The Confectioner's Coup

by Luana, Claire

  “We will do so.” Chandler inclined his head in thanks.

  “You can count on Callidus, you know,” Wren said. “Against the king.”

  “He’s playing his cards close to the vest,” Chandler admitted. “It hasn’t been clear whether or not he’s with us.”

  “Letting the king take over the Guild is madness,” Wren said. “He’s ruined enough in this city already without giving him free reign over our lives.”

  “And our coffers,” McArt added.

  Wren’s face darkened. “If Callidus isn’t with you now, he will be. I’ll convince him.”

  Hale cracked open a rosy crab claw with vicious abandon.

  “What’d that thing ever do to you?” Thom asked around a mouthful of sourdough bread. Dinner that night was fresh salad greens, tossed with toasted hazelnuts and crumbled cheese; a savory seafood stew brimming with mussels, clams, crab claws and chunks of whitefish; and toasted sourdough slathered with butter.

  Wren had just appeared with a tray of her own and sat down next to Hale, across from where Thom was sandwiched between Olivia and Lennon. It seemed that Thom was quite a hot commodity.

  “Nothing,” Hale said, forcing a lighthearted tone. He was in a foul mood, but that was no reason to take it out on the rest of them. After tossing and turning all night with only his blue balls for company, Hale had gone to talk to Sable. And she had completely blown him off, giving some excuse about paperwork and meetings. Either she didn’t remember what had happened between them last night, or she was pretending not to remember. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

  “I love this stew,” Wren said, inhaling the vapors from her bowl.

  “Agreed,” Hale said, grunting as he cracked another meaty crab claw between a silver pincer. The claw collapsed with a crack, splattering hot crab juice on Wren’s cheek.

  She squinted, and Hale wiped the juice off her cheek with his thumb before popping it in his mouth.

  “Ew,” Wren mouthed at him.

  Hale grinned, sucking meat out of the claw with gusto. The food was helping. So was the company. Anything to keep him from thinking of Sable. “You feel like such a carnivore when you eat seafood,” he said. He had already developed a significant pile of shells before him, in fact—they all had.

  “You’d probably leave a whole cow ribcage on the table if they’d let you,” Wren said dryly.

  “Do you think they’d let me get away with that?”

  “I can assure you,” Olivia said, “even though half the maids are in love with you, that would be pushing the limit of what even you can get away with.”

  “Noted,” Hale said.

  “I love it here.” Thom leaned back, putting his arms behind his head. “It’s worth it for the food alone.”

  “The company’s not so bad either,” Olivia said, her blue eyes tracking Thom’s every move. Hale hid a smile. A man like Thom would be good for Olivia. Their new guildmistress wore her heart on her sleeve. She needed someone who would be gentle with it.

  “Some better than others,” Lennon said, ducking his head. “Here comes Marina.”

  The young woman approached, effortlessly lovely in an emerald green dress and colorful wrapped scarf. Her gleaming chestnut hair was pulled back into a messy knot, and her dark-rimmed glasses partially obscured eyes as green as her dress. Wren scowled next to him. Those two really didn’t get along. Well, Marina didn’t get along with many people. Even Hale and Marina’s short-lived romance had been equal parts arguing and kissing. What had he been thinking with that one? Oh, yes, distracting himself from admitting the truth of his feelings for Sable. Story of his life.

  “I see you’ve added another stray to your mangy pack,” Marina said to Hale as she stopped at the head of their table, ignoring the rest of them, including Thom, who seemed to be the subject of the quip.

  “Says the sad little lone wolf.” Hale smiled with too much teeth, leaning forwards, his chin on his hands. “Don’t you have some errands to run for Beckett?”

  Marina’s flawless skin colored, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Lennon, Grandmaster wants you,” she said, avoiding Hale’s gaze.

  “Oh, I see,” Hale said. “You’re on an errand right now. What a dutiful daughter you are.” Marina was the daughter of Grandmaster Beckett, one of their Guild’s most prominent members—and most uptight assholes.

  “Lennon.” She jerked her head, clearly loathing that she had walked right into Hale’s trap.

  “Coming,” Lennon said, getting up and grabbing the rest of his bread. “See you guys.”

  “Oh, Lennon,” Hale called after them, a brilliant idea springing to life. “We’re going out on Nysia Avenue tonight. You should come. By yourself, though. Strays only.” A night of mild debauchery was exactly what he needed to shake off his funk.

  Marina huffed and whirled, bobbing her way out of the dining hall, Lennon in tow.

  “We’re going out on Nysia Avenue?” Wren asked, her eyebrow raised. “Isn’t that a bad idea, with Thom’s attackers still out there?” Her chestnut eyes darted to Olivia. They couldn’t say much about the Gifting in front of the guildmistress, who wasn’t in on the secret.

  “We’ll be in a group in a public place. It’s as safe as it can be. Just to be extra careful, we’ll all pick a buddy. No one goes anywhere alone. Happy?” Hale raised an eyebrow.

  Wren chewed her lip. He could tell she was weakening.

  “Plus, we need to cut loose a little! Show Thom that the Guild is more than just good food and hard-to-get women.”

  “I’ll leave the women to you, my friend,” Thom said as Wren swatted Hale upside the head. He ducked.

  “Being hard-to-get isn’t a bad thing,” Wren said.

  “I completely agree,” Hale said. “I do love a challenge.”

  So it was thanks to Hale that Wren found herself out hours past her bedtime, partaking in a slice of Maradis city life she had never seen before. She and Olivia had tried on and discarded everything each of them owned before Wren had settled on a high-waisted black skirt and crisp white sleeveless blouse without a collar. There was supposed to be more to accompany the blouse, at least a sweater, but Olivia had insisted that Wren go without, instead dropping a bejeweled necklace around Wren’s neck.

  Olivia had settled on a black dress cinched with a deep purple waistcoat of Wren’s. The two were certainly not designed to accompany one another, but the waistcoat accented Olivia’s generous bosom in such an extraordinary way that when they happened upon the combination, it was the clear winner.

  “You could launch ships with those,” Wren had said wistfully.

  “I don’t know about that,” Olivia had said, turning in the mirror to admire the sizable profile. “But I could definitely save a sailor or two from drowning.”

  Wren bit her lip to keep from smiling at the memory of Olivia’s comment, looking out the carriage window at the Maradis night.

  “What are you smiling about?” Hale leaned in, his large presence overwhelming in the carriage. He was wearing gray slacks and a waistcoat unbuttoned over a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His golden locks were down around his shoulders, brushed to a golden sheen. He smelled of leather and chocolate, an intoxicating combination.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Wren said, not sure why she was teasing him. It was a pattern that was so easy to fall into with Hale. Flirt, joke, play. Avoid the more serious subjects. “No Sable tonight?” she asked Hale.

  He shook his head, giving her a tightlipped smile. “Tonight’s about showing our new friend Thom a good time. It’d be a different vibe with a grandmaster along.”

  “And if Sable were here, she’d be your overwhelming focus?”

  “You solve one murder and you think you’ve got it all figured out,” Hale said, leaning out the window to check their progress. “We’re almost here,” he said.

  “Does Sable feel the same?” she asked quietly, not letting Hale change the subject.

  Hale sighed, tu
rning the weight of his intense gaze upon her. “I don’t think Sable knows how Sable feels. It’s something she’s not particularly good at.”

  “Self-awareness?”

  “Letting herself be happy. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? Because I’ll be there for her, no matter whether she wants me there or not.”

  It was the most honesty Wren had ever heard come out of Hale’s mouth on the subject of Sable. On any subject perhaps. She took his hand and squeezed it. “She’ll see you soon enough. Really see.”

  Hale squeezed her hand back.

  “It’s impossible not to,” Wren continued. “You are the size of a giant.”

  “Says the bird-boned wren,” Hale said, mussing Wren’s locks.

  “Argh,” she said, ducking her head, trying to avoid his meaty hand.

  At that moment, the carriage pulled to a stop. “We’re here!” Hale said, springing out.

  The dance club Hale had selected for them was called the Unicorn Mercantile. Thom, Olivia, and Lennon had already jumped out of their carriage and were waiting for them out front.

  “Do they sell unicorns here?” Thom whispered, and Wren snorted in laughter, stifling a yawn.

  “I saw that,” Olivia said, leaning forwards. Olivia had her hands wrapped around Thom’s lanky arm, a look of flushed excitement on her face. Thom looked slightly uncomfortable at Olivia’s effusiveness but was doing his best to hide it. He sported a black fedora cap of the type worn by the Merchant’s Guilds—it simultaneously made him appear more mature and hopelessly young.

  “Did we have to wait until after midnight to get here?” Wren said. “That’s a perfectly acceptable time to be in bed.”

  “That’s when the clubs really get going,” Olivia said. “I’ve been trying to get Hale to take me out for years. I guess I have you to thank, Thom.”

  “Let’s wait and see if we make it out alive,” Thom joked.

  The club’s two-story brick facade looked much like any other building in Maradis, but the sounds of music and laughter emanating from the inside, coupled with the twin warriors sporting more muscle than Hale and long swords at their hip, told Wren she was in unknown territory. He swaggered right past the line of people wrapped around the building to get inside, straight towards the two guardians. Lennon looked at Wren with wild eyes. “Do they use those swords on the patrons?”

  “Apparently not Hale,” Wren said, observing how they all grunted and bumped against each other in some semblance of greeting.

  “We’re in,” Hale called, and the two at the door ushered them through, a move that wasn’t too popular with the line of people waiting to get in the door.

  Inside, Wren’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim lantern light. The room was large and sprawling—perhaps it had been a warehouse in its former life. Now, it had booths tucked against its walls, a bar lined with glittering bottles against the far wall, and a stage where a bluegrass band was strumming furiously on their instruments. In the center, a large dance floor filled with whirling and skipping bodies threatened to overwhelm her.

  “This is amazing,” Olivia said, her eyes wide with wonder. “Let’s dance,” she said, pulling Thom’s arm.

  “I’m not a very good dancer…” Thom said, but he allowed himself to be led into the crowd.

  “Seems she’s laid her claim.” Hale said. “Let’s grab some drinks.”

  Wren followed Hale, weaving through the crowd of people, her senses firing in overdrive. Her old instincts were rearing their head, as they sometimes did, insisting that this building was far too filled with people, too dark, too hard to get to an exit. It made it too easy to be cornered, have a knife slipped in your ribs with no one the wiser.

  “You okay?” Lennon asked.

  Wren nodded, swallowing thickly. “Old habits die hard,” she said.

  Lennon nodded, not asking questions. “Let me know if you need some air.”

  Wren liked that about Lennon, she realized. He was steady and dependable. Safe. A rock to Hale’s shooting star. What did that make Lucas? She wondered. A cedar tree, tall and lean, firm against the winds but reaching for the sky.

  Hale shoved a shockingly cold drink into her hand. The cocktail was served in a shapely copper mug, beads of condensation dripping down the side. A sprig of mint protruded jauntily from the top. Olivia and Thom had emerged from the dance floor to join them and took their drinks from the bar. Olivia was wearing Thom’s fedora over her blonde locks; it seemed she had claimed it for herself.

  Hale raised his aloft. “Tonight, we don’t worry about grandmasters, or Aprican invasions, or our rotten love lives.”

  “Mine’s going pretty good,” Wren said, but Hale held up a hand to silence her.

  “We dance, we cut loose, we celebrate that we are the future of the absolute best Guild in Alesia. We’ll be running that place soon enough.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Lennon said.

  “To friends,” Olivia said.

  They clinked their glasses together, grinning.

  The night devolved from there. At the bottom of the first drink, Wren stopped nervously checking the exits, letting Hale pull her onto the dance floor and spin her around until she laughed with dizziness. At the bottom of the second, she stopped yawning, stopped feeling her aching feet, and was instead filled with a strange buoyancy and energy. They laughed with Lennon as he tried to whirl Olivia about in a series of moves that were far beyond his meager skill, laughed at Thom as he tried to flip his hat down his arm into his hand like a performer, laughed at Hale as he kept diverting girls who found their way to him to Thom and Lennon.

  “I’m literally drowning in women,” Thom declared at one point, scooting out of the pack towards the washroom. Time stuttered forwards in vignettes of smiles and laughter, and Wren lost track of worrying about what time it was or whom she was dancing with.

  She hadn’t realized how late it was until the band stopped playing. She looked around and realized that the club was emptying. She pointed her finger at each of their group, accounting for her friends. Four. “Where’s Thom?” she asked.

  “Probably found some lady to get cozy with,” Hale said, waggling his eyebrows. “I’ll find him.”

  Olivia pouted, sliding into a seat at the bar and downing a glass of water.

  Wren collapsed gratefully on the seat next to her. “Hale’s full of it. Don’t worry.”

  “Worry ’bout what?” Lennon slurred, resting his head on his elbows on top of the bar, looking at them.

  “Don’t you worry your pretty face,” Wren said, “’bout anything. Tonight’s about not worrying.”

  “I think it’s past tonight and on to this morning.” Olivia groaned, lifting her hair off her sweaty neck.

  Hale appeared behind them, his face ashen. “Time to start worrying.” He hoisted Thom’s hat in his hand. It had been crushed and ground with dirt. “I found this in the alley. Thom’s gone.”

  “You. Lost. Thom.” Callidus’s voice was low and hard, his eyes narrowed.

  “Technically, we didn’t lose him,” Hale said. “He was stolen.”

  Sable paced behind Callidus in the empty dining room while Wren, Olivia, Hale, and Lennon sat on a bench before them like petulant children. Wren’s head was pounding and she couldn’t stop letting out jaw-cracking yawns. She wanted nothing more than to turn around and lay her head down on the table. Just for a quick moment. The thought made her feel even more guilty. Thom was out there. Somewhere. Perhaps hurt or scared or both. And all she could think was how good her fluffy comforter sounded.

  “All we have to go on is what, a crushed hat?” Callidus tossed the evidence at Hale’s feet in disgust. “None of you saw anything?”

  They shook their heads meekly.

  “You’re supposed to be Thom’s role models! Looking out for him. These are dangerous times in the city, especially for Thom! They already tried to take him once!” Callidus whirled in disgust, practically smashing into Sable, whose anxious pacing had le
d her back into Callidus’s general vicinity.

  “Did he talk to anyone?” Sable asked. “Did you see anyone suspicious?”

  “He went to take a piss and disappeared,” said Hale, who had the good sense to look contrite.

  “I’ll go see Lucas,” Wren said, standing suddenly. “Maybe he’s heard something or someone reported something. A tip…” A body… she thought to herself, before banishing the thought. Thom was fine. Thom would be fine. If the men in the alley a few nights ago had wanted to kill Thom, they would have done so. No, they had been taking him somewhere. Wren just needed to find him.

  “Am I to understand that you have lost your journeyman, Callidus?” A new voice from the doorway punctured the sullen silence that had fallen over them. Grandmaster Beckett strolled into the room, his hair freshly washed, his navy suit immaculately pressed. Leave it to Beckett to be up at 5 A.M. as fresh as a blueberry muffin.

  “Beckett,” Callidus said, the name rolling off his tongue like a disease. “This is none of your concern.”

  “The kidnapping of a Guild member is of paramount concern,” Beckett said, sticking his thumbs through his belt loops with the utmost ease. “As is your handling, or should I say botched handling, of the situation.”

  “The situation is unfolding as we speak,” Sable said, flanking Callidus and pinning Beckett with her dark gaze. “So there has been no time for handling as of yet. Allow the Guildmaster to do his job.” Even in a silk bathrobe with her dark hair tied in a messy plait over one shoulder, Sable presented a formidable force.

  “Too true. Callidus, do enlighten us. What is your plan for recovering your journeyman?” Beckett asked.

  Wren was surprised to realize that between the two unpleasant men, she was rooting for Callidus. When had she switched to Callidus’s side, she mused? Somewhere between him rescuing her from execution and showing his humanity over a game of King’s Quarters, he had won her over.