Archer had first seen it in action when he was eight years old and he and the kitchen boy had set a pig loose in the Larke Castle banquet hall as a prank. In the ensuing chaos, a tapestry had caught fire and several valuable vases had been shattered. Archer had owned up to the stunt, insisting the whole thing had been his idea. Instead of punishing Archer, as he’d deserved, his father had taken out his rage on the kitchen boy. He’d beat the lad so badly that his skull had cracked, and he’d never been the same bright, good-natured person again. Larke had given the boy’s family a handful of silver pennies and warned Archer to choose worthier companions in the future.
Larke treated everyone except his sons as inferior beings. He’d been cruel to Jemma, making demeaning comments anytime they’d crossed paths, though Archer knew she was smarter than all of them. He took advantage of the humble folk who worked his lands, levying the highest taxes in the kingdom and ignoring their pleas for a reprieve. The county barons were supposed to offer protection in exchange for labor, leadership in exchange for sweat and blood, but Jasper Larke didn’t uphold his end of the bargain. Archer had seen nothing to suggest his brother would either.
Tomas cared only for sword fighting and chasing women. Archer had tried to talk to him about reforming their father’s practices when he became the lord of Larke County, but Tomas had just stared at him as if he’d sprouted three heads, each uglier than the last. Tomas accepted their father’s superior attitude wholesale, and he turned a blind eye to their father’s cruelty.
Jasper’s behavior had worsened after Archer’s mother had died. At age eighteen, fed up and restless, Archer had run away. He’d had lofty plans for a life of heroism that would set him apart from the other Larke men—plans that had failed within a week. Highwaymen had robbed him of every ounce of gold he’d saved up for his escape, leaving him to wander the wilds, starving and ill-equipped to do anything about it. Finally, he’d stolen from a family of honest farmers. Then he’d kept stealing.
The wide world was harsher than Archer had expected without the aid of his father’s name and fortune. He’d turned to thievery to make his way and wound up having a knack for it. More importantly, he got a taste of freedom outside his father’s dominion, and he never wanted to go back.
As he grew more successful, he tried to focus only on the wealthiest targets who wouldn’t be unduly burdened by his actions. He knew he wasn’t good exactly, but he tried to treat his partners in crime fairly, and he was never cruel. It was still a far cry from the nobility he’d once dreamed of showing, and despite his best efforts, he had been drawn back into his father’s world.
Jasper Larke must have danced for a week when he realized the strategic advantage Tomas had handed him through his indiscretion. Larke loathed Lord Barden deeply, and Mae and Tomas’s child would be Barden’s only heir as long as Mae didn’t have more children. Tomas had never shown much aptitude for leadership, but his child would have Larke blood and a Barden inheritance. It was little wonder Larke had hired the terrifying Dryden couple to keep the child under his control.
Archer surveyed the ravine, where broken trees and broken men littered the ground. He couldn’t defeat the curse painters, but he might still give Briar, Jemma, and Nat time to get Mae out of the stronghold. He would count that as a victory—even if it meant handing himself over to his father. It was better than shooting more of his men.
The sensation of descending into a pitch-dark well lingered in Archer’s gut. It wasn’t right to make other people pay the price for his and his family’s actions, but there was another way. Instead of continuing to take lives, Archer could give his up—at least the one he’d hoped to live.
Larke and the curse painters had finished instructing the retainers who were caring for the injured. They turned their backs on the carnage and headed toward Narrowmar’s great stone door. Archer couldn’t delay any longer. Bidding a final farewell to his freedom, he took a deep breath, climbed onto a large boulder, and began waving his arms over his head.
“Ahoy there! Your prodigal son has returned! Did I miss the action?”
His father’s eyes widened in shock, and the color drained from his face. It was rather gratifying.
Lord Larke recovered quickly, lifting a hand to placate the curse painters, who were reaching for their brushes. His guards brandished their weapons, too, but none moved to attack their lord’s younger son. For a moment, they all stared at each other across the rubble.
“Shall I come down there?” Archer called.
Larke looked as if he wanted to say no, but after a swift glance at the curse painters, he ordered his retainers to stand down and beckoned Archer with an impatient wave.
Archer hoisted his bow on his back and scrambled down the sloping side of the ravine, plastering on a wide grin. “I sure am glad to see you, Father. I was hunting in the woods nearby when I heard the commotion.”
Larke’s face could beat a statue in a staring contest. “Hunting.”
“That’s right. When I saw the mess here, I was afraid you were hurt, but it looks like your new friends have the situation well in hand.”
“They do.” Larke cast a tense glance at the curse painters. He looked embarrassed at his son’s sudden appearance—or that he hadn’t seen it coming. Lord Larke knew of Archer’s exploits—as he’d communicated when he offered rewards for every member of the team
