Then the soldier who had stolen the statue began to wail. The captain wouldn’t soon forget that sound. It keened in his nightmares for weeks afterward, even though he heard worse cries later. That was the first, the moment he should have stopped it all, but he hadn’t. He feared the curse painters, as anyone who looked into their eyes would, and he let them do as they pleased.
He picked up his pace, though his feet felt heavy and his bones ached worse than ever. Maybe stopping that first punishment wouldn’t have done any good. Maybe the curse painters would have turned their fell magic on him, but that was the moment when he should have tried. Everything that had happened after was his responsibility.
It was that thought that tumbled around and around the old captain’s mind as he marched down the corridor and listened to the pregnant girl screaming.
This is a story about villains—and those who choose whether or not to stand against them.
Chapter 19
Archer and the team reached the shallow ravine leading to Narrowmar at midday. Clouds tempered the brightness of the noon sun, and the autumn air had a crisp edge so close to the mountains. Archer had allowed a brief rest in the small hours of the morning, needing the team sharp for what was to come.
His anger had distilled throughout the long night, ever since their prisoner had confirmed that Mae had asked for help in New Chester. No matter what she’d been thinking when she left her father’s house, she’d known by then that she wasn’t safe with Tomas Larke.
Archer’s hands shook at the thought of Tomas, with his stupid face—just handsome enough to tempt an impressionable girl—and his utter selfishness. Archer should never have introduced them. He was the one who’d gotten Mae mixed up with the Larkes, handing Jasper Larke a weapon in his never-ending battle with Lord Barden. Archer had cursed her as surely as if he’d held a paintbrush. He reined in his anger, purifying it into a singular focus. He had to undo the damage he’d inflicted. Rescuing Mae was the first step.
The team halted a safe distance from the mountain stronghold, where they could prepare without risking discovery. They took shelter behind a large, misshapen stone, the lower half of a gigantic statue. Only the knees and booted feet remained, covered with lichen and a scattering of fallen leaves.
While the others hobbled the horses by the broken statue, Archer beckoned for Briar to scout ahead with him on foot. The captain of the Narrowmar garrison might know they were in the area by then. The old man had been stationed there for as long as Archer could remember, and he’d guarded it well. They had to be careful.
The ravine leading to the tall spur of the mountain and the fortress entrance had a narrow, rocky road down its center. They approached along the upper ridge so they could watch the road without being seen, picking their way through twisted trees and thorny brambles, wincing at the snap of every branch underfoot. Taller and healthier trees—mostly wych elms—lined the ridge nearer to the mountain, providing enough cover for Archer and Briar to get close to the ravine and the fabled stronghold unseen.
They crawled to the edge of the ridge on their bellies to survey their target. The stronghold was built into a narrow fissure, a mere crack in the rock guarded by a large stone door. One could look at the entrance and think it hid nothing more than a stable or a shepherd’s hovel, but within the mountain lay a vast womb that had never been breached in its three-hundred-year history.
Archer was determined to break that record.
“That’s the only entrance,” he whispered, pointing out the large door, which was the same shade of pale gray as the mountainside.
Briar gave a low whistle. “It wouldn’t be easy to get through that even without the enchantments.”
“It’s worse once you’re inside,” Archer said. “There’s a central corridor with tunnels and doorways leading off it. Soldiers could be waiting to jump out at you at every step.”
As he spoke, the door opened a crack, and six men marched out, wearing burgundy uniforms and carrying pikes. They crossed the bare rocky area in front of the door and proceeded up the road, passing just beneath Archer’s position on the ravine.
“I think it’s safe to say Larke sent reinforcements to the garrison,” Archer said. “Seen enough?”
Briar didn’t answer, busy scrutinizing the stone door. Archer was deeply relieved she hadn’t abandoned them when she’d discovered her parents were tangled up with the Larkes. Jemma’s plan would be impossible without her. It might be impossible anyway, but he wasn’t prepared to accept that.
Archer studied Briar covertly out of the corner of his eye. She had done darker things than he had ever dreamed of, and he couldn’t discount the dangers she presented to his mission and personal safety. But she had also stepped away and tried to live a better life despite terrifying obstacles. He couldn’t help admiring her. He wished he could lift some of the weight she carried.
The wind shifted, and a hint of Briar’s linseed oil and rose scent reached him, reminding him of their dance on the threshing floor and the way she’d laughed. He had a sudden urge to cup her face in his hands and bring it closer to his.
He shook his head. Dangerous mission, remember? Powerful enemies and mortal peril and betrayal and—
“I’ve seen enough.” Briar looked up at him then blinked as if surprised at the look on his face. “Are you okay—”
“That patrol could look up here anytime,” he said gruffly. “We’d best be getting back to the others.”
They picked their way back through the
