“My past has fewer magical explosions,” Archer said. “I left the luxurious life of a rich man’s son for the freedom of the forest and the open road. It was all rather daring and romantic, but I turned to a life of crime, not good deeds.”
“What do you call this rescue mission?”
“We’re collecting a ransom.”
Briar raised an eyebrow. “Archer, I may not be as sharp as my mother, but I know there’s more to it than that. I told you my story. Isn’t it your turn?”
Archer sighed, his shoulders slumping. Before he could say anything, shouts rose from deeper in the woods.
“Archer, Briar, where are you? Come quickly! We’re under attack!”
Chapter 17
Briar and Archer tore through the woods at full speed. Briar fumbled for her paints, though she had no idea what she would do if her parents had found them. Probably stare stupidly while they cursed the whole team into oblivion. Feeling unsteady at the thought, she followed Archer over the fallen logs and bramble patches lurking in the darkness.
Shouts reverberated through the trees, mixed with the sounds of flesh and steel colliding. Campfire light flickered ahead, guiding them onward. Briar’s heart pounded like thunder. She wasn’t even close to being ready to face her parents.
Then she and Archer burst into the clearing to find the team engaged not in defending themselves against curses or voice magic but in a good old-fashioned brawl. A patrol of soldiers wearing Lord Larke’s burgundy had surprised the party of thieves at their supper. They fought amidst the sparks and ashes of the blazing campfire, both groups struggling to rally together, the whole clearing a riot of stamping boots and flashing blades.
Lew pummeled an attacker—who’d lost his weapon—with heavy fists. Jemma stood behind him, feet planted, swinging a cudgel at anyone who tried to come at her husband from behind. Esteban fought with a blade for once, a silver cutlass with a wicked curve that matched his silver-worked boots. His thin lips were clamped shut, as if to prevent himself from using any magic. Nat fought at his side, barely managing to hold his own against the older and stronger enemies.
Briar and Archer entered the clearing near Nat and Esteban, knives already drawn. The fighters were too entangled for Archer to risk using his bow. He gave a wild battle yell and hurled himself directly into the fray. He fought better than he danced, and an enemy fell to his blade within seconds of their arrival.
The soldiers turned to meet Archer’s assault, giving Nat time to finish off one of his assailants. The others renewed their efforts, and the clash of steel against steel rang through the night, punctuated by grunts and screams.
Briar hung back from the tumult, seeking an opening where her curses would help the most, but the tide turned quickly after Archer arrived. His movements were swift—if not smooth—and their enemies weren’t prepared for the fury with which he defended the team.
“Take one alive,” Archer called as he skewered a man trying to stab Esteban. “We need information.”
“I got it!” Nat shouted.
He drew back his arm and threw something blue at one of the attackers, using his sleeve to protect his hand. The man dropped into a pile of leaves with an almighty snore then immediately got back up again. Nat yelped and ran to retrieve the curse stone from among the dead foliage.
“It has to keep touching him!” Briar called.
“Right. I forgot.” Nat snatched up the curse stone with his bare hand then immediately dropped to the ground, clearly forgetting it would have exactly the same effect on him.
His opponent gaped at the lad who’d fallen asleep in the middle of the battle, and Esteban leaped forward to engage him before he could hurt Nat.
Another attacker lunged at Briar and attempted to pin her arms to her sides. She smelled campfire ash and a meaty odor on his breath. Before she could twist around to touch him with her own curse stone, he stiffened and slid to the ground, nearly dragging her down with him. Archer’s knife was sticking out of his back.
“Are you all right?” Archer bent to retrieve the blade and wipe it on the dead man’s coat.
“Never better,” Briar breathed.
Archer winked at her and turned, putting his back to hers, his long knife at the ready. She held up a curse stone in each hand. They stood back to back, prepared to meet the next assault together.
No one was left to fight. Their enemies were laid out on the ground, either unconscious and bleeding or as dead as the leaves littering the forest floor. The team was victorious.
Briar’s shoulders sagged in relief, her heartbeat nearly drowning out the crackling of the campfire.
“Nothing like a good brawl to get the juices flowing.” Archer sheathed his knife and turned to the others. “Any idea what they were after?”
“We can ask this one,” Jemma said. She and Lew had managed to take a man alive using another of Briar’s stones. They tied up the sleeping soldier, tucking the curse stone into the bonds around his wrists to keep him docile, and dragged him over to the fire for questioning.
“It’s almost too easy with those curses of yours,” Lew said, going over to pluck the sleep stone out of Nat’s hammy fist to rouse him. Nat sat up, looking bewildered after his midbattle nap. “A man could get complacent.”
Esteban sniffed primly. “I think it was rather difficult enough.”
Briar surveyed the fallen attackers. There were five of them, all wearing the burgundy uniforms of Lord Larke’s retainers and armed with standard-issue short swords. “Where did these men come from?”
“New Chester?” Jemma asked.
“Probably not.” Archer explained what they had seen in the village, leaving out the part about Briar’s parents.
The others looked slightly ill at the description of the curse.
“So that painting is why I couldn’t
