But by their fifth day in Larke County, they still hadn’t figured out how they were going to break into the stronghold. Archer seemed confident they would find a way in, even though Narrowmar had never fallen in its centuries-long history. Jemma had been there before, and she’d drawn them rough maps of its interior and surroundings, but she had precious little information about its magical defenses. Briar didn’t have the purple paint to unravel magical protections, anyway. They would need a more creative solution.
She worked with her paints by firelight, the magic surging in her fingers, colors dancing before her eyes. No matter how much she claimed she wanted a quiet life, practicing serious magic still thrilled her. She couldn’t quit entirely, even though that would have been one way to live the good life that had eluded her. Saving the others with her ambulatory curses had been both exhilarating and deeply satisfying, giving her just a hint of what her curse magic could become. She wanted to capture that feeling again, but the problem of Narrowmar confounded her.
Only Esteban could help, although he didn’t create any magic himself lest it give away their position. A fragile rapport had developed between them since the Sweetwater. They occasionally talked about their respective art forms, choosing their words with care. On the fifth evening, when they had camped by a spring at the edge of a wheat field, Briar asked Esteban how he’d known which spells protected Larke Castle.
“Archer sent me to investigate while he was taking care of another task.”
“What task?”
“I don’t share other people’s secrets.” Esteban gave a dry cough. “I’m extending the same courtesy to you.”
“Fair enough.”
They were sitting near the campfire, Esteban polishing the silver tooling on his boots. He had a fastidious streak, and his fine clothes were always pristine. Archer and Nat practiced archery nearby, the thud of metal striking a tree stump providing the background rhythm for their conversation. Lew sat by the bubbling spring with a notebook on his knee and a quill between his teeth. Jemma sorted through their food supplies over by the horses.
Briar twirled a paintbrush between her fingers, considering the old mage. “Do you think we’ll find all the same spells at Narrowmar?”
“Doubtful,” Esteban said. “Narrowmar has only one entrance, a great stone door in the mountainside. Those spells were more appropriate for a building with many access points and a less stable structure.”
“Do you think the same mage secured it at least?”
“That I don’t know. Larke wants people to think the young lady is in his castle. It would raise suspicion if he sent his most trusted voice mage—his name is Croyden—off to his remote stronghold. Croyden has served him for two decades and rarely leaves his side.”
“Do you know him well?”
“Croyden?” Esteban’s gaunt face twitched. “We’ve run into each other on several occasions. He’s a self-important fopdoodle who thinks—no matter. Larke could have hired another for the task of guarding Narrowmar.”
Briar sighed, dabbing her paintbrush in a slick of malachite green. “The fortress is secure enough without magic.”
Esteban picked at a speck of ash on his sleeve. “If Larke thinks that’s the case, it will likely make your job easier.”
“How so?”
“There are only so many protective spells you can put on one door.”
Briar went still. But what if we don’t use the door?
The rough outline of a plan floated suddenly before her, a wisp of inspiration. She closed her eyes, trying to grab hold of it before it slipped away. Her idea was ambitious, especially since she would need to work very fast to keep from getting caught.
“I think I have something,” she murmured.
Esteban sat silently for a moment, seeming to sense her need for concentration. When she didn’t share her thoughts, he shuffled away, his fine boots scraping the dirt.
Briar sat with her eyes closed, considering the shape of the necessary paintings, the potential obstacles. Her typical stable of curses might not be enough. Her parents had always liked to experiment, and they believed they hadn’t yet reached the limits of what curse magic could do. She might need to invent a new technique to avoid some of the more obvious problems—problems that would likely stop a lesser curse painter from even considering her approach. No matter what, it would require more power than she had ever used for a single task. She would be at risk of exhausting herself before the job was done, but it just might work.
Her fingers tingling with anticipation, Briar opened a jar of brown ochre, selected a flat stone from the spring, and began a new curse.
“You look like you could use a break.”
Briar looked up to find Archer squatting on his heels beside her. She rubbed her eyes, surprised at how dark it had become. She must have lost track of time. She hadn’t heard Archer’s arrows hitting the target in a while. She had been painting rock after rock, practicing destructive curses that would eat holes into stone. When the inspiration had seized her, she hadn’t dared pause in case the idea slipped away.
“Working too hard is bad for your health, you know,” Archer said.
Briar rolled her shoulders, attempting to loosen the tension that had built up without her noticing. The fire burned low, and the others were already snoozing in their bedrolls.
“I didn’t want to lose momentum,” she said. “I’ll go to sleep in a minute.”
“You could sleep,” Archer said, “or you could join me on a quick errand.”
“Now?”
“I have an old debt to pay. Wouldn’t mind a little company.” He held out a hand.
Briar hesitated. She wanted to take his hand, but lead white and umber paint streaked her palms, and her fingernails were stained with blue smalt from the sleep stones she’d made earlier.
“I promise I won’t bite,” Archer said when she didn’t move.
“Well, why didn’t you say so sooner?” Briar wiped her hands on a rag, feeling oddly flustered, and scrambled to her feet
