“Ivan? What in all the realms, high and low, are you doing here? This is my brother, Master Dryden. Why would he slay you?” Tomas gave a hearty guffaw, and Donovan shot him a derisive look. He’d clearly figured out whose side Archer was on.
Tomas wore a stupid grin on his handsome face. It was inconvenient really, having a handsome brother. “When did you get here, Ivan?”
“Earlier this evening.” Archer leaned casually against the wall, grunting at the pain in his ribs.
“Have you seen Father?” Tomas asked.
“He’s bleeding badly from a curse,” Archer said. “Can you help him, Master Dryden?”
“Healing is not my area of expertise. I was hired to protect this keep and its inmates, and that is precisely what I’m doing.” Donovan resumed his work on the doorway, adding vermilion streaks among the stars and moons. “Is Saoirse on her feet yet?”
“Not yet.” Archer didn’t elaborate.
The curse painter was too focused on his work to realize something was amiss with his wife. It was a testament to their combined strength that it didn’t even occur to Donovan that Saoirse hadn’t survived their daughter’s curse. Archer didn’t want to be anywhere near him when he learned the truth.
Had Briar and Mae found a way past the door’s curses, or were they still somewhere inside Narrowmar? They’d never escape with Donovan in their way. Archer was running out of time to help, but he’d only have a chance against Donovan if he took him by surprise.
Could the curse painter be bluffing about the incendiary curse on the floor? Archer glanced at the body a few paces from him—and the sword at its hip.
“What happened to the captain?” he asked Tomas, striving for a casual tone.
“He betrayed us,” Tomas said. “He tried to help Mae escape. Can you believe it? We got to her first, though. She’s in the guard station just here.”
Archer looked up. Torches flickered on either side of the guard station door, which was located to the right of the stronghold’s entrance. It was too far. He’d have to deal with Tomas and Donovan before he could get to it.
He took a step toward his brother. “Why can’t you let her go?”
“It was father’s idea, bringing her here.” Tomas shrugged, his sword loose in his hand. “I find her tiresome.”
“If she gives birth to a boy—”
“Yes, but she didn’t, did she?” Tomas said. “I was right all along.”
Archer frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“The baby. It was a girl.”
“She already had it?” Panic bubbled up in Archer’s belly. He was too late. The baby wasn’t supposed to come for weeks yet.
Suddenly it didn’t matter what happened to Archer or to his family. If they had killed that innocent child, those callous bastards would get what was coming to them. Archer dove for the old captain’s sword.
At the same moment, outside, Briar finished painting her curse.
As Archer’s hand closed on the burgundy-wrapped hilt, the mountain gave an almighty lurch, as if it were being slammed hard against the earth. There was a great cracking sound, and the entire front wall of the stronghold began to disintegrate. Rocks fell with a deafening roar, pummeling the ground, collapsing the cursed doorway as if it were made of paper. Archer threw up his arms to protect his battered body, smelling a whiff of linseed oil and smoke. Then the billowing dust snuffed out the torches and covered everything in darkness.
Chapter 33
The impenetrable fortress fell like a wooden house.
The earth shook with teeth-cracking intensity as the rocks crumbled. Briar’s curse targeted the whole front of the stronghold, slicing off a layer of stone three feet deep. Thick gray debris choked the air and scattered across the ground. The veins of the mountain opened, exposing its secret interior to the air. The gaping wound revealed a cross section where the main corridor had been built into the ancient fissure. The front of the fortress wasn’t as much a part of the mountain as it had seemed. Briar’s curse had found a way through the cracks and broken the barrier into pieces.
She crouched on her hands and knees, ears ringing, hands quivering from the magic. The curse had used unprecedented quantities of power. The destruction alone was enormous, and she’d added a verdigris flourish to make the wall fall outward as it collapsed. If Mae was still near the front of the stronghold, she should be okay, and with the cursed doorway obliterated, she should be able to walk right out.
Actually, Briar hoped Mae would run. It wouldn’t be long before Larke’s men recovered from their surprise and poured out of the stronghold like wasps from a broken nest.
The dust gusted, not quite settling in the breezy weather, and Briar coughed into her sleeve. Droplets fell here and there, hints of the rainstorm to come. Briar knelt to outline another curse on a flat stone protruding from the road, hoping to hold off the coming swarm. Her hands shook badly. She must be approaching the absolute limits of her power. She had never fully tested those limits. The destruction was already greater than she’d ever thought she could produce. She wasn’t sure whether to feel proud or frightened of her capacity.
Keeping an eye on the gaping hole exposing the stronghold’s main corridor, she switched deftly from yellow ochre to blue smalt. It wasn’t her most beautiful work, but she’d had lots of practice painting quick and dirty curses recently. This one would put someone to sleep who walked across it without needing to touch their skin. She hoped it would hold off a few of the soldiers while she and Mae escaped into the darkened woods above the ravine.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. The smell of rain sharpened, cutting through the thick dust. Briar painted quickly, praying the storm would hold just a little longer. Hurry up, Mae. I still need to find Archer.
But the first person to stumble out of the wreckage was the broad-shouldered young man who’d killed
