“Aye, and after all that trouble, the baby turned out to be a girl. His lordship still doesn’t have his heir.”
“He could give it all to the little thing anyway. That would make a change, eh?”
“I’d rather follow a girl child than Lord Tomas.”
“Aye. But that ain’t up to folks like us.”
The voices faded as they got farther from Briar. She waited until they were almost out of hearing range, then she used a gray curse stone to spring the lock on the door. She hurried down a dimly-lit corridor after the two men, trusting them to lead her to Mae.
Any misgivings Briar might have had about continuing the mission alone no longer mattered. The baby had already been born. The time for stealth had passed. If Briar didn’t rescue Mae, she wouldn’t survive the night—and the child might not either.
Briar followed the two men along the stone corridor as quietly as she could, holding her paint satchel carefully so the jars wouldn’t rattle. Alcoves appeared at regular intervals in the walls, some with sculptures and some without. Twice she jumped when especially lifelike statues leered at her unexpectedly. Sweat crept down her face, mixing with the dust. Fortunately, the men ahead of her didn’t encounter anyone else until they turned into a narrower torchlit corridor, where another pair of guards stood before a wooden door at a dead end.
“His lordship wants to see the baby.”
“Yes, sir.” One of the guards saluted and turned to unlock the door.
It’s now or never. Briar grabbed a red curse stone from her bag and tossed it in the center of the corridor. There was a bang and a bright flash of light. The four men whirled around, reaching for their weapons in unison. Briar was already running toward them, drawing sleep stones from her pocket.
“What in the lower—”
Briar collided with the first man, his sword only halfway out of its sheath. She hooked one arm around his neck and stuffed the curse stone directly into his mouth. He dropped like a rag doll, and Briar landed hard on top of him.
The others gaped at the girl covered in dust who’d tackled their companion. She touched another curse stone to the nearest hand she could reach, and a second man slumped to the ground, snoring loudly. She shoved the stone down the neck of his shirt to keep him unconscious, praying it would stay against his skin.
The others finally recovered from their shock at the appearance of a stranger in their impenetrable fortress. One took off down the corridor, shouting for backup. With no time to think, Briar seized a black curse stone and threw it as hard as she could. It hit the retreating guard in the back of the neck.
He swore and clamped a hand over the wound, already gushing blood. The curse had cut deep and swift. He stumbled, frantically trying to hold in his lifeblood. There would be no stopping the bleeding.
Briar shuddered at his panicked gasps—which quickly faded to gurgles. She hadn’t wanted to kill anyone, yet five minutes after entering Narrowmar Stronghold, she already had blood on her hands. Could she never stop?
Quivering with shame, she faced the final guard. He was young, and he looked wide-eyed and nervous and far too much like Nat. Briar searched her pouch full of stones, trying to find another sleep curse. All she had were cutting stones and explosives. Death curses, always death curses.
The young guard overcame his surprise at her sudden appearance and advanced with the careful steps of a practiced swordsman. He had seen her incapacitate three men in a matter of seconds. He must know she wielded dangerous magic, but he held his blade steady, daring her to advance.
Briar shook the bag of stones, searching for the nonlethal ones. She’d had more blues than this before. Where were they?
The guard drew nearer. She would have to use a cutting stone. She would have to condemn another innocent young man to bleed to death. No matter how hard she tried, she still piled ruin upon ruin. With a sob, she drew a black stone from the bag.
Then the door behind the guard opened, and a young woman in a pink dress slipped quietly into the corridor, a heavy clay pitcher in her hands. She was plump with golden curls and a pale, determined face. She moved stealthily, and the guard didn’t notice her.
The girl caught Briar’s eye and gave a slight nod. Briar made a sudden threatening movement, keeping the guard’s attention on her. He drew in a breath, preparing to strike. Before he could, the young woman took a resolute step forward and smashed her pitcher over his head. The guard dropped to the ground without so much as a groan.
“I hope you’re here to rescue us,” Lady Mae said, facing Briar over the unconscious bodies of her captors. “He was the nicest one.”
Chapter 25
Archer crouched among the rocks and splintered timber above the ravine, watching his father speak to Briar’s parents. Lord Jasper Larke was taller than both of the Drydens, with broad shoulders and thick brown hair showing a hint of white at the temples. He always dressed impeccably—in the burgundy of House Larke today—and his gaze was hard, focused on what he wanted no matter how it affected the people around him.
Revulsion curled through Archer at the sight. He avoided thinking of Lord Larke as his father as much as possible. Most of his team didn’t know his true identity, and he couldn’t afford a slip of the tongue. He pretended his childhood in Larke Castle had been a dream—a nightmare, really—but as he watched from the ridge, Archer couldn’t help but remember the many years he’d spent calling that man Father.
From the outside, Jasper Larke was a respectable member of the nobility, a baron who controlled one of the larger—albeit more remote—counties in the kingdom of Lure. On the rare occasions that he visited King Cullum’s court, he was treated as
