by Claire Luana
“So why’re we here?” McArt called out.
“To the point. Good man.” Daemastra smiled. His teeth were so white and perfect—large for his thin lips. Wren fought to keep the grimace off her face. Something was off about the man. “We wanted to quell any rumors going around. While the Falconer rebels have been a bit of a thorn in our side, we have made significant progress in rooting them out. There should be no more attacks like yesterday’s explosion in the Guild Quarter.”
“And what of the grain?” Guildmaster Beatrix asked. “I heard half the city’s stores were lost in the attack.”
“There will be no shortage of flour,” Daemastra said smoothly, motioning to the mound of pastries behind him. “Indeed, I hope you have all helped yourself to this morning’s delights. The emperor has the remaining grain under guard. We will work with each of your Guilds to provide access to your allotted quota.”
Mutters rounded the table.
“I assure you, so long as your Guilds cooperate with our modest requests, life under Emperor Evander will be quite unchanged from what you are used to. But a word of caution on that front. The Spicer’s Guild has somewhat...rudely rebuffed our request that they visit the palace to submit to questioning and pledge their loyalty. The emperor will not tolerate such insubordination. As of today, the Spicer’s Guild is hereby disbanded. If you are aware of the location of a Spicer’s Guild member, you are required to report that individual to the Aprican legion so they may be brought in for questioning. Anyone found harboring a member of the Spicer’s Guild will be deemed complicit.”
Sim Daemastra’s words fell over them like a suffocating blanket of fondant. No one said a word.
Callidus’s face was purpling, a vein growing in his neck.
Wren laid her hand on his arm—a warning. Nothing good would come from exploding at this man.
It seemed her warning wasn’t enough. “Disbanded?” Callidus spluttered. “For missing a meeting?”
Sim Daemastra had the wherewithal to look apologetic. “The emperor requires absolute obedience during these delicate times. Perhaps later, when relationships are...strengthened...such a slight would not be as great a concern. But the Spicer’s Guild has made their contempt for the emperor clear. There will be no quarter for such behavior.”
Wren looked across the table at Chandler and McArt. They had been two of the most vocal critics of King Imbris’s overreaching, but neither of them spoke up now. Chandler was picking crumbs of croissant off his plate while McArt stirred his coffee. Neither would meet her eye. She pursed her lips. Had they lost their nerve?
“The emperor bid me to share how much he appreciates your time and cooperation. Are there any other questions?”
Silence. Callidus was just shaking his head, his fists clenched by his sides.
Daemastra smiled, tucking his hands in his strange white robes. “Well then. I know you are all busy people. Please feel free to stay and enjoy the refreshments as long as you like.” He turned and disappeared out the door, followed by his two Aprican guards.
It was a long moment before anyone moved. Bruxius got to his feet first, ambling over to the table at the front of the room to refill his coffee and grab another scone.
Callidus let out a little laugh of disbelief. “No one...not one of you had anything to say to our new overlords? No concerns about the change in policy?” His voice dripped with sarcasm like honey from baklava.
“I’m sure the emperor will secure the best interests of the Guilds, and Maradis,” Beatrix said.
Wren’s mouth fell open. What? What happened to standing together? A united front?
“Oh, you’re sure, are you?” Callidus said, pushing back from the table and pacing behind his chair. “How long before he disbands one of our Guilds for looking at him the wrong way?”
“Don’t give him reason to,” Chandler said. “The emperor is a fair and righteous ruler. If we trust in him, he will bring glory to all the lands of the Aprican Empire.”
Callidus stopped moving. “What?” he asked, exchanging a look of disbelief with Wren. “Is this a joke?”
“He’s right,” McArt said in his gruff tone. “We need to trust in the emperor.” Murmurs of assent sounded around the table.
Callidus was shaking his head, his dark eyes wide. “And do the rest of you feel this way as well?”
Nods. Grunts of affirmation.
Wren looked around the room, craning her head to look at the corners, the ceiling. What in the Beekeeper’s name was going on? Were they being watched, and they were the only ones not in on it?
“Wren, get up,” Callidus said, straightening his gray waistcoat. “We’re leaving.”
Wren scrambled after Callidus, throwing one last look over her shoulder at the seated guild heads. Fear was coiling up from her center with grasping tendrils. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Callidus radiated silent fury as he strode through the polished halls of the Tradehall.
Wren had to jog to keep up.
In the antechamber, Lieutenant Dashiell sat reading a copy of The Maradis Morning. He jumped up when he saw them, tucking the newspaper under his uniformed arm.
Callidus swore under his breath, holding up a hand to him. “We need a moment. Private business.”
And then they were out the door into the dark windswept Maradis morning. Wren pulled her cloak tightly around her before the wind caught it. Dash was wise enough to stay behind in the warmth of the building, though she felt his eyes on them through the panes of the door.
Callidus turned on her. “I thought Chandler was with us.”
She backed up a step. “He was! He is...I don’t know what that was.” Her mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what had just happened. “Just yesterday...you were there. He wanted us to stand united in opposing the emperor’s policies.”
“What changed between then and now? Because he sure as hell didn’t seem to be standing united! They all seemed united against us!”
“I don’t know,” Wren said lamely. “Maybe...they’re being blackmailed again? Like with King Imbris?”
“Or maybe the other Guilds have decided that the Confectioner’s Guild has been on top too long and should be the next to go,” Callidus suggested blackly.
“Chandler wouldn’t... They wouldn’t...” Wren stammered. They had been allies once. Friends. But who knew...in this new world. Perhaps it was Guild eat Guild in order to survive. “If that were true, why did he and Beatrix go to the palace yesterday? Why did they talk to us?”
“To throw us off the scent! To make us let down our guard and think we had allies.”
“Maybe,” Wren stammered. It didn’t fit. Chandler wouldn’t do that. Not after everything their Guilds had been through together. She had saved his life.
Callidus wagged his finger at her nose. “Until further notice, no talking with members of any other Guild without my permission or knowledge. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Wren said. Though she wasn’t sure who she had to talk to anymore. All of her friends and allies were gone. Fled—or dead.
Chapter 10
Olivia paused in the antechamber, the tasks on her to-do list forgotten. There were a half-dozen Aprican legionnaires carrying boxes up the stairway into the Guildhall. What in the Beekeeper?
She caught sight of the man directing it all, acting like he owned the place. Who was he? Olivia clasped her hands behind her back, striding over towards him. “Good day, sir,” she said, trying to keep her annoyance hidden. “What’s all this?”
The man turned to her, his blue eyes shrewd and calculating. He was handsome, like all these Apricans seemed to be. Perhaps a bit generic-looking, she thought with savage evaluation. Though from the way he held himself, he thought himself the Sower’s own gift to the female sex. “Captain Ambrose.” The officer nodded to her, his smile a touch too wide. “And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
“Olivia Treekin, Guildmistress of this Guild. Usually all shipments go throug
h me. I wasn’t apprised of this one...” She let the sentence linger, her intent clear.
“My apologies, Guildmistress.” Ambrose had the wherewithal to look apologetic. “It’s a gift. Pastries from Sim Daemastra, the emperor’s own cuisinier. An apology for the tardy return of one of your grandmasters.”
“Which grandmaster?” That perked up her interest.
“Grandmaster Beckett,” Ambrose replied.
“Beckett has returned?” Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth. Despite Beckett’s treachery towards Callidus, she was relieved to hear he was back. His ways were misguided, and he was a pompous ass, but he had the best interest of the Guild at heart. And most days, he was a lot easier to find than Callidus, who had a way of disappearing on her without a moment’s warning. It would be nice to have a grandmaster around again to consult with when things came up. “Does Marina know?”
“If you’re referring to the comely brunette girl with glasses, then yes, they had a somewhat awkward reunion when we first arrived.” A smile twitched at the corner of Ambrose’s mouth.
“I’ll have to see that he has what he needs,” Olivia said, wanting to be away from this man’s oily charm. “I presume you and your soldiers can see yourselves out...”
“Indeed,” Ambrose said. The uniformed soldiers were already filing down the stairs, their arms empty of burdens. “I suggest you enjoy some of the delicacies we’ve brought. I’d say they’re tasty enough to impress even the Confectioner’s Guild.” Ambrose gave her a half-bow before pushing out the door, his soldiers in tow.
Olivia stood for a moment, shaking her head. What an odd interaction. Never mind, though. She was coming to realize that the Apricans were a strange lot. She shook off the feeling and headed up the stairs.
She found Grandmaster Beckett in the library surrounded by Marina, Lennon, and enough pastries to feed a small army.
“Grandmaster!” Olivia crossed the room. “Welcome back.”
Beckett turned and to her surprise, pulled her into an embrace. Olivia suppressed her shock and gave him a hesitant pat on the shoulder.
“I couldn’t be happier to be back home,” Beckett said, smiling broadly. He looked a few pounds heavier, but other than that, none the worse for the wear. Olivia was surprised and relieved. She hadn’t wanted to think what two weeks in an Aprican dungeon would do to a man. It seemed...nothing.
Beckett put his arms around Marina and Lennon’s shoulders, pulling them to him. Both of them looked discomforted, but they pasted on smiles. The relationship between Marina and her father had always been rocky, but Olivia hoped that Marina and Beckett could use the events of the past weeks to start fresh. At least Marina still had a father, even if he was overbearing. Olivia was entirely alone in this world.
“We’re happy to have you,” Olivia said, shoving aside her moment of self-pity. The Guild was her family, and one of those members was home. It was a moment of celebration for all. “I’m glad to see you looking well. And bearing gifts, no less.”
Beckett turned to the boxes of pastries that had been set out on the counter. “Have something! I can attest everything is delicious.”
Olivia shrugged. Beckett released Marina and Lennon from his stranglehold, and the three of them peered into the boxes, surveying their options.
“Strangest reunion ever,” Lennon whispered to Olivia, and even Marina smiled.
“Who knew the Apricans were so into carbs,” Marina said. “You’d think they ban them from the Empire in order to maintain their perfect physiques.”
“The Apricans are what we like to call ‘lucky bastards,’” Lennon said, selecting a frosted donut. “They can probably eat enough for three men without gaining an ounce.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Olivia said, grabbing a cinnamon strudel. She’d seen Hale eat that much in a sitting and never exercise. Lucky bastard indeed.
She took a bite, holding her other hand out to catch the little avalanche of cinnamon crumbles and almonds pieces that fell from her pastry. It was delicious—perfectly flaky, with the nutty and sharp undertones of cinnamon and nutmeg. She could almost feel her taste buds radiating happiness, sending tingles of pleasure straight to her brain.
“Wow,” Olivia said through her bite. She had never tasted so strong a flavor—like the sugar and butter permeated her being. She stumbled against the counter, suddenly feeling woozy. But the feeling was gone in a flash, so quickly Olivia was sure she had imagined it.
“This is some pastry,” Lennon said, inspecting his donut with wide dark eyes.
It was. It was the best she’d ever had. And it was so considerate of the emperor to provide these gifts to them. It was exactly the type of thing their Emperor would do. He was always thinking of others—working tirelessly for the betterment of all who lived in the lands of the Aprican Empire.
Marina was looking at her father, her smooth face rapt with delight. “You must tell the emperor thank you. Tell him—he’s a fair and righteous ruler.”
Olivia found herself nodding. Truer words had never been spoken. “Yes.” She nodded, overcome by her gratitude towards their sovereign. “A fair and righteous ruler.”
Callidus knocked on the glass of the door and motioned to Dash sharply. The man slipped outside to follow them the short walk across the street to the Guildhall. It was ridiculous that he had even escorted them. The wind tugged at her and Wren corralled her whipping auburn tresses with one hand, her cloak in the other. A spitting rain was starting, the tiny drops stinging like needles against her skin.
A crowd was gathering down the street in front of the Sower’s Temple, where Virgil used to work. Wren pressed her lips together in a tight line at the thought of Virgil. Hopefully, he was drinking mead at the Sower’s right hand, smiling down at all of them. He deserved a blessed afterlife. As they always did, her thoughts of Virgil turned to thoughts of Lucas. Her chest tightened as she looked at the spot before the Temple’s doors where she had once in her anger barreled into Lucas, sending them both tumbling onto the cobblestones. Oh, Lucas, she thought. Where are you?
She pulled her attention from the memory. “What’s going on?” she asked, nodding her head towards the commotion.
“Not sure,” Dash said, his steps slowing.
“I’m going to check it out,” Wren said. Anything to distract herself from the grief and worry that tugged at her, from the thunderstorm of Callidus’s mood.
Dash looked between her and Callidus, hesitating for a moment before falling into step beside her. “You seem the more pleasant company,” he whispered with a wink.
“Don’t count on it,” she said blackly, heading down Guilder’s Row. The man reminded her too much of Hale for her to bear his presence easily. His friendly swagger, his unflappable good mood. Well, he reminded her of the old Hale. And that was an even worse reminder.
Before the ochre stones of the temple, a group of four Aprican legionnaires had set up a small tent and table. A heavy-ladened wagon sat next to them, the horse’s head drooping in the rain.
“What’s going on?” Wren asked a woman who stood with a little girl tucked in close to her skirts.
“The emperor is giving out free bread! You can take a loaf a person. Word is they’re going to do it all winter! To make sure we all have full bellies.”
Wren stood on her tiptoes, peering over the waiting crowd. The legionnaires were handing out what looked like loaves of bread wrapped in brown paper. She turned back towards the Guild, frowning.
“Why’d you look like you just swallowed a slug?” Dash asked as they walked back up the slick sidewalk. “Aren’t you glad the emperor is feeding your fellow citizens?”
Wren nodded. “I guess.” The gesture was surprisingly kind. So why did it leave an uneasy feeling in her gut?
“I told you life under the Aprican Empire isn’t all bad. You wait. Things’ll look up.”
Wren ignored him as they walked into the Guildhall, lost in thought.
“You should get out of those wet cloth
es, my lady,” Dash said with a pleasant smile. “And get something warm to drink. No need to catch a chill.”
Wren glared at his retreating form. Why did he have to be so damn nice? It would be much easier to hate him if he were an ass like Ambrose or creepy like Daemastra. She pushed her wet hair off her forehead. In truth, something warm would be nice. She walked up the steps, headed towards the library. A cup of coffee. Then a long, hot bath. Things would make more sense after a hot bath.
Wren rounded the corner into the library and pulled up short at the heavenly smell of fresh baked bread and frosting. On the long marble countertop lay a cornucopia of baked goods. Olivia and Lennon stood at the counter surveying the plenty, Olivia giggling over a cinnamon strudel.
“What’s all this?” Wren asked.
“Wren!” They cried in unison, turning. Olivia’s cheeks were flushed and lovely. Lennon opened his arms wide with welcome, half a frosted donut in one hand, the other bite being rapidly chewed. “Come try something! A gift from the emperor to apologize for the belated return of Grandmaster Beckett.”
“Beckett is back?” Wren asked, shocked. She hadn’t thought they’d ever see him again. “Where is he?”
“He and Marina went back to his room to get him settled and talk,” Olivia said.
“And he’s...all right?” Whole? She wanted to ask.
“The emperor treated him like an honored guest,” Lennon said. “He’ll tell you himself! Now, seriously, you’ve got to try something.”
Wren approached and surveyed the smorgasbord. They did look good. There were maple bars frosted with fresh maple syrup and what looked like tiny crumbles of bacon. Her stomach rumbled. She picked up the sticky maple bar, examining the craftsmanship. “What I don’t get is, why would the emperor send all this to us? What is this? A baked good bribe?” She thought of the table with piles of bread being handed out. Perhaps that was exactly what this was.
