The Confectioner's Exile

by Claire Luana

“Yes, Grand Patrician Evander led the charge himself. He has the military behind him as well. General Lysander has thrown his support behind him and the patricians. They’re killing people.”

  “Killing people? Killing what people?” Hale asked.

  Roan straightened and met Hale’s eyes. The look of sympathy etched across his friend’s face said more than words ever could. A rush of cold flooded Hale’s body, numbing him to the core.

  “Willum… He was at the palace…” Brea said faintly.

  Cal was by his mother’s side in three quick strides. “Roan. Tell us.”

  “I’m so sorry… There was fighting… The ministers tried to stop the general and his men. Sim Firena…he was killed. They all were.”

  “And now Evander sits on the throne…” Brea’s voice was so light, it was as if it had been caught on a breeze. “First thing he will do is consolidate his power… eliminate…”

  Roan nodded miserably. “I know this must be a shock, but you need to go. You need to get out of the city. It’s not safe for you. Evander had sent soldiers into the city to round up everyone who was considered loyal to the late king. As the family of one of the most prominent ministers and his harshest critics, you’ll be first on the list. That’s why I came as fast as I could. I hoped I would get here before they did.”

  The ice in Hale’s veins was slowly thawing, turning to fire. “And your father, what, just sat back while all this happened? While ministers were murdered? I’ll bet he was in on it! Laughing behind our backs as he signed our death warrants!”

  Roan shook his head wildly. “He didn’t know—he didn’t want this. He’s been trying to get the Grand Patrician to see reason for years. This is on him.”

  “Hale—” Brea tried to place a soothing hand on his arm, but he shook it off.

  “It’s easy for him to say he had no part in it, but he’ll be sitting pretty when this is all over, won’t he? Your whole family will. Maybe you’d like our house.” Hale gestured wide. “You can have my room.” He knew the words were cruel even as they slipped between his lips. Roan had come to warn them after all. But it wasn’t fair that his friend was standing here apologizing, while in one turn of fate Hale and his family had become fugitives.

  His mother rounded on him, a look of fury on her face. “Hale Bartholomew Firena. That is enough. Roan came here at great personal risk. Let’s not squander the chance he’s given us.” Her words doused the anger singing in his veins. Hale Bartholomew. It wasn’t even his middle name. It was a trick she used from his childhood, when a silly name was all it had taken to turn a tantrum into a fit of giggles.

  Brea continued. “Both of you—pack one bag with everything you might need. Be practical. There’s no room for sentiment.”

  Hale and Cal stood for a moment before their mother flapped her hands at them. “Go!”

  Hale took the stairs two by two. In his room, he found himself standing like a stone, unable to process what had happened. He should have been stuffing things into a sack, but all he could do was think about the fact that his father was dead. Emotions ripped through him. Yes, there was sorrow. But there was also…relief. Palpable relief that he would never see his father’s disapproving face again. Guilt and hot shame followed. For what son feels relief upon hearing that his father is dead? A bang from Cal’s room startled him out of his thoughts. Cal was already done packing. He needed to hurry.

  First, clothing. He looked down at the tan linen trousers and white checked shirt that he still wore after the afternoon’s race. Not practical for traveling. He stripped down to his small clothes and grabbed a pair of sturdy dark trousers, along with a shirt and waistcoat that he normally wore for pheasant hunting. He pulled on a pair of rich leather boots and grabbed his traveling cloak off its hook near the door.

  Next, he grabbed a satchel from the wardrobe and looked around, wondering what to fill it with. It wasn’t like he had the types of things one took on a journey, flint or fishing wire, or whatever travelers carried. He was a minister’s son. In the end he settled on an extra pair of small clothes, another shirt, his tobacco pouch and rolling papers. His favorite pair of dice. His straight razor and a block of shaving cream. He pulled the ceremonial dagger his grandfather had given him off its stand on the shelf, fingering the flame of clan Farina on the pommel. Was the blade even sharp? He threw it in. If worse came to worst, he could fake his way out of a tight spot. He pulled a narrow-brimmed hat onto his head and surveyed the room. His satchel felt light. Far too light for a lifetime.

  Brea and Cal were waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. Both had changed into practical traveling clothes—dark colors and thick fabrics. They had sturdy boots and cloaks clasped around their necks. Roan had used the time to raid their kitchen. In one hand he held a bulging sack filled with food, in the other—three water skins.

  Hale met Roan’s eyes as he tossed over one of the water skins. “I’m sorry,” Hale said. “Thank you. For coming.”

  “You would’ve done the same for me,” Roan said, chewing his lip. “Be safe.”

  Brea was shouldering the sack of food when boots sounded on the stairs. She paled. “They’re already here.”

  “Out the back. The servants’ hallway,” Cal said.

  “Go,” Roan said. “I’ll try to distract them, send them the wrong way.”

  “We are in your debt,” Brea said, squeezing his arm.

  And then there was no time for goodbyes because the footsteps were growing louder. Hale led the way, rushing for the servants’ door set into the far wall of the salon. As he grasped the knob, the door on the far side of the room flew open as well. There was no time to look back. Hale wrenched open the door before him. Silhouetted in the opening stood a soldier in blue, his naked blade glinting in the candlelight.

  Chapter 3

  Hale’s thoughts spun like a top, mostly curse words making their way to the surface. Bad, bad, this is bad. He found himself backing away as the soldier advanced into the room. The man was big. As tall as Hale, but even broader of shoulder. His face was weathered, with a slice of a scar on his chin. His green eyes shone with uncomfortable intensity. But it was the sword that drew Hale’s eye—sharp and wicked—gleaming like the last light of the sun before it slipped under the horizon. That sword wanted to kill him.

  Hale hazarded a glance over his shoulder—but another soldier had appeared in the main doorway across the room. They were trapped. He looked back at the brute before him. Hale would be damned if he went down without a fight. The thought overtook him, and he moved on instinct. Hale didn’t know a sword from a horse’s ass, but he knew how to tackle. Hale launched himself at the soldier, aiming to catch the man in the gut with his not insubstantial shoulders. It didn’t go as planned. Instead, inexplicably, he found himself grasped around the neck, flipped into the air, and smashed to the ground with shuttering crash. Glittering stars swam in Hale’s vision as the air wooshed from his lungs.

  “Normally, they give me the chance to say ‘don’t do anything stupid’ before they try something stupid,” the soldier said.

  Hale wheezed, glaring at the man. How had the soldier moved so quickly?

  “If I let you up, will you promise not to take another run at me? We’re not here to hurt you.”

  “Says the man strangling me,” Hale managed, his voice hoarse beneath the man’s firm grip.

  “Hale.” His mother’s voice cracked like a whip. “Do what the man says. Now is not the time to show off.”

  Hale reddened. He hadn’t been trying to show off. He was trying to save their lives. Apparently, his mother was content to sit politely while she was executed. But Hale knew he wasn’t much help from down here. He gave a curt nod.

  The soldier stood and offered Hale a gloved hand. Hale ignored it, scrambling to his feet, rubbing at the back of his head where it had smashed against the travertine tile. He didn’t feel any blood. He joined Cal and his mother in a taut semi-circle between the two soldiers. Roan stood flattened against th
e far wall, his eyes wild.

  “Apologies for the dramatic entrance, Sa Firena,” the man said, using the female honorific. “We wanted to make sure we got to you before someone else did. I take it from your traveling attire that you’ve heard about the unfortunate business at the palace.”

  “You mean the business where Evander slaughtered the rightful king and all his ministers, including my husband?” Brea said, her back straight, her head high.

  All right, perhaps his mother wouldn’t go politely, Hale amended.

  The captain winced. “That business. I’m sorry to say Evander has gotten the taste for blood, and he’s not yet spilled enough to slake his thirst. He’s ordered all the ministers’ families, including the three of you, to be rounded up and brought in.”

  Brea pursed her lips. “He means to make an example of us, no doubt.”

  “Your sons perhaps. But there’s another reason I was sent here first, before the other families. It seems the Evander’s cuisinier asked after you. You, my lady, are to be brought to him.”

  Brea blanched at the mention of Daemastra, and Hale didn’t blame her. What did that walking skeleton want with his mother?

  Cal stole the words out of Hale’s mouth. “What does that creepy old bastard want with my mother?”

  “I do not know, but I fear I would not be a man of honor if I allowed you to find out.”

  “Who sent you?” Brea asked.

  “You have many friends among the military. Many who’d want you saved just so they wouldn’t have to be without this year’s burgundy blend. But it was General North. He sent me.”

  General North was an old friend of their family; he and Brea had grown up together. A man who brought them presents at Yuletide, and whom they had vacationed with in the summers. Often Hale’s father had been too busy working to come along, and so it had been North who had taken the young boys fishing, had taught them to tie a line and gut a fish.

  “Bless him,” Brea said, the tension in her face melting somewhat.

  “Unfortunately,” the soldier continued, “he didn’t have time to make arrangements for you. You’ll have to find your own way out of the city. We can’t be seen helping you.”

  “Can’t—or won’t,” Hale muttered under his breath. For all the man’s talk of honor, in the end he only cared about saving his own skin.

  “Hale…” His mother shot a warning glance his way. “These men have done enough. They’ve risked themselves to give us a chance. We won’t forget that. And we won’t squander it either. What’s the safest way out of the city?”

  “The harbor,” the man said. “All the roads will be guarded by Evander’s soldiers. If you can make it through the city to the docks and onto a vessel headed out of Aprica, you might have a chance.”

  “A few captains export wine for me. I should be able to find us passage.”

  The soldier’s next words were lost to the sound of pounding hooves on the cobblestones outside. Adrenaline flooded through him.

  “Go,” the soldier said. “We’ll stall them as long as we can.”

  “Thank you both—you have risked much. Roan, come with us. At least until we’re off of the villa estate. You shouldn’t be found here. There would be too many questions.”

  Roan nodded.

  A thunderous banging rang out from the front door below. Hale could just make out the muffled words. “Open up. In the name of the King!”

  “Go!”

  And then they were flying down the dark servants’ hallway, out into the night. The boys pulled up short, flattening themselves against the stucco wall of the villa.

  “Where’s Mother?” Cal asked.

  “She was just behind me…I thought…” Roan said.

  Hale swore, plunging back through the doorway up the stairs. He almost bowled his mother over as he turned the dark corner towards the main part of the house. Behind her came the servants, many of them in their nightclothes. Fear was etched across their faces, ghostly in the shadowed light.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Hale demanded.

  “I had to tell them what was happening,” Brea said. “It’s up to them if they want to stay or go, but I couldn’t leave without warning them. I don’t know how far Evander’s purge of our family will go.”

  Hale felt a surge of guilt, and then annoyance at the guilt. He hadn’t even thought of the servants. But...he had a lot on his mind. Trying to stay alive and all. “Fine, but they’re on their own. The more of us there are, the more conspicuous we are.”

  Brea nodded in agreement.

  The muffled din of crashing furniture sounded from the house behind them. Evander’s soldiers were turning the house upside down looking for them.

  “Hurry,” Brea said.

  They dashed across the darkened courtyard towards the stables, trying to stay out of the yawning patches of light that stretched from the upper windows. Inside the stable, Hale grabbed three bridles off the hooks lining the stable wall. “There’s no time to saddle the horses. Mother, can you ride bareback?”

  Brea drew herself up to her full height, which barely came to Hale’s chest. “Can I ride bareback? Do you take me for some pampered princess? I grew up on a horse ranch.”

  “It’s just a question, Mother,” Cal said, holding his hand out for a bridle.

  Roan stood awkwardly in the corner as they hurriedly buckled the bridles.

  “You can take a horse,” Brea said. “We won’t have need of them anymore.”

  “It’s fine,” Roan said. “It’s less than a mile to my house. I’ll be less conspicuous on foot.”

  A loud bang from the house made them all jump. “Now get out of here. Before the soldiers think to look in the stables. “

  Hale clasped Roan’s hand as he led his horse from the stall.

  “Be safe,” Roan said.

  “Tell the ladies I did something heroic on my way out,” Hale replied.

  “They won’t ever believe me,” Roan said with a grin.

  Hale grinned back before following his mother and brother out of the stable into the black night.

  They led their horses to a side door in the villa’s garden wall, cringing at every strike of hoof on stone. Once through the door, Hale offered his clasped hands as a step for his mother, and she launched herself nimbly onto the back of her chestnut mare.

  Hale’s heart hammered in his chest as they walked through the dark city, not wanting to draw the attention that a panicked gallop might bring. Every person they passed brought a new wave of tension and fear, as if this might be the time that they would be recognized, that someone would call after them to stop. But no one did. Brea led the way through the twisting streets, sticking to back alleys and dark residential roads. Hale wasn’t sure how she knew her way around the city; when he and Cal came into town, they almost always took the family carriage.

  The verdant rolling hills of the Villa District descended into the main part of Se Caelus, the capital and government seat of Aprica. They passed the downtown shopping district—the city center where merchant guilds met and traded. The city was eerily quiet, but for the sound of boots pounding in the distance. It seemed that word of the coup had spread, and the city’s inhabitants weren’t taking any chances.

  Hale worried at the reins, wiping his sweaty palms on his legs. The silence of the night—of their ride—was oppressive, but every time he opened his mouth to speak, Cal or his mother would shoot him a warning glance. The tension coiled around his spine began to loosen as he caught his first whiff of the briny sea air. The cries of gulls joined the rhythm of their horses’ hooves. They were close.

  Finally, they arrived at the docks that stretched along Se Caelus’s harbor like jutting fingers. Blessedly, the harbor appeared to be empty of Evander’s troops. Brea drew her horse to a stop in front of a proud schooner flying the sky blue Aprican flag. “Let me do the talking.” She slipped off her mount with a graceful swing and handed the reins to Hale.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man w
ith a black goatee and a red high-collared coat strode down the docks to meet them. “Sa Farina, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He took her hand and bowed low over it, polite despite the second question implied by his tone: And what is the wife of one of the city’s most prominent ministers doing at the harbor at midnight?

  “We’re looking to arrange passage out of the city,” Brea said. “Can you assist us?”

  “I’m afraid our new king”—the man said the word with a twist of distaste—“has closed the harbor. No boats in or out.”

  Cal and Hale exchanged a glance. Not good.

  “For how long?”

  The man must’ve seen the dismay on Brea’s face. “I’m sorry, my lady. I don’t know. There may be… never mind. It would be too risky for a lady such as yourself.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ve heard there’s a man who will be leaving. His cargo is such that…he doesn’t want to draw undue attention.”

  “A smuggler?” Brea asked.

  The captain nodded, a look of apology on his face, as if Hale’s mother was so delicate that the very notion of smuggling would offend her.

  “Where is he berthed?”

  The captain pointed down the row of ships. “Single mast down the line. Red hull.”

  “I thank you,” Brea said, turning to leave.

  “My lady,” the captain said, threading his fingers together nervously. “Such men are not to be trusted. I do not know if that vessel would be safe for a respectable lady such as yourself. If you could just wait… I could try to arrange alternate passage—”

  “Your chivalry is admirable, but put your conscience at ease,” Brea said. “There’s no safe place for us now.”

  Chapter 4

  The vessel flew no colors. Its lacquered hull shone scarlet in the moonlight—but what looked as ominous as blood from afar revealed itself to be flaking off in shabby patches as they drew closer. Though Hale would have much preferred the grand schooner they had left behind farther up the dock, the little ship looked sturdy enough. Men swarmed the deck and up the rigging, one shouldering past them as he carried cargo onto the vessel. By all appearances, the ship was leaving any minute.