But Larke didn’t try to hit him. Instead, his broad shoulders hunched. “I couldn’t let Barden get his hands on the child. I had no choice.”
Archer quirked an eyebrow. “Did you have a choice when you gave a bunch of illegal mages control of Narrowmar?”
“They won’t be here long,” Larke said, not sounding entirely convinced. “I only need them until—”
“It is done,” Donovan Dryden announced. “All but the final stroke.”
He dipped a brush as tiny as a bundle of eyelashes in a jar of pure-black paint, the deliberate precision of his movements so like Briar’s. One by one, Donovan called out the names of Lord Larke and his surviving retainers, adding little black symbols on the doorway as he invited each man across the threshold. He saved Archer for last.
“This will be painful if you gave a false name,” he said. “The effects would be even more fascinating than if someone were to cross this barrier without permission.” His voice became animated, as if he were discussing an interesting phenomenon that had nothing to do with real people and real pain. “If you are impersonating another, now is the time to say so.”
“That’s the only name I’ve ever had,” Archer said.
Larke sighed. “He is definitely my son.”
“Very well.” Donovan fixed Archer with an unblinking gaze, making a chill creep down his spine. “You have my leave to enter Narrowmar, Ivan Archibald Larke.”
Archer glanced up at the sky. It was growing dark, and the stars had begun to flare to life, mirroring the curse on the door. If he entered Narrowmar, he might never see those stars again, but the others were counting on him, Briar and Mae and the child she carried. He crossed the threshold.
Chapter 26
Lady Mae ushered Briar into her prison chamber, leaving the guards where they lay, and pulled the door closed behind them. Briar took in the austere room at a glance—a small table, one chair, a narrow cot.
“This door wasn’t locked?” Briar asked.
“It usually is. I heard the click, as if they were about to come in. When the door didn’t open, I went out to investigate.” Mae’s eyes widened with excitement and fear. She looked younger now that she no longer wielded a water pitcher against her captors. “Did my father send you? How many men are with you?”
“I’m alone,” Briar said. “I got separated from my friends. Are you well enough to leave this place tonight?”
“Tonight?” Mae eased herself down onto the chair. Her cheeks were as pale as her pink gown, and her belly still looked large. She must have given birth recently indeed. “As in now?”
“Yes,” Briar said. “Where is the—”
Before she could complete the question, she heard a little sound, like the sneeze of a kitten. Then the distinct, piercing wail of a newborn filled the room.
“Oh, dear. The commotion must have woken her.” Mae hoisted herself up again and hurried to a box resting beside the cot. Blankets lined the rough wooden sides. Mae reached into them and lifted a tiny, squalling baby into her arms.
“It’s all they had,” Mae said, nodding at the box. “We’re making do, aren’t we, dear heart?” She cooed at the baby, already seeming comfortable with the swaying, soothing motions of motherhood. But when she looked up at Briar, her eyes looked slightly frantic.
“She came early,” she said with a sort of terrified awe. “I thought I had three weeks left, but here she is, already three days old.”
“Three days?” Briar wished she had a healer’s training—or a voice mage’s power. She had no idea if it was even safe to take a baby outdoors when it was only three days old.
“Can you help us?” Mae asked. Her expression darkened, going from fearful to murderous with lightning speed. “Lord Larke wants to take her away from me.”
“I’m going to get you out,” Briar said quickly. “We made a tunnel into the stronghold. Part of it collapsed, but I think I can break through at another point. It will take time. Can you keep her quiet until we’re safe?”
Mae gave an unsteady laugh, and Briar was alarmed to see tears springing up in her eyes.
“Sometimes I can get her to fall right to sleep, but sometimes nothing works. I know women do this all the time, but I didn’t expect it to be so hard!”
“Uh, it’s all right,” Briar said. “Don’t cry. Um, I might be able to do something that will help, but I need you to trust me.” She would never risk using a sleep stone on a three-day-old baby, but she might be able to paint a smaller, gentler curse onto the baby’s blankets. “I … I don’t think it will hurt her.”
“I don’t even know you!” Mae held the tiny baby to her chest, curving around her as if she could put the child back inside her body for safekeeping. She seemed to oscillate rapidly between fear and feral, protective anger.
“Archer sent me,” Briar said.
“I don’t know any archers.”
“Lord Larke’s son, the younger, nicer one.”
“Ivan?” Mae asked. “Ivan is here?”
“He’s outside, creating a diversion,” Briar said. “I’ve been traveling with him and a woman named Jemma, his … tutor.”
“I remember him speaking fondly of a Jemma.” Mae still didn’t sound convinced. “How do I know it’s really him out there?”
“He has blond hair and dark eyebrows and the most piercing blue eyes you’ve ever seen,” Briar said impatiently. “He’s brave and kind, and he’s a terrible dancer and a great shot with a bow.”
Mae’s eyes narrowed mistrustfully. “Maybe I should wait here.”
“He’s intelligent, and he’s tall, and he’d do anything for his friends.” Briar’s tone sharpened. “He’d do anything for you, Mae, and we really don’t have time to stand around talking.”
Mae bit her lip. “I don’t know how far
