Everything between the Sweetwater and the Bandon Mountains belonged to the Larke barony. Archer knew the countryside well, but it had been years since he’d last crossed those lands. He hoped Lew’s shortcut would make up for the time he had squandered in Mud Market. Travel would only get more difficult for Mae in her condition. They needed to get her out of Narrowmar with time to spare before her baby arrived.
They followed a treasure map of large rock formations and scattered settlements through the lower reaches of Larke County, keeping a careful watch out for Lord Larke’s tax collecting parties and the burgundy uniforms of his household retainers. The last thing they needed was to cross paths with the lord himself before they reached the stronghold. Fortunately, the bare, windswept region remained quiet, and they encountered only shepherds and lonely peddlers on the packed-dirt roads.
They spent much of their time debating the best strategy to infiltrate Narrowmar. Jemma led the discussion, and the puzzle proved difficult even with her experience of the place. Esteban rode slumped over in his saddle, still recovering his strength after the encounter with Mage Radner, but he roused himself to offer the occasional suggestion. When the debates grew heated, Lew sometimes split off from the group to ride ahead or behind. He valued his solitude, and Archer was happy to indulge his loner tendencies in exchange for the use of his sharp scout’s eyes. Nat was less bothered by the details of the plan. He spent most of his time pestering Briar with questions about her magic.
Briar herself acted more relaxed since she’d gotten paint supplies again, no longer on the verge of running for the hills or fighting like a cornered badger at the slightest threat. Whenever they stopped to make camp, she could be found grinding up pigment or boiling flax to make more linseed oil. She took out the horsehair brushes she’d bought in Mud Market to test her creations, producing little explosions and puffs of smoke and dust.
Archer was beginning to feel as if Briar had always been with them. He appreciated the way she examined the world with those wide, solemn eyes and the way she didn’t shirk from difficult tasks, whether cursing them out of trouble or helping to build the campfire and care for the horses. After their caper in the Mud Market, he hoped she might consider a more permanent role with the team. Her skills were bleeding useful, and Nat would like having her around. Yes, it was just Nat’s feelings Archer was thinking of. The lad was smitten.
He wished Nat wouldn’t take up so much of Briar’s attention, though. Archer sent him out on errands to give her a break—and took his place at her side as often as not. He liked the way her fingers moved when she unpacked her paints, the way she sat on her horse like she was about to take it over a jump.
He frequently found himself riding next to her as they got deeper into the desolate countryside, chatting about the weather, about curses, about the rock formations squashed together like crooked teeth.
“Think Sheriff will catch up?” she asked on their second afternoon in Larke County.
“Huh?”
“Your dog,” Briar said. “I was worried about him when we crossed the river.”
For a minute Archer couldn’t think straight. “You were?”
Briar looked at him questioningly, as if she didn’t understand why he was pleased to distraction. Sheriff would have been delighted to know she cared about him too.
“He’ll find us.” Archer shifted in his saddle, fingers brushing the curse she’d painted on the pommel. “He always does.”
“It might be wiser for him to avoid Narrowmar.”
Archer glanced over at her. “How much do you know about the place?”
Briar studied a rock formation that looked like a turtle with stubby stone legs. “Not much. It’s supposed to be impenetrable.”
“That’s what they say.”
“And the magical protections might be different than the ones we planned for at Larke Castle.”
Archer shrugged, trying not to let on how worried he was about that exact problem. “It’s a challenge. I know you like those. You could do what no other curse painter has done before.”
“That’s not always a good thing,” Briar said. “You start trying to surpass what’s been done before, and pretty soon you’re in danger of stepping over the line.”
“I, for one, have always liked crossing lines,” Archer said with a wink.
Briar looked at him steadily. “In my business, that can be deadly.”
Archer shifted in his saddle, finding her wide brown eyes too intense for once. Briar seemed troubled by her work, at war with herself, even though she was more relaxed with paints in hand than without them.
“Are you still up for the job?” he asked.
“I said I would do it.”
Her tone sounded distant and guarded once more. Archer wondered about her history. Her accent suggested she’d lived in High Lure before moving to Sparrow Village, and Jemma believed she’d killed people before. To his surprise, the more he got to know her, the more plausible that sounded. They were all keeping secrets on top of secrets next to more secrets.
He would do well to be cautious, and he should warn Nat not to get too attached.
By their third day in Larke County, the twisted rocks and gnarled scrub gave way to rolling sunlit fields scattered with farmhouses. The cultivated fields and sheep grazing in grassy pastures gave the valley an idyllic, pastoral feeling. Villages were dotted here and there, each composed of little more than a strip of houses, a market, and a blacksmith.
They replenished their supplies when needed, no more than two of them going into the villages at a time. Archer himself stayed out of sight. He had history in those lands—and he wasn’t particularly proud of the things he’d done there. The cool north wind blowing through his hair carried memories he’d long since left behind. Each day
