She brushed her frizzy hair back from her face, remembering the hours she’d spent sitting cross-legged on the rooftop, planning out her departure. She’d thought she was so clever. She’d been seventeen, proud of her abilities, certain she understood right and wrong better than her parents.
“I decided to send a message warning my parents to let me go, or I would reveal every curse they had ever created, even those that went well beyond the restrictions the king set for them. They took advantage of the freedom he gave them when it suited them—and I knew all the details.”
“I’m starting to understand why you were hiding in Sparrow Village,” Archer said. “I take it you didn’t write this warning on parchment?”
Briar shook her head. “A show of strength is the only thing they would understand.”
“You didn’t try to kill them, did you?”
“No,” Briar said. “I broke their defenses. I destroyed every painting protecting our house just to show them I could. They were supposed to come home to that and understand what I was capable of, but …” Briar trailed off, remembering that horrible day when her youthful arrogance and self-righteousness had shattered.
“Did you accidentally knock the house down?” Archer asked gently.
“I wish I’d done something that simple.” Briar picked dried pine needles off her skirt, letting them drop to the black earth. “The night I broke the defensive curses, mages from the Hall of Cloaks attacked our house. They must have put a spell on it that would notify them if the defenses ever failed. I had no idea, and before I could do anything about it, an all-out assault had begun. My parents got home almost at the same time as the mages attacked.”
“I might have heard about that,” Archer said. “About a year ago, was it? The team and I were robbing a goldsmith’s shop in High Lure when a huge commotion was blamed on unlicensed hedge wizards. The tumult made it easier to get away with our pockets full of gold.”
“Glad it helped someone,” Briar said dryly.
“So you brought the mages down on your family. Then what?”
Briar clutched the strap of her paint satchel, unable to meet his eyes. “I just … ran. The last time I saw my parents, they were huddled beneath the windows, daubing curses all over the floor while the cries of voice mages filled the air. My message was lost in the chaos.”
Archer gave a low whistle. “So they think you summoned the mages on purpose?”
She looked up. “I only wanted to be free—and to teach them a lesson. They must think I betrayed them.”
Archer studied her, and she detected sympathy in his expression. “What did you do next?”
“I ran as far and as fast as I could.” Briar gave a brittle laugh. “I wandered the far counties for a while, got turned in to various authorities when I tried to solicit clients, but managed to keep out of my parents’ reach. Eventually I ended up in Sparrow Village.” She glanced back in the direction of New Chester, the shadowy pine trees hiding it from view. “My parents will catch up to me one day. I can try to explain what happened, but I don’t think it’ll matter. My departure alone was a betrayal—and they are not forgiving.”
Archer was quiet for a moment, as if absorbing the implications of her story. “So the most dangerous mages in the kingdom have a personal grudge against you?” he asked at last. “And you had that hanging over your head when I found you in that rundown little cottage?”
“I loved that cottage,” Briar said softly. “I really did want a chance at a peaceful life. I tried to use my little bits of evil to help people who’ve been wronged, but I mostly ended up carrying out petty revenge or making things worse.” She rubbed her toe through the pine needles at her feet. “Being good is more complicated than I expected.”
Archer made a strange sound in his throat, and she looked up, taking in the moonlight shining on his blond hair and his grave expression. She wished for a curse that would help her read his mind. Now he knew the full danger he’d put his team in by hiring her. She wouldn’t blame him for sending her away. Still, it was a relief to speak openly about it. It had been lonely trying to figure out how to live differently from the way she’d been raised.
“I guess it’s naïve to worry so much about good and evil,” Briar said when he didn’t speak. “My parents would say that stuff is for stories.”
“I think it’s noble.” Archer shoved his hands in his pockets. “And brave to make a new life for yourself, even if you botched it a bit.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“Every word.” He cleared his throat gruffly. “Your soul matters, Briar.”
Briar’s chest suddenly felt too tight. She examined the pine needles strewn across the ground between them, unable to articulate how much those simple words of understanding meant to her, that acknowledgement that she was struggling for something worthwhile, even in a gray and complicated world. She’d never dared hope someone could know what she had done and still think well of her. Her parents had always kept her apart from other people, believing friends and fellow painters were a distraction at best, considering others beneath them. Briar had watched children playing on the beach wistfully, jealous of their joined hands and easy laughter.
She snuck a glance at Archer and caught him staring at her lips. She blinked. It was probably just her imagination, an effect of the pool of moonlight and the intimacy of shared secrets. Still, she wondered what his lips would feel like against hers.
This is not the time for that,
