The Confectioner Chronicles Box Set

by Claire Luana

  Wren froze, her hand to her mouth. She and Lennon had been seen. And now, Callidus was suffering for it. Stupid, stupid! They had taken such stupid risks!

  “I’m sure when we explain that the king was kidnapping his own citizens, necessitating some unconventional methods on our part, the court of public opinion will swing our way,” Chandler said.

  Callidus had gone as white as a sheet, his long fingers latticed together in a tight ball.

  “He never intends to let this get to the court of public opinion,” Pike said, jumping off the table where he had been sprawling, boots dangling. “Or any court, for that matter.”

  A cold smile crossed Killian’s face. “I always did respect you, Guildmaster Pike. You know how the game is played.”

  “Then you’ll know I’m never without a backup move.” Pike set two fingers against his lips and whistled, a shrill sound that made them all wince. Pike’s men poured into the room like water from a pitcher, surrounding him in a wall of leather and drawn steel.

  Beckett, Wren saw to her satisfaction, looked slightly ill. She hoped he got stabbed in the melee. It would serve him right for putting himself before Guild.

  “I didn’t want it to come to a fight,” Killian warned.

  “I don’t give a pile of scorched saffron whether it does or not. I’m leaving. The easy way—or the hard way.”

  “Pike…” Callidus said, a note of betrayal in his voice.

  “I recommend you come with me, gentlemen,” Pike said to the other guildheads.

  Killian straightened and drew his sword. “I’m here to arrest the five of you for treason against the king. You aren’t going anywhere.”

  “On that point, you’re wrong.” Pike drew his own sword and bared his teeth in a grim semblance of a smile. “Attack!”

  The first shouts and clashes of swords swam through a fog to reach Wren. She was in shock. This was really happening. The Guilds were fighting the crown. There would be blood, deaths. Things would never go back to the way they had been. From one side or the other, there would be a reckoning.

  “I’m going,” Hale said, half-standing from the couch.

  Sable grabbed his arm. “No.”

  Hale sank down again, craning his neck to look over the edge at the scene below. “Pike’s men are concentrating on him—he’s halfway out. Callidus has no one to defend him. He’ll be arrested!”

  “Then he’ll be arrested. We’ll help him like Guild members do. With politics.” Her fingers gripped his wrist, her knuckles white. “I won’t risk you.”

  Wren looked over the edge and saw that Beckett and Callidus were grappling. Callidus’s hair had fallen from its perfect form and his eyes were wild. He landed a punch along Beckett’s jaw. Her eyes widened. Nice one! Then Beckett reared back and threw his own punch. Callidus dropped to the ground. She winced. “He’s on the floor,” she hissed at Hale and Sable, who were lost in their own world.

  “I won’t risk you,” Sable said again, her voice hoarse.

  “I can protect myself. Let me do this. Let me protect your…our family.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and looked away. Hale brought a finger up and tilted her chin back towards him before kissing her. Sable twined her fingers in Hale’s hair and pulled him to her with such force that Wren looked away to give them privacy. It seemed Sable had made her choice.

  “Be careful,” Sable said when she pulled back, sucking in a deep breath of air.

  Hale kissed the top of Sable’s head and sprang to his feet. With a roar, he vaulted—literally vaulted—over the balcony railing and crashed onto a soldier below.

  “I didn’t expect…that,” Sable said, her eyes wide.

  Wren grinned at her despite the screams and shouts below. Sable and Hale. She knew they’d find a way.

  “Not a word out of you.” Sable pinched her fingers together, as if shutting a mouth.

  Wren drew her fingers across her lips as if sealing them. Sable took Wren’s hand and squeezed it, and they both turned to watch Hale in action below.

  It was mesmerizing to watch soldiers fall before him like chaff in a gale. They came at him with swords and he felled them with fists and powerful kicks, weaving and ducking around their blades like a dancer.

  Killian shouted orders at the soldiers, who desperately tried to regroup. Pike was already withdrawing, his men grouped around him.

  “Pike!” Hale shouted as he ducked a slash of a sword and headbutted the soldier, who crumpled to the ground.

  Pike mimed a bow before disappearing out the door with his men.

  “Flaming pirates,” Sable muttered.

  Callidus, Chandler, and McArt were all on the ground now, trussed and tied like yuletide turkeys. Bruxius was holding his own, he and Hale were back to back now, with only five soldiers left fighting them. Beckett was cowering against the far wall, trying to stay as far away from the fight as he could.

  Killian faced off against Bruxius and Hale, a broad grin splitting his face. Wren shuddered at the memory of sitting across from that sadistic smile.

  Hale and Bruxius eyed each other as they circled the inquisitor. “You’ve fought valiantly, gentlemen,” Killian said. “A credit to your Guilds. But the end here is inevitable.”

  Sable and Wren peered over the couch with rapt attention, as still as death, transfixed by the scene. What would Killian do? He was unpredictable. He would fight dirty. Wren wanted to shout a warning but was afraid of exposing herself and Sable.

  “It ain’t over till we say it’s over,” Bruxius rumbled, cracking his knuckles on each hand.

  “I was hoping you would say that,” Killian said. And then he moved, so fast that Wren could hardly see him. He went for Bruxius, and a flash of a knife appeared in his hand, and he struck, plunging the knife into Bruxius’s thick body.

  A gasp escaped Wren’s mouth and she clapped a hand over her lips, her eyes wide.

  She didn’t think it was a fatal wound—Killian had carefully placed his blow to stun the man. He should be all right, so long as he was treated quickly. Bruxius stumbled, pressing a hand to the wound by his shoulder, and looked surprised when his hand came away red. Killian lifted a boot to the guildmaster’s chest and shoved, toppling him over. He collapsed to the ground with a crash, and a soldier sprang to bind his hands. “Put pressure on the wound,” Killian barked.

  Killian’s sudden violence seemed to surprise Hale, who had backed up and now stood in a wary stance. “And here I thought we were having fun,” he said.

  “You are of no value to me,” Killian said, flipping his knife in his hand so he had the slick blade in a throwing stance. “So this one goes in your throat. Unless you stand down.”

  Sable gripped Wren’s hand, squeezing it so hard, their fingers crushed together in a silent vigil of worry. “We have to do something,” Wren whispered, starting to stand.

  Sable pulled her back down. “Who will free them if we get arrested too? Beekeeper help me, we have to trust Hale.”

  It seemed Hale had performed the mental calculations and realized that the odds, at least in this moment, were against him. He lifted his hands slowly.

  Killian nodded and a soldier surged forwards, knocking Hale onto his knees and then face-down on the floor, tying his hands behind him while holding him still with a cruel knee to his back.

  Wren grimaced in sympathy, her thoughts stuttering. Callidus. Chandler. McArt. Bruxius. And Hale. In one blow, Killian had crippled the Guilds’ resistance to the king. In one blow, he had killed her hopes. Taken her family.

  “Killian.” Beckett’s weaselly voice seemed to surprise everyone. “This is one of my Guild members. He’s not part of the bargain. I promised you the traitorous guildheads, and I delivered.”

  Killian was wiping his blade on a handkerchief. “You promised me five traitorous guildheads. By my count, I have four. This one shall do nicely as a stand-in.”

  “But he’s one of my few Gifted. How will the Confectioner’s Guild meet the king’s new qu
otas if you take all our Gifted? You already have Thom and now Callidus.”

  Killian sighed, shouldering on his jacket. He pointed at the soldiers, telling them with the gesture of one finger to round up the guildheads and take them outside. The men complied without hesitation.

  “Fine,” Killian said. “You can keep this one, for now. If we find Pike, I’ll consider our bargain satisfied. If not, he’s mine.”

  “Leave me two soldiers to transport him back to our Guildhall.”

  Killian laughed a dark laugh. “Must I do everything for you, Beckett? I’m not convinced the king picked the right pony with you.”

  Beckett paled. “I’ve already proven my value,” he stammered. “You wouldn’t have even known about today without me.”

  Sable’s face blackened. “There is a special place in hell for that man,” she whispered. “And I’ll enjoy putting him there.”

  Wren couldn’t help but agree. She knew Beckett and Callidus didn’t get along, but to betray his own Guild to the king? For a man who spoke of allegiance, he didn’t seem to value his own.

  “Now, Beckett,” Killian said, motioning two soldiers to haul Hale to his feet. “You know the orphanage has been compromised, and so we’re forced to move the hostages tonight. They can’t remain there, now that the secret of their location has been outed. We have a caravan of carriages ready to transport them as soon as darkness falls.”

  “A wise move,” Beckett said.

  “If anything goes wrong with the move tonight”—Killian’s voice grew as soft and as sharp as a knife—“I’m going to hold you personally responsible. Your little Guild has been no end of trouble. They seem to think themselves a vigilante band of revolutionaries. Between that Wren and this one, it’d warm my heart to put the lot of you down like the rabid dogs you are.”

  “Nothing will go wrong,” Beckett said, his eyes wide.

  “It better not.”

  The men filed out, two soldiers prodding Hale before them with the point of a spear. Even tied up and bruised, he looked as dangerous as a chained mountain lion.

  Sable had released Wren’s hand from her death grip and now stared at the doorway through which the men had disappeared with a strange intensity. “Poor Beckett,” she said softly. “Something is going to go wrong tonight. That caravan is going to be attacked, and all the hostages will be freed. And I will dance on your grave when you’re blamed for it.”

  “How do you know?” Wren asked, her brow wrinkling.

  Sable turned to Wren, her teeth bared in a fierce smile. “Because we’re going to attack it.”

  Chapter 27

  Wren hurried to keep up with Sable’s purposeful strides. “That caravan is going to be guarded by a hundred men! There’s no way you and I can hold up a line of carriages guided by that many. I thought you urged caution. We don’t even have Hale.” Wren’s mind was spiraling into despair. Callidus was arrested. Chandler, McArt, Bruxius. In one blow, the king had taken out most of their allies and resources. She had to give him credit, she thought with grudging respect. The move had been masterful. At least Pike had escaped.

  “The hell with caution,” Sable said, practically galloping down the front steps of the Tradehall. “And we’ll get Hale. You leave that to me.”

  “You’ll get Hale? What does that even mean? Sable, don’t do anything stupid. I can’t lose you too. We’re all we have left.” And Lucas, she thought. Maybe Lucas could help them. Maybe there were inspectors or loyal Cedar Guardsmen…

  “I never do anything stupid,” Sable said. “That was beaten out of me a long time ago.”

  Wren winced, as she did whenever Sable made a rare reference to her life as a Magnish child stolen from her village and forcefully recultured in Maradis. “Where are we going?” Wren asked.

  “To the Guildhall. If Beckett thinks he can take over our Guild without a fight, he has another think coming. I received more votes than him. If anyone stands in while Callidus is incapacitated, it should be me.”

  Oh. That was good to know. An idea flared within her. “If you’re guildmaster, you could give me the cure for the binding wine,” Wren said. “I could tell Lucas the truth. He would help us; I know he would.”

  “He’s an Imbris. I don’t want him involved. We don’t know if we can trust him.” Sable rounded on her.

  “He’s Lucas,” Wren protested. “And I know he can be trusted. He just doesn’t like being kept in the dark. If I told him, I know he’d be with us.”

  “When push comes to shove…will he choose us over family?”

  “He already has! He vouched for me, he was arrested for me, he went against his father when they tried to frame me. If that isn’t sufficient proof of his loyalty, I don’t know what is.”

  Sable stilled for a moment, as if considering.

  “Plus, his brother Trick is going to be in that caravan,” Wren added. “He’s more loyal to Trick and his siblings than he would ever be to his father. He’d be with us. We need every bit of help we can get.”

  “Fine,” Sable said, resuming her punishing pace. “You get the cure, and Lucas is in. I pray I won’t regret this.”

  “You won’t!” Wren said, trying to keep her glee in check. Finally, she’d be able to tell Lucas everything. There would be no more secrets between them. Just the thought of it was a huge relief.

  Sable stormed up the steps of the Guildhall like a hurricane, her skirts swirling around her. She slammed the doors open before her, snapping at the Cedar Guard who tried to question her. “Out of my way,” she thundered, and the man blanched, stepping aside to let her pass.

  Adrenaline coursed through Wren’s veins as she hurried along, towed in Sable’s wake. She didn’t envy Beckett right now.

  “How do you know where Beckett is?” Wren asked breathlessly.

  “There’s only one place he could be,” Sable replied darkly. “The chair he’s been coveting for the last seven years.”

  Sable didn’t knock on Beckett’s door. Callidus’s door. Kasper’s door. The door to an office owned by two men who had been wrongfully targeted by the king. They had been too late to save Kasper, but maybe they wouldn’t be too late for Callidus. Sable kicked the door open and whirled before Beckett. He stood in surprise at their entrance but quickly schooled his features into a mask of calm. “Sable. Wren. So nice of you to visit.”

  “Beckett. What are you playing at? End this foolishness. Free Callidus,” Sable demanded. “Whatever rivalry there was between you, you know he hasn’t committed treason.”

  Beckett crossed his arms. His plump face was pale, sweaty. “He conspired with the other guildmasters to undermine the king’s interests in Maradis. That is treason.”

  “The only conspiring they did was to get back their Guild members who had been unrighteously kidnapped by the king!” Wren protested.

  “Kidnapped? What a wild imagination you have. Thom has been selected for a prestigious training program by the king. Together with the other Guild members, he’s learning new skills and deepening relationships between the Aperitive Guilds.”

  “That’s not true,” Sable said, her voice low and deadly. “So either you’re a fool or a liar, and I won’t tolerate either. Get out of my office.”

  “Don’t you mean my office?”

  “I received more votes than you,” Sable said. “Per the Guild’s bylaws, if Callidus is incapacitated, I serve as interim guildmaster. So I repeat: Get. Out. Of. My. Office.”

  Beckett walked to the desk and picked up a piece of paper trimmed in gold. “So busy playing your little game, Sable, you forgot there’s always a trump card. This document says it’s my office. And when Callidus is found guilty of treason and executed, the Guild will be mine.”

  What? Wren’s eyes widened. How was that possible? She looked to Sable, but the woman was intent on Beckett.

  Sable strode over and yanked the paper out of Beckett’s hand, reading it. When she spoke, her voice held a flicker of uncertainty. “This is an executive order fro
m the king. Appointing you interim Guildmaster.”

  “Indeed.” Beckett crossed his arms over his sizable stomach, leaning back against the desk in triumph.

  Sable glared at him and tore the paper in two.

  “It’s just a copy,” Beckett said. “It’s done.”

  Sable exchanged a look with Wren. For the first time, Wren saw doubt in her sponsor’s eyes. What were they going to do now? Without Sable as guildmaster, they couldn’t get the cure and they couldn’t get Hale.

  Sable pushed around the desk and dropped into the chair. “I don’t care. I won’t let you have the Guild.” What was she doing?

  Beckett turned to her, resting his hands on the desk, leaning over it with a leer. “You already did.”

  Sable crossed her arms and glared at him.

  “Now, Sable,” he said. “Don’t be a sore loser. Need I summon the guards to escort you off the premises at swordpoint?”

  “I think you might,” she said, not backing down one inch.

  Beckett let out frustrated hiss. “Fine!” He pushed off the table and walked to the door, yanking it open. “Guards!” he called.

  Wren tried to catch Sable’s eye, but she was fumbling under the desk, frantically searching for something. There. She had it. Sable slipped something into the cleavage of her dress an instant before Beckett turned around.

  “Last chance,” he said.

  Sable rose gracefully as a queen, gliding to the door. “Perhaps I’ve changed my mind. We will go. You’ve won this battle, Beckett.” She paused as she passed Beckett, leaning closer to the man. “But you won’t win the war.”

  Wren and Sable shouldered past the two guards who were standing outside the door, confused expressions painted on their faces.

  “Is that what I hope it is?” Wren whispered.

  Sable retrieved a vial from between her breasts, handing it to Wren. “Go fetch your prince. We’ll need all the help we can get if we are to pull this one out of the fire.”

  Wren clutched the vial to her chest. “Thank you, thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Sable muttered.

  They had just reached the landing on the second floor when Wren was bowled into by a hurricane of blonde curls. “Wren!” Olivia squealed, squeezing her so tight, she felt her spine pop. “Sable. What’s going on around here? I’m hearing the craziest things.”