walked over to where Briar was digging in her saddlebags and muttering under her breath about malachite, azurite, and ochre.

  “Are you ready?”

  “I think so.” She pulled a jar of black paint from the bottom of a saddlebag and tucked it into her bulging canvas satchel. Her movements were jerky, betraying her nerves. “The mountain is bigger than I expected. I hope I have enough paint.”

  “I have faith in your powers of destruction.”

  She sighed. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Please do.” Archer paused, gathering his thoughts. “I know you aren’t always fond of your power. I’m sorry I dragged you away from your cottage and made you use it.”

  “That life was doomed anyway,” Briar said briskly, still fiddling with her satchel. “Besides, you need me.”

  “I do. Maybe more than you think.”

  Briar looked up to meet his gaze. Archer remembered when he first saw her peering out of that maple tree by Winton’s house, owlish and devastating. He brushed a frizzy curl back from her forehead, his hand lingering on her cheek. She watched him with a careful stillness. He couldn’t tell if she was about to lean toward him or pull away. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was about to do either.

  He wanted to kiss her. Of course he did. He’d wanted to kiss her every minute since she’d first fallen out of that tree and into his life, but his work wasn’t done. Kissing Briar would complicate everything that had to happen after they completed their mission. He accepted that. It wouldn’t be fair.

  Still, his hand lingered on her face. She blinked, her eyelashes fluttering against his skin. Her sweetbriar lips parted. His pulse accelerated, beating like a drum. It may not be fair, but he was going to do it anyway.

  Just as Archer was about to throw away every last scrap of caution and lean in, something large thudded into the back of his legs. He pitched forward, nearly knocking Briar down. They grabbed each other instinctively to keep their balance.

  The large thing that had rammed into him had a big wrinkly head and sun-dappled gray fur. He leapt up on his back legs and began slobbering all over Archer’s face.

  “Sheriff! It’s about time you showed up. You almost missed all the fun.”

  The dog continued to enthusiastically—and wetly—greet his master. Then he dropped back to all fours and regarded Briar with bright black eyes. She looked at him uncertainly, as if afraid she’d offended him by spiriting his master across the river without him. Before she could say anything, Sheriff leapt on top of her and proceeded to greet her as vigorously as he had greeted Archer himself.

  “Okay, okay, she missed you too,” Archer said, patting his old friend on his meaty shoulders and avoiding Briar’s eyes so he wouldn’t be drawn in again. It was better that way. “We have work to do. You reckon you can keep an eye on the horses for us?”

  Sheriff whined his acquiescence.

  “Good. Then I think it’s time we follow up all this talk with a bit of action.”

  No sooner had he said it than trumpets blared through the woods loud enough to shake the leaves from their branches. Lew dashed up moments later, breathing heavily. He had twigs in his red hair, and bits of bark clung to his beard.

  “A whole caravan of riders,” Lew said, “coming up the canyon road.”

  Archer was already reaching for his bow. “More reinforcements?”

  “Could be,” Lew said. “They’re still far off. Most are soldiers, but there’s a fancy carriage too.”

  “Show me.”

  Lew led the way, and soon Archer was back on the ridge, though farther from the wych elms and the stone door than before. Two dozen armed and liveried fighting men were riding up the road, surrounding a carriage bearing a familiar sigil, one Archer had looked at with mixed feelings for most of his life. A man sat inside the carriage, his profile visible through the open window.

  Rage bubbled up in Archer’s gut, a familiar torrent of emotion that had gotten him in a great deal of trouble the last time he’d seen that man. That man was the reason Archer was there, the reason Mae and her child were in danger. He was why Archer’s life wasn’t truly his own, why he couldn’t kiss Briar without feeling guilty, why he had committed himself to their mission and everything that had to happen afterward.

  “Today is going to be more exciting than we thought,” Archer said, fighting to keep his voice calm. “It looks like Lord Larke himself is here.”

  Lord Jasper Larke, Archer’s father.

  Chapter 20

  “Change of plans.”

  Briar looked up to see Archer marching back to where she waited with the others by the broken statue. His jaw was clenched, his dark eyebrows drawn low. The breezy bravado he’d displayed moments ago had disappeared.

  “Lord Larke is coming up the canyon road with two dozen retainers. He’ll reach Narrowmar in twenty minutes.”

  “He’ll want to see Mae at once,” Jemma said. “We were counting on her being alone.”

  Archer nodded grimly. “We can’t wait until he leaves. He could stay until after the baby is born and take it with him when he goes.”

  “So we’re too late?” Nat asked.

  “Not yet,” Archer said. “But we can’t wait until suppertime like we planned. Esteban?”

  “Yes?”

  “What do you say we attack the caravan right now, before Lord Larke has a chance to reach the front gates?”

  “Archer,” Jemma began.

  “It’ll get their eyes on us, same as we planned.”

  Esteban studied Archer intently. “Just to be clear, instead of pretending to sing my way through the side of the mountain, you now want me to attack two dozen armed men out in the open?”

  “That’s exactly what I want.”

  A dark intensity burned in Archer’s eyes. Something had changed in him at the sight of Lord Larke. It made Briar nervous, but it drew her in too. She recognized that intensity, that rage. It sang in time with the destruction crackling in her fingertips.

  “We’re too close to the stron
ghold,” Lew said. “It would be suicide to attack outright.”

  “I’m not expecting to win,” Archer said. “But Esteban can handle whatever Narrowmar spits out. Quickly. We have to ambush them right now, or it’ll be too late.”

  “It’s already too late,” Jemma said. “Ambushes take planning. We can’t just run down to the road and start—”

  “Mae doesn’t have any time left,” Archer interrupted.

  “We have to be smart about this, Archer,” Lew said, raising his hands as if approaching a rabid animal. “Even with Esteban’s skill—”

  “We swore to do this no matter what it takes,” Archer said. “Jemma, Nat, and Briar can get Mae to safety. Take her into the wilds if you have to. Just don’t let her fall back into Larke’s hands. Lew and Esteban, you’re with me.”

  Jemma’s face was white, her lips as bloodless as a corpse’s. “Archer—”

  “This isn’t a discussion,” Archer snapped.

  The others looked stunned by his vehemence, but they moved, hands tightening on weapons, jaws setting with determination. Their easygoing leader was gone. Briar sensed the pull, the vision, that had made them follow him. Archer was no longer a thief working a job. He was a man on a life-or-death mission, and he would see it done no matter what.

  Jemma was the only one who still hadn’t moved. “Archer, if you die attacking his stupid carriage—”

  “Then so be it. I won’t let him get away with this, Jem.”

  They faced each other for a moment, and it was as if a shining tether connected them, a link Briar didn’t understand. After a long, taut silence, Jemma nodded.

  Suddenly, Archer whirled to face Briar, that dark fire still burning in his eyes.