“Welcome home,” the boy said to the curse painter, attempting a flourish that looked suspiciously like Archer’s. An eager smile split his round face, ruining the effect.
Briar glanced at Archer, her expression unreadable, before following Nat into the tunnel.
“Any trouble today?” Archer asked Lew quietly as they walked beneath the sycamore trees, drawing the stolen horse behind them.
The older man shook his head. “A few hunters passed nearby yesterday, but Nat lured them away before they got too near the hideout. The lad can do quite the pheasant impression.”
“Excellent.”
This was one of their favorite lairs whenever they were in Barden County, and no one but squirrels had ever found it. Archer needed their lucky streak to last just a little while longer.
The smell of burnt stew reached them a second before they exited the tunnel. A blazing campfire, a patch of bare earth, and a dozen horses awaited them at the center of what would look like an impenetrable mass of thorns and brambles to passersby. They’d made a fair bit of noise on their way through the thicket, especially with the horse in tow, and the last two members of Archer’s team were expecting them.
“It’s about time.” Lew’s wife, Jemma, faced them across the campfire with her hands on her hips. A red shawl was folded across her chest, and her golden hair threaded with gray was coming loose from her braid in wisps. “I’d need a whole new plan if you got yourself captured again.”
“Aw, you’d have rescued me, Jem,” Archer said. “Lew says so.”
“I have my hands full with one rescue mission as it is.” Jemma shot a glance at her husband, who shrugged his burly shoulders. “Stealing gold is a lot easier than stealing people.”
“The gold from the reward is ten times our best haul,” Archer said. “It’ll be worth the extra trouble.”
“Plus the bonus,” called Nat. The boy sprawled in front of the fire and kicked off his dirty boots.
“You got that right,” Archer said.
Lew grimaced as Nat began picking at his patched woolen socks. “Do you have to do that by the food?”
Nat shrugged and reached for his boots again.
Lew sighed and took the reins of Archer’s new horse. He nodded to Briar and went to tie up the stallion near the other horses.
Archer turned back to Jemma, who was still glowering at him across the fire. “I’ve brought you a new secret weapon.” He tried to usher the curse painter forward with a hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off. He raised his hands apologetically. “Briar, Jemma. Jemma, Briar.”
Briar studied the older woman closely. “You’re the one in charge?”
Jemma chuckled, her skin creasing around her mouth. “Oh, I like her already.”
“Didn’t you say—”
“She’s the brains, yes, but I’m the boss,” Archer said. “Jemma used to work in the castle where our fair maiden is being kept. She’s the reason we are going to succeed where other merry bands of outlaws have failed.”
“How many?” Briar asked.
“Beg pardon?”
“How many others have attempted this mission and failed?”
“Let’s just say, it won’t be as easy as it sounds.” Archer headed for the cookpot, seeking to fend off further challenges. “Hope you saved some stew for us.”
“Esteban almost finished it off,” Jemma said. “You shouldn’t have taken so long.”
“Oh, right, that’s Esteban.” Archer nodded at the shriveled figure dressed in black sitting at the very edge of the ring of light, giving no further explanation.
Esteban wouldn’t respond well to being labeled, even if Archer called him charming and brawny and as handsome as the king himself. In truth, Esteban was none of those things. Gaunt, gray haired, and surly, he had been with them almost since the beginning, but he hadn’t warmed up to anyone. Only Jemma—who was nicer than they all deserved—made much of an effort with him.
The six of them gathered around the campfire, sitting on fallen logs or sprawling in the dirt. Briar perched on a stump, watching the others closely, and Archer was reminded again of a petite owl. But owls had talons, and he couldn’t forget she had the power to hurl him across a room when she felt like it.
After scarfing down a few bites of Lew’s special squirrel stew, Archer explained the mission to rescue Lady Mae.
“The castle is a ten-day ride from here, deep within the boundaries of Lord Larke’s territory. It has a regular garrison of fifty retainers, and their commander is no fool. He won’t leave the lady unguarded, even during the most dramatic diversion. This will be a stealth mission. Jemma knows her way around the castle, so we should be able to sneak into the tower, break open the lady’s door, incapacitate her guards, and get her out again without anyone realizing we’re there. Lord Larke should be away on his annual tax-collecting jaunt, so that’ll make our job a little easier.”
Briar listened closely, her chin in her hand. “What are the magical protections on the place?”
“Esteban?”
The old man gave a dry cough. “A Nightshade Illusion at the border wall, a few hexed doorways in the tower, and likely a Marin’s Lock on her door.”
Briar raised an eyebrow. “Why do you need me? You already have a mage.”
Lew and Jemma exchanged glances, but Esteban didn’t seem surprised Briar had figured out what he was. He watched her sullenly. Truth be told, sullen was his resting state.
“Esteban’s power comes with limitations,” Archer said. “He’s licensed, you see.”
“Then why do you need him?”
Lew chortled, and Esteban muttered something about disrespectful children.
“Everyone has a part to play in this.” Archer thumped Nat on the not-quite-brawny shoulder. “Even him.”
Briar was still studying the mage. She was tense, a bird poised for flight. “You have the tattoos?”
Esteban pulled up his sleeve to reveal the faded black ink looping his wiry arms. The spelled marks meant every bit of magic he performed was catalogued in the mysterious Hall of Records in faraway High Lure, the king’s city.
“Where did you train?” Briar asked.
“I have studied at several of the best art mage schools in Lure,” Esteban said. “I won’t have my credentials questioned by an illegal—”
“I don’t doubt your credentials,” Briar said. “When were you last at court?”
Esteban’s mouth tightened irritably. “I have been my own man since before you were born, little girl. You ought to show your elders more respect.”
“Forgive me,” Briar said. “I meant no offense.” She adjusted her position on the tree stump, already seeming less nervous.
Interesting. Archer would have to see if Jemma had any theories about why Briar cared whether someone had recently been at court. Jemma was better at reading people than he was. Esteban was easier to figure out than Briar. The older mage begrudged the fact that they’d hired outside magical help for the job. The resentment was practically written on his face among the wrinkles. Archer hoped that wouldn’t become a problem.
“Back to business,” Archer said. “Can you paint curses that will break those three spells in addition to ones that will open normal doors and knock out guards?”