by Claire Luana
“You said there was a third factor. The ingredients?”
“We don’t fully understand this piece yet. Perhaps if the guilds could work together to puzzle through it… but that was Kasper’s foolish dream. What we know is that sometimes the infusion doesn’t take. Everything else could be the same, the flow, the movements. But the confection is as ordinary as a gumdrop. We only know the ingredients matter because of the fact that the magic doesn’t always work.”
Wren picked up the mint, examining it, its crisp fragrance washing over her. How could an innocuous plant have a role to play in the rising and falling tides of countries and kings?
“Before you get started, have you and Hale discovered anything new regarding Kasper’s death?”
Wren’s thoughts flew to the note discovered in the secret compartment. But Sable was convinced it wasn’t Callidus. Wren didn’t think she would be convinced with only a letter. Once she had the handwriting match, she would share her discovery. “The king returns in two weeks,” she said haltingly.
“Yes, I can read the newspaper, thank you for that insightful update. What else?”
Wren’s face burned. “I talked to Master Oldrick this morning. He’s going to search his records to find out where the cupcake went.”
“That’s something, I suppose. You’ll have to do better than that, Wren, if you want to keep your head.”
Anger flared in her. “What have you discovered? You said you’d help me, and so far only Hale seems to give a damn! How am I supposed to discover a killer in this political maze if you can’t and you’ve been doing this for years?”
Sable’s dark eyes gleamed. “How indeed. I said I’d protect you, but I never said I’d coddle you. I’m not your mother or your nursemaid or your friend. I am your sponsor and grandmaster. You don’t need to like me, but you do need to trust me. I have been a part of this tangled messy web for years, and I didn’t become the youngest grandmaster in history by bumbling about. I am looking for clues in my own way, and my way is subtle. I get results precisely because no one is the wiser. We both need to do our part if we are to outsmart a murderer.”
Sable’s rebuke stung like a slap. Wren had assumed Sable wasn’t helping, because she hadn’t seen or heard anything. But what did she know about the world of political machinations? Could it be possible that Sable was trying to solve the mystery her own way?
Her doubt must have been written across her face because Sable let out a breath, the hard set of her jaw softening. “Why don’t you come with me tomorrow to the meeting of the Guilder’s Council? Then you’ll see the board where I play my game of fox and geese.”
Wren nodded woodenly, not sure she wanted to spend another minute in the woman’s company, but knowing she couldn’t say no.
“Now get to work on these truffles,” Sable said, rising gracefully, sweeping her curtain of black hair over her shoulder. “I’ve been craving them for a few days.”
It took Wren an hour, much longer than it should have, to find her flow. Her thoughts spun with Master Oldrick’s warning, Sable’s rebuke, and Lucas’s—Prince Imbris’s—pleading words. And always, stirred throughout it all like a ribbon of color in a batch of frosting, Callidus and Kasper. Kasper and Callidus. What had gone wrong? Why had Callidus murdered his own guildmaster? And how would she ever prove it?
Chapter 19
“Wren, there you are!” Olivia said brightly, rounding the corner. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“Why?” Wren asked. She had just finished pouring the ganache for the truffles into a square confectionery frame and was setting a sheet of parchment paper over the top. It would need to crystallize overnight before she could cut and dip the truffles in dark chocolate.
“Grandaunt said we can use her makeup and jewelry.” Olivia’s eyes were shining with excitement. “We need to get ready!”
Wren peered out the door of the kitchen to the bright light of the conservatory. “It’s still the afternoon, isn’t it?”
“It takes time to get ready,” Olivia said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Wren stifled a chuckle and stood. “Lead the way.”
The girls retrieved their dresses and darted through the crowds of harried servants to Greer’s chambers.
“I don’t know anything about makeup, or doing my hair…” Wren admitted.
“Don’t worry,” Olivia said, “I’m an expert.”
“An expert?” Wren raised an eyebrow.
“Well, no, but things get pretty boring around here sometimes. Grandaunt lets me experiment. And she’s an expert.”
They entered Greer’s chambers. The sun-speckled room was as pristine as the first time Wren had glimpsed it, though the riot of dahlias had been replaced with vases of vibrant sunflowers. Their cheerful upturned faces brought a smile to Wren’s. Where had Greer gotten them all?
“Grandaunt has an admirer in the Florist’s Guild,” Olivia explained, pulling Wren into the massive closet and pushing her down into the chair before the vanity table. “We’ll do you first.”
A charcoal sketch of a young man framed in silver and glass caught her eye. Wren lifted and examined it. He was very handsome, even rendered in pencil—his dark eyes smoldering, his mouth crooked with a roguish smile.
“Grandaunt’s husband,” Olivia said, selecting a gold-lettered glass pot from the forest of products on the vanity top. “He died tragically when they were young.”
“He was handsome,” Wren admitted, remembering the story Elda had told.
“Grandaunt was one of the most fashionable ladies in Maradis when she married Carter Greer,” Olivia said. “She’s going to help me find a husband as fine as he was. Now close your eyes.”
Wren complied, putting the picture back. Olivia began painting some sort of powder across her skin. The touch of the brush was as light as a butterfly’s wings. It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant experience.
“Are you sure you want her to find you a husband?” Wren asked, opening her eyes. “Aren’t you happy at the Guild?”
Olivia had retrieved a pot as black as night and a tiny brush. “Close your eyes again. And don’t move. I’m going to line your eyes.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Wren said.
“Yes, I’d like to find a husband,” Olivia said. “Grandaunt talks so fondly about her time as a lady—hosting elaborate dinner parties, touring Lake Crima on the king’s yacht. They even had a summer house in the Odette Isles. It sounds so glamorous.”
“And that’s… what you’d like to do? Host parties? Be… someone’s wealthy wife?”
“If I can swing it!” Olivia laughed. “Don’t sound so shocked, Wren. We don’t all want to spend our lives hunched over a countertop. I like working at the guild, but if I had my choice? Yes. I’d choose a handsome man who curls my toes, children to chase through the garden, friends to laugh with. Leisure. Those things all sound quite wonderful. Now open,” Olivia said, retrieving another silver pot and unscrewing its lid. “Pout with your lips,” she said, before continuing. “It’s not like I’m totally heartless. You can do a lot of good if you have money. You can help people.”
“That’s wonderful,” Wren said halfheartedly.
“What about you, Wren?” Olivia eyed her appraisingly. “Don’t you want to get married? Have a family?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever marry,” Wren said as Olivia came at her with another brush.
“What? Why?”
Wren chose her words carefully. “I’ve never had the best… luck with family. The family I wanted… my mother and brother… I lost them. And the family I had left… I was better off without them. I guess I can’t imagine being happy with someone.”
“You’ll change your mind when you meet the right person,” Olivia said confidently.
Wren didn’t think so. She thought she had met someone who’d cared for her when Ansel had taken her in—the brash, swaggering orphan king with fiery red hair and a chipped front tooth.
But he had traded her. Betrayed her. If she had misjudged him so completely, what hope did she have with other men? Her thoughts drifted to Lucas, his rosemary scent and easy manner. He had deceived her, too, in his own way. And though she found herself drawn to him, was it enough? Was she fooling herself to think she could ever really trust him—or be with him? The son of the king?
Olivia seemed content to let Wren ruminate as she finished her makeup and pinned locks of Wren’s auburn hair back into a shining waterfall that cascaded down her back.
“I hardly recognize myself,” Wren said with an amazed laugh when Olivia stepped back. Her eyes were lined with onyx, her lashes long and wide. Her pale skin was flawless and her angular face was softened by rosy cheeks that looked flushed, as if by a brisk winter’s day. Wren pressed her painted lips together. They reminded her of a ripe plum ready to be plucked.
“You’re a miracle worker,” Wren said, standing and giving Olivia the chair.
With a proud smile, Olivia went to quick work on herself, expertly painting on the colors, while Wren roamed about the room, flipping through beaded dresses and silky scarves, examining towering shoes with fascination.
“I wonder what Hale will say when he sees you,” Olivia said, watching Wren slyly in the mirror.
Wren reddened, shaking her head. Had Olivia heard about the kiss? Gods, she hoped not. “I’m sure he’ll say something charming and perfect, like he says to all the girls.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Olivia said with a giggle.
“I am not interested in Hale like that,” Wren said, glad at her certainty that the words were true. “Trust me. He’s like… a brother.”
“Well, he’s not my brother,” Olivia said. “So I’ll admire all I want.”
Wren let out a little laugh, unscrewing a deep purple bottle of perfume and taking a whiff of its saccharine sweetness. “Smell this,” she said. “What a strange scent.”
“Don’t touch that,” Greer said, choosing that moment to sweep through the room.
Wren jumped and screwed the top back on hastily, putting it back. “I’m sorry,” she said, her face scarlet. “Olivia said…”
Greer crossed to the desk and patted her arm. “I shouldn’t have startled you. It’s quite expensive. It was a gift from a Centu trader. I save it for special occasions.”
“Of course,” Wren said.
“You look lovely, Wren,” Greer said.
“Olivia did it all,” Wren said.
“I learned from the best,” Olivia said, standing and kissing her grandaunt on the cheek. She curtsied. “What do you think?”
Greer examined Olivia like a surgeon dissecting a patient. “A bit light on the eyeshadow,” she murmured, “and I do wish you’d lose a few pounds”—she pinched Olivia’s plump chin in her fingers—“but overall, you are quite the beauty. Your mother would be proud.”
“Thank you, Grandaunt,” Olivia said mechanically, her sparkle dulled by Greer’s criticism.
Wren stilled her face to keep a scowl from it. She thought Olivia looked absolutely perfect, her cascading blonde curls and tasteful makeup setting off her sweet features.
“Now go put your dresses on,” Greer said. “It’s almost time to head to the Tradehouse, and I want to see the full effect before I have to get back to work.”
“You’re not coming?” Wren asked.
“I’ll be there in the background, making sure the caterers don’t fall over themselves. Duty calls.” Greer let out a heavy sigh as she glanced back to the army of fancy dresses in the closet.
Wren and Olivia slipped into the washroom to put their dresses on, and when they turned to survey each other, their mouths dropped.
“Your dress is marvelous,” Wren said. Olivia looked like a glittering jewel in a gown of rose gold. Its lace bodice tapered at her waist, and then flared into a pleated chiffon skirt that dropped gracefully to the floor.
“So is yours!” Olivia’s eyes were shining.
Wren looked down with more than a little awe at the drape of the velvet over her body. A field of teal and ruby flowers undulated over the golden field of the fabric, soft and mesmerizing. “I feel half-naked.”
“You look stunning. Hale will be speechless.”
“I bet that’s a first,” Wren joked, ignoring the mention of Hale. She would convince Olivia that she didn’t have her sights on Hale sooner or later.
They emerged from the washroom and Greer clasped her hands to her bosom in delight. “You both look so lovely!”
She embraced them both, and Wren’s heartstrings twanged painfully. This must have been what it felt like to have a mother. It was a nice feeling.
“One last thing before you go,” Greer said, opening a drawer in her vanity and rummaging through it. “Ah!”
She deposited a pair of earrings into each of their outstretched hands, golden blossoms for Olivia, and teardrops of ruby glass for Wren.
“I can’t—” Wren began, but Greer shushed her. “They do no good collecting dust in the drawer. They’ll look perfect on you.”
Olivia locked arms with Wren as they swept out the door and down the hallway towards the antechamber. Wren’s heart thudded with excitement. She couldn’t wait to see what the night had in store.
Chapter 20
The night was warm, but a cool breeze tousled Wren’s hair. She shivered in her thin dress as she and Olivia walked the short distance to the Tradehouse arm in arm, navigating through the crowd of carriages waiting to be opened by liveried footmen. Once inside the stained-glass front doors, Wren’s mouth dropped open. Sets of open doors led to the ballroom, where four impossibly large chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting refracting light over hundreds of colorfully-clad partygoers. The rectangular room was lined with four long tables, paralleling a wide expanse of floor for dancing. The tables were covered in glittering cutlery and green and white centerpieces of fragrant blossoms.
A Vintner’s Guild servant with a silver tray approached and handed them each a tapered flute of sparkling rose wine.
Olivia giggled, taking a sip. “Let’s go.”
They wove through the crowd, wide eyes taking in the handsome faces, fine clothes, and jewels bedecking the crowd. Olivia pointed out the people she recognized—guildmasters, nobles, members of the royal court. The names and titles washed over Wren like rain until one grabbed her to attention.
“That’s Guildmaster Chandler, of the Distiller’s Guild,” Olivia was saying.
The Distiller’s Guild. Wren examined the man from across the room. Did this Chandler know who had given Kasper the poisoned whiskey? He was plump with drooping jowls and a lined face, but his features were friendly, his expression warm. His wife was quite lovely with white at her temples and fine lines around her mouth and eyes that spoke of a lifetime of laughter. Should she go talk to them? Wren chewed her lip in indecision. What would she say? “Do you know who happened to gift my guildmaster a poisoned bottle of spirits?” She dismissed the idea. She would bungle it. Perhaps Sable or Hale could help her lure the information out of him with their honeyed words and smiles.
Her ruminations were cut short as another figure caught her eye. “Who is that?” Wren asked, pointing to an ebony-haired man with tawny skin. He wore knee-high black boots, a long burgundy coat, and a predatory expression that made Wren shiver.
“Don’t look at him,” Olivia said, whirling Wren around as her eyes caught the man’s. “He’s the guildmaster of the Spicer’s Guild. He was a pirate in the Centu Isles before he took over the guild. They say he once dug a man’s eyes out with a fork for looking at him the wrong way.”
Wren wrinkled her nose. “I hope that’s an exaggeration.”
“Oh, no. Kasper told me at the last gala.”
“When was that?” Wren asked. It sounded like Kasper had been pulling the girl’s leg, but Wren kept her thoughts to herself.
“I was twelve the last time they held one,” Olivia said. “Greer didn’t let me stay past
nine and I couldn’t even have a drink of wine.”
“I think you’ll have much more fun tonight,” Wren said, spotting a tall copper-haired young man in a navy suit taking in Olivia with an appreciative expression. “Eleven o’clock,” she whispered, nodding to the man.
The man began making his way through the crowd as his eyes met Olivia’s, but he faltered halfway to the approach.
Wren felt a prickle on the back of her neck and turned.
“Wren Confectioner,” Steward Willings said, his pockmarked face twisted into a grimace. “We’re now allowing murderers to dance the waltz, rather than hang from the gallows, are we?”
“I’m not a murderer,” Wren said, squaring her shoulders. “I will be proven innocent.” Murderer. Murderer. How she hated that word. Her conscience whispered it to her in her dreams.
He snorted. “I know what you are. And I know exactly how a woman like you convinced a weak man like Imbris to vouch for you.” He looked her up and down with a sneer that made her skin crawl and made her wish her dress covered much more than it did.
She clutched the fabric, stilling her hands at her sides, lest they betray her discomfort. “Inspector Imbris vouched for me because he cares about the truth.” Her voice was as strong as steel. “Whereas you apparently don’t mind letting a real killer go free.” Her breath caught as a piece fit into place. Why would Willings be unconcerned with letting the true killer stay undiscovered? Unless… he had some role in the plot? Could Callidus and Willings be in on it together?
Willings grabbed her arm suddenly, drawing her near to him, digging his nails into her flesh. “Listen here, you little harlot…”
Wren reeled at the sour smell of his breath, the cold of his skin on hers.
“Steward Willings,” a stern voice said. “Surely, you can take a break from terrorizing young ladies for one night. In the name of guild-crown relations.”
