“That won’t keep them for long.”
“They can’t catch me,” Archer said. “Now hold on tight!”
Chapter 4
Smoke and fury filled the night as they galloped down the path to the village. Archer’s heart pounded in time with the hoofbeats as he leaned forward over the neck of his horse.
Well, it wasn’t technically his horse. He had borrowed it for the occasion. The leggy, spirited animal was already outpacing the sheriff and his goons. Archer hadn’t had that much fun in ages.
“What did you do to the bridge?” he called over his shoulder.
“It’s an illusion,” Briar said in his ear. “The bridge will look like it’s washed out. I didn’t have time to destroy it.”
“Won’t the mage see through that?”
“He’ll have to break the curse first.”
“How long will that take?”
“Don’t slow down.”
Archer winced. He’d had more than his fair share of run-ins with licensed voice mages. They were a cantankerous bunch. “Some night, eh?”
The curse painter didn’t answer. She clung to Archer’s coat, her hands smudged with dark paint. She seemed calm, all things considered. Cursing the bridge had taken quick thinking. It was good to know she performed well under pressure.
She had looked afraid when she’d fled the burning cottage, though, eyes wide and rolling. Archer had intended to demand she commit to the mission before he saved her, but he couldn’t go through with it when he saw her terror. He’d hauled her onto his horse—well, the one he had stolen—and for a minute there, he’d felt like a hero from a story. It had been a long time since he’d felt like that.
But he had a mission, and he was still a thief—and a leader of thieves. Despite her fear, Briar had kept her head. That told him all he needed to know.
Archer twitched the reins as they passed the first houses in Sparrow Village, and the stolen horse responded eagerly to his guidance. It wasn’t long after dark, and people milled in the streets with flowers in their hair, laughing and chatting about the summer fair. Archer galloped the horse up and down and across several of the busier lanes, forcing the villagers to dive out of his way with indignant squawks. No one would be able to tell exactly which direction he had gone when the sheriff questioned them later. He considered retreating to the village’s only inn, where he’d taken a room, but they were already pressed for time, and he couldn’t risk Briar leaving before morning. He would introduce her to the team and confirm the deal that very night.
After sufficiently muddling their trail, Archer directed the horse toward an overgrown path leading into the woods. Briar didn’t ask where they were going. She must have sensed she was safe with Archer for now. They didn’t speak as they left the lights and noise of the village behind.
The foliage thickened around them, hiding them from anyone who might try to follow, choking out the starlight. Then it was just Archer and the darkness and the warm figure of the girl pressed against his back. Her hair tickled his neck, and she smelled of linseed oil and ash. Archer couldn’t quite relax with her arms around his waist. She had accepted his help when she had no other choice, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to blow his hands off again. He’d seen what she could do.
As they got farther from the village, the only sounds were the rustle of branches, the thud of their mount’s hooves, and the occasional hoot of an owl. The night deepened, the woods wrapping Archer in a familiar embrace. He had spent happy days in Mere Woods, once upon a time.
He slowed the horse to a walk as they neared the hideout so as not to alarm the rest of the team. They had been camped outside Sparrow Village for nearly two weeks while they’d prepared for the mission. No one had ever disturbed that particular hiding place, but they were always ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
Suddenly, Briar spoke. “What happened to your dog?”
“He’ll find us,” Archer said. “He probably appreciates that you hid the bridge instead of destroying it. He hates swimming.”
“Destroying it would have been terrible for the village.”
“The look on Sheriff Flynn’s face would be spectacular, though.”
“Yes … I guess it would.” She loosened her grip on his coat since they were no longer galloping for their lives and put as much space between them as the saddle allowed. “You didn’t send those men after me, did you?”
Archer hesitated. Would she believe him after the threats he’d made? “Didn’t have time,” he said airily. “They didn’t wait long to start burning things, and here I thought Flynn was all bark and no bite.”
“That cottage was all I had.” Her soft voice was almost lost in the nighttime rustle of the forest.
“You can buy a new one.” Archer glanced back at her. “I happen to know a fellow looking to pay a curse painter for a job.”
She didn’t answer, and the darkness hid her expression. Did she really think he sent those men after her? The loss of the tumbledown cottage appeared to bother her more than he would have expected. He had learned through a few discreet inquiries at her neighbors’—where he had stolen the horse—that she was renting the place and she had only lived there since the end of winter. No one could say where she had come from or if Briar was even her real name.
Archer knew a thing or two about fake names and secret pasts. He was more interested in her future, though. “Look, why don’t you meet the team at least? Hear what we have in mind.”
“The team?”
“They’re a sorry bunch of lowlifes, but they get the job done.”
“Who you calling lowlifes?”
Someone spoke in the darkness, and Archer grinned. They were home.
“Only the finest bunch
