The Confectioner Chronicles Box Set

by Claire Luana

  Marina huffed and whirled, bobbing her way out of the dining hall, Lennon in tow.

  “We’re going out on Nysia Avenue?” Wren asked, her eyebrow raised. “Isn’t that a bad idea, with Thom’s attackers still out there?” Her chestnut eyes darted to Olivia. They couldn’t say much about the Gifting in front of the guildmistress, who wasn’t in on the secret.

  “We’ll be in a group in a public place. It’s as safe as it can be. Just to be extra careful, we’ll all pick a buddy. No one goes anywhere alone. Happy?” Hale raised an eyebrow.

  Wren chewed her lip. He could tell she was weakening.

  “Plus, we need to cut loose a little! Show Thom that the Guild is more than just good food and hard-to-get women.”

  “I’ll leave the women to you, my friend,” Thom said as Wren swatted Hale upside the head. He ducked.

  “Being hard-to-get isn’t a bad thing,” Wren said.

  “I completely agree,” Hale said. “I do love a challenge.”

  So it was thanks to Hale that Wren found herself out hours past her bedtime, partaking in a slice of Maradis city life she had never seen before. She and Olivia had tried on and discarded everything each of them owned before Wren had settled on a high-waisted black skirt and crisp white sleeveless blouse without a collar. There was supposed to be more to accompany the blouse, at least a sweater, but Olivia had insisted that Wren go without, instead dropping a bejeweled necklace around Wren’s neck.

  Olivia had settled on a black dress cinched with a deep purple waistcoat of Wren’s. The two were certainly not designed to accompany one another, but the waistcoat accented Olivia’s generous bosom in such an extraordinary way that when they happened upon the combination, it was the clear winner.

  “You could launch ships with those,” Wren had said wistfully.

  “I don’t know about that,” Olivia had said, turning in the mirror to admire the sizable profile. “But I could definitely save a sailor or two from drowning.”

  Wren bit her lip to keep from smiling at the memory of Olivia’s comment, looking out the carriage window at the Maradis night.

  “What are you smiling about?” Hale leaned in, his large presence overwhelming in the carriage. He was wearing gray slacks and a waistcoat unbuttoned over a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His golden locks were down around his shoulders, brushed to a golden sheen. He smelled of leather and chocolate, an intoxicating combination.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Wren said, not sure why she was teasing him. It was a pattern that was so easy to fall into with Hale. Flirt, joke, play. Avoid the more serious subjects. “No Sable tonight?” she asked Hale.

  He shook his head, giving her a tightlipped smile. “Tonight’s about showing our new friend Thom a good time. It’d be a different vibe with a grandmaster along.”

  “And if Sable were here, she’d be your overwhelming focus?”

  “You solve one murder and you think you’ve got it all figured out,” Hale said, leaning out the window to check their progress. “We’re almost here,” he said.

  “Does Sable feel the same?” she asked quietly, not letting Hale change the subject.

  Hale sighed, turning the weight of his intense gaze upon her. “I don’t think Sable knows how Sable feels. It’s something she’s not particularly good at.”

  “Self-awareness?”

  “Letting herself be happy. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? Because I’ll be there for her, no matter whether she wants me there or not.”

  It was the most honesty Wren had ever heard come out of Hale’s mouth on the subject of Sable. On any subject perhaps. She took his hand and squeezed it. “She’ll see you soon enough. Really see.”

  Hale squeezed her hand back.

  “It’s impossible not to,” Wren continued. “You are the size of a giant.”

  “Says the bird-boned wren,” Hale said, mussing Wren’s locks.

  “Argh,” she said, ducking her head, trying to avoid his meaty hand.

  At that moment, the carriage pulled to a stop. “We’re here!” Hale said, springing out.

  The dance club Hale had selected for them was called the Unicorn Mercantile. Thom, Olivia, and Lennon had already jumped out of their carriage and were waiting for them out front.

  “Do they sell unicorns here?” Thom whispered, and Wren snorted in laughter, stifling a yawn.

  “I saw that,” Olivia said, leaning forwards. Olivia had her hands wrapped around Thom’s lanky arm, a look of flushed excitement on her face. Thom looked slightly uncomfortable at Olivia’s effusiveness but was doing his best to hide it. He sported a black fedora cap of the type worn by the Merchant’s Guilds—it simultaneously made him appear more mature and hopelessly young.

  “Did we have to wait until after midnight to get here?” Wren said. “That’s a perfectly acceptable time to be in bed.”

  “That’s when the clubs really get going,” Olivia said. “I’ve been trying to get Hale to take me out for years. I guess I have you to thank, Thom.”

  “Let’s wait and see if we make it out alive,” Thom joked.

  The club’s two-story brick facade looked much like any other building in Maradis, but the sounds of music and laughter emanating from the inside, coupled with the twin warriors sporting more muscle than Hale and long swords at their hip, told Wren she was in unknown territory. He swaggered right past the line of people wrapped around the building to get inside, straight towards the two guardians. Lennon looked at Wren with wild eyes. “Do they use those swords on the patrons?”

  “Apparently not Hale,” Wren said, observing how they all grunted and bumped against each other in some semblance of greeting.

  “We’re in,” Hale called, and the two at the door ushered them through, a move that wasn’t too popular with the line of people waiting to get in the door.

  Inside, Wren’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim lantern light. The room was large and sprawling—perhaps it had been a warehouse in its former life. Now, it had booths tucked against its walls, a bar lined with glittering bottles against the far wall, and a stage where a bluegrass band was strumming furiously on their instruments. In the center, a large dance floor filled with whirling and skipping bodies threatened to overwhelm her.

  “This is amazing,” Olivia said, her eyes wide with wonder. “Let’s dance,” she said, pulling Thom’s arm.

  “I’m not a very good dancer…” Thom said, but he allowed himself to be led into the crowd.

  “Seems she’s laid her claim.” Hale said. “Let’s grab some drinks.”

  Wren followed Hale, weaving through the crowd of people, her senses firing in overdrive. Her old instincts were rearing their head, as they sometimes did, insisting that this building was far too filled with people, too dark, too hard to get to an exit. It made it too easy to be cornered, have a knife slipped in your ribs with no one the wiser.

  “You okay?” Lennon asked.

  Wren nodded, swallowing thickly. “Old habits die hard,” she said.

  Lennon nodded, not asking questions. “Let me know if you need some air.”

  Wren liked that about Lennon, she realized. He was steady and dependable. Safe. A rock to Hale’s shooting star. What did that make Lucas? She wondered. A cedar tree, tall and lean, firm against the winds but reaching for the sky.

  Hale shoved a shockingly cold drink into her hand. The cocktail was served in a shapely copper mug, beads of condensation dripping down the side. A sprig of mint protruded jauntily from the top. Olivia and Thom had emerged from the dance floor to join them and took their drinks from the bar. Olivia was wearing Thom’s fedora over her blonde locks; it seemed she had claimed it for herself.

  Hale raised his aloft. “Tonight, we don’t worry about grandmasters, or Aprican invasions, or our rotten love lives.”

  “Mine’s going pretty good,” Wren said, but Hale held up a hand to silence her.

  “We dance, we cut loose, we celebrate that we are the future of the absolute bes
t Guild in Alesia. We’ll be running that place soon enough.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Lennon said.

  “To friends,” Olivia said.

  They clinked their glasses together, grinning.

  The night devolved from there. At the bottom of the first drink, Wren stopped nervously checking the exits, letting Hale pull her onto the dance floor and spin her around until she laughed with dizziness. At the bottom of the second, she stopped yawning, stopped feeling her aching feet, and was instead filled with a strange buoyancy and energy. They laughed with Lennon as he tried to whirl Olivia about in a series of moves that were far beyond his meager skill, laughed at Thom as he tried to flip his hat down his arm into his hand like a performer, laughed at Hale as he kept diverting girls who found their way to him to Thom and Lennon.

  “I’m literally drowning in women,” Thom declared at one point, scooting out of the pack towards the washroom. Time stuttered forwards in vignettes of smiles and laughter, and Wren lost track of worrying about what time it was or whom she was dancing with.

  She hadn’t realized how late it was until the band stopped playing. She looked around and realized that the club was emptying. She pointed her finger at each of their group, accounting for her friends. Four. “Where’s Thom?” she asked.

  “Probably found some lady to get cozy with,” Hale said, waggling his eyebrows. “I’ll find him.”

  Olivia pouted, sliding into a seat at the bar and downing a glass of water.

  Wren collapsed gratefully on the seat next to her. “Hale’s full of it. Don’t worry.”

  “Worry ’bout what?” Lennon slurred, resting his head on his elbows on top of the bar, looking at them.

  “Don’t you worry your pretty face,” Wren said, “’bout anything. Tonight’s about not worrying.”

  “I think it’s past tonight and on to this morning.” Olivia groaned, lifting her hair off her sweaty neck.

  Hale appeared behind them, his face ashen. “Time to start worrying.” He hoisted Thom’s hat in his hand. It had been crushed and ground with dirt. “I found this in the alley. Thom’s gone.”

  Chapter 13

  “You. Lost. Thom.” Callidus’s voice was low and hard, his eyes narrowed.

  “Technically, we didn’t lose him,” Hale said. “He was stolen.”

  Sable paced behind Callidus in the empty dining room while Wren, Olivia, Hale, and Lennon sat on a bench before them like petulant children. Wren’s head was pounding and she couldn’t stop letting out jaw-cracking yawns. She wanted nothing more than to turn around and lay her head down on the table. Just for a quick moment. The thought made her feel even more guilty. Thom was out there. Somewhere. Perhaps hurt or scared or both. And all she could think was how good her fluffy comforter sounded.

  “All we have to go on is what, a crushed hat?” Callidus tossed the evidence at Hale’s feet in disgust. “None of you saw anything?”

  They shook their heads meekly.

  “You’re supposed to be Thom’s role models! Looking out for him. These are dangerous times in the city, especially for Thom! They already tried to take him once!” Callidus whirled in disgust, practically smashing into Sable, whose anxious pacing had led her back into Callidus’s general vicinity.

  “Did he talk to anyone?” Sable asked. “Did you see anyone suspicious?”

  “He went to take a piss and disappeared,” said Hale, who had the good sense to look contrite.

  “I’ll go see Lucas,” Wren said, standing suddenly. “Maybe he’s heard something or someone reported something. A tip…” A body… she thought to herself, before banishing the thought. Thom was fine. Thom would be fine. If the men in the alley a few nights ago had wanted to kill Thom, they would have done so. No, they had been taking him somewhere. Wren just needed to find him.

  “Am I to understand that you have lost your journeyman, Callidus?” A new voice from the doorway punctured the sullen silence that had fallen over them. Grandmaster Beckett strolled into the room, his hair freshly washed, his navy suit immaculately pressed. Leave it to Beckett to be up at 5 a.m. as fresh as a blueberry muffin.

  “Beckett,” Callidus said, the name rolling off his tongue like a disease. “This is none of your concern.”

  “The kidnapping of a Guild member is of paramount concern,” Beckett said, sticking his thumbs through his belt loops with the utmost ease. “As is your handling, or should I say botched handling, of the situation.”

  “The situation is unfolding as we speak,” Sable said, flanking Callidus and pinning Beckett with her dark gaze. “So there has been no time for handling as of yet. Allow the Guildmaster to do his job.” Even in a silk bathrobe with her dark hair tied in a messy plait over one shoulder, Sable presented a formidable force.

  “Too true. Callidus, do enlighten us. What is your plan for recovering your journeyman?” Beckett asked.

  Wren was surprised to realize that between the two unpleasant men, she was rooting for Callidus. When had she switched to Callidus’s side, she mused? Somewhere between him rescuing her from execution and showing his humanity over a game of King’s Quarters, he had won her over.

  “Artisan Wren has connections in the inspector’s office, and I will inquire with the crown. Rest assured, Grandmaster, all resources will be rallied to locate Mr. Percival.”

  “Happy to hear it. Just know, if the job proves too much for you, I’m always here to assist.” Beckett clapped Callidus on the shoulder with more force than was necessary before making his way through the dining room and out the other side.

  “I hate that guy,” Hale grumbled.

  Callidus was pale, his hands clenched in white-knuckled fury. “You”—he pointed a shaking finger at Hale—“go with her.” The accusing finger swung towards Wren. “Find him.”

  Wren rubbed the crusty kohl from beneath her eyes. “Just let me head upstairs and change.”

  “You go now,” Callidus said.

  “We go now,” Wren said, spinning on her heel and darting from the room, before Callidus could level any more wrath her way.

  The city streets were quiet and cool in dawn’s leaden light. Wren and Hale marched side by side in silent contemplation. Wren felt wretched with guilt. They had been careless fools to go dancing last night—to put Thom at risk. She should have known better. As much as she might want to be a simple confectioner without a care in the world, that wasn’t her life. It had never been her life. The last few weeks had been a pleasant dream that she hadn’t wanted to leave, and Thom had paid the price. It was time that she wake up and face reality. She knew in her gut who had taken Thom; there was only one inevitable conclusion. King Imbris. It was a declaration of war against the Guilds. A quiet one, certainly, but a declaration nonetheless.

  Hale had tied his hair back up and his rumpled shirt was untucked. Bags under his eyes were no doubt mirrored on her own face.

  Wren grimaced, trying to corral her hair and slap some color back into her cheeks.

  Hale looked over at her and let out a single tired chuckle. “I’m sure Prince Imbris will understand,” he said.

  “Why do you have to say it like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Prince Imbris,” she said in a mocking tone. “I didn’t even know he was a prince when we met.”

  He sighed heavily. “I honestly don’t know. Imbris seems better than most. So long as he treats you well and makes you happy, he has my blessing.”

  Wren was taken aback. Hale without his mischievous armor was…almost uncomfortable. Too raw. Too real. She swallowed. “Do you think I will ever be able to tell him about our Gifts?” she asked.

  “Just set him up in a room and then we can explain the whole thing while he eavesdrops. Piece of cake.”

  Wren looked at Hale crossly as she opened the door to Lucas’s apartment. “You know that would never work. If I knew he was listening, I wouldn’t be able to say a thing. I even tried to write it out once and my hand kept jerking off the page.”

>   Hale shrugged. “There must be a way. Ask Callidus.”

  Wren knocked on Lucas’s door.

  “Maybe wait a week or two until Callidus settles down,” Hale said. “We’re not his favorites right now.”

  “We?” Wren said. “I did nothing. This is on you.”

  There was no answer at the door.

  “You were a willing participant, my little chickadee. What do the inspectors say? Accomplice. Accessory to the crime.”

  Wren huffed and knocked a third time, louder this time. “He should be home at this hour.”

  “Maybe he’s out with another lady,” Hale said.

  “I thought you just gave us your blessing,” Wren said, punching Hale in the shoulder with all of her might. He barely moved. He seemed to be deep in contemplation.

  She grimaced. “Let’s try the station.”

  Wren had only been to the inspector’s station once before, but the idea of it always made her nervous. Somehow, seeing Lucas in this part of his life made her uneasy. She didn’t fit here. But as she and Hale passed through the marble facade and into the inspector’s station, those thoughts fled her mind. Something was very off.

  The entryway was filled with men, some pacing across the marble floor, others standing and talking in tight little knots. Only one woman was present, a pear-shaped older woman who had a sort of gravitas that left a little circle of deference around her. Her hair was mostly white, though streaks of gray and black permeated the underside of her tight bun. She was arguing in hushed tones with a tall man, who, sitting on a bench, was nearly as tall as she.

  “Who are all these people?”

  Hale’s turquoise eyes were wide. “That’s the head of the Baker’s Guild,” he whispered.

  “The woman?”

  He nodded. “And I recognize that weathered fellow from the Piscator’s.”

  Wren followed his eyes to another man who did indeed look like he had spent his life at sea. He was talking to another person she recognized. “That’s Chandler’s man Bastian from the Distiller’s Guild.”