Her mother advanced toward her, eyes blazing with cold fire. She had a paintbrush in her hand, and her lips were pulled back in an angry rictus.
Briar painted faster, using her largest brush to streak umber and carmine across the stone, counting each stroke. Four. Five. Six.
Her hands shook, making her work sloppy, and her fingers burned with magic. She had to finish the design before her mother reached her. Footsteps drummed down the corridor, counting down like a clock.
Eight. Nine. Ten. The rough image of a volcano took shape, its mouth pointing down the corridor. Someone said her name like a curse.
Briar glanced up to check how far away her mother was as she prepared the final strokes, dipping her brush in carmine lake. That’s when she saw Archer running after Saoirse Dryden, as if he could stop the legendary mage with his bare hands.
Panic seized Briar. If she finished painting the volcano, the curse would strike Archer with just as much force as it struck her mother. She didn’t want to hurt either of them, but her mother was almost to her, eyes alight with the particular rage of betrayal. Briar’s hands felt as hot as a blacksmith’s forge.
Archer sprinted after Saoirse. He wouldn’t catch up in time.
“Do it!” he shouted. “You have to!”
Briar tightened her grip on her paintbrush. He was right. Blocking the passage and stopping her mother was their only chance to escape.
Saoirse was almost to her, the brush in her hand dripping bone-black paint.
“Hurry, Briar!” Archer bellowed.
Twelve.
Briar painted the final stroke. The painting exploded.
A wave of pressure hurtled from Briar’s position, blasting right into Archer and her mother. Both of them flew backward, sliding the length of the corridor. Chunks of stone broke away from the ceiling and rained down on them. A plume of acrid smoke filled the air.
Briar lurched forward a step, ears ringing, but Mae was going the other way, running as fast as she could under the circumstances. She and the baby weren’t safe yet. They didn’t deserve to die. Briar had a job to finish.
Not daring to scrutinize the carnage left by her curse, Briar caught up to the young mother and baby and pulled them through the nearest doorway. They ran full speed across a room cluttered with bunks and open-mouthed young men. The soldiers’ barracks. Briar paused to throw a handful of red exploding stones in their midst. Then she and Mae burst out the other side into a broader corridor. Briar remembered Jemma telling her the large barracks had entrances on the eastern and main passageways. She turned left, and they headed toward the front of the fortress.
They couldn’t go back through the tunnel. Briar would never be able to curse her way to a clear section before her parents caught up. But she might have enough of a head start to blast straight through the front door before they recovered from her last curse.
“Was that Ivan?” Mae demanded as she struggled to keep up with Briar. “What did you do to him?”
“He’ll be okay,” Briar said. Please, let him be okay.
The torches flickered as they ran past, and their footsteps echoed around them, announcing their progress. Briar breathed in smoky air and linseed oil and ash. She had to get Mae and the baby girl out of Narrowmar before she worried about what she had done to Archer and her mother.
Thanks to the tiny curse on her blankets, the baby remained asleep as they charged down the corridor. Armed and uniformed men rushed by them, running toward the big explosion. They weren’t looking for escaped prisoners, and they didn’t glance at the bundle in Mae’s arms. Still, it would only take one soldier to raise the alarm. Briar and Mae ducked into alcoves and empty rooms whenever they could, which slowed their progress. How long before her parents came after her? They would surely use their nastiest curses to punish her for daring to stand against them.
Mae’s steps were becoming labored. Briar didn’t know how long it took to recover after having a baby, but it had to be more than three days. There was nothing she could do about that at the moment. She just had to get Mae and the baby out the front door, then Esteban could heal whatever ailed the young mother.
If Esteban had survived. Briar didn’t know how Archer had ended up with her parents and the tall, distinguished man she assumed was Lord Larke. What if the rest of the team had already been killed?
Nothing you can do, she reminded herself as she pulled Mae through a doorway to allow another group of soldiers to run past.
The soldiers were streaming toward the explosion site now, but once word spread that Mae had escaped, they would comb through every room in the fortress.
Briar pressed her ear to the door, listening to the footsteps receding and the shouts echoing from deep within the stronghold. Her pulse raced, and sweat dripped down her back as she waited for her moment.
She was about to charge back into the corridor, when Mae grabbed her sleeve. “Wait! Could you use this?” Mae held up a jar of purple paint.
Briar whirled around, taking in the room they’d ducked into to avoid the last group of soldiers. The large, richly decorated chamber was filled with paint supplies, brushes, canvas, ground-up pigments, vats of linseed oil, detailed sketches of future paintings. Her parents must be using the room as their studio.
Hardly daring to believe her luck, Briar took the purple from Mae and began stuffing her satchel with as many additional paints as she could carry. Mae helped, balancing a few small jars on top of her sleeping daughter and slinging another satchel over her shoulder. Briar found several containers of the marine-snail purple that had given her such trouble. Of course her parents would have plenty of the rare shade. Her father was obsessed with studying the unravelling of magic.
“What do we do now?” Mae asked.
Briar blinked
