The Confectioner Chronicles Box Set

by Claire Luana

  Callidus whirled and darted back down the hallway with startling speed, bursting into the office. The two guards looked at each other and followed suit, spears held before them, surcoats billowing behind.

  Unsure of what to do, Wren drifted back down the corridor towards the office, not wanting to intrude but overcome with curiosity. When she reached the open door, she gasped.

  Kasper was on the floor, his face an unnatural shade of purple. Foam bubbled from his mouth. His body shook and convulsed as Callidus and the guards tried to hold him down, shouting at each other for antidotes and doctors.

  But it was over before it began. Kasper gave a final gurgling breath, convulsed once more, and fell still.

  Wren’s hands flew to her mouth as bile rose in her throat. Kasper’s brown eyes, eyes that had sparkled with life just moments before, now bulged out in a blank stare that transfixed her own.

  “He’s dead,” Callidus said, still on his knees, his head hanging in disbelief.

  “Poison,” one of the guards announced, standing and wiping his mouth with a shaky hand. “Nasty one.” He pointed at the cupcake wrapper forgotten on the desk. “Where did that come from? It didn’t pass the security screening.”

  “I brought it up… But the girl…” Callidus said, his voice ghostly. Then his head whipped around, his eyes locking on Wren with such force that she stumbled back.

  “It was her confection,” he said, pointing a spindly finger at her. “She must have poisoned it. Arrest her.”

  Chapter 3

  Wren sat on a pillowy damask sofa, her hands twisted painfully behind her by a set of heavy iron manacles. A pair of guild guards flanked each set of doors while Callidus stood guarding the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows, as if to prevent her from slithering through the narrow opening between the leaden panes and dashing herself on the cobbles below.

  She surveyed him through wide eyes. He couldn’t honestly think she had murdered the head of the Guild, could he? She hadn’t even known the man’s name a few hours ago.

  The enameled double doors flew open across the room, startling her and setting her heart pounding. Two men strode in.

  “Callidus,” the first said, his voice nasal. His copper hair flashed in the shaft of sunlight illuminating the room. His impeccably-tailored emerald suit stood in strange contrast to his pockmarked cheeks and crooked teeth. Someone who had risen high quickly, then.

  “Steward Willings,” Callidus said, meeting the other with a handshake. “Good to see you again. I wish it were under happier circumstances.”

  “Indeed. Dark day, this is.”

  “How is it you’re here? I sent word to the Grand Inspector to send someone from his office.”

  “That’s where I come in, sir. Lucas Imbris, inspector.” The other man stepped forward, shaking Callidus’s hand. This fellow was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair flecked with the beginnings of gray.

  “Lucas Imbris.” Callidus raised an eyebrow, though Wren was unsure why. Certainly, the king hailed from clan Imbris, but so did thousands of other Alesian citizens. And the clans hadn’t truly mattered for hundreds of years, since the first king—Leon Imbris—had united them and formed the country of Alesia.

  “I’m here on behalf of the crown to observe the investigation,” Steward Willings said. “The murder of a guild head is very troubling to the king.”

  “Of course,” Callidus said.

  The Steward’s words rang hollow to Wren. People turned up murdered all the time in Maradis, if the bodies were found at all. There was no disease deadlier to poor and rich alike than the king’s displeasure. Well, beside the Red Plague. But that hadn’t been seen in Alesia for two years now.

  “Where is the murderer?” Steward Willings asked, looking about as if Wren were a piece of furniture, rather than sitting on one.

  The word sent tendrils of fear skittering down her spine. She had spent years running from that word. Some small part of her had expected the name to catch up with her someday. But even her darkest thoughts couldn’t have predicted this.

  “Alleged murderer,” the inspector said, examining her with a thoughtful look.

  She was surprised to see that he was much younger than his salt-and-pepper hair belied, perhaps only a few years older than her.

  “That’s her,” Callidus said. Steward Willings’s eyes found Wren and narrowed.

  She shrank back into the sofa under the weight of his scrutiny. The set of heavy keys that jangled on Steward Willings’s belt was the telltale symbol of his position. He was the king’s steward, right hand to the crown. Though she knew little of politics, she knew enough to know that the king and his court were not renowned for their magnanimity. If King Imbris’s reign were a recipe, it would call for healthy scoops of fear and intimidation whisked with a dash of cruelty and a pinch of excess. If his steward was here, she was in deep trouble indeed.

  The inspector sat on the sofa across from her, resting his forearms on his lanky knees. He pulled a black leather notebook and a pen from his jacket pocket. The buttonhole of his tailored black jacket held a sprig of rosemary. Its scent soothed her, as did his light gray eyes, which were filled with something that looked like sympathy.

  “Grandmaster, would you have the guards uncuff her?” the man asked.

  Callidus grumbled to one of the guards, who obliged.

  When the irons came off, Wren sighed with relief and rubbed her darkened wrists. She would have bruises for days. If she lived for days, her cynical side warned.

  “What is your name?” the inspector asked.

  “Wren Confectioner.” The words felt strange in her mouth. Hours ago, she had known what that meant, to be Wren Confectioner. Now, she was in uncharted waters.

  “Wren, it’s nice to meet you. You may call me Lucas,” he said. “I’ll be investigating Guildmaster Kasper’s murder.” Lucas had a square face with serious brows and a slightly-too-large-nose, but the overall effect was rather arresting. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, in your own words?”

  Wren recited her tale, beginning with Callidus showing up at Master Oldrick’s shop and unceremoniously turning her life upside down. Her throat began to burn as her story traversed too close to the topic of magic, the binding magic of the wine rudely reminding her that some subjects were now, and forevermore, forbidden.

  “Why did Callidus bring you to the Guildhall in the first place?” Lucas asked, his nimble pen flying across the notepad.

  Wren’s heart hiccupped. She considered herself a good liar, thanks to her father’s worldly teaching and her subsequent time on the streets, but to be forced to lie so publicly, with Callidus watching over her, knowing the truth of her lies…

  Callidus came to her rescue. “One of Wren’s confections caught the notice of a great lady. She notified Guildmaster Kasper of her admiration, and Kasper wanted to evaluate her talents to see if she should be invited to train with a grandmaster.”

  She looked at him in gratitude and was met by a glare. Did his brow ever cramp from all the scrunching?

  “How did he find you?” Lucas asked.

  “He invited me to live here,” Wren replied, struggling to stay calm. This was all a horrible misunderstanding. Surely, they would see that.

  “And look at what he got for his trouble!” said Callidus. “Murdered.”

  “I didn’t murder him,” Wren shot back. Guilt coiled in her stomach. Kasper, at least, she didn’t murder. “I had barely heard of him before this afternoon. Why would I want to kill him?”

  “I’m conducting this investigation, Grandmaster,” Lucas said, smooth and polite. “Tell me what happened next.”

  Wren finished explaining the afternoon’s events, leaving out the revelation of her magical ability. She watched Lucas as he wrote, the curve of his long torso over the notepad, the encouraging grunts he gave as she talked, urging her to continue.

  She fell silent at the end, and Lucas did too, looking up to study her. His silence unnerved her, demanded s
omething of her, and so she spoke, cursing herself as she did it, knowing that only fools spoke with nothing to say, while those who listened stayed alive. “Am I going to prison?”

  Lucas unfolded himself from the sofa and stood. “Grandmaster, do you agree with Ms. Confectioner’s version of events?”

  A curt nod.

  “No, Wren,” said Lucas, “you’re not going to prison.”

  “What?” Both Steward Willings and Callidus exploded.

  “She is guilty of a most heinous crime,” Callidus cried.

  “All she appears guilty of is being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “It was her cupcake that killed the man,” Steward Willings said, a corner of his lip curling up in an inadvertent snarl. “What more do you need?”

  “Why didn’t she die too?” Lucas asked.

  The two men paused.

  “She must have ingested some sort of antidote,” Willings said triumphantly. “Before she ate it.”

  “Quite a feat when Callidus surprised her at her place of employment, seized her that moment, and took her immediately to the Guildmaster’s office. She did not know of the meeting in advance, and Grandmaster Callidus did not see her ingest any substance. Did you?” Lucas asked.

  “No,” Callidus admitted petulantly.

  Wren watched the exchange as if she were a spectator at a palm match, watching the white ball fly back and forth. Silently, she cheered her champion, daring to hope that she might escape this disaster alive.

  “The king has the right to have his Grand Inquisitor question her. Before you officially clear her as a suspect.” Willings crossed his arms.

  “The Grand Inquisitor?” Lucas’s eyes widened. “Surely, Killian’s tactics aren’t necessary for this scrap of a girl.”

  Lucas shot her an apologetic look, which wasn’t strictly necessary. He could call her a loaf of burnt bread if it kept her away from the Grand Inquisitor. Wren had heard that the inquisitor had once served a man a plate of ladyfingers in an effort to break him. And not the spongy biscuit kind. The kind that came from the man’s own wife.

  “She should be properly questioned,” Callidus said. “We must do everything we can to bring Kasper’s killer to justice. I insist.”

  “He insists,” Willings said.

  Wren glared.

  “Killian is with the King in Tamros, negotiating with the Apricans.” Lucas shook his head. “It could be a month before they return.”

  “Then she’ll have to be held until he returns.”

  Lucas strode to meet Willings, drawing him towards the window to converse out of Wren’s hearing.

  Little did he know, Wren had excellent hearing.

  “You and I both know she won’t last two hours in the Block,” Lucas hissed. “Why are you doing this?”

  The Block, Maradis’s prison, had a reputation as black as tar. Filled with cutthroats and thieves, rapists and murderers, Wren had no delusions that the quick wits that had saved her as a young orphan would be enough on the inside.

  “If one worthless confectioner must be sacrificed to get to the truth of this, it is a price I am willing to pay ten times over,” Willings said, his crooked teeth bared in a scowl.

  Lucas ran his hands through his hair, turning from Willings with a frustrated hiss. His eyes met Wren’s, and she held them in her own, her gaze full of pleading and hope. Don’t abandon me, she wanted to beg.

  I won’t, his eyes seemed to say back. Though I’m not sure why I’m going to such lengths to help you.

  She could live with that.

  “Very well,” Lucas announced, turning back to her two detractors. “She will be questioned by the Grand Inquisitor when he returns. If we haven’t found the real culprit by then.”

  “I will send for the gaoler from the Block,” Willings said, striding towards the door.

  Wren whimpered despite herself, his comment setting her heart racing like a predator nipping at her heels.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Lucas said.

  “She’s a murder suspect,” Willings said, turning. “She can’t go free.”

  “I will vouch for her,” Lucas said.

  The room went silent.

  What did he mean, vouch for her? Wren had never heard of such a thing. Perhaps an archaic legal concept? Curiosity bloomed in her—a single flower bright against the dark winds of fear buffeting her.

  “Surely not,” Callidus said. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “My reasons are my own,” Lucas said. “Callidus, she is a member of your guild, and by law she is entitled to lodging and protection here. She may be treated no differently than your other guild members.”

  “I won’t have her under this roof after what she did. It’s too dangerous. What if she kills again?”

  “What she has done has yet to be determined,” Lucas said, his voice like steel. “And I have vouched for her. By law, it is enough. Or shall I summon a magister to remind you of your obligations under crown law?”

  “Very well,” Callidus said, his thick brows merging as he glowered at Lucas. “What if she runs?”

  “She won’t run, will she?” Lucas said, turning to Wren. “Innocent people don’t run.”

  She shook her head woodenly. Her thoughts hadn’t even caught up enough to think about running.

  “I must continue my investigation,” Lucas said. “Gentlemen. My lady.” He pulled on a black hat and tipped the brow to her before striding out of the room, three sets of wide eyes following in his wake.

  Wren found herself alone in the sitting room, summarily abandoned by the men who had been so keenly interested in her fate just moments before. She watched their retreating forms before sinking into the plush sofa with a shaky breath, her knees going weak.

  Wren weighed her options. Run. Or stay. She had the gold crown, but how long would that last her? Would it be enough to buy her way out of Maradis, past the borders of Alesia? Perhaps she could go north, into Tamros… or find a vessel to take her Centu. But then what? Even if she could find work as a confectioner, it would make her too easy to find. The king’s eyes saw far, even into the countries bordering Alesia. With no way to earn a living… she had begged and stolen for scraps for two years before starting her apprenticeship. She never wanted to go back to that life. She couldn’t.

  And then there was her promise to the inspector that she wouldn’t run. She felt a strange obligation to honor it, after what he had done for her. Innocent people don’t run, he had said. She didn’t want him to think he had misjudged her. Her mind lingered on the memory of Lucas Imbris—his keen gray eyes, his pen scratching across the page. The fact that he had had shown up with a soft spot where the other two had a crusty black desire to see a young girl tortured and maimed… her eyes widened. It had been quite a turn of luck. She pulled the gold crown out of her pocket, worrying the kingly profile with her thumb. Was the magic of the cupcake still working? It must have been. How long before it wore off?

  She sighed, putting it back in her pocket. “Better take advantage before it does,” she muttered, getting to her feet. Gods help her, she was going to stay. The Guildhall may be an unknown commodity, but it still felt safer than the unknown beyond this city. She had run once before, and it had taken her years to find a semblance of safety.

  She peeked her head into the empty corridor outside the room. It was deserted. Wren was no stranger to being alone. She preferred solitude. No one to stab you in the back or rob you if there was no one there.

  But now, staring down the cavernous hallway in this strange place, her isolation began to taunt her, as the reality of staying set in. She knew no one but Callidus, who was worse than no one. She knew nothing of this world, how to navigate its treacherous waters safely. She didn’t understand what had happened back in that room, why Callidus and Willings seemed bent on her destruction, why Lucas had vouched for her. What did that even mean? Was it her future to wander these corridors alone, hungry and unable to find a washroom in the la
byrinthine hallways?

  She looked to the left, then the right, chewing her lip in indecision. Finally, letting the luck of the cupcake take hold of her, she spun in a circle until dizzy, coming to a stop facing to the left. Left it was.

  Chapter 4

  Wren turned the corner into a wide open room. It was a conservatory. Walls of diamond-shaped leaded-glass windows looked out over a garden to her left, and an arched ceiling of paned glass yawned above. She walked down the aisle between neat rows filled with plants—tidy herb beds, fragrant flowers, towering tropical palms. She recognized a date tree and a lime tree as she passed, her mouth watering at the thought of fresh fruit.

  Wren was so engrossed on the verdure around her that she jumped a foot when she bumped into another, living, moving thing.

  The living, moving thing squealed.

  Wren whirled, sighing with relief as she saw a plump girl about her own age.

  “You gave me a fright, miss!” the girl said, her hand to her chest. She had a sweet face, cherubic with dimples that revealed themselves when she smiled.

  “I’m sorry,” Wren said shakily. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. This is all quite lovely.”

  “Yes,” the girl said, her golden curls bouncing in agreement. “Though they are a son of a spicer to water.” She hefted a shiny red watering can before her with a rueful grin.

  “I can imagine,” Wren said, a smile tugging at the corner of her own mouth. “Do you need some help?”

  “Oh, no.” The girl’s blue eyes widened in alarm. “I appreciate the offer, of course. But it’s my job. I couldn’t take help from a… guest… of the Guild?” She said the word like a question.

  Wren didn’t blame her. She was unsure of her status as well.

  “I suppose I’m a guest,” she said. “I met Grandmaster Callidus today. I’m… to be living here. I’m an apprentice.”

  “Welcome!” The girl’s grin returned. “It’s exciting to have another girl around! Most of the apprentices and journeymen live with their masters—only a few live here. You’ll be the only other girl, except for Marina, but she’s so horrible, she hardly counts.”