The Confectioner Chronicles Box Set

by Claire Luana

  Wren climbed back into the carriage after Callidus and Sable, seating herself across from the Guildmaster. “That went well,” she said, actually meaning it. It had. Despite a few missteps, they had accomplished what they’d set out to do. They had brought a new Gifted into the fold.

  “We should have Olivia set him up a room next to Wren and Hale’s,” Sable said. “Hale can start his lessons this week.”

  “I’ll be sponsoring Thom,” Callidus said, looking out the window as the carriage started to roll. “I’ll teach his lessons myself.”

  “What?” Wren and Sable said at the same time. Callidus had never sponsored anyone, had never taught any lessons. Lennon, one of the artisans, had been petitioning Callidus to sponsor him for a year now, but Callidus had steadfastly refused.

  “Why?” Sable asked, peering at Callidus through a narrowed curtains of black eyelashes.

  “The boy has talent. I won’t have you bumbling his training like you did with this one.”

  “My training wasn’t bumbled,” Wren said grumpily. Though if she were honest, her lessons had hardly been regular, sandwiched between sneaking around trying to uncover a murderer, Sable’s poisoning, and Wren’s arrest and near-execution.

  “There were extenuating circumstances with Wren,” Sable said. “Are you certain you have the capacity to take this on? You can’t simply put him in a cage and let him out once a week when it suits you.”

  “Yes, I understand he’s a journeyman, not a pet rabbit,” Callidus said. “The decision is made. End of discussion.”

  Wren and Sable looked at each other, the question reflected in each of their faces. Had something gotten into Callidus to inspire such a change of heart? Or more likely…what was he up to?

  Chapter 6

  Hale was trapped in the same dream. Always the same. Sable’s fine features, pallid as the grave. Her delicate fingers tinged an unnatural shade of gray. His fingers brushing her cheek, shaking her shoulders, to feel only clammy cold. A wave of despair more powerful than anything he’d ever felt, sweeping him away. Drowning him until there was nothing left. Until he was nothing.

  Hale jerked awake with a gasp, his skin drenched in sweat, his hair mussed about his face. He brushed it back, burying his face in his hands, willing his heart to slow. It had only been a dream. Sable was alive. Strong and vibrant and infuriating and alive.

  He threw off the tangle of covers, walking to the washroom to splash cold water on his face. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore tonight. He never could, after the dream. He toweled dry his face and peeked out the curtains. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, the first rays of caramel sun illuminating a cloudless sky. At least he had gotten most of a night’s sleep. It was the worst when the dream came early, leaving him with a sleepless night to fill. He had spent many restless hours on the back patio at Mistress Violena’s, looking out at the quiet expanse of the lake, at the glow of Maradis’s lights across the water. Even miles away, he felt Sable. Tugging him back towards her. She was his sun, and he was as helpless as a planet trapped in her orbit. Once, he had been able to fool himself. Convince himself that his feelings for her were just lust, that he appreciated her the way any man appreciates a beautiful woman. He had told himself that their working relationship, their friendship, was too important to risk jeopardizing it with a fling. But that was before he had almost lost her. Before her lifeless body and her blue-tinged fingers had filled him with a terror the depth of which he was still struggling to comprehend. No, it was not lust. He was desperately, hopelessly, in love with her.

  Some nights Mistress Violena would join him, sitting out in the darkness, ice tinkling in her glass. She knew Sable better than any, as she had all but raised her in Sable’s teenage years. Violena had told him, without compunction, exactly what he needed to do to be worthy of Sable. Put other women behind him. Put Sable first. Her needs, her wants, her ambitions. To tell her without a hint of deceit or fear how he felt and what he wanted, and then to respect whatever decision she made. To love her as a friend, if she would not let him love her as a man.

  It sounded near impossible—all selfless and serious and raw. But for Sable he would do it. New Hale. He was the new Hale.

  A knock sounded on the door and Hale’s heart leapt in his chest. He jerked the door open to find the last person he’d expected. Callidus stood before him, his expression suggesting that he was as displeased with the situation as Hale. Behind him towered Thom, who waved awkwardly.

  Callidus spoke. “Hale. I have business to attend to today. You will show Thom around the Guild and make sure he has what he needs.” Callidus turned to Thom. “I will see you in the dining hall for dinner.”

  Hale opened his mouth to object, holding up a finger. But Callidus was already gone, striding down the hallway.

  “Sorry,” Thom said with a rueful grin.

  Hale grunted in frustration. “It’s all right. Come in. You can wait while I get ready.”

  Hale ushered Thom into the room and motioned to the small table and chairs by the window. He sat, squinting as Hale threw back the curtains to let the stream of morning light into the room. “Sorry about Callidus,” Hale said as he grabbed a pair of denim trousers and a blue collared shirt from his wardrobe. “He’s an ass.”

  “Does he ever…warm up?” Thom asked.

  “That’s about as sunny as old Cally gets,” Hale said, pulling on the trousers. “As friendly as a cup of vinegar. But the rest of us make up for it.”

  Thom chuckled. “Being a bit hard on the vinegar, don’t you think?”

  “Hungry?” Hale asked, buttoning his shirt while he pulled on a pair of nubuck loafers.

  “Always,” Thom said.

  “That’s my man,” Hale said, nodding his head towards the door. Thom rose and Hale slung his arm around Thom’s shoulder, giving him a little shake. “Nice to have another tall guy around here. Let’s go. I’ll introduce you to the best part of this place.”

  Thom’s green eyes opened as round as saucers as they entered the dining hall, taking in the buffet of breakfast foods arrayed before them. Crisp fragrant waffles, glistening fruit, bacon and sausage dripping juice, steaming pots of coffee and tea. Hale was used to the excesses of the Guild, but he could practically hear Thom’s stomach rumbling.

  “Is it always like this?” he asked reverently.

  Hale chuckled. “Dig in.”

  Thom was miraculously balancing two heaping plates of food and a cup of black coffee in his hands when he found Hale at his table.

  “Maybe you’ll put on a few pounds,” Hale said.

  “Naw,” Thom said, tucking in to a mound of fluffy eggs. “I’ve always been skinny. My master took it as a personal challenge to fatten me up. No matter how much I eat, it doesn’t make no difference.”

  “Hale!” a melodious voice called from across the room. Olivia was weaving her way amongst the tables, bright as a daffodil in a fitted dress of yellow chiffon.

  “You must be Thom,” Olivia said, sliding onto the bench next to Hale and beaming at Thom.

  “Noish ta meetcha,” Thom managed through a mouthful of crispy potatoes. He wiped his hand on his napkin and held it out to Olivia, who took it warmly between her own.

  Hale stifled a smile. Did the blush on Olivia’s cheeks seem especially deep?

  “So thrilled to have another new Guild member. With Hale gone, it was getting downright boring around here.”

  “He was gone?” Thom looked between the two of them for explanation.

  “Just for a few weeks,” Hale said, managing a halfhearted explanation. He was loath to explain the entire sordid history. He still wasn’t sure if he would ever forgive himself for how he had treated Wren, jumping to the worst conclusion and then nearly killing her. He took a sip of coffee, trying to force down the memories of her swanlike neck grasped between his fingers. Gods, perhaps he didn’t deserve to be back here. Didn’t deserve Sable, new Hale or no.

  Hale cleared his throat, grasping for a subjec
t. “Callidus has agreed to sponsor Thom.”

  “Callidus?” Olivia raised a golden eyebrow, her blue eyes wide in surprise. “Let me guess. He left you to your own devices. Did he even find you a room?”

  “Naw,” Thom said. “I slept on a couch in some sorta library slash kitchen room? It was pretty comfy, actually. I can fall asleep anywhere”

  “Men.” Olivia looked daggers at Hale. He winced. He hadn’t thought to ask Thom if he had been given a room. “It’s amazing they manage to tie their own shoes some days,” she continued.

  “That’s actually something I’m quite good at,” Thom volunteered.

  Olivia snagged a raspberry off the pile on Thom’s plate. “Don’t you worry. I’ll get everything set up for you. Just come find me when you’re done with Hale. What are you two up to today?”

  Thom looked at Hale with a quizzical expression on his freckled face.

  Hale wracked his brain. He didn’t feel like being cooped up in a teaching kitchen today. He needed to move. “I was thinking of heading to the farmer’s market in the Lyceum Quarter, to pick some things up. You game?”

  Thom nodded. “Yup.”

  “I’ll bring him to you when we’re back,” Hale said. “And leave him in your capable hands.”

  The farmer’s market was a thirty-minute walk across town, but the morning was warm, the sun as bright as a butterscotch toffee in the sky. Thom was pleasant enough company, chatting amicably with Hale. He seemed a good fellow, marked by unflappable positivity. Hale wondered if Callidus would rub off on Thom, or vice versa. Callidus could use a brighter outlook, or he’d find himself in an early grave.

  “Anything in particular we’re looking for?” Thom asked as the purple banner for the market came into view.

  “There’s some chili smoked salmon that Sable loves. The guy catches the fish off the Magnish Ice Floe down south and is only in the market a few times a year. I want to get her some.” Hale frowned at the row of Cedar Guards that flanked the entrance. There had definitely been more Guards about as they’d made their way here. It seemed the king was taking the Aprican threat seriously.

  “A gift for Sable, eh?”

  Hale suppressed a wince. “You’ll find out soon enough that keeping your grandmaster happy has a direct correlation to keeping yourself happy.”

  “I’m screwed then, aren’t I?”

  Hale laughed in surprise and clapped Thom on his bony shoulder. “Yes, Thom. Yes, you are.”

  “Does he get better?” Thom asked.

  “Not to me,” Hale admitted. “But I am an acquired taste. He and Wren seem to be getting on all right, and he hated her at first. Thought she was a murder.”

  “A murderer? Of who, the old guildmaster? Kasper, right?”

  Hale nodded, weaving through the white tents into the thick of the market. It was bustling—mothers pushing buggies and men walking little terriers, cuisiniers in white and black finding the perfect ingredient for that night’s featured recipe.

  “She didn’t, right?” Thom asked with a weak smile. He had a crooked eyetooth that gave him a hint of mirth. “She looks like you could blow her over with a stiff wind.”

  Hale forced a chuckle, guilt flooding him. How had he ever thought Wren was capable of murder? Thom didn’t even know her and could see her innocence. Lucas had vouched for her. And Hale, after befriending her and taking her under his wing, had turned on her. “She did not turn out to be the murderer, no,” he managed. He fumbled for a change of subject. “If you want, after this, I could take you by my tailor. He’s the best in town and would give you a good price.”

  “Do I need new clothes?” Thom asked, looking down at the rumpled suit he had been wearing last night.

  “You’re in the Guild now. Doesn’t hurt to look the part.”

  “’Kay,” he said. “Makes sense. But I help out my family and need to keep that up. Don’t feel right having a bunch of fancy new things when they’re still hungry.”

  Hale softened. “You have brothers and sisters?”

  “Five,” Thom said. “Plus Mum and Dad. I’m the oldest.”

  “Your money is your own. Send it all to your family, if you want,” Hale said. “Callidus and the other Guild tight-asses can deal with it.”

  “No, you’re making sense. We gotta keep up appearances. As long as I don’t have to look as slick as you.”

  “It’s a rare man who can pull this off,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Is that the smoked salmon vendor?” Thom pointed to a tent a few down, emblazoned with a bronze fish leaping.

  “That’s the guy,” Hale said. “Just wait. It’ll be the best you’ve ever eaten.” He prayed Sable would like the gift. That it would mean something to her—the fact that he had listened and remembered. For a normal girl, he would have bought flowers. Not roses, but ranunculus, so he could tell her she was too rare and beautiful for a boring old rose. But Sable was no ordinary girl. He was in uncharted waters. With only smoked salmon for company.

  Chapter 7

  They said such a wedding had never been seen before in Maradis. One hundred roast swans coated in sparkling demi-glace from the Butcher’s Guild, truckloads of fragrant sourdough bread from the Baker’s, mountains of hand-rolled pasta from the Cuisinier’s. And then there was the alcohol. Two hundred barrels of the Brewer’s Guild’s finest lager, one thousand bottles of crisp rosé, velvety reds and fruity whites from the Vintner’s, and one hundred bottles of twelve-year reserve whiskey from the Distiller’s Guild. If there was even a whiff of truth to these last numbers, Wren thought, the wedding would devolve into a drunken row before the vows were even exchanged.

  They said that the Centese princess that was marrying Crown Prince Zane was so beautiful that the gods themselves had gathered to see her off, the Piscator anointing her with his golden trident, the Midwife placing a fertile hand on the girl’s belly to bless the many future sons of the union between Centu and Alesia. Wren knew that “they” were full of crap.

  “One hundred galleons,” Lucas whispered, his breath tickling her ear in a way she quite liked, “loaded with iron ore, fifty blacksmiths specializing in weapons and armor. Three scientists with the secret knowledge of the Centese dragonfire, to assist in our defense and match the Aprican black powder cannons.” Lucas was accounting for the true value of the wedding, the weapons and aid Alesia had bought with this advantageous marriage and new ally. Wren found Lucas’s tally vastly more comforting.

  Wren’s spine was an arrow-straight rod of tension as the carriage rocked to a stop. She told herself her haughty posture was due to the dress. This wasn’t a dress you slouched in, after all. But she had never been very good at lying to herself. It was nerves. Tonight she would meet enough nobles to make her eyes bleed. And more importantly—Lucas’s whole family. What would they think of her? Say to her? Would they be cruel? Saccharine sweet with kindness? Allude to the messy business that had passed between them over Kasper’s murder? If they thought she would let that go, they had another think coming.

  “You’ll be magnificent,” Lucas said, nuzzling her ear. “Although it’s taking all my restraint not to tell the driver to turn around and take us to my apartment this minute.” She did look good. She knew it. The dress fit her like a glove, hugging her thin frame in a way that gave the illusion of curves, though she didn’t have much to speak of in that department. Olivia had pinned Wren’s curls to the side so they cascaded down over one shoulder, painted a smoky eye and burgundy lip on her, and lent her a pair of gem-encrusted earrings from her grandaunt’s old collection. It felt strange to be wearing a dead woman’s jewelry, but Olivia had insisted the dress needed earrings. And Wren had learned not to cross Olivia when it came to matters of fashion.

  The carriage door opened and an elderly footman in forest green Imbris livery peered inside, offering his hand to Wren. “Prince Imbris. Welcome,” the man said as Wren gratefully accepted his hand. Given the height of the shoes Olivia had lent her, Wren needed all the help she
could get. Once she had successfully maneuvered herself onto the cobblestones, she took Lucas’s outstretched arm, and they made their way into the line of guests waiting to be admitted.

  “You don’t look half-bad yourself,” Wren murmured. Lucas wore a jet-black formal suit with tails that went down to his knees, a creamy white brocade waistcoat and tie, and black shoes that shined like a mirror. “How did you even tie that tie?” She eyed the extravagant knot cinched around his neck.

  “I spun three times under the full moon and sacrificed a small goat,” he said with a straight face, looking ahead at the gaping doors to the palace. Guards in the black and silver uniform of the Black Guard, the king’s personal soldiers, were stationed at the entrance, searching the bodies and the bags of those waiting to enter.

  Wren laughed and punched his shoulder, using it as an excuse to snuggle closer against him. Lucas’s reassuring presence soothed her nerves—the rosemary scent of him, the strong solid feel of the muscles of his arm beneath the soft wool of his suit.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you in there,” he murmured against her hair. “I won’t leave your side. I’ll be like a leech.”

  She laughed. “You speak such sweet poetry to me, Prince Imbris.”

  “Prince Lucas Imbris and…guest.” They had reached the front of the line, and one of the two guards before them had apparently recognized Lucas.

  “Wren Confectioner,” Lucas said.

  “We’ll need to search you both for weapons,” the other soldier said. They were both tall and well-muscled, no doubt selected to intimidate anyone who might think of making trouble.