Jemma still didn’t move. Briar knew what she was waiting for.
“I will keep your secret. I promise.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Leaving the lantern on the ground, Jemma hurried back up the tunnel. Her stride sounded confident as she traversed the treacherous path. Briar heard Archer in that stride, heard the truth of Jemma’s story as the darkness swallowed her.
Briar sighed. Archer and Jemma had been on a mission before she’d met them, and it would continue long after she left. Perhaps she had been foolish to think she might have a part in his life. She would finish the job she had been hired to do, and then it would be time to move on.
She painted the final strokes of the curse a bit bigger than before, hoping to accelerate her progress. Her fingers had gone numb from the magic, and she felt the beginnings of a sore throat, too, the beginnings of a heartache. She wanted to be done.
The usual cracking and rumbling began as the curse ate into the rock, scattering dust and rubble at her feet.
Suddenly there was a distant boom she felt more than heard. An explosion far larger than the others shook the mountain. Briar lurched sideways, clinging to the tunnel wall as the earth shuddered. The candlelight flickered wildly.
A hairline crack appeared beneath her fingers. It spread, widened, reaching to the ceiling. The stone was cracking all around the tunnel.
Briar threw herself at the curse eating into the stone in front of her, willing it to work faster. A terrible rumbling sounded overhead. She pressed against the curse, flinging more paint to push it just a little bit farther.
The tunnel began to collapse around her, snuffing out the light. Briar strained against the magical image she could no longer see, her hands slipping on the oil paint, scraping against the stone.
Then the cursed wall gave a shudder and crumbled before her. She broke through the rock into an open space and tumbled to the ground in a pile of dust.
Chapter 23
When Archer opened his eyes, Esteban was singing. At first, he thought the fight must still be going, but the song didn’t have the violent timbre he remembered from right before he’d lost consciousness. This song was rather pleasant. Unfortunately, at the same time Archer realized that, he noticed he was in a great deal of pain. The location of the pain was indiscriminate, as if his body were one giant throbbing welt.
He tried to lift his head and groaned. “What happened?”
Esteban paused in his song. “You broke your back falling out of the tree.”
“What!”
Esteban planted a hand on Archer’s chest to keep him from moving. “I have fixed the worst of it already. Now, will you allow me to finish healing your lacerations as well, or would you like Lew to sew them up for you?”
“Continue.”
Esteban gave a delicate cough and resumed singing. As his voice poured over Archer, the pain receded, and a dull itching sensation replaced it as his torn skin stitched back together. Soon even that discomfort faded, along with Esteban’s melody.
“Finished?” Archer asked as the mage fell silent.
Esteban didn’t answer, and Archer feared he’d suffered some other ailment Esteban didn’t want to tell him about. Perhaps one of his limbs had been severed when he’d fallen out of the tree or half his brains had ended up outside his skull. But the older man was simply very tired. He ran a gnarled hand over his face and slumped down beside Archer.
“You will live,” he rasped. “At least long enough to face the next assault.”
Archer sat up carefully, attempting to get his bearings. He and Esteban were alone in a shallow hollow. It looked entirely different from where he had climbed the wych elm to ambush his father’s carriage. Fallen trees surrounded them, and piles of rocks were strewn about, some steaming as if a fiery volcano had thrown them skyward. The ground had peeled back, uprooting shrubs and loosening the earth for a hundred yards. The setting sun further altered the landscape.
“What happened?” Archer repeated.
“Do you remember attacking the caravan?”
“I thought we were winning.” Archer rubbed the back of his neck. His pain might be gone, but the events were still hazy. “I killed their voice mage, but then some riders came from Narrowmar, and at their head …”
Archer pictured dark eyes in proud faces, hands dripping with paint.
“Curse painters,” he said. Briar’s parents. He had dared to hope they hadn’t stuck around after punishing New Chester. It was a wonder his father had kept them on if their services cost as much as Briar said. Jasper Larke was famously stingy.
“I have heard of those two,” Esteban said. “Donovan and Saoirse Dryden. Mages across the kingdom, licensed or not, speak of them in hushed voice at their firesides. The Drydens work outside the law, believe themselves above it. Some still seek their services, though their help does not come cheap. I didn’t expect to find them all the way out here.”
“I did,” Archer said. “Briar recognized their work in New Chester.”
Esteban frowned. “She has some link to them, then?”
“You could say that.”
“So my initial suspicions were correct. I had begun to think she … no matter.” Esteban cracked his knuckles, looking resigned and maybe even a little hurt. “Can we assume she has already done away with Jemma and Nat and she is even now making sure Lady Mae will remain imprisoned until her child is born?”
Archer blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“Briar. You implied she’s in league with these dark mages. I thought she must have had unusual teachers. I suppose she was placed in our group to betray us.”
“No, she left them,” Archer said. “She cut ties with those two. She’ll help us fight them if it comes down to it.”
Esteban went quiet, and Archer heard all the skepticism he needed to in the silence.
“You truly believe she is with us by coincidence?” Esteban asked at last.
“Yes, I do,” Archer said
