by Claire Luana
The big man broke her fall, though not through any intention of his own. A shriek of fear and horror escaped her lips as she toppled over the edge. The three men looked up with surprise, and it was sheer luck that the brutish man was positioned under her.
They both fell to the hard stones with a crash.
Wren rolled off the top of his barrel chest onto the mosaic tiles of the floor. A groan escaped her lips. Everything hurt—she moved gingerly. Nothing seemed broken.
“What in the Sower’s name is this?”
“You’re… Wren Confectioner?” Chandler asked incredulously, peering at her as she lay on the floor panting.
She struggled to her feet, her head ringing. She was furious at herself. How could she have let herself fall? She might have ruined her and Lucas’s one chance to clear their names. To get to the bottom of Kasper’s death.
The big man stood as well, rolling his neck and rubbing his head.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, trying to back away towards the entrance. Maybe she could salvage this. If she ran, Lucas could still overhear anything else they might say…
“You aren’t going anywhere,” the man with one arm said, and the big man positioned himself between her and the door in a flash, his tree-trunk arms crossed over his chest. He was surprisingly fast.
Her eyes darted about, like a wild animal looking for its escape. The tendrils of fear squeezed tighter, like a python around her middle. If Chandler had killed Kasper, he would have no qualms about killing her. It looked like her luck had run out.
“Wren.” Chandler’s voice was soothing, his hands outstretched. “That is who you are, isn’t it? I saw you with Sable at the Council meeting.” His posture of gentleness only made her more wary, ready to bolt. One couldn’t trust kindness. It was just as often a façade as it was real. “We’re not going to hurt you. Tell me what you’re doing here.”
She looked from one man to another, willing herself not to look up to see if Lucas watched the scene. She couldn’t give him away. Even if she died, he didn’t have to. What would happen to him if she died before she was tried or convicted? Would his vouching simply go away?
“I… I found a message on the bottle of whiskey you gave Kasper. About this meeting,” Wren stammered. She could think of nothing clever to say, no lie to get her out of this.
“Clever girl,” Chandler said. “But why did you come here?”
“I’m… trying to clear my name. I needed to follow any lead… no matter how… unusual,” she said. Her mind raced. Best not to accuse him outright. Perhaps if he didn’t realize she suspected him, he would let her leave. A small chance, but one she had to try to exploit.
“What did you think you would find here?” he asked.
“Well… you. Since the note must have come from you, and this is your estate. Beyond that, I didn’t know.”
“And what do you think you’ve found?”
“I… don’t know,” she whispered. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here. I don’t even know what I’ve seen. Please let me go.” She knew it was a faint hope. If they did plan on killing her, perhaps she could get them to confess before it was over. Then, at least Lucas could clear his name.
“This is the girl they’ve framed for Kasper’s murder?” the one-armed man scoffed. “You think they could do better than that.”
“Agreed. No one would believe this girl could kill a fly, let alone a guildmaster,” the big one said.
Wren bristled inside but said nothing. She knew what they saw when they looked at her. Small and skinny, no connections, no nerve. It was the same thing she saw herself most days.
Chandler was looking at her like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve, stroking his lined chin with a hand. “Maybe fortune has brought us a gift. Maybe we can use her.”
“It’s too dangerous,” the man with one arm said. “This girl looks like she’ll faint under a withering gaze. She’ll be useless to us.”
“She’s more than she seems,” Chandler said. “She’s Gifted.”
The two men stilled, their appraisals of her turning thoughtful, calculating. She felt like an injured lamb being circled by three hungry wolves.
“If she’s Gifted,” the big man said, “how do we know she’s not compromised? Perhaps she really did play a hand in the murder.”
“She’s not compromised,” Chandler said. “The king doesn’t know about her. Kasper discovered her only weeks ago. Days before he died.”
The king? What did the king have to do with this? Again, it took everything she had not to look upwards, not to find Lucas and meet his gaze. If these men had something against the king, the last thing she needed was to deliver a royal prince into their hands.
“And Kasper told you this?” the big man asked.
“He did. Kasper and I had begun to trust each other before his untimely end.”
“I don’t like the timing. A few days is enough to get to her. With the right motivation, anyone will turn on his guild brothers. Or hers,” the one-armed man said.
“It’s not her,” Chandler said, more forceful now. “I have a feeling about such things.”
You know it’s not me because you killed him yourself, Wren thought. These other two men were unknown commodities, though. Who were they, and had they had a hand in Kasper’s murder? From their fine clothes, they appeared to be wealthy merchants or guild members. But which guild? And why were they here at this secret meeting?
“Pardon me if I don’t trust your feelings when it comes to something like this. There’s only one way to know for sure.” The one-armed man pulled an engraved steel flask out of his pocket.
“Is that ice wine?” the big man asked. “I haven’t been able to get any of that since the market burned down.”
“A Vintner’s Guild member owed me a favor,” he said. “You never know when it will come in handy.”
“All right,” Chandler said. “If you want to use it on her, I suppose.”
Wren looked back and forth between the men, who were all but ignoring her as they decided her fate. Ice wine? Something from the Vintner’s Guild? She thought of the wine Kasper had made her drink that had burned her throat and sealed the secret of the Gifting to her lips. Her tongue went dry, and whatever slim bit of bravery she had fled her. She bolted for the door.
Once again, the big man was faster. He hooked a hand around her ankle, yanking her feet out from under her. She hit the stones like a ton of bricks, her palms stinging, blood in her mouth from where she’d bit her lip. She groaned as he hauled her up by her upper arms and deposited her on the stone table in the center of the room. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, girlie,” he said, leaning perpendicularly over her chest with the bulk of his body, pinning her arms and torso beneath him like a vise, crushing the wind from her lungs. She struggled and squirmed, her legs kicking uselessly, her heels scrambling at the table, but she couldn’t move. A tidal wave of terror washed over her.
“Relax, Wren, it won’t hurt you,” Chandler said. “It’s only to ensure that you tell us the truth.”
Her eyes rolled wildly as he neared her head until she looked up and caught Lucas’s gaze.
He was poised over the domed edge, his face white and furious, his hands clenched into fists. He was going to try to rescue her. He couldn’t compromise himself. Whatever happened to her, he couldn’t come down here.
She stilled and shook her head slightly, pinning him to his spot with her gaze. No, she tried to tell him with the force of her look. I will not let you risk yourself for me again.
So she opened her mouth and let the syrupy sweet liquid dribble down her throat.
Chapter 31
The big man released her. Wren coughed, swallowing thickly.
Chandler took her hand and helped her sit up.
The big man looked at her with an appraising eye. “She’s got more fight in her than I thought.”
She glared at him, suppressing a growl.
“Now, we want to ask you some questions,” Chandle
r said. “What is your name?”
“Wren Confectioner,” she said. The words felt sweet on her tongue.
“Now, I want you to tell me your name is Melissa,” Chandler said.
Wren looked at him, blinking.
“Please, indulge me.”
She sighed. “My name is Mel—” As she tried to say the syllables, the flavor on her tongue turned to ash, to a taste of rot and death fouler than she had ever known.
She coughed and staggered off the table, gagging in the corner. Her shoulders heaved as she retched up saliva and bile.
“What guild are you a member of?” he asked. “Quickly now, tell me.”
“Confectioner’s,” she managed with a shudder. As she said the word, the flavor in her mouth transformed back to caramelized sugar with a hint of raspberry.
She panted with relief, standing and wiping her mouth.
Chandler took her by the shoulders and led her back to sit down in a chair by the table. “Now you see what we are dealing with.”
She nodded sullenly, shuddering at the memory of the taste in her mouth.
“Why did you really come here?”
She closed her eyes, wondering if she was signing her own death certificate. But they would know if she lied. She couldn’t suppress her reaction to that taste. “I came for evidence of Kasper’s murder.”
“Evidence from who?”
“From you,” she said, opening her eyes and meeting his gaze.
He appeared genuinely taken aback. Was he such a proficient actor? He looked to the other two, who came around and stood with Chandler, watching her.
“You think I murdered Kasper?”
“Yes,” she said, watching him for a tell, for a sign that his surprise was feigned. She saw none.
“Why?”
“Because of the note I found from you, threatening Kasper.”
“What note?” the one-armed man asked, drawing nearer.
“It was… hidden in Kasper’s drawer. It was vague but said that Kasper had threatened to reveal guild secrets, and if he did, he wouldn’t last much longer.”
“How do you know it was from me?” Chandler asked.
“It was signed ‘C,’ and the handwriting matched yours.”
Chandler let out a surprised bark of laughter, turning and pacing across the room. “Well, gentlemen,” he said. “We wondered why he didn’t try to frame anyone worthwhile, and now we know. He was playing the long game.”
“I don’t understand,” Wren said. The men ignored her.
“If the note was in Kasper’s desk, then whoever took over for Kasper would find it and suspect you,” the muscled man said to Chandler. “Subtle.”
“Tell me”—Chandler turned to Wren—“were there any other clues that made you suspect me?”
She was struggling to keep up. They were acting like Chandler wasn’t the murderer. Was it an act for her benefit? But if Chandler had killed Kasper, wouldn’t it be easier to just kill her too? Wren’s head was spinning.
“Girl,” the big man said, “answer the question.”
She glared at him. “Your wife was at the party where my cupcakes were served. Only one was eaten at that party. The rest were taken, poisoned, and given to Kasper.”
“Bianca?” Chandler blinked. “Genius.”
“If the girl took the letter, then Callidus won’t be able to discover it and suspect you. Did you remove the letter, girl?” the man with one arm demanded.
“My name is Wren,” she said through gritted teeth. “And yes, I removed it. Now will someone tell me what in the Sower’s name is going on here?” Dare she hope… it didn’t seem like these men intended to kill her. And if not, she wanted answers.
Chandler chuckled, pacing more. “We can use her. She can help. Agreed?” He turned to the other two.
The one-armed man glowered but gave a curt nod.
“Agreed,” the big man rumbled.
Chandler pulled up a chair across from her. “What I’m about to tell you is of the utmost secrecy. I did not kill Kasper. I had nothing to do with it. That letter was a forgery.”
Wren felt herself coming unglued. If it wasn’t Chandler, then where did that leave her? Leave Lucas? Back at the beginning. Worse than the beginning. “Take the ice wine, or whatever it’s called,” she said. “Or I won’t believe a word you say.”
“Show some respect—” the one-armed man began, but Chandler held up a hand.
“Fair point.” He motioned for the other man to hand the bottle to him and took a swallow. “Satisfied?”
Wren crossed her arms before her and nodded.
“Now. The substantial fellow to my left is Guildmaster Bruxius, head of the Butcher’s Guild. This fellow to my right is Guildmaster McArt, Head of the Cheesemonger’s Guild.”
Wren eyed both of them, uncomfortably aware of the amount of power contained in this room. She was definitely out of her league.
“Together with Guildmaster Kasper, we formed a loose coalition of interested guildmembers. We were concerned with the direction Guild relations were taking.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m sure your guild has told you that the Gifting is kept absolutely secret.”
She nodded, wondering what Lucas was making of all of this. Could she explain it to him if he already knew? Or would her throat turn to fire anyway?
“The king has kept a firm grip on the Gifted and infused foods, using them to cement and grow his power and the power of his followers. Technically, he is supposed to have access and control over all infused products. But there was a bit of an informal agreement, a market of sorts, where the guild members and heads could exchange and trade these goods.”
“Right,” she said. “The mercantile that burned down.”
“So you’re not entirely in the dark,” Chandler said. Was that a spark of respect in his eyes? “The decline of our informal market didn’t start with the fire. It started two years ago with the Red Plague.”
Wren shuddered, thinking of the plague that had swept through Maradis and Alesia, taking one in five souls with it. Commerce had shut down for weeks as the plague had ravaged the land, moving on as swiftly as it had come, leaving bodies and wails of sorrow in its wake.
“A member of the Baker’s Guild had a cure to this plague. The guildheads petitioned the king to abandon the Accord and disseminate the cure. It would have required us to reveal some truth about the Gifting, but not everything.”
“The king refused,” McArt said, his words hard.
“So we decided we would do it anyway,” Chandler said. “Only the Gifted Baker’s Guild member disappeared and was never seen again. Even the guild members couldn’t get the cure. Many died. Including my daughter. And grandchildren.” The words caught in his throat.
Wren looked between the men, at the sorrow that flashed across their features. Truly, everyone had lost someone in the plague.
“The plague entirely spared the royal family and loyalists. Suspicious, don’t you think?” Chandler said.
Wren nodded woodenly. Olivia had mentioned her suspicions about the part Willings had played in the Red Plague. She wasn’t surprised to hear that the king had saved his own hide at the expense of his people. That was the reality of life each day in Maradis. But clearly, it had shaken these privileged guild members to the core.
“After the plague, the market between guilds was shut down. We reestablished it somewhere else, and then a few months later, the building was condemned. Our guards were being bought, turned against us as spies. We established runners for a while, but they would disappear for a few days, only to turn up with their throats cut. It’s an increasingly tiring game of cat and mouse. The king is determined to control all Gifted and infused goods. This has become unacceptable to us.”
“He oversteps and overreaches,” McArt added. “He forgets how much he owes the guilds. The Gifted.”
“The Accord is up for renegotiation next month. Kasper had made it clear that the terms w
ould be radically different this year. The games had to end. The guilds would accept nothing less than control of their own infused goods. If not, we would expose the truth of the Gifted to everyone. When you’re made guildhead, you’re released from the binding wine. So the king knew the threat was real.”
“And you’d neutralize the king’s most powerful weapon,” Wren said, realization growing. She set aside the new revelation about the binding wine. That there was a cure. She’d have to worry about that later.
Chandler continued. “But before any of this could occur, Kasper was found murdered.”
“And a mysterious threatening letter is found, pointing suspicion to the king’s next most outspoken opponent.”
“Killing two birds with one stone,” Bruxius said.
“So, our dear Wren, can you think of no one besides me who might be behind Kasper’s death?”
The realization sank in. “The king,” Wren breathed. “The king killed Kasper.” Wren kept her eyes averted from Lucas. Would he believe his father capable of such a thing?
“A man as important as the king doesn’t do his own dirty work,” McArt said. “He had help. Someone on the inside.”
“A Confectioner’s Guild member?” Wren asked. “I thought for a while it was Callidus, but I don’t think so anymore.”
“And why would he plant a letter for himself to find?” Chandler said. “It was all but certain that he would take over the guild when Kasper died.”
“Someone else.” Wren sagged in her chair, faces flashing before her. How well did she really know anyone at the guild? Sable? Hale? What if they had purposely misled her from the beginning, pretending to help her to more successfully frame her? Beckett or Marina? And then there were so many more guild members she didn’t even know. Faces she had seen, names on a page. She couldn’t start again from scratch after all this time. Time for her and Lucas had run out. “I don’t know where to begin,” she admitted, despair welling within her. Just an hour ago she had been so certain that it was Chandler, that they were drawing near to the truth. Now there was another layer of the onion to peel. And she was getting awfully sick of onion.
