The Confectioner Chronicles Box Set

by Claire Luana

  Wren shook the two guards off her and stood proudly, her chin in the air. “I had never met Guildmaster Kasper until the day he died when I saw him go down before my very eyes. My cupcake was chosen as the vessel for the poison as I am of little consequence and would make a convenient scapegoat. The day after Kasper’s death, Greer had been crying, and I noticed a blue stain on her fingertips. I thought nothing of it until I learned that one of the telltale signs of Gemini poison is that it stains the skin blue for a few days after exposure. It can be revealed through salt water. Guildmaster Pike of the Spicer’s Guild told me this.”

  “Is this true, Guildmaster Pike?” the magister asked.

  Pike rose slowly to his feet, his handsome face dark. Clearly, he was not pleased with her revealing so publicly one of the secrets of his tradecraft. She met his eyes, pleading with him, shooting silent apologies his way.

  “The girl speaks the truth,” he finally said, his voice ringing out clear and strong across the room. “Gemini is rare, and this feature of the poison is shared with no other toxin I am aware of. I presume the glass of water you threw contained salt?”

  Wren nodded vigorously. “I kept a packet from my last meal and added it to the water.”

  “The stain on Guildmistress Greer’s skin does come from the Gemini poison. That is my professional evaluation.” With this, Pike sat down.

  Wren continued hurriedly, not wanting to let anyone else cut in before her tale was told. “Guildmistress Greer was in charge of all food items that came in and out of the guild and easily could have slipped the other half of the poison into the whiskey as well. Then, my sponsor, Grandmistress Sable, and I discovered that Greer had been present at a party where my cupcakes had been served. The same ones that Kasper was killed with. She had access to the cupcakes, brought them back to the guild. The day after we discovered this link, Sable was poisoned herself, and the poisoned knife was planted in my room, on a tray from the kitchens. I think Sable confronted Greer, and Greer poisoned her for it, again framing me.”

  “Isn’t the Guildmistress Kasper’s twin sister?” The magister looked to Greer.

  “I am,” she said, her eyes flashing, still managing to hold herself with pride despite the blue staining her face.

  “What would possess a woman to murder her own brother?”

  “Do families never have such disagreements?” Wren asked. “Do they never become deadly? Greer disliked the direction Kasper was taking the Guild and disliked serving him. She saw her opportunity to raise her influence and took it.” Wren wanted to say more, explain that Willings was in on it, and Killian, and the king. But she feared to say too much. She might be able to take down Greer if the woman’s allies abandoned her. But she would never be able to take down Killian or the king. It would be suicide. She just needed to convince this man that Greer was to blame. It would be enough to save her, and Lucas, and Chandler.

  “These are heavy accusations,” the magister said. “What proof do you have?”

  “She told me herself,” Wren said. “When I found the Gemini in her chambers amongst her perfume. And Guildmistress Sable would be able to confirm it.”

  “It is her word against mine,” Greer said, her voice strong. “And Guildmistress Sable is gravely ill and may never wake.”

  No thanks to you. Wren glared at the woman.

  “Guildmistress, tell us your tale.”

  “The girl fled after Guildmistress Sable was poisoned, which an innocent party would not do. She then snuck back into the guild, attacked another guild member, made her way to my chambers, and planted the Gemini to frame me. When I found her there, she attacked me, throwing it in my face. I didn’t understand why at the time, but now I see. It was to perpetrate this charade on this court, a last desperate attempt to escape the consequences of her murderous actions. To frame me. Kasper was my brother. We have lived and worked together for decades. I am a member of this community, known to many of you.” Greer turned slowly around the room, meeting eyes and gazes. “I would ask you to believe me over the word of some nobody guild rat.” At the last word, Greer narrowed her eyes at Wren, her eyes filled with venom far stronger than Gemini had ever been.

  Wren looked desperately around the room, trying to gauge the tenor of the crowd. Their faces were hostile, unfriendly. To her. She had not convinced them. Not when Greer had so much more credibility in their eyes.

  The magister looked thoughtfully between the two of them.

  “What say you, Grand Inquisitor?” the magister asked.

  “The… methods I subjected her to were not inhumane. She did not endure much before her confession. She had a guilty conscience.”

  Willings stood up in the back. “This would be the pronouncement of the king as well, were he here. I am confident.”

  “Very well,” the magister said. “Wren Confectioner, you have made your confession, and you cannot recant here. It is my pronouncement that you are guilty of the crimes you are charged with, and you will be executed by lethal ingestion.” The gavel came down, and Wren’s blood seemed to freeze in her veins.

  “Proceed with the execution.”

  Wren went limp as the two guards seized her by the arms and deposited her into her chair. Another came forward with a vial of crystal liquid, innocuous as water.

  “No!”

  She heard Lucas shout, surging forward from his seat.

  “Get him out of here,” Killian barked to two more guards, who intercepted Lucas before he made it onto the main floor.

  The despair in Lucas’s eyes as he was dragged from the room was no doubt mirrored in her own. No! she thought, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Everything had gone right. She had proven that Greer had the Gemini, that it had stained her. It should have been enough.

  As a guard seized her chin, Wren came back to herself, fighting his grip, her eyes rolling wildly. She struggled and bucked in the chair, her blood roaring in her ears, reason leaving her. The other guard grabbed her by the hair, twisting her head back painfully.

  And then Killian was before her, crouching, speaking words that she could barely comprehend through the primal terror that threaten to overwhelm her.

  “Don’t make me truss you up like a ham. It was a valiant effort, but it failed. You may choose how you leave this world. Kicking and screaming like a child, or with honor.”

  Some sense of his speech sunk in, and she stilled. The fingers in her hair, the bone-wrenching grip on her chin, loosened slightly. “But I’m innocent,” she whispered. But even as she said the word, she knew it wasn’t entirely true. She wasn’t wholly innocent. She had killed her father.

  He brushed a tear off her cheek with his rough thumb. “Here,” he murmured, “there is no guilt or innocence. There are only the king’s allies. Or enemies.”

  And with that cruel lesson, he stood.

  Wren did not want to be trussed up like a ham. Better to die with a little dignity. So she sniffed, straightened, and nodded to Killian. He took the vial of liquid from the third guard and unstoppered it.

  She sat trembling like a leaf in a gale and closed her eyes. Closed her eyes to the room, the crowd, this life.

  “Open your mouth, Wren,” came the inquisitor’s sing-song words.

  She complied.

  “STOP!” a voice shouted from the back of the room as the door banged open. “Stop this at once!”

  The entire room seemed to turn in unison to the new voice. Her eyes flew open and her teeth clacked closed.

  No… it couldn’t be. But… it was. Guildmaster Callidus.

  “Guildmaster, the matter is closed,” the magister said, his words laced with annoyance. “The girl has been sentenced, and the execution must be carried out.”

  “I have new evidence. By law, new evidence can be presented before the time of execution, and it must be fairly considered by the court,” Callidus said, striding into the room. “Get away from her.” He pointed to the guards, who seemed to shri
nk under the weight of Callidus’s thin finger.

  Killian slowly stood, re-stoppering the vial with animal grace.

  “The girl has confessed.” The magister huffed in annoyance.

  “A forced confession,” Callidus said. “Trust me, you will want to hear this evidence.”

  He held his hand towards the door, a showman revealing the grand finale. Through the door came Hale, bearing Sable in his arms. Sable’s face was pale and gaunt, her fingers still tinged that unnatural gray, but her dark eyes were open and sharp. Hale looked at Wren with silent apology written across his face, his handsome face haggard with worry and exhaustion.

  The sight of him filled her with relief, laced with an undercurrent of curling fear. She could still feel his hands around her throat, choking the life from her.

  “Grandmaster Sable,” Callidus said. “Can you point out for the magister your attempted murderer?”

  Sable dramatically swooped a shaking finger across the room, past Wren, to land on Greer. “It was Guildmistress Greer. She nicked me with a poisoned knife and gloated that she would frame the girl. She gloated about poisoning her brother as well.”

  The room exploded into a din of chatter and shocked noises.

  “It’s a conspiracy!” Greer said. “The three of them seek to frame me.”

  “What reason would I have to shield the identity of my attempted poisoner?” Sable sneered at Greer.

  “Perhaps the word of a journeyman has no value against the word of a guildmistress,” Callidus said to the magister, “but surely two grandmasters have some say. And I tell you, this woman is guilty. It is as plain as the blue on her face.”

  The magister gave a long-suffering sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Guards, take Guildmistress Greer into custody. She will be questioned by the Grand Inquisitor.”

  Wren sat back, too stunned to understand all that was happening. Her mind struggled to process it. Would Willings and Killian abandon their support for Greer now that she had been exposed? Cut their losses?

  But Greer made the decision for them. She drew a knife from her belt and bolted towards the door. “It’s poisoned,” she shrieked, clearing her path as people struggled to avoid the wild swipes of her blade.

  It only took one guard to block her path with a powerful blow from the shaft of his spear. She doubled over, the wind knocked out of her, and another guard wrestled the knife from her fingers with a gloved hand.

  They locked irons on her wrists as she struggled like a wild animal, her hair falling in disarray around her, the blue stain on her face lending her a bedeviled look.

  “It was Willings!” she screamed as they hauled her away. “I was working for the king’s steward! My task was official, sanctioned by the king himself. He paid me to do the job!” Greer shouted as the guards tried to haul her from the room.

  Steward Willings’s face turned as red as his hair, and he tried to slink through the crowd undetected.

  The magister seemed to wilt at the chaos around the room, the roiling bodies and shouts.

  “Steward Willings, where do you think you’re going? You’ll have to accompany the Grand Inquisitor until this is all sorted out. Take him into custody as well,” the magister said. “Gently!”

  The sounds of Greer’s shrieked confessions trailed off as she disappeared out the door and down the hallway.

  “There is the matter of my journeyman,” Callidus said to the magister, who was wiping his brow with the sleeve of his black robe.

  “Yes, yes,” he said. “Quite an exciting day. Take her irons off, Grand Inquisitor, if you may. In light of Guildmistress Greer’s confession and Grandmaster Sable’s testimony, Miss Confectioner is cleared of all charges.”

  Chapter 42

  Wren reveled in every sensation as the carriage jostled beneath her. The shaft of morning light flickering through the curtains, the sound of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestones, the teeth-jarring bumps when carriage-wheels hit a pothole. Even Callidus’s grimace as he gazed out the window, steadfastly refusing to meet her gaze. The mundane made miraculous. She should be dead right now. On her next journey to meet the Huntress, or the Piscator, or whatever god came to claim her to gloat at the mess they had made of her life. But here she was. She had been given a second chance.

  She found herself grinning, giddy at her narrow escape from death’s cold grip, at Callidus’s refusal to show he cared, despite so clearly revealing that there was a heart beating within that frigid body.

  “You saved me,” she said, her smile so wide, her cheeks hurt.

  “Yes, well,” he said, still looking through the slit in the curtains. “Lennon refused to leave my office, yammering like a dog at a squirrel about them taking you, about Greer calling the guard to secret you out of the hall. Plus, there was the matter of the traitor in our own house who needed to be dealt with.”

  “You saved me,” she said again, refusing to let him excuse his kindness away as self-interest. “You protected me. Thank you.”

  He finally turned to meet her gaze. “You are a member of my Guild,” he said softly. “It is my duty to protect you.”

  Why had she not noticed how young he was? Perhaps only thirty. She had never truly seen him—looked past his unpleasantness to the man beneath. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. There was something there. Something worthwhile.

  “How did you know? That it wasn’t me?”

  “Olivia came to me and confessed that her grandaunt had asked her to take a tray of food up to your room, though you weren’t at the Guildhall. She thought little of it, but when they found the knife that poisoned Sable on the tray… the pieces fell together. I don’t like being played the fool. Not within my own Guildhall.”

  She nodded. “You have my gratitude. And my loyalty,” she said.

  He nodded curtly, his coif of black hair quivering. “You’re Gifted. You’re too valuable a resource to squander in light of what’s coming.”

  “What’s coming?” she asked.

  “Our king has declared war on the guilds. Not open war, but war nonetheless.”

  “Murdering Kasper…” Wren said.

  “And framing Chandler. Burning the black market yet again. This was the opening blow. The king has always been a tyrant, make no mistake. But he was a tyrant we could tolerate, content to rule over his kingdom while the guilds ruled theirs. But something has changed. I don’t know if it’s Aprica sniffing at our flank or the upcoming negotiation of the Accord, but the king is no longer content to let the guilds rule freely. He aims to consolidate all power and wealth in himself. We cannot allow it.”

  Wren bit back a sharp retort about the guilds only caring about threats to their own power. It wouldn’t do to alienate him so soon after he’d rescued her. Callidus wasn’t Kasper. “What will happen?” Wren asked.

  “The guild heads have much to discuss. We will need to secure another form of government. A new king. Or perhaps not a king. By all accounts, the king’s eldest son has the worst parts of his father, with more for good measure. Replacing one Imbris with another will not solve our predicament. The sun must set on the Imbris line.”

  She swallowed thickly, looking out into the bright sunshine. What would happen to Lucas if the Imbris line was overthrown? She had a sinking feeling that the excitement of the last few weeks was not over.

  The carriage came to a stop and Callidus held the door while she stepped down. They walked up the five massive steps and through the Guildhall doors together.

  “Guildmaster?” she asked. “What does your Gift do?”

  A half-smile. “It’s the luck of location. Of being in the right place at the right time.” And with that, he nodded his head to her and strode up the stairs.

  Wren was left standing in the antechamber, dumbfounded. What was she supposed to do now? She looked around the Guildhall, and then down at herself. A bath then. And a hot meal.

  She flagged down a servant and asked for both in her chambers.

  Wren walked
up the stairs to the second floor slowly, still in a daze. When she turned the corner from the landing, she was nearly bowled into by a uniformed inspector and two Cedar Guardsmen. They were escorting… Olivia. Olivia’s cherub cheeks were slick with tears.

  “What’s going on?” Wren asked the inspector, who held Olivia’s arm in a firm grip. “Where are you taking her?”

  “Just to the station to give her statement. She’s not being arrested.”

  “I didn’t know,” Olivia said, a symphony of misery in her voice. “She asked me to bring a tray of food up to you… I didn’t know the knife was poisoned! How could I have known? She was my grandaunt.”

  “It’s all right,” Wren said and found she meant it. It wouldn’t have been an easy choice for Olivia to choose Wren over her last living relative, knowing what it would mean.

  “Come on, miss. You’ll be able to share everything at the station,” the inspector said, not unkindly, beginning to move again and escorting Olivia down the stairs.

  “I’m sorry for what she did… that I waited so long to tell the truth,” Olivia turned, blonde curls caught in fresh tears. “I could have spared you…”

  “What matters is that you did,” Wren called. “I will always count you a friend.”

  The relief was palpable on Olivia’s face, and a smile crept through the tears.

  Wren watched until they were out the door and gone before continuing towards her room, a weight of sorrow descending on her. It seemed impossible that her and Olivia’s friendship would ever be the same carefree thing it had once been. Too much had passed between them. How could Olivia truly forgive Wren for exposing her grandaunt’s crimes? The woman would likely be executed. Wren looked at her mangled fingernails, still stinging and raw. Could she truly set aside all resentment at Olivia for the part she’d played, however unwitting, in framing Wren for Sable’s poisoning? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she was willing to try.

  The door to Wren’s room stood open on its hinges. She surveyed the inside in dismay. It looked like a hurricane had descended. Someone had ransacked it completely, perhaps the guild servants, perhaps the inspectors looking for more evidence of her guilt. Even the mattress had been ripped apart, the feathered insides decorating the room like soft white snowflakes.