Archer leaned closer to study the tiny white brushstrokes. “So all someone had to do was hang that up there and poof! All the people in the village are invisible?”
“They didn’t hang it,” Briar said. “It’s painted directly onto the wall of the inn, making it part of the building. That would satisfy the Law of Wholes. The frame is hiding the edges.”
“I see.” The slats of finely carved wood framing the picture were nailed directly to the wall. Archer reached out to touch one of the nails.
“Don’t!” Briar snatched his hand away. “There might be defensive spells. Experienced curse painters will go to great lengths to keep their work safe, especially if they intend it to last a long time.”
“But why would they do this?” Archer looked back at Miss Oleander, who still hadn’t so much as glanced their way. It was sobering to see his old friend caught by whatever strange force made him and Briar invisible to the villagers. “Are they trying to protect information by making it so the villagers can’t talk to anyone? Any visitors would know something strange is going on.”
“It could be a punishment.” Briar studied the painting intently, tapping her finger on her bottom lip. “Maybe the villagers committed some offense, and now they’re trapped here, unable to interact with the outside world.”
“So they can’t leave?”
“Most likely,” Briar said. “And no one comes to this village anymore, as far as they know. They could spend years wondering why the world forgot all about them and have no way to ask for help. They could be driven mad worrying that it’s just them, wondering why no one’s coming to save them, despairing because things never change. Look.”
She nodded toward the men sitting at their cups. Their expressions were bleak, as if they were trapped in an unhappy life—and they had no idea how to fix it. Many had multiple empty tankards beside them, working their way through far more ale than the hour warranted. Though the inn was full, the murmur of voices had a strained quality, not at all like the happy buzz Archer remembered from his last visit. He shuddered. He was starting to get the idea.
“Can we help them?”
Briar hesitated. “We’d have to break the curse.”
“Would destroying the painting do it?”
“Yes, but like I said, there are probably protections.” She twisted the strap of her canvas satchel nervously. “We could call the curse’s creator here, but that’s exactly the kind of attention we want to avoid. We should get out of here.”
Archer grimaced. His innkeeper friend had stopped shouting at the trapper, who hadn’t bothered to move the hare carcass despite her harangue. Miss Oleander gave up and trudged back toward the bar, her steps heavy, as if she wasn’t sure why she bothered anymore. Archer had known her as a lively woman who would never shout at someone or walk all slumped over like that. The curse had taken a toll, all the more insidious because it was subtle.
Archer clenched his fists, a familiar old anger beginning to seethe. “We can’t leave them like this.”
“There’s nothing we can do,” Briar said, her voice heavy with regret.
“I can light that damn thing on fire.”
He moved to pluck a burning log from the fireplace, but Briar seized his arm.
“Wait. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“Some curse painter might be upset with me for messing up their precious picture? Bring it on.” He tried to shrug her off, reckless anger burning in his blood, getting hotter with every glance at the melancholy villagers and his entrapped friend. They didn’t deserve that life.
“Archer, listen to me,” Briar said urgently, still holding onto his arm. “I … I think I know who created this curse. Trust me when I say you do not want to touch their work.”
Archer braced himself as she tried to pull him away from the curse painting. “Who are they, then?”
Briar bit her lip. “I can’t tell you.”
“Then, I guess they’ll just have to introduce themselves.” He twisted out of her grasp and grabbed a branch from the fire, sending sparks flying.
“Stop!”
Archer ignored her. More signs of bleakness came into focus around him—unkempt bodies, mud left to dry where it fell, despairing stares, all those empty tankards and drink-slackened faces. No one deserved such a nightmarish curse. “I’m not leaving these people to slowly go mad.”
“You’re going to ruin everything,” Briar said.
Archer advanced on the painting with the burning branch.
“I said stop!” Briar reached for him again.
Archer saw something in her hand, a flash of blue, then the world went black.
Chapter 15
Darkness had fallen by the time Briar managed to drag Archer out of the village. He was more solidly built than his long limbs suggested, and she soon regretted not using an ambulatory curse. She’d been worried that getting out her paints so close to that elaborate curse would trigger its defenses.
It was difficult to keep the blue curse stone in contact with Archer’s skin while hauling him along the rough ground by his boots, and she eventually forced it into his mouth, hoping he wouldn’t swallow it. She could make him vomit out the stone, but she would already have enough explaining to do when he woke. She saw no need to make it worse.
The night was tranquil beyond the boundaries of the cloaking curse. Briar dropped Archer’s feet at the tree line and knelt beside him. His blond hair glowed in the moonlight, and his sleep looked peaceful—though artificially induced. She watched him for a moment, his chest rising and falling in his indigo coat.
Briar hadn’t wanted to believe it when she’d seen the painting of the snowy village in the inn. Only a few mages could create a curse strong enough to affect an entire town, so she’d had her suspicions, but the sight of that signature style had still been a shock. Instantly, she had been transported back to a studio near the sea, an owl-eyed man concentrating on a canvas
