by Claire Luana
She found herself ducking through the little door out onto the roof, entering that lovely land of vegetables and rooftops and solitude. The thin fabric of her cornflower blue dress, which had been delivered last night washed and pressed, did little to ward against the crisp chill of morning. Her skin pebbled against the cold, and she gripped the warmth of her coffee mug tightly, letting its fragrance wash over her.
She found a bench to sit on in the far corner of the rooftop, smiling shyly at two servants who were hard at work harvesting zucchinis and kale for the guild. She closed her eyes as dawn’s first rays broke over the horizon, turning the inside of her eyelids sherbet orange. She sighed. She needed this moment. To regroup. To prepare herself for the madness of the day. And—she opened her eyes, letting them fall on the newspaper she’d brought, safely tucked under her arm—to say goodbye to Kasper.
She had only known him for an hour—less in fact. But somehow she felt she had seen inside him, and what she had seen was good. Most men she had known were rotten at the core, if you peeled the layers far enough, you got to some hard pit filled with hubris and self-loathing, violence and desire, all grown together in a tight little ball. But not Kasper. He had a caramel center. Sweet and soft and golden. He hadn’t deserved to die.
She sighed. It was never those who deserve to die who found such a fate. Her brother’s face swam to view in her mind’s eye, shaggy brown hair that he refused to cut falling over his eyes, dimpled smile with a faint scar on his upper lip from when he had fallen out of the big cottonwood tree. That same youthful face, bloodied and battered, screaming at her to hide. She scrunched her eyes closed, as if it could shut off the images too. It was the curse of her memories of Hugo. She couldn’t think of him without thinking of all the rest. And she did everything in her power not to think of all the rest.
Wren found that her hands were shaking and set her coffee cup down, afraid to spill on her dress again. She wasn’t sure Greer’s matronly generosity extended to a second spill a second day. She shook her hands out and shook Hugo from her mind. With a deep breath, she turned to Kasper’s obituary.
It told a tale of chubby twins growing up on the windswept peninsula of Nova Navis. A young boy making saltwater taffy at the local mercantile. A prodigy found by a master and brought to Maradis to learn the art of confectionery. A sister following, and the star-touched siblings that had captivated the aristocracy with laughter and chocolate.
It detailed Kasper’s meteoric rise to the head of the guild, his tireless negotiations on behalf of the guild, days filled with trade and tariffs and taxes. Tragedy, with the loss of Iris Greer’s husband, and the deaths of Carter Greer’s family following close behind. Finally, philanthropy, efforts to improve conditions for Maradis’s poor and downtrodden, hospitals for victims of the Red Plague, public health, education, work release programs for the debtors’ prison. Tears stung Wren’s eyes. This man had not only been good, he had done good. What had she done with her own miserable sixteen years that was worth one fraction of this man’s value?
“Wren!” Olivia was making her way through the rows of green, her blonde hair dazzling in the morning sun, a flattering blush-hued dress hugging her curves.
Wren brushed the tears from her cheeks, feeling foolish. Here she was crying over Olivia’s granduncle, and she hadn’t even known the man. Not truly.
“Are you all right?” Olivia asked, concern written across her cherubic face.
“Fine!” Wren managed with unconvincing brightness. “It’s bright up here this morning.”
“It is,” Olivia said with a hint of disbelief.
“What are you doing up here?”
“Grabbing some chives for the eggs,” Olivia said. “Grandaunt sent me. It’s madness down there already. The hall is bursting at the seams. All our guest rooms were full last night, and we had to put people up at the inn down the street. The whole Guild is here.”
“To vote on the new guildmaster, right?” Wren asked.
“Many of them,” she said. “The new leader will set the tone for the Guild for years to come. Everyone wants to get in the good graces of whoever it will be. But they’ve also come for the Appointment Gala.”
“Appointment Gala?”
“Tomorrow night. You’ve not been to one? For one of the other guilds?”
“We didn’t get out much,” Wren said. Too busy working and making Master Oldrick money, she thought. “How did they manage to pick a name that sounds so grand and boring in one breath?”
Olivia let out a quiet laugh. “I’m not sure who came up with the name. But after a new guildmaster is appointed, the Tradehouse hosts a gala with the other guild leaders and some of the king’s family and cabinet. A gala is the event of the season. They don’t happen every year, of course. Only when…” She trailed off.
“When a guildmaster dies.” Wren grimaced.
A dark shadow passed over Olivia’s face at the mention of Kasper, but she recovered quickly. “That’s why I had you order that dress! With the gold and blue flowers.”
Wren wracked her brain. She had tried on so many things on their whirlwind shopping trip, she was only half-sure which garment Olivia referred to.
“I remember. I’m looking forward to it.” Wren smiled weakly. She wasn’t sure she could get through the bustle of this day, let alone a gala with the other guilds and nobles and royals. It sounded terrifying.
“You’ll be fine,” Olivia said, seeming to see the weariness in Wren’s face.
A servant hurried up behind Olivia, a look of near panic on her face. “Olivia, miss. Cuisinier Brandywine says he can’t find any more bacon in the larder. Half the guests haven’t eaten yet.”
Olivia groaned. “There should be at least five more pounds in there.” She turned to Wren. “I need to go. If the cuisinier can’t find the rest, we’ll have a riot on our hands.”
“By all means,” Wren said. “Attend to your bacon emergency. I should come down anyway.” She tucked the newspaper behind her back and followed Olivia and the servant as they hurried back down the stairs. She paused on the landing as she took in the milling crowd. She really needed to get some breakfast, but she wasn’t particularly inclined to face the crowd.
“Wren!” a voice called from below. It was Hazel, one of Master Oldrick’s apprentices, waving enthusiastically over the crowd.
Wren wove through the bustle of bodies into Hazel’s enthusiastic hug, surprised to find herself genuinely pleased to see her. Hazel’s dirty blonde hair was pulled into a tidy braid over her shoulder, and her dress looked almost new. Master Oldrick must have been pulling out all the stops for the assembly.
Tate, the gangly other apprentice, hung back, shuffling. “Hey, Wren,” he said, and she found herself pulling him into an embrace as well. Their familiar faces were a balm to her chaffed soul in this strange place.
“Hey, Tate,” she said.
“Is it true that you killed the head of the guild?” he asked. “Talk’s all over town.”
“Tate,” Hazel chastised, cuffing his ear lightly. “You know those are foul lies. Aren’t they, Wren?” Her words held an inquisitive tone.
“Yes,” Wren said. “I’ve been accused of it, but I didn’t do it. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Wren’s confections only bring joy and happiness,” a gruff voice said behind her. “Not sorrow.”
She turned to find Master Oldrick, as ruddy and round as ever. She hugged him, feeling strangely sentimental, despite spending nights and weeks and months dreaming of being free of him.
“Miss you, Wren,” he said. “Shop ain’t the same without you.”
“You mean your profits aren’t the same without me,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Aye. Same thing. Tate and Hazel don’t have half your talent between the two of them.”
“Oldrick!” she said, looking apologetically at the other apprentices.
They seemed unperturbed. “‘It’s true,” Tate said. “You always d
id have a gift.”
His words sank within her. It was true. How had she never seen it for what it was? Something different than what other people had? Something more than a deft hand or a good nose for flavor?
“I miss you all too. But I think… I will like it here. Once the murder investigation is over.”
“Don’t let that Grand Inquisitor lay his hands on you. Whatever happens. If the worst should come, end it,” Master Oldrick said. “I hear his ways are twisted. He takes pleasure in it. Finds your weaknesses and your fears. Exploits them.”
Wren’s stomach turned and the blood drained from her face as Master Oldrick went on. “I knew a man who had the misfortune of crossing the royals. Fell in love with one of the royal ladies, and she loved him too. Killian took the man apart, piece by piece, in front of her.”
All the saliva had left Wren’s mouth. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt as sticky as glue.
“What a cheerful fellow you are.” Hale came to her rescue, banishing the dark spell that had fallen over them with his brash golden aura. He slung one arm around Wren’s shoulder and squeezed her arm while offering his other hand to Master Oldrick. “Master Oldrick, I imagine. Hale Firena, of Aprica. Artisan of the Guild.”
Hazel’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the vision before her.
Wren pasted on a smile, grateful for the change of subject, though not entirely soothed. Oldrick’s words rung in her ears. Twisted. Took the man apart piece by piece.
Master Oldrick shook his hand, staring up at Hale with more than a bit of surprise. “Pleasure,” he managed.
Hale turned to her. “Wren, my dear, the Assembly is starting. We should take our seats.”
“Of course,” Wren said, ready to be away from Oldrick’s dark tale. “Master Oldrick, can I speak with you after the assembly? I have a question I must ask you.”
“Of course,” Master Oldrick said. “We’re staying through tomorrow.”
As Wren let Hale steer her away from her former life with a commanding arm, she heard Hazel whisper to Tate behind her. “I see why she likes it here.”
Chapter 14
Rows of chairs sat neatly in the ballroom, leading to a low wooden platform erected for the assembly. Hale’s arm was still wrapped protectively around Wren’s shoulder, and the guild members melted away as they cut a path to their seats. She should have shrugged it off, she thought, prove to herself she wasn’t being sucked into Hale’s orbit, lulled by warm skin and flashing white teeth. But it was a comfort amongst these unfamiliar faces and questioning eyes. So she let it stay.
Three chairs sat empty atop the platform, facing the crowd. “Callidus and Sable—and who is the third candidate?” Wren asked Hale.
“Grandmaster Beckett,” Hale explained. “There are two other Grandmasters in the guild, Legox and Swift, but Legox is off negotiating a trade deal with the Centu Clans in the islands, and Swift is as old as death itself.”
“How does one become a grandmaster?” She realized that while she knew the procession through the first four steps of the guild, the final title was a mystery to her.
“It’s a combination of exceptional skill and service to the Guild. The head of the Guild makes the nomination, but it requires a vote of two-thirds of the masters to make the next level. To become a grandmaster, you need to be well-connected and have allies within the Guild. The idea is that the voting requirement ensures that the next level of guild leadership will take the diverse interests of the guild into account.”
Wren considered this. “In other words, it becomes a campaign of favors, deals, and political machinations?”
Hale chuckled, ushering her to a seat near the front. “You are wise for one so young, my blue jay. Yes and no. Sable had to make a lot of promises to achieve her rank so young, especially because she was female. But she figured by the time she was guildmaster, most of those people would be dead. Kasper seemed to do what he wanted.”
A bell sounded in the back of the room, and guildmembers streamed in to take their places, the room humming with conversation. There had to be almost one hundred masters in the room.
“I almost forgot,” Wren whispered to Hale. “I brought you something.”
“A present? For me?” His turquoise eyes sparkled, and she was suddenly very aware of how close they were.
She tried to cover the hitch in her breath with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing.” She pulled two caramels out of the pocket of her dress and handed one to him. After the previous day’s failed attempt at spying on Callidus, she had returned to the teaching kitchen to cut and wrap her cooled caramels. She hadn’t tried one yet.
A mischievous grin transformed Hale’s face, his dimples flashing. “This is not nothing, my sly little raven. This is precious as gold.”
“Just proving to my teacher that I’m an apt pupil,” she said.
“Bottoms up,” he said, unwrapping his caramel and popping it in his mouth.
She did the same, glancing furtively at the chatting guildmembers around her. Hale had said all infused products were supposed to go to the king, but how would she know if she had been successful if she couldn’t try a thing or two?
Hale nodded approvingly as he chewed the caramel. “Delicious. You are an apt pupil.”
The hair on her arms stood up as the tingle of the magic swept through her like a ray of sunshine bursting through the clouds. How had she never noticed this for what it was? Something special? Magic.
A wizened old man taking the stage distracted her from her thoughts. He ascended to the platform with laborious steps and a wobbly hand on his cane.
“Grandmaster Swift,” Hale whispered. “You can see where he gets his name.”
“Guildmembers,” the old man called, quieting the crowd. His voice was strong and clear, incongruous coming out of the withered body. “We gathered here twenty-four years ago to select our last guildmaster. Francis Kasper was a diplomat, a scholar, a friend. His loss is felt keenly by our Guild and its members. Especially as he was taken from us too soon.”
Wren’s stomach flipped nervously at his words. Hushed whispers fluttered around her.
“Let us have a moment of silence in his memory.”
Wren bowed her head, the thudding of her heart seeming to fill the silence. Fear curled through her, banishing the warm tingles from the magic. Lucas had said that the Guild had a legal obligation to protect her until the investigation had been completed—his vouching for her had made certain of that. But what did that really mean? People could turn to cruelty in a heartbeat, especially when together in large groups. Maybe she shouldn’t be here.
“Thank you,” Swift said, rapping his cane once to summon the crowd’s attention. “The task falls on us, those who remain behind, to elect new leadership. This is a task we must go about thoughtfully, and with great care. The choice we make today will set the direction our ship will sail for the next decade or two or three.”
Grandmaster Swift called the three candidates up on stage, and they were met with applause and the occasional cheer. Sable looked stunning in a dress of royal blue embroidered with a rainbow of colors at the hem, cuffs, and scooping neckline. She wore the elaborate beaded necklace that was her signature, and her gleaming midnight hair was swept back and curled around her shoulders.
Callidus looked as unpleasant as ever, his pale face twisted, as if he had just caught a whiff of curdled milk. He wore a fine black suit and charcoal gray waistcoat, modeling his styling after an undertaker. A black journal was tucked under his arm. That damn journal, taunting her. So close, yet infinitely out of reach.
The last man, Beckett, was fair-skinned and fair-haired with watery blue eyes, a plump mid-section, and clammy-looking sausage fingers. This was Marina’s father? She looked nothing like him. It was a mystery how he had snared a woman beautiful enough to produce an offspring as lovely as Marina.
“Quiet, quiet,” ancient Grandmaster Swift called, shushing the audience with his han
ds. “Each of the candidates will have five minutes to speak to you. Give them your utmost attention.”
Sable went first, her words velvety and eloquent. She complimented the Guild, the wisdom and talent its members had shown over the years. She looked each member in the eye with a smile and a challenge to usher the guild into a new era of prosperity and cooperation with the other guilds. Hale sat next to her in rapt silence, and around the room Wren saw heads nodding. The applause was thunderous when Sable was done.
Beckett went next, talking in length about his experience as an ambassador with the Tradehouse and other guilds. He promised “lower tariffs, lower taxes, and greater profit,” and the crowd seemed impressed with his rhetoric.
Last but not least, Callidus stood, walking slowly to center stage. He glared at the members with startling blue eyes. The audience quieted until an uneasy silence hung over the room.
“These are not easy times for the guilds, for our city, or for Alesia,” Callidus began, his voice strong and powerful. “Strikes and union uprisings throughout the city are growing in numbers and frequency. There are riots in the Central Quarter over the conditions of the poor and working class. On our northern border, our friend and ally Tamros has been aggressively occupied by the Apricans.”
Wren glanced at Hale, whose golden coloring was so common in Aprica. She hadn’t thought about why he was here, living in the Guild under Sable’s sponsorship. Was he originally from Aprica? If so, had the war in his home country driven him from it?
Callidus continued. “While the Aprican king speaks of peace, the marshaling of his forces suggest he would push on into fertile Alesia itself. The Ferwich clans harry us on the east, and the Centu—growing ever bolder in the Cerulean sea—seek to renegotiate our trade deals, refusing to transport our exports on their ships without a heavy toll. Rest assured,” Callidus said. “It will not be an easy road ahead.”
