Archer had obviously been held up. Dare she venture out to secure the paint supplies on her own? Jemma had given her some money, and it would save them further delay, but she wasn’t sure she could find her way back to the hollowed-out oak alone. The others had probably already finished their shopping and left town. If Archer had run into the local authorities, Briar could be the only thing standing between him and a slow swing on the gallows.
She would face that and worse if she got caught, though. Sheriff Flynn could even now be scouring Mud Market for her, if his search had brought him that far. She couldn’t just wander around out there.
Although she had only known Archer for a few days, Briar felt rudderless without him. Archer had the vision, as Nat said, and since joining his scheme, she’d felt as if her life was actually going somewhere—though the direction was unexpected. She wanted to see where the path led.
“If he ever comes back,” she muttered. “What is taking so long?”
The light was fading fast outside. Briar couldn’t afford to wait any longer. She stuffed the remaining rags and Archer’s muddy farmer shirt under her dress, attempting to make her belly the same size as before, and snuck out through the common room. The innkeeper was snoozing at her desk. Briar nicked the woman’s inkwell as she passed. Curses made with coal ink like that would be rough, but it was better than nothing. She needed magic in her hands again.
The bustle of activity in Mud Market had changed from industrious to celebratory while Briar had waited at the Dandelion. Their shopping done for the day, the out-of-towners sought drinks and entertainment in the taverns surrounding the market proper. Spirits high and arms overflowing with packages, they laughed and called to each other as they tramped through the streets. Briar watched out for members of Archer’s band, though she wasn’t sure she would recognize their disguises.
Her own disguise drew more attention than she liked, with well-meaning people stopping to wish her good health and inquire when her child was due. Next time, she would try an eyepatch and a hat. With luck, Sheriff Flynn hadn’t distributed Briar’s description so far from Sparrow Village anyway.
The market wasn’t hard to find. Once stretching from the town square to the muddy banks of the Sweetwater’s southern fork, the market had grown over time, and the stalls sprawled all the way across the square and squeezed amongst the bordering houses. So many burlap awnings stretched between the stalls and the rooftops that they formed a single canopy blocking out sun and rain, encompassing nearly a third of the town.
The venders were already packing up their merchandise for the evening when Briar walked beneath the patchwork canopy. The stifling air within the market smelled of sweat, cut wood, and a multitude of spices. Anything could be purchased in Mud Market, from farm tools to textiles to metal works to herbs and edible delicacies. A few mages even set up shop peddling healing spells, fortunes, and minor curses. Most were unlicensed, and they had to be ready to disappear at a moment’s notice in case of a raid.
The paint seller’s wares were technically benign, and his stall was in the same place Briar had last seen it. She approached cautiously, relieved he hadn’t yet gone home for the night. The other vendors were too focused on their work to pay her much heed.
Briar paused in a narrow aisle to allow a woman with an armful of pale linens to totter across her path. Still twenty paces from the paint stall, she was about to continue onward when a shock of blond hair and a familiar face caught her eye.
So that’s where Archer has been all day.
Briar turned aside and headed down another cramped aisle toward the town square, located entirely within the sprawling market. Archer knelt at its center, his neck and arms clamped into wooden stocks. He still wore his fine silk shirt, but bits of rotten vegetables smeared his hair, and he had the makings of a rather impressive black eye. A town watchman sat on a stool beside the stocks, whittling a stick into splinters.
Briar hid behind a large stack of barrels smelling of brandy and watched Archer for a moment. A group of children with dirty feet darted up to spit at him then dashed away, cackling madly. Until then, Briar had wondered if Archer’s absence had been a test to see what she would do when left to her own devices. The others could be watching her, ready to stab her in the gut if she tried to give away their plans, but Archer looked like he was really in trouble.
Another passerby spit at the shackled outlaw, and he gave a forlorn sigh. Briar couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. She scanned the market for familiar faces once more then marched toward the center of the square.
“Well, this is undignified,” Archer said as she approached.
“What happened to you?”
“I cheated someone at cards last time I was here,” Archer said. “Turns out Mud Market folk hold grudges.”
“Is that right?” Briar sensed a lie—or at least a half truth. She checked for signs of an ambush, but the watchman was still whittling away. He looked her over then returned to his stick, clearly not worried the young pregnant woman would either endanger or liberate his prisoner.
Archer lowered his voice. “Any chance you could curse this thing off me?”
“I’m sure I could.”
“Will you?”
“That depends.” Briar moved closer so the watchman couldn’t overhear. “This seems like a good opportunity to ask for something. You’d probably give me whatever I want if I help.”
“I get it.” Archer sighed theatrically. “You want me to promise you the, uh, pleasures of my company if you free me.”
Briar blinked. “That isn’t even remotely what I meant.”
“Are you sure? Because if you’re interested …”
Briar gaped
