The Confectioner Chronicles Box Set
Page 16
Willings’s eyes widened and he released her, stepping back inadvertently.
When Wren turned to her rescuer, she couldn’t hide her shock. It was the dark Head of the Spicer’s Guild.
The man took her hand and bowed, marking it with a soft kiss. “Guildmaster Pike, at your service.”
“Pretending like you don’t know each other, eh?” Willings said. “I’m sure she got the poison from you.”
“Poison?” Pike raised a dark eyebrow, his handsome face dangerous. “You must misunderstand. We humble guildmembers supply spices. Surely, the king wouldn’t want to be without his saffron and salt.”
Willings snorted. “Don’t you threaten me. We’ll prove this girl’s connection, and yours, just as soon as the Grand Inquisitor returns. Enjoy the party,” he said to Wren, a twisted smile flitting across his face. “I’ll be seeing you very soon.”
He turned and stalked into the crowd.
Wren blew out a shaky breath, rubbing her arms vigorously to banish the chill that had swept through her. “Thank you, sir, for your assistance.”
Olivia had stood mutely through the whole thing, frozen to the spot.
“I’m afraid my aid may have only cast a deeper suspicion upon you.” Pike exuded a casual malice that kept her heart rapidly beating as he watched Willings go with sharp eyes. This was not a man to cross. Yet he had come to her aid.
“He’s already convinced of my guilt and determined to see me tortured and hanged,” Wren said. “He made up his mind long before you arrived.”
“It would pain me to see a young lady of such beauty and gifts suffer such a fate,” he said, taking one of her hands in his own and running his thumb over the back. The hairs on the back of her arm raised. The way he said “gifts” was knowing, and his eyes said the rest. He knew she was Gifted. Which meant he knew of the Gifts. Was he Gifted himself? She supposed most guildheads must be. Did this make him an ally—or an enemy? Did he wish to protect her—or use her?
“I appreciate your concern,” she said, retrieving her hand from his grasp as politely as possible. “Truly. We are working on discovering the truth of what happened.”
“If you need my assistance,” he said, “you need only ask. Tell my men you seek the marlin’s blade.” He winked.
Marlin’s blade? Wren wondered.
“What makes you think she needs your assistance when she has mine?” Sable asked, breaking into the group. “Moving in on my journeyman?”
A wide grin split Pike’s face, and he lifted Sable off the ground in a crushing embrace. “I live and breathe. You get more beautiful each passing day.” He pulled back to take in Sable’s sleek black dress with admiration, keeping one hand firmly affixed to her waist.
“And you get bolder,” she joked.
“Can’t blame a man for trying. I would trade all the spices in my warehouse for a night with you.”
Wren and Olivia looked at each other, scandalized, but Sable laughed. “Just your warehouse?”
“All my guild’s warehouses?”
“Get me a drink and we’ll negotiate.”
With a nod to the girls, Pike led Sable away towards the bar.
Wren deflated slightly and drained her flute. Forget her aversion to alcohol. She’d need it if she was going to get through tonight. “I think that’s about enough excitement for one night,” Wren said. “Let’s find that fellow who was admiring you.”
“Are you all right?” Olivia asked as they began to walk.
“I will be,” Wren said, half to convince herself. She looked over her shoulder at where Willings stood amidst a cluster of nobles. His eyes were locked on her. She whipped her head back around with a rush of breath.
“I hate him,” Olivia said with a hiss.
“Willings?” Wren raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t ever heard Olivia say a negative word about anyone.
“The man is devious and self-serving,” Olivia said. A storm cloud seemed to pass over the golden sun that usually lit her countenance. “Did you know my parents died in the Red Plague?”
“I didn’t. I’m so sorry.” A flicker of guilt passed through her. She had been so concerned with her own situation, she hadn’t made much of an effort to get to know Olivia, to ask her about her past. Wren chided herself. She hadn’t had a friend in so long, she had forgotten how to be one.
“The crown summoned most of the Physician’s Guild into the palace and then sealed the gates. It was Willings who gave the order. No one in the palace died. They say…” She lowered her voice. “They say there was a cure. But the king and his staff kept it for themselves.”
Wren’s eyes widened, shocked. “How could that be true? Thousands died. If they could have stopped it…” She faltered. Of course it could be true. The king hadn’t given a damn about the people in the town where she’d grown up… Why would he care about his subjects here?
“If not for that man, my parents might still be alive,” Olivia said.
“Oh, Olivia…” Wren said, her heart twisting.
A bell clanged, reverberating through the ballroom. “Dinner time.” Olivia brightened, seeming to leave the past behind in a blink. Wren envied her that skill. “Let’s find seats.”
Wren and Olivia found a row of empty chairs at one of the long tables. The handsome copper-haired man who had been making eyes at Olivia claimed the spot next to her, and Olivia turned to Wren with shining eyes, once again effervescent and full of life.
“Can I sit here?” a male voice asked, and Wren turned to find Lennon hovering uncertainly to her left.
“I suppose,” Wren said, looking around. “You’re not sitting with Marina and Grandmaster Beckett?”
Lennon sank into the chair. “There wasn’t room.”
Servants all around the ballroom brought the first course, a chilled gazpacho soup with truffle oil and shaved parmesan cheese. Another filled her wineglass.
“I’ve heard the food at these things is the best you’ll ever eat,” Lennon said. “All the guilds are trying to show each other up and put out the best course.”
“I’d happily judge that competition,” Wren said.
“Me too.” Lennon smiled shyly.
“Maybe they’ll need two judges,” Wren offered.
“Wren… I’m sorry about what Marina did to you in the dining hall,” Lennon said, the words coming in a rush. “And I’m sorry… that I didn’t step in. Marina’s like a force of nature when she has something on her mind. It’s usually easier to let her have her way. But… it was wrong.”
“Why is she like that?” Wren asked, surprised at his candor.
“She’s not always that bad. She really doesn’t like you for some reason.”
“Great.” Wren rolled her eyes.
“I think… she’s threatened by you?” Lennon ventured a guess. “She and her father don’t get along. She’s been vying to be sponsored by Sable for years now, plus she half-loves, half-hates Hale, and then you breeze in and take everything she’s ever wanted.”
Wren let out a laugh of disbelief. “Yes, my glamorous life as an accused murderer. She can have it.”
“I’m not saying she’s right, but that’s what seems to be going on.”
“Do you mind being sponsored by Beckett?” Wren didn’t want to tell him she had overheard him pleading with Callidus to take on his sponsorship. She didn’t think eavesdropping would help the truce they seemed to be developing.
“He’s a good confectioner and a good diplomat, and I’ve learned a lot from him, but…” Lennon looked up and down the table to make sure the man wasn’t near. “He’s kind of an ass.”
Wren laughed.
“He goes to the temple every day and forces us to come with him. I think religion is fine if you’re into that sort of thing, but neither Marina nor I are. It’s always temperance this, discipline that. He’s constantly judging everyone for their behavior, holding us up to impossible standards. I’ve pieced together that Marina had an older sister who fell in love with a man
Beckett thought was too low-born for her, and it basically tore the family apart. I don’t think Marina’s ever forgiven her father for driving her sister away.”
Wren put her spoon down, her appetite temporarily gone. She knew a thing or two about horrible fathers, and Beckett sounded awful. She felt a pang of sympathy for Marina.
“This got a little heavy for the soup course.” Lennon forced a laugh. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Wren said. “It helps me understand. The guild is a complicated place for a newcomer.”
“You’ll get the hang of it.” He popped a flake of parmesan cheese into his mouth. Wren considered Lennon—his round face, his upturned nose with a sprinkle of freckles, his obliviousness to the cuff of his jacket trailing in the soup. He had a naive sincerity about him. How had he once seemed threatening? He looked at her with a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth and paused. “What?”
“I’m glad you sat next to me.”
“Me too.”
Chapter 21
And so it was that Wren settled in for the finest meal of her life. Course after course emerged, each new dish a culinary delight. Fresh briny oysters from the Piscator’s Guild, thick knotty challah bread from the Baker’s, seared pork belly glazed with fig sauce from the Butcher’s. Wren shared squeals and groans of delight with Lennon, Olivia, and Olivia’s new friend, Reed, as they sampled each new dish, relaxing until she found herself laughing into her wine, fully at ease.
Dessert was courtesy of the Confectioner’s Guild—personal chocolate tarts filled with molten raspberry filling that spilled out in a dreamy puddle of fuchsia when sliced into. When Wren took her first bite she closed her eyes, savoring the tangy bite of the dark chocolate mingling with the buoyancy of the raspberry. It was perfect. A work of art. She glanced in amazement down the row of tables, wondering who had made all of the tarts. Guildmistress Greer must have enlisted an army!
“I think my dress is going to burst at the seams,” Olivia said, leaning back in her chair. Lennon had excused himself, joking that he was headed back to the guild for a bigger pair of pants.
“I know the feeling.” Wren chuckled, breathing out heavily. She stood, stretching her too-full stomach.
“Doesn’t he look like a sculpture by a master?” Olivia whispered conspiratorially as she nodded across the room. Hale was approaching them.
To say Hale looked handsome would be to call the ocean a wishing well. His bronze hair, normally pulled into a bun on the top of his head, was down around his shoulders, brushed to a sheen. He wore a black suit with a subtle check, a violet waistcoat and thin tie, and black wingtip shoes polished to a shine. Half the room (the female half) seemed to rotate, following his progress towards them.
“Ladies,” Hale said, giving a bow of his head as he approached. “I’ve not seen such a lovely sight in all my days.”
“You probably say that to all the girls,” Wren said wryly.
“But I only meant it with you.” He winked.
“Reed Montagne.” Reed shoved out one hand while the other snaked around Olivia’s waist, seeming to convey that he had seen this one first.
“Hale Firena.” Hale shook Reed’s hand, and for once, he seemed to have left his territorial nonsense at home. “Any friend of Olivia’s is a friend of mine.”
Reed inclined his head, before turning. “Olivia, would you like to dance?”
“I’d love to,” she said, her cheeks dimpling in pleasure.
“Please excuse us,” Reed said, and Wren gave Olivia an encouraging grin as they vanished into the crowd with Reed at her side.
“Hale,” Wren said with feigned surprise. “That was downright civilized.”
“I have to keep you guessing,” he said, flashing his cheeky grin. “But on to the more important business.” He took her hand and turned her about in a twirl. “You, Wren, look good enough to eat.”
She groaned, letting out a little laugh. “Not the bad sexual puns again!”
He guffawed. “Force of habit. I’ll work on it. What did you think of that chocolate tart? One of Callidus’s recipes. The man can’t dress, but I guess he can cook.”
She nodded, grateful for the change of subject. “It was divine. Everything was amazing. I’ve never eaten so well.”
“One of the perks of the job.” He took her arm and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, leading her towards the dance floor. “Have you been enjoying yourself? Besides fending off what I imagine are dozens of slobbering suitors?”
“No slobbering suitors,” she said. She grimaced with remembrance. “Willings did slime his way over to me at one point.”
Hale stiffened next to her. “What did he say?”
“I’m a guilty murderer who will get her comeuppance. Torture and execution, etcetera.” She kept her tone light, though her stomach flipped. A feeling of nausea washed over her. A week had already passed. The return of the Grand Inquisitor was closer than ever, and she couldn’t yet pin Callidus to the crime. Suddenly, it felt silly to be here, eating and making merry, while the sands of time slipped through her fingers.
Hale seemed to sense her change of mood, turning to her. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. The Guild has power. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I might have believed that before Callidus was guildmaster. But would Sable openly defy him? The king? I can’t ask that of her. Or you.”
“We’re not defeated yet. We found the letter,” he said quietly. “We’re closer than ever. We’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I feel slightly better.”
“Only slightly?” he said. “I can do better. Dance with me.”
Wren didn’t protest. She wasn’t much of a dancer, but he pulled her amidst the other couples, cinching his arm around her waist. The song was languid, and though Hale could have simply swayed to the music like many other couples, he pulled her around the floor, twirling and spinning her in graceful arcs. Of course he’s a good dancer, she thought with a wry smile.
“Crown for your thoughts,” he said, pulling her close once again.
“Are my thoughts worth so much?” she joked.
“They are to me,” he said.
She looked up into his eyes and saw that they were vibrant, his words serious. “I guess I’m thinking that even though it might not be for good, I’m glad to be here. To have met you and Olivia and Sable.”
Hale nodded. “You’re not going anywhere, Wren—”
“There she is,” a biting voice said. “The girl who has condemned my brother. Is this how you repay him?”
Wren’s eyes flew open as she turned to the interloper.
A willowy dark-haired girl stood before her, her hands on her hips, her chin upraised in defiance. Her emerald dress was exquisite silk and embroidery, and she wore a thin circlet on her brow. Beside her, a young man stood with an apologetic look on his face, lean and tall, with similar black hair. He looked strangely familiar.
“I’m sorry,” Wren said. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
“Do I?” the girl asked. “You are Wren of the Confectioner’s Guild, are you not? Kasper’s murderer?”
Hale growled at her side, and Wren put a hand on his arm. “I am Wren. But I did not kill Kasper. And who, I pray, are you? Who is this brother of yours?”
“Lucas.” She spat the word. “My brother is Lucas. Do you even remember him? The man who put everything on the line for you while you’re apparently whoring through your guild with the time he’s given you?”
“Listen here, girl—” Hale began.
“Listen here, princess,” the girl said, cutting Hale off. “You will address me with the respect I am due.”
Wren was torn between anger and bewilderment.
“I know Lucas. But I don’t understand,” she said. “What do you think I’ve done to him? He’s helping with the investigation. To clear my name.”
The boy broke in, trying to soothe the girl. “Ella—”
“Who I am?” Wren said. “What in the Sower’s name are you talking about?”
She turned back. “My brother Lucas. He vouched for you.” She spit the word vouched with more venom than Wren thought possible.
“So? That was only to give me time to clear my name, so I wouldn’t have to sit in jail.”
The girl let out an angry huff. “He didn’t tell you, did he? How like Lucas. How perfectly gallant. You don’t even know what you’ve done to him.”
“What do you mean? What have I done to him?”
“He vouched for you. That means if you’re found guilty, he’s found guilty. If you die… he dies.”
A chill fell over Wren, stilling her to her very core. Her knees went weak. “That can’t be true.”
“It is true.” The girl shrieked, her voice drawing the attention of other partygoers. “That’s why no one vouches for anyone. It’s suicide.”
Wren’s hand flew to her mouth as the horror of the princess’s words washed over her. Lucas had put his own life on the line for her. A girl he had never met. He had risked everything. And had said nothing to her, never urged her on, told her the true importance of what they did. That it wasn’t just some nameless guild orphan who would be lost. That it was his life, too. The life of a prince of Alesia.
Wren opened her mouth to speak, but the girl, who could only be Princess Ellarose, the darling youngest daughter of King Hadrian Imbris, beat her to it. “I wish I could see you hang for what you’ve done to my brother,” she hissed, an angry tear falling down the perfect porcelain of her cheek. “If it didn’t mean he would hang too.”
With that, she whirled, pushing through the crowd. The boy turned to go too, but Wren caught his arm.
“Wait, please,” she said. “Is what she said true?”
He nodded sadly. She realized now who the lad reminded her of. Lucas. “He’s your brother too, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m Patrick Imbris. Journeyman of the Vintner’s Guild.”