“Larke and Barden have been squabbling for years.”
“So they have,” Archer said. “It got so bad a few years ago, the king decreed they must settle their differences or forfeit their lands and titles. No threat is worse to a lord than the loss of his title.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Briar said.
“Of course not.” Archer glanced around the hovel. The girl had to want to improve her circumstances. She couldn’t help but agree to do the job. Hope flared in his chest for the first time since his return to Barden County.
“The two lords have continued to fight since the king’s decree, but they’ve kept it quiet. Their animosity festers in secret. Lord Larke dealt an unforgivable blow to Lord Barden when he captured Barden’s daughter. Barden can’t go to the king because he’d risk losing his lands—which would apparently be worse than losing his daughter, but I’m not here to judge—and so he has turned to other means to retrieve Lady Mae.”
Briar’s forehead wrinkled in a frown. “He hired you to steal her back?”
“Close. He is discreetly offering a reward for her safe return, with a bonus if it can be done without attracting the ire of the king. I intend to collect both the reward and the bonus.”
“What makes you think you can do it?”
Archer coughed, trying not to be offended. He had worked up something of a reputation over the past few years, but she didn’t seem remotely impressed by him.
“Lady Mae is imprisoned in a tower in Larke Castle up by Shortfall Lake.” He waved vaguely toward the north. “I happen to employ someone who used to work in that castle. We have a better chance of retrieving her than most.”
“And where do I come in?” Briar asked. “You want me to knock down this tower?”
“That wouldn’t do our captive lady much good, would it? We have to bring her back alive to collect the reward.”
“And the bonus.”
“Exactly.” Archer tapped his fingers on his knee. “The tower presents … challenges. The spells of a powerful mage guard its walls, and I believe only someone with exceptional strength can break through its protections.”
Briar pursed her lips. “So, you want me to travel to the other side of Larke County and help you destroy these spells to rescue a damsel from a tower without hurting the tower too badly? Unravelling someone else’s magic is not a simple task.”
“You would be well paid.” Archer straightened, pausing for effect. “I can offer you one hundred crowns.”
She didn’t even blink at the extravagant amount, one that should have made a girl in her circumstances stand up and sing. “I’ll have to decline,” she said briskly. “I’m sure you can find a more suitable curse painter for the job.”
“I doubt that. I need someone with both finesse and power. I’d heard a curse painter in these parts had the former, and I’ve seen the latter with my own eyes.”
Briar tipped back her cup to drain her tea, partially hiding her face. Her cheeks had gone a little pink, as if she were embarrassed by her power. He couldn’t imagine why.
“Thank you, but no.”
“All right then.” Archer shifted in his seat and—though it pained him a little—asked, “How much do you want?”
She set the empty teacup in her lap and rested a hand on her lumpy pillow.
“It’s not about the money. I only work for honest men these days, Mister Archer.”
“I am an honest man!” Archer lied. “Didn’t I tell you up front that I’m a thief? I serve the blade, the coin, and—”
“The open road. I understand, but this job isn’t for me.”
“Aren’t you interested in the adventure? You must be bored in this quiet little cottage.”
Briar’s eyes flashed. “I like my home very much.”
Her sharp tone surprised him, and Archer wondered if he’d missed something about the cottage. What was so great about living in squalor? He examined the place anew, seeking some reason for her to defend it so adamantly, such as a newborn baby or a solid gold floor.
When he looked back, Briar’s hands were in her lap, hidden beneath the folds of her skirt. She seemed to be massaging her wrist. Maybe her injury was worse than she wanted to let on. That needn’t stop them. The more time he spent in her company, the more certain he became that Briar was the one for the job.
He tried a different tactic. “Don’t you want a chance to be part of something great? If we succeed, we will have done what no other merry band of brigands has accomplished. Even if the gold won’t sway you, you’d be rescuing a fair maiden. Isn’t that as noble as knocking down the house of an evil old swindler?”
She hesitated for a second, and in that moment, he was sure he had her. Everyone liked rescuing maidens, even other maidens.
Then she said, “No. Thank you, Mister Archer, but I’m not interested.”
“I don’t give up so easily.”
He leaned toward her, and Briar stiffened.
“I think it’s best if you go.” Her voice rang with a gravity that hadn’t been there before.
“But if you’ll allow me to share my plan—”
“I want you to leave my house.”
Something dark flickered in her face, and cold tap-danced down Archer’s spine. Something told him the petite young woman wasn’t quite what she seemed. She spoke with the solemnity of a Crown Mage. He should go, but he was so close to having everything he needed for his mission. He couldn’t give up.
“I could tell the authorities what I saw, you know,” he said softly. “Sheriff Flynn and Willem Winton are old pals.”
Briar’s eyes narrowed. Her hands twitched in her lap, still hidden by her skirt. “Are you threatening me?”
“I am simply making you an offer you can’t re—”
The teacup in Archer’s hand exploded, the force knocking him back in his chair. His teeth rattled at the impact, and purple lights sparked before his eyes. Then the chair itself rose a foot off the ground and soared across the room, knocking over the easel and canvas on its way to the door.
Archer thought he’d be crushed, but the door flew open at the last instant. The chair lurched across the threshold, came to a violent stop outside, and deposited him in a heap on the ground.
Sheriff the dog bounded to his side and alternated between licking his ear and howling at the cottage, now closed up tight. Archer picked himself up, brushing dust off his coat. His hand stung from the exploding teacup, but all his fingers were intact.
The curse painter appeared at the window, holding a rung from a ladderback chair in her good hand. “You claimed to be an honest man,” she called. “If you truly are, you will leave me be and not speak of me to anyone. But know that I can curse the life out of you in a few quick strokes, especially now that you’ve sat in my chair for so long. Death curses take to wood especially well. I hope you won’t give me a reason to use one. Good day, Mister Archer.”
Then she was gone.
Archer stared at the green curtains long after they stopped swaying. How in all of Lure had she made the teacup explode from the other side of the room? He’d never seen anything like it. Any lingering doubts that Briar was the one for the job vanished. He would just have to find another way to convince her.