by Claire Luana
Lucas chose that moment to return with two flutes of sparkling wine. “Wren, Father.” His tone was wary.
The king relaxed in the blink of an eye, grasping Lucas’s bicep warmly. “My son, I was just getting to know your delightful new companion,” he said, inclining his head to Wren as if they were long-lost friends.
Wren was not so practiced at the art of subterfuge and stood with her fists balled, her body flushed, her skin clammy.
Lucas held out a glass to her, but she didn’t take it, afraid to let the king see how much her hands shook. “Is everything all right?” Lucas turned to Wren, concern etched across his face.
“I’ll leave you two to enjoy the festivities,” the king said. “I have many guests to see to. Wren, I do hope we see more of you.”
“What was that?” Lucas asked, frowning at his father’s retreating form. “Are you all right? Did he say something to you?”
“It was a mistake to come here,” Wren said, turning from him, trying to navigate her way through the crowds of revelers towards the exit.
“Wren!” he called after her.
She had made it out of the grand hall and into the hallway when Lucas caught up with her. He had managed to deposit the wine glasses and grabbed her arms, pulling her to a stop.
“Let me go,” she said. “I don’t belong here.”
“I could kill him,” Lucas seethed. “Whatever he said to you, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
Wren shook her head. Her mistake hadn’t been letting him leave her alone, it was in letting him convince her to come here in the first place. Letting him convince her that she would somehow fit in. But how could she pretend that the king was anything other than a leech sucking away the life from Maradis to fill his coffers?
“I know,” Lucas said. “Please just tell me what he said. Tell me how I can make it better.”
The king’s words burned through her memory again. “It doesn’t matter. He’s a bastard. Even though he tried to frame me for murder and have me tortured and executed for a crime I didn’t commit, I didn’t truly realize what a bastard he was until tonight.”
“I know he’s a bastard and I hate him,” Lucas said, his voice low. “I hate that I’m related to him, that the man has any claim to me. Just…tell me the truth.”
Wren’s common sense seemed to wake up at that. “What do you mean?”
“When you look at me, is he all that you see?” Lucas’s eyes were filled with sorrow and pleading, his wide mouth curved in a frown.
Wren softened, studying him. No, the king wasn’t all she saw. She saw laugh lines from his mother, and Virgil’s kindness, and Ella’s grace. And a desire to help, to do the right thing, that was all Lucas. She saw the day they had met, the Lucas with his pen scratching in his little notebook as he resolved himself to pledge his life to save a girl he had just met.
“I see you,” she whispered, reaching up to stroke the peak of his cheekbone with her thumb.
He caught her hand in his own and kissed her palm, the soft heat of his lips saying more than words ever could. Wren felt herself tremble at that touch. And then the tremble grew into a rumbling shake. And it wasn’t just her. Lucas’s eyes were wide, and shouts and screams rang out from the grand hall. A boom rang out in the night, and the windows shattered inward with concussive force.
Lucas threw himself over Wren, bearing her to the ground and covering her with his body. Shards of broken glass and wooden splinters rained down upon them in deadly showers.
“What’s happening?” Wren managed.
“I think…we’re under attack,” Lucas said, lifting his head, his fingers picking shards of glass out of her hair. “Are you all right?”
Wren nodded as another boom sounded outside, shaking the foundations beneath them. “The Apricans? So close?”
Lucas’s mouth set in a grim line. “Our intelligence put King Evander and his forces days away from the city…but I don’t know who else it would be.” Lucas pulled her to her feet and looked her over. “You’re bleeding,” he said. He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed a drop of blood off her cheek before wrapping it around her palm where a shard of glass had slashed her.
“I’m okay,” Wren said. “We should see if anyone else is hurt.”
“I want you back at the Guildhall,” Lucas said. “I’ll be called to defend the wall with the rest of the city guard and inspector’s office. I won’t be able to watch over you.”
“I don’t need protecting,” Wren protested halfheartedly, pride warring with practicality.
“I know you’re tough,” Lucas said, taking her hands. “But I won’t be able to focus if I’m worrying about how close you are, about what would happen if they got through.”
“They won’t get through, though, right? This is just a skirmish…to…upset the wedding? Test our defenses?” Realistically, she knew she wouldn’t stand a chance if Aprican soldiers actually got into the palace.
“Please, Wren. Will you go back?”
Wren heaved a sigh, her shoulders slumping. She didn’t even know why she was arguing; she didn’t want to stay in this infernal palace any more than he wanted her here. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” Lucas leaned forwards and kissed her soundly.
As another blast boomed, he turned and ran back towards the grand hall. “Now go!”
Chapter 9
Wren slipped through the front doors of the palace, cursing the height of the heels Olivia had convinced her to wear. Wedding guests were streaming into the courtyard, calling for carriages, looking for relatives and servants. There was no way Wren would be able to get a carriage back to the Guildhall. It looked like she was walking.
“The king has called for a curfew,” a Black Guard was calling from the top of the stairs. “All citizens are to make their way back to their homes in an orderly fashion and to shelter there until the attack has passed.” The words only added kindling to the flame of panic gripping the nobles of Maradis. Wren picked her way across the stones of the courtyard towards the palace gates, bunching the fabric of her skirt in one hand. A carriage barreled her way, the horses whipped into a frenzy by the coachman. Wren leaped out of the way, barely avoiding being crushed by the lacquered wheels. “Watch where you’re going,” she hollered after the driver, wishing she could find a rock to throw at the carriage’s retreating back.
“Does my lady need a chariot?”
Wren whirled and was met by a very dark, very tall velvet nose. The horse let out a gentle whiff of breath, fluttering the locks of hair about her face. She peered around it. Virgil sat astride the beast, a very Imbris grin on his face. Wren’s heartstrings sang a note. He looked so much like Lucas.
“Did Lucas send you to rescue me? I am capable of walking across the city on my own without an escort,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Though to be fair, did she really want to walk in these shoes?
“Rescue you?” Virgil snorted. “Lucas suggested that you escort me back to the temple. It’s a dangerous night out there and I’m likely to end up with my throat slit without a savvy companion to protect me.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Wren’s mouth. “He said that, did he?”
“He’s quite confident of your abilities. Mine, not so much. Plus,” Virgil said, swinging down from the horse, “those shoes look more suitable for self-defense than actual walking.”
“I could put an eye out with these spikes,” Wren mused.
“Exactly. I’ll be much more comfortable with you to accompany me.”
“You win,” she said, letting Vigil hoist her up on the horse. The dress was not designed for riding, or even sitting…really for anything but standing extremely straight with her stomach sucked in….so she ended up flashing a great deal of leg. Virgil pointedly ignored this, swinging back up into the saddle behind her. “I assure you,” he said, “This is just as distasteful for me as it is for you.”
Wren laughed, leaning back against him, her mind flickering
through the images of King Imbris standing before her. The memories were like throwing oil on the fire of her anger. “You’re a gentleman, Virgil. How you and Lucas sprang from the seed of that awful man, I will never know. Ella, I can kind of see.”
“She grows on you,” Virgil offered.
“Kind of like black mold?”
That merited a chuckle. “She generally smells better. The truth is, we have much of our mother in us. Anything in us that seems decent and human, we owe to her.”
“I met her. I liked her,” Wren admitted.
“It’s impossible to meet her and not like her. She’s the reason Father let me become a priest, Lucas an inspector. She convinced him that having his children in the community, playacting as real live human beings, would ingratiate him with the people.”
“Joke’s on him,” Wren said. “You turned out to be real live human beings.”
“Indeed. It’s a secret we must keep in the strictest confidence, you understand. But truly, Mother’s the only reason this city hasn’t fallen into total misery under my father’s rule.”
“We owe her much then,” Wren said, lapsing into silent thought as they clopped through the dark streets. Growing up, when she had been a part of Ansel’s gang of street orphans, it had seemed simple. There were haves and have-nots. Taking anything from the haves was justified, because it was known that they had no qualms about taking anything from the have-nots. But… perhaps it wasn’t so simple after all. Lucas and Virgil had shown her that. And now Queen Eloise. She had much to think about.
They arrived at the Guildhall without incident and Virgil helped her down off the horse. “Be safe,” he said.
“You too.”
She turned to walk up the five massive steps to the Guildhall, hiking her dress up more than she cared to. A knot of brown-uniformed Cedar Guards stood inside the door. “What’s your business, miss?” a stocky guard with small, nut-brown eyes asked, blocking her path.
“I live here,” Wren said. “My business is my bed.”
“Care to take a business partner?” she heard one of the other guards whisper to another as he looked her up and down. Wren’s skin crawled, but she forced herself to stand tall, not to move to cross her arms or hike her dress up to cover more of her décolletage. This was her home; she wasn’t going to be intimidated in it by some pig-headed lout.
“Identification?” the guard before her said.
“Identification?” She scoffed. “Where do you suppose I would keep identification in this dress? And what are you even doing here, questioning me? By whose authority are you here?” Wren asked, her indignation overcoming her better judgment. She had no patience for this, not after the night she’d had.
“By the king’s authority.” The guard stepped towards her menacingly. “We’ve been dispatched to protect the Guilds.”
“A fine job you’re doing,” she said. “I feel quite protected, unable to even enter my own Guildhall. Bang-up job. Did the king send you here because you’re all too incompetent to defend the wall?” She knew she shouldn’t antagonize him, but their presence here infuriated her.
The guard grabbed her wrist, hauling her towards him. “If you don’t have identification, we’ll have to detain you until we can verify who you really are.”
“Take your hands off her.” Callidus stood at the top of the stairs like a dark specter, his voice crackling with anger. “I have deigned to allow you in my Guildhall for one night until I can take the issue of your presence up with the king. I did not grant you permission to harass and intimidate my Guild members. Wren, come with me.”
Wren wrenched her wrist from the man’s grip, barreling past him. It took much restraint not to jog up the stairs, to get away from these men, from their pressing eyes. A wave of almost friendly gratitude for Callidus’s sudden appearance washed over her. “What are they doing here?” she asked, her voice low.
“They showed up just after the booming started,” Callidus said. “They’re here to protect us during the curfew.” He drew air quotes around the word protect. “The king will hear from me about this. I won’t let him turn my Guildhall into a glorified prison.”
They summited the stairs. “Callidus,” Wren said when they were out of earshot of the guards. “I saw one of the men who attacked Thom. At the wedding. He’s a Black Guard.”
“Son of a spicer,” Callidus said. “You’re sure?”
Wren nodded.
Callidus shook his head. “All right. At least we know what we’re dealing with.” Indeed. A tyrant who seemed to be growing more repressive by the day.
Wren turned down the hallway towards her room.
“Sable and Hale are in the library trying to rob Thom blind at cards,” Callidus said, pausing on the landing. “Maybe you could check on him if you’re not too tired.”
Wren felt weary to her bones, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep with her mind racing through the events of the night and worrying about where Lucas was right now. “Sure. After I change out of this dress.” She paused a moment, hesitating. “Callidus.”
He turned.
“You should join us too,” she said.
Indecision flickered across his pale face. “Perhaps. If I get some work done.” And then he was up the stairs and gone. But Wren was glad she had at least asked.
Wren dropped the heavy beaded dress in a heap on the floor of her room and slipped into a soft pair of leggings and an oversized tunic the color of cinnamon. Her feet rejoiced at being released from their heeled cages, and so she padded barefoot into the hallway towards the library, where the sounds of laughter rang out.
“Hello, all,” she said as she rounded into the doorway. Cries of delight went up at her presence, and Hale even leaped over a couch to pick her up in a bearhug.
“Now the game can begin!” he said, his words slightly slurred. He set her down and the group made room for her, rearranging their circle on the floor. They leaned against the couches and chairs that dotted the library, a blaze in the wide fireplace causing light to dance across their faces. Hale, Thom, Olivia, Sable, and Lennon were deep in a game of King’s Quarters. From their cheering and laughter, they were deep in a bottle of Distiller’s Guild gin as well.
“I’ve never been good at this game,” Wren said with a groan as she sat down cross-legged between Thom and Olivia. Olivia hugged Wren sideways, her face flushed with delight. “I’m glad you’re all right. We decided if the city was going to fall, we’d mark its passing with drink.”
“I’m pretty sure the city is not going to fall,” Wren said. “There were no signs of attack anywhere but the palace. Lucas thought it was just a raid to disrupt the wedding and test our defenses.” She hoped he was right. She hoped he was all right. She shoved aside her thoughts of the myriad horrible things that could befall him. Lucas was smart and careful. He could take care of himself.
“Hard to consummate a marriage with explosions going off,” Lennon remarked.
“I thought explosions were the point of consummating the marriage,” Hale said with a devilish grin, and everyone groaned. “What?” Hale said, his hands outstretched. “That one was wide open.”
Sable waggled her outstretched fingers for the gin bottle.
Thom dutifully passed it.
“No more talk of attacks or defenses,” Sable said. “That was the rule. Are we going to play or what?”
“Special rules,” Lennon said. “Before your turn, you eat a chocolate.” He pulled a plate off the table behind him, which was ladened with glistening confections.
“Are these mine?” Wren asked. “I made these orange-glazed ones today.”
“Some are yours and some are mine, and some are Thom’s,” Hale said, clapping Thom on the shoulder and winking at Wren. “He made his first batch of chocolates today. We thought we’d keep things interesting.”
Wren pressed her lips together to stifle her smile. It was madness. Her magic infused good luck into the chocolates, while Hale’s infused luck in ga
mbling. Thom’s infused romance…this was going to be quite an interesting game after all. She kept her thoughts to herself, though, as Olivia and Lennon didn’t share their knowledge of the secret of their Gifting. Sometimes—oftentimes—the secret was incredibly inconvenient. Like the fact that she still couldn’t tell Lucas. She shoved the thought aside. Now was not the time for ruminating on her situation. Now was the time to drown her worries with gin.
Hale started shuffling the cards when Thom went pale, leaping to his feet, his back as straight as a board. “Sir,” he said.
Wren turned around to see Callidus loitering in the doorway. He had changed out of his black suit into a sweater of soft gray and a pair of black denim trousers.
“We too loud?” Hale drawled, continuing to shuffle the cards with casual grace.
“I…uh…thought.” Callidus started and stopped, looking down at his fingernails. “Well, never mind.”
Wren remembered what she had said. She had invited him to join. She had just said it to be nice, never expecting that perpetual sour-face Callidus would ever deign to grace them with his presence. But here he was. “Would you like to play?” Wren asked.
The room was quiet for a moment. A log popped in the fireplace, making them all jump. “Yes, I suppose, if there’s room for another player, if not…” His nervous response was drowned out as Sable lofted the gin bottle. “Callidus!” she cried, and the rest took up the call, and soon they were shouting his name and waving him over and scooting around to make room in the circle.
Thom smiled shyly at Callidus and Olivia hugged Callidus, too, much to everyone’s delight.
Cards were passed, followed by the bottle and the plate and laughter. Wren’s insides grew warm, and she knew it wasn’t the gin or the fire that filled her with such a pleasant glow.
