Briar’s back ached from bending over in the tunnel, and her eyes were grainy from the dust. The smells of linseed oil and candle wax were suffocating. She felt as if she hadn’t seen the sky in a year. Her paints were becoming congealed and dirty. She had to close all the jars tightly before painting the final stroke in each curse, slowing her progress through the mountain.
Earth-deep rumbling sounds indicated a fight had begun at the stronghold’s entrance. So far, no one knew they were there. The usual guard patrols would cover the woods where the tunnel opened, but the excitement in the ravine was keeping most of the soldiers occupied. Nat kept watch among the juniper trees at the tunnel entrance in case someone happened by unexpectedly.
Briar would have preferred Nat’s company in the tunnel over Jemma’s. The older woman had directed Briar’s course into the mountain with confidence, but she made a taciturn companion. Briar still wasn’t sure why Jemma objected to her so strongly. She hadn’t said much at all to Briar since Archer had kissed her.
“Okay, get ready for another one,” Briar said, closing her jars and preparing the final stroke.
Jemma adjusted her red shawl over her nose and mouth without speaking.
Holding her breath, Briar painted the final swatch of carmine. There was a loud crack, and the painting began to eat into the stone, its colorful maw swallowing dust and breaking off larger rocks, which fell to the floor. She hadn’t found any magical protections so far. Hopefully she wouldn’t hit a magical barrier when she reached the inner shell of the stronghold. She couldn’t fracture it without the marine-snail purple.
When the curse had cut as far into the stone as possible, Briar wiped the dust off her face with a scrap of canvas, climbed over the rubble, and prepared to paint it yet again.
Jemma clambered after her then set down the candle lantern and produced a water skin from her saddle bag, holding it out without a word. Briar accepted it gratefully and took a large gulp, the dust turning to mud in her throat.
“We’d better check on Nat soon,” Briar said, wiping a drop of water off her chin. “I want to know what’s happening out there.”
“I’ll go.” Jemma took back the water skin and returned it to her bag, but instead of heading down the tunnel, she frowned at Briar for a long moment, the candlelight flickering in her deep-blue eyes. “Do you know who he is?”
“Nat?”
“Archer. Have you figured it out?”
Briar hesitated, wondering whether to reveal how much she had guessed. “He’s Lord Larke’s younger son, isn’t he? Tomas is his brother.”
“Very good.” Jemma didn’t smile. “I always thought you were sharp.”
“He knows too much about the Larke household,” Briar said. “And he hasn’t really hidden the fact that this mission is personal. No one gets people riled up like family.” She twirled her paintbrush between her fingers. “I’ve heard the names of Jasper Larke’s sons before. He was called Ivan, right?”
“You know a lot about the powerful families of this kingdom.”
Briar met Jemma’s gaze steadily. “I lived in Barden County, remember?”
Jemma glanced at the paint smearing Briar’s hands, and Briar flinched, resisting the urge to hide them from view. She doubted Jemma had started the conversation out of friendship. She turned to the wall and began the curse again. Yellow ochre, umber, green earth, carbon black, carmine, umber, brown ochre, lead white, carmine, yellow ochre, bone black, carmine.
“So why did Archer leave home?” she asked as she worked, magic swelling and shivering in her hands.
“He saw how Jasper Larke’s hatred for Lord Barden corrupted him,” Jemma said. “Larke would happily ruin his entire county to prevail over his rival—if they weren’t already impoverished by his draconian taxes.” She paused. “And Jasper is cruel. Tomas suffers from corruption of a different sort, but neither lord is what you’d call noble. Archer became disillusioned with his family and tried to wash his hands of them by becoming an honest thief.”
It fit with almost everything Archer had told her about himself. He’d sworn he was neither prince, nor duke, nor long lost king. The Larkes were barons. And he had a noble streak, one that had nothing to do with fine breeding and education, but he had been drawn back into his family’s affairs.
“I take it Tomas getting Lady Mae pregnant changed things?”
Jemma nodded. “Archer and Mae Barden both summered in High Lure in their youth. Archer struck up a friendship with her, hoping to bridge the divide between their two houses. He thought the younger generation could heal the old wounds.”
Briar dipped her paintbrush in a jar of brown ochre. “Were they courting?”
“They got on well, but she never looked at him the way she looked at his dashing older brother when he visited the city to make sure Archer wasn’t getting into too much trouble.”
“So Tomas never would have gotten close to Mae if Archer hadn’t done it first.”
“He feels responsible for her and for that child,” Jemma said. “But he also sees the potential if the two households are united. He wouldn’t condemn anyone to a life with his brother, but he could still serve that function himself.”
Briar wiped her brush and switched to the jar of lead white. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you?” Jemma asked quietly. “Archer intends to marry Lady Mae and raise the child as his own.”
The tunnel became very still. White paint dripped onto the stones at Briar’s feet. That would explain why Archer had gone to such lengths for Mae, why he had resisted kissing Briar for so long. If the way he’d finally pulled her into his arms was any indication, he’d been wanting to for a while.
