The Confectioner's Coup

by Luana, Claire

  “The Imbris family has a beach house. On Dash Island. Lucas and his siblings thought it was the most logical place for the hostages to be kept.”

  “Great.” Hale clapped his hands together. This was just what he needed. An adventure. A distraction. “When do we leave?”

  “Leave?” Wren repeated.

  “Yes, leave, go, check it out? I presume the next step is to go do a little reconnaissance?

  “I assumed we’d leave it to Lucas and the inspector’s department…” Wren said.

  “If we had left Kasper’s murder to the inspector’s department, you’d be six feet under right now,” Hale said.

  Wren grimaced but inclined her head.

  “So you’re in then?” he asked.

  Wren fiddled with the end of her auburn braid in indecision before squaring her shoulders and nodding. “For Thom. But we just look, okay? No getting us into trouble.”

  “Me?” Hale asked with mock innocence. “Trouble?”

  And so Wren found herself on a rickety dock in the Maradis port, swathed in a thick gray cloak and the scent of briny sea air. Hale knew a man who had a boat they could borrow, just like he seemed to know a man who could assist with whatever pastime he undertook, whether savory or not. Hale stood on the end of the dock speaking in hushed tones with said gentleman, a dark rain slicker slung across his shoulders. Hale was dressed in a pair of functional boots, plain brown trousers, and a thick navy sweater. She chuckled. Leave it to Hale to wear even the role of fisherman with aplomb.

  Wren turned to look out at the gray and green vista, beyond the breakwater, to Dash Island. Gulls cried out in melancholy song, hovering like wraiths in the windy updrafts. Wren’s wretchedness was poor company—seeing Brother Brax has unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She had spent years hardening herself, locking those pieces of the past down deep. Now it seemed they were surfacing despite her best efforts. She hoped this getaway with Hale would prove a sufficient distraction.

  Maradis was built in a natural inlet—Spirit Bay—where the land opened up as if to give the sea a welcoming embrace. Inside the bay were several small islands, including Dash Island, a popular getaway for Maradis’s most extravagantly wealthy. Maradis Harbor itself had been artificially cut off from the rest of the bay through the construction of its breakwater, complete with defensible chain across the opening, but past the line of squat brown rocks stretched rows of emerald tree-lined land as far as the eye could see. The white-capped peaks of the Seven Sister Mountains, the mountain range that decorated the Nova Navis peninsula, were just visible in the distance. Once independent, the territory had been swallowed up by Alesia two hundred years before. These days, it kept a fierce pride and some autonomy. Wren had never been to Nova Navis, had never really been anywhere but Maradis and the Cascadian foothills. She’d have liked to go someday. Provided they all lived through Aprica’s invasion.

  “Got the boat,” Hale said, the dock swaying gently with his footfalls. “Ready?”

  Wren nodded and followed him to the end of the dock, where a large rowboat floated, ladened with crab pots. She looked at Hale, then back at the boat. “Are you kidding?”

  “Your chariot awaits, my lady.” Hale smiled, flourishing a bow.

  “You expect me to get into that thing and go out past the breakwater?” Wren said. “It looks choppy today. We’ll be swamped in seconds!”

  “Lucian goes out all the time in it,” Hale said, motioning to the gnarled old man who stood back, glaring at them.

  “He looks like he’s too old and crusty for the Piscator to want him.” Wren leaned in. “You and I are fresh young offerings. At least one of us.” Wren wrinkled her nose.

  Hale guffawed. “This boat is more dependable than half of the bathtubs out here. And it goes with our cover story.”

  “What is that? Unconcerned with drowning?”

  “We’re humble crab fishermen,” Hale said, leaning over and heaving up a metal cage. The thing smelled dreadful, as if day-old meat was rotting inside it. From some of the bits stuck to the wire inside, that was probably exactly what it was.

  “No one will believe you’re a humble anything,” Wren said. “And do you really think we’ll get stopped? Didn’t you say the whole point of a small boat is to sneak through the chain undetected?”

  “That’s Plan A. But Plan B, if someone stops us, is to have a good reason. Lucian said the best crabbing is outside the harbor, over towards Dash Island. It’s plausible.”

  “Except we know nothing about crabbing,” Wren pointed out.

  “Speak for yourself. I am very handy with a crab pot. I actually intend to catch us some. We can take them back to the Guildhall and Olivia can have the cuisiniers cook them up.” Hale licked his lips. “With garlic and melted butter…” He moaned and rolled his eyes back in his head.

  “Do you need me to leave you alone with the crab?”

  “No need. I plan on enchanting you with the wonder of crustaceans before this day is done.”

  “And discover whether Thom and Trick are being held at the Imbris house, right?” Wren said, reminding Hale of their mission.

  “Naturally. That too.”

  The rowboat was fairly sturdy, as it turned out. Hale sat at the oars, rowing them towards the harbor entrance in smooth, powerful strokes. A misty drizzle began to fall, and Wren put the hood of her cloak up as a barrier against the moisture. The wind had died down, and Wren watched, mesmerized, as the oars cut into the clear water, leaving ripples in their wake. As they neared the mouth of the harbor, he rowed close to the breakwater, slowing his strokes so they cut silently through the water. There was a lighthouse built onto one side of the breakwater, its torch designed to signal the safety of the harbor to those in the expanse of the sea. Now, as Wren craned her neck as they passed near it, she could see it was manned by blue uniformed soldiers of the Alesian Navy.

  The king had ordered the harbor chain to be drawn, and rusted links as thick as Hale’s arms were visible as they approached. The chain was attached to a pulley system on the top of the breakwater, so where it reached for land, it came out of the water and stretched upwards. It left an opening, far too small to be taken advantage of by any ship of note. But a small vessel, a little dinghy like they sat in, could slip right under it. As they neared the chain, Hale tucked the oars in, letting them glide silently through the water. He ducked his head as they passed under it; Wren just held her breath, her heart hammering like a herd of horses. Their progress slowed as their momentum faded, and Hale took hold of the oars once again, dipping them into the water.

  “That went well,” he whispered, flashing his trademark grin.

  Wren blew out a breath, pantomiming wiping her brow. Her smile joined his.

  Hale continued rowing, resuming his task with more enthusiasm now that the most dangerous bit was done. Wren looked around with interest, peering over the edge of the boat into the dark water, letting her fingers trail along its quicksilver surface.

  “It’s freezing,” she said, shaking the water off her hand and tucking it inside her cloak for thawing.

  “Don’t want to fall in that water,” Hale said. “You’ll last about five minutes.”

  “Will I get eaten by a sea creature?” Wren asked, curiosity overcoming her. She knew very little about the ocean, growing up inland. A forest was like a second home to her. But this…this was foreign territory.

  “You’ll die of hypothermia,” Hale said. “Your body gets too cold.”

  “That’s significantly less romantic. I might prefer the sea creature.”

  “Agreed.”

  Wren’s teeth had begun to chatter when they neared their destination. Hale had taken a few minutes to drop the crab pots, bright floating buoys now bobbing on the surface to mark their location. Dash Island had a haunting, windswept look about it. Soaring evergreen trees filled the middle in an impenetrable mass while the island itself was edged with rocky gray beaches and gnarled piles of driftwood like a giant had sca
ttered his toothpicks. The island looked like a place of magic and mystery, superstition and surprise, but for the huge houses built on the shoreline.

  Some looked as big as the Guildhall, massive structures of stone and wood with walls of windows facing the sea.

  “These are people’s vacation homes?” Wren said, her eyes wide.

  “To be this rich…” Hale said wistfully. “It has its benefits.”

  “Your family was this wealthy, wasn’t it? When you lived in Aprica?”

  “Richer,” Hale said. “We had a beach house, much like these, except Aprican beaches aren’t cold, godforsaken hellholes like this. The water is warm…as clear as bathwater when you look through it, but from afar…it’s as turquoise as a gem. And the sand is white and as soft as sugar. The trees are tall, with shocks of leaves at the top that blow in the breeze…” Hale’s eyes were closed, his face upturned, as if the sun was shining its warmth upon him.

  “You miss it,” Wren said. She had assumed that Hale had everything he wanted, since life always seemed to go his way. To think there was something he longed for but couldn’t have… Other than Sable, that was. But Wren was confident he would win her before long.

  “I do,” Hale said. “But I can’t go back. At least under the current regime. Maradis is my home now. My cold, rainy home.”

  “It has its beauty, though,” Wren said, looking at the beach sliding by. “Doesn’t it?”

  “Indeed.” Hale’s eyes were wistful, and Wren knew he wasn’t seeing the scenery.

  “I’m proud of you, you know,” she said. “For telling Sable how you felt.”

  “I wasn’t aware you were there to witness my humiliation,” Hale said with a raised eyebrow.

  “I didn’t mean to overhear,” Wren said apologetically. “But I’m telling you. She’ll come around. You just need to find a way for her to be with you without losing her dignity.”

  “Thank you for that cruelly accurate assessment.”

  “You know what I mean. Her professional dignity.”

  “I wish I knew how to do that.”

  “You’ll figure it out. I’ll help. We’re family, remember?”

  Wren reached out her hand and Hale took his off the oar to grasp hers. He was warm and solid. She was suddenly profoundly grateful that she had forgiven him.

  “Your hands are like ice cubes, woman.” Hale yelped, pulling his hand back. “Do you need to row for a while to warm up?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, retracting her hands back inside her cloak and tucking them into her armpits for warmth. “Oh, I think we found our target,” Wren said, nodding ahead of them to a castle-like home that sat on a rocky bluff over the water. The emerald green and silver Imbris flag flapped lazily in the breath of wind above the house, declaring the identity of its owners.

  “Subtle,” Hale said. “It looks dark, doesn’t it?”

  It did look deserted. There were no lights inside the house, and she could see no signs of movement.

  “Maybe they’re in the dungeon,” Hale said.

  “I really hope there’s not a dungeon.”

  Hale rowed the boat up onto the beach, hopping out and pulling the bow up onto the sand, so Wren could step onto the rocky shore without soaking her boots. She helped him pull the boat the rest of the way out of the surf, though in truth, Hale did most of the pulling. He tied a rope to the bow and attached it to a thick piece of driftwood that had no doubt been a soaring cedar in a former life. “Hopefully, we won’t be here long.”

  “Do you think we should hide the boat?”

  “Hiding it would be more suspicious if anyone sees us,” Hale said. “As of right now, we’re just a couple on holiday taking a stroll on the beach.”

  “The private beach. On a private island.”

  “Maybe we’re a daring couple. Danger turns us on.”

  Wren snorted and started across the beach towards the steep staircase that led up to the house, avoiding patches of slimy brown kelp.

  Wren was warm by the time they summited the staircase and threw one shoulder of her cloak back to let in the chill air. The house’s grounds stretched before them, a stone path meandering through carefully manicured lawns. Several levels of balconies and patios nestled against the house, in case the inhabitants needed multiple locations from which to enjoy the sea view.

  Wren’s breath caught as she turned and looked back behind her. “Wow,” was all she could manage. Hale turned as well and they stood in silence for a moment, looking out at the vista. From here, she could see for miles, islands and land masses like green gumdrops bobbing in the gray-blue sea. Maradis glittered to their right, the lighthouse of the breakwater, the palace, the towers of the Lyceum. “I can see the Guildhall from here,” she said, squinting her eyes at the sliver of white marble that peeked above the brown buildings around it.

  “Wow is right,” Hale said.

  Also visible was a fleet of Centese ships anchored in a cove just north of Maradis. Their blue sails were furled, but Wren recognized the style from the battle in the harbor. “I’m glad they’re here,” she said, pointing.

  “Me too.”

  Reluctantly, they turned from the view back towards the task at hand. Wren followed Hale as he skirted the treeline around the property, moving quietly, staying low. The house looked deserted. As they approached the front drive, Wren pointed to weeds poking out of the gravel stretch. “No carriage ruts,” she said. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in weeks.”

  “Perhaps the Imbris clan is a bit too busy to be vacationing this summer.”

  “Too busy murdering guildmasters and kidnapping artisans,” Wren grumbled.

  They backtracked along the trees. “That looks like a service entrance to me,” Hale said, nodding at a side door.

  “That must be where the kitchen is,” she agreed. “Double chimneys.”

  “Should we see if we can get inside?” Hale raised an eyebrow.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary…” Wren began, but Hale was already darting across the lawn towards the house. “Hale!” she hissed, grunting in frustration. Shaking her head, she darted after him, her blood thrumming in her veins.

  Hale was already bent down, examining the lock. “I think we’ll have to break the window,” he said.

  She pushed him aside and pulled two pins from her hair. It took her a minute or so before she heard the telltale click, but she was still proud of her accomplishment.

  “I forgot you were a criminal in your former life.”

  “We can’t all grow up fabulously wealthy,” she said, opening the door.

  They padded around the house, leaving faint footprints in the dust. The hearths in the kitchen were dark and cold, and the larder was empty, but for some spices. There was an extensive wine cellar stocked with bottles, and Wren was forced to convince Hale not to pinch one.

  “They’ll never believe we’re a couple on holiday if we steal from them,” she hissed.

  “I think we’re well beyond that now,” Hale pointed out, but he relented. He put the bottle back, lovingly caressing its neck.

  As they walked back up the stairs to the main room, Wren let out a frustrated breath. “They’re not here. We’ve searched every inch of the house. No one’s been here.”

  “Agreed,” Hale said, leading the way back through the kitchen. Wren relocked the door, and they made their way back to the staircase in silence.

  “I have no idea where to look now,” Wren said. “Maybe Lucas and Virgil will have another thought about where the hostages could be, but we can’t just search every property owned by the king in the city.”

  “We’ll figure out something,” Hale said, holding his hand out to help Wren into the boat before shoving it across the sand back into the waves. He hopped over the side in one lithe motion and resumed his position at the oars. “In other news, we just successfully infiltrated the king’s vacation home, and we learned that he never comes here. I think I’ll bring Sable here next summer.�
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  “She’d love that,” Wren said. “Make sure not to tell her who it belongs to. It will be such a special surprise when the Black Guard wake you with blades at your throats.”

  “Always so negative, our little swallow.” Hale tsked his tongue.

  “Shut up.” Wren dipped her fingers in the water and flicked it at Hale.

  He cocked his head at her, his mouth open in warning. “That is a dangerous game. If I didn’t think you’d die of cold, I’d flick you with this oar right now and you would be completely drenched.”

  “Your reserve is noted,” she said with a laugh. The mirth died on her lips as she caught sight of a vessel rounding the island, cutting through the waters, its sails full.

  “Hale,” she said, her eyes wide. “What does the Aprican flag look like?”

  “Golden sunburst on a field of pale blue. Why?”

  She held out a numb finger. “Because there’s an Aprican ship headed our way.”

  “Ahoy there.” A blond sailor clad in a white shirt and navy pants trimmed with gold was hanging off the rigging, peering down at them.

  “Hello,” Hale replied. “Can we help you?”

  Another man in a sky-blue jacket with shiny gold epaulets pushed the other man aside. “You’ll need to come aboard. We have a few questions.”

  A ladder of rope and wooden slats tumbled down the side of the ship.

  “We’re just humble crab fishermen,” Hale said. “I’m not sure we know anything that’d interest you.”

  Wren suppressed a snort. The thought that Hale was just a humble anything was laughable.

  “We’ll be the judge of that. Come on up.” The man rested his hand on his sword hilt.

  “Let me do the talking,” Hale said under his breath as he moved their little rowboat against the hull of the Aprican vessel. “You first.”

  “Don’t look up my skirt,” she said.

  “I’m a consummate gentleman,” Hale said, feigning injury.

  “Says the guy kissing his sponsor on the countertop of the test kitchen,” Wren retorted, grasping the slats of the ladder. She hadn’t meant to see, but when she had peeked her head around the corner…