by Claire Luana
The guards left her in a meeting room that was comfortably furnished with a plush sofa and chairs, a scene of a hunting party hanging on the wall over the wide fireplace. Thick drapes framed a wall of tall windows, and Wren gravitated towards them, letting the darting trails of raindrops soothe her anxious thoughts.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there before the door opened.
“Miss Confectioner?” A tall Aprican officer with a neat beard and close-cropped haircut stepped through the door, a pleasant expression on his face. “I’m Captain Ambrose of the Aprican Legion. And I believe you know Mister Willings?”
Wren hissed in a breath as the copper-haired man entered, closing the door behind him with a predatory smile. This man, formerly the king’s steward...he had framed her for murder and tried to see her executed. He had escaped censure and continued to be a thorn in the side of her Guild. Gone was his Alesian green uniform, replaced with a simple charcoal suit. The pallid, pockmarked face and the air of malice remained. “Mister Willings,” she managed. Her mind was racing, playing over the last time she had seen him. They’d been a room much like this one, and she’d begged, pleaded with Willings to warn the Imbris family that the Aprican forces were already within the city walls. To save them from the certain death that would meet them if they attended the public execution the king had planned. She’d wondered through the fog of her sorrow why Willings hadn’t convinced Lucas and the others to stay in the palace, out of danger. Why when she’d warned Ellarose and Lucas herself, they’d seemed shocked to hear of the danger. But now, seeing Willings here in bed with the enemy, the awful truth was bared for her to see. The man was both a traitor and a coward.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here. The rats always know when to leave a sinking ship,” she hissed at him. Virgil might still have been alive if this man hadn’t betrayed them. Queen Eloise. Willings had been their most loyal subject, and when he’d seen that the tides of fate had been turning against them, he’d run. Dooming them all.
Willings’s face turned purple with fury, and he moved towards her, his hand raised to strike her.
Captain Ambrose was faster. “Mister Willings,” Captain Ambrose barked, his strong hand catching Willings’s wrist mid-strike. “Miss Confectioner is here as Emperor Evander’s guest. She is not to be mistreated.”
“My mistake.” Willings bared his twisted teeth at her, yanking his hand from Ambrose’s grip.
Captain Ambrose grunted, squaring his body so it blocked Wren from Willings. “You’re allowed to sit in on these discussions because of your background with Maradian citizens. If I for a moment believe your presence will not be helpful, you will be excused. Understood?”
“Understood.” Willings crossed to one of the tufted armchairs and settled himself into it.
“Are you all right, my lady?”
Wren’s skin crawled in Willings’s presence; she felt his eyes on her. Felt the weight of his schemes and plots, the times he had tried to ruin her. He was no doubt plotting against her still. This time, he might succeed. She didn’t know if she had the energy to fight any longer. She felt weary and raw and alone. And the thought that he could see it chilled her.
Ambrose’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled gently. “Now, if you would refrain from antagonizing my colleague here for the remainder of our meeting—”
“I will make no such promise,” Wren said, not looking at Willings. “I will talk to you. I will talk to your general. I will talk to the whole damn Aprican army. But I will not talk to that man.”
Ambrose sighed. “Master Willings, perhaps you would be better served by joining Captain Thomsian two rooms down, questioning the young lad.”
Willings stood, a sneer on his lips. “Already, she wraps you around her finger. It would almost be impressive, Wren, if you weren’t so predictable.” He slammed the door behind him.
Wren blew out a deep breath.
“I think that went well,” Ambrose said with a jaunty grin, hand on his sword hilt.
A weak laugh escaped Wren’s mouth.
Ambrose gestured for her to sit, and she sank onto the sofa gratefully. “A bit of history between you two, eh?” He pulled a plate of cheese and bread off a credenza and set it on the coffee table before returning with a decanter of rose wine and two tiny crystal glasses.
“He killed a good man and framed me for the murder. I was almost executed. And that’s not even the half of it.”
Ambrose raised an eyebrow as he sat down across from her. He had a nice face, Wren thought. Open and honest, with straight brows that angled up towards each other, and a mouth with corners permanently curved in a smile. “Would you like something to eat?” he asked, gesturing to the tray.
Wren thought of her breakfast, abandoned by the palace gates. No, she didn’t think eating was a good idea.
Ambrose poured two glasses of wine and offered one to her.
“No, thank you.” She held up her hands to decline. “A bit early for me.”
“Please.” He waggled the glass at her. “I know that this meeting didn’t begin how either of us intended, but I’d like to be able to work together. Just a quick toast, to start things right. I hear that in Alesia, friendships start over wine. Or food. Or both.”
Wren relented, taking the glass from him. She didn’t have it in her to argue. “That’s true.”
“To a long and prosperous partnership.” He leaned in, clinking his glass against hers.
She took a small sip, meeting Ambrose’s wide white smile with a weak offering of her own.
And then her mouth began to burn.
Chapter 4
Stupid, stupid, stupid! Wren glowered at Ambrose as the wine burned her throat. She buried her shaking hands in the folds of her dress, struggling to maintain control. She didn’t want him to see he had unsettled her, though from the smug smile curving his handsome mouth, he knew. It didn’t matter that she felt as fragile as a porcelain teacup, her thoughts foggy and dark. Taking food or drink from the enemy was stupid. She deserved whatever came next for her foolishness.
“I take it you’re familiar with ice wine?” Captain Ambrose asked as he set down his own untouched glass on the table between them. Yes, she was familiar with ice wine. The Vintner’s Guild’s infused concoction acted as a truth serum, turning any lie to the taste of raw sewage on your tongue. She had experienced it only once before, when she had literally fallen into Guildmaster Chandler’s secret meeting, and the man had demanded the truth behind her presence. It would wear off in a day, but that would do her little good right now.
Ambrose grabbed a slice of bread and a hunk of bronze cheese, popping both into this mouth. “We knew taking Maradis would be worth it for the food alone,” he said around his mouthful. “But I’m still pleasantly surprised.”
“I’m so glad,” Wren retorted before realizing her mistake. Her lie soured in her mouth, the taste causing her stomach to lurch for the ceiling. “My name is Wren,” she said quickly, relaxing as the flavor of the wine transformed into something like white chocolate raspberry.
“You’ll have to watch that clever wit,” Ambrose said. “The wine doesn’t do sarcasm.”
“Why is this necessary?” Wren asked. “I would have...” She trailed off. She was about to say, I would have told you everything I know. But that wasn’t entirely true, was it?
“Thank you for illustrating exactly why it’s necessary. Are you sure I can’t interest you in something to eat?” He sliced off another wedge of cheese.
“My stomach is a bit off today. Please just ask me your questions,” Wren said wearily.
“Very well. We know that you are a Gifted guild member. What is your gift?”
Wen cocked her head, examining him. How did the Apricans know so much? In the end, she supposed it didn’t matter how they had found out about her or about the Gifted. It only mattered that they knew. “Good luck.”
“Please name the other Gifted members of your Guild.”
It felt wrong to lay bare their secrets after trying so long to keep them hidden. But she had little choice. “Thom, Callidus, Hale, me.”
“Do you know the identities of any Gifted in other Guilds?”
Wren hesitated, her mind searching for a way out. Clearly, they’d already known about the Gifted in her Guild; they’d all been summoned here. Except Hale, that is, and he was working for them. But she didn’t know what they knew about the other guild members. She didn’t want to betray anyone—to doom them to this same fate.
“If it helps, your Guild is the last to be questioned. I doubt you will out anyone we don’t know about.”
Wren sighed. “The heads of the Brewer’s, Cheesemonger’s, Spicer’s, and Distiller’s Guilds. Patrick Imbris.”
“Patrick Imbris. Yes. You are dating his older brother, Lucas Imbris, correct?”
“Were dating.”
“It ended?”
“Well, I don’t know. Are you still considered to be dating if your boyfriend fled for his life to avoid being brutally murdered by hostile invaders, and you may never see him again?”
Ambrose scratched his beard. “If you didn’t break up before he fled, I think so.”
“Then I guess we’re still dating,” Wren retorted.
Ambrose let out a little laugh. “Where is Lucas Imbris?”
“I don’t know.”
Ambrose frowned and leaned back in his chair.
She glared at him, some of her fire rekindling. He clearly thought she’d be the key to finding Lucas. Not today, Captain. For once, they’d thought ahead. Lucas was safe. For now.
Abruptly, Ambrose stood. “Thank you for your candor, Miss Confectioner. There’s only one more item to attend to, and then you’re free to go.”
“And that is...”
“An oath of loyalty to Emperor Evander.”
Wren’s mouth went dry. She licked her lips. She didn’t want to swear loyalty to that man. “Is it optional?” she asked with little hope.
Ambrose pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, turning it over in his manicured fingers. “Despite our reputation, the Apricans do not maim or harm needlessly. Emperor Evander is not a cruel man. We desire to partner with the Guilds—to work together towards a glorious future for Maradis and a unified Aprican empire. But before we feel comfortable allowing you to return to your Guildhall, we must be sure of your loyalty. The oath is a small thing, but it is considered mandatory.”
“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.” The unified Aprican empire. His words made her skin crawl. She sighed, holding out her hand for the piece of paper. Wren scanned the words, taking them in, letting them marinate deep into her soul. She couldn’t lie to Ambrose. But could she say these words and mean them?
I [name] do hereby swear and affirm that I am loyal to the Empire of Aprica and Emperor Evander and all his successors. I solemnly swear I will take no action and speak no seditious word that harms or knowingly compromises the interests of the Empire.
“Any day now, Miss Confectioner,” Ambrose said, crossing the room to pace the stretch of carpet behind her couch. His nearness unsettled her, but no more than the thought of taking the oath. But it wasn’t the oath that troubled her. It was the realization that she could say the words...and mean them. She could speak these words as truth. Wren was tired of fighting. Of struggling and failing, of battling powerful men and watching her friends die for the trouble. She wasn’t a warrior or a revolutionary or even a politician. She was a confectioner. And she was weary and ragged with sorrow over Sable. And Virgil. And Lucas’s disappearance and Hale’s betrayal and everything else. The Apricans could have Maradis. They could have her. She didn’t have the strength left to fight.
And so Wren recited the words, the taste of white chocolate raspberry mingling with the salt of her tears.
Wren sat patiently on a bench in the palace antechamber, her hands folded in her lap. It was another twenty minutes before Thom came out and an hour before Callidus emerged.
They walked in silence through the front palace doors towards the waiting carriage, none apparently willing to be the first to share what had happened. What they had done.
Wren was stepping into the carriage when a familiar voice called her name. “Wren!”
She turned to find Guildmaster Chandler, grandfatherly head of the Distiller’s Guild, hurrying their way, a short rotund woman at his side. Her hair was streaked with white and gray. Wren recognized her as the head of the Baker’s Guild.
“Guildmaster.” Chandler nodded at Callidus, extending his hand to shake. “Wren, Thom, you know Guildmaster Beatrix?”
Wren nodded, pulling her cloak tighter about her, burying her cold fingers in the woolen fabric.
“Hello,” Thom said politely.
“Did you just come from your loyalty meetings?” Chandler asked.
A black cloud crossed Callidus’s pale visage. “Indeed.”
“I thought we went last,” Thom said. “What are you doing here?”
“One of my guild members, Liam, never returned from his meeting,” Guildmaster Beatrix said. “We’re here to demand his release.”
“Would he not swear loyalty?” Callidus’s thick brow furrowed into one.
“He’s meek as a kitten. He would have done anything they said. The emperor kept him. And I want to know why.”
“Anything the Apricans want, we don’t want them to have,” Chandler said blackly.
Callidus’s pale hand flew to his chest in mock surprise. “Why, Guildmaster, that sounds like a seditious word to me.”
Chandler grunted in dark laughter. “The Confectioner Guild’s stood with us before. We need you to stand with us again. Beatrix and I have talked to the other guildmasters and we’re all in agreement. Well, except Pike. I can’t find him, but I’m assuming he’s up for a fight. If the ten Aperative Guilds stand together, we just might have enough sway to push back against the emperor’s demands.”
Beatrix nodded. “We should have been with you when you wanted to free the Gifted kidnapped by King Imbris. We won’t make that mistake again. By standing aside, we ended up in a worse mess. They’ve got tails on us. They pretend like they’d trust us if we took their stupid oath, but it’s a lie.”
Wren’s eyes widened. Apricans were tailing the guild members?
The Baker’s Guildmaster continued. “No more. Together, we’ll show Emperor Evander that he can’t just take what he wants from us.”
Callidus was nodding, a gleam of excitement heating the ice-blue of his eyes. “They may have our city, but they can’t have our lives. The Confectioner’s Guild is with you. To the end.”
Thom cast a look of tense excitement at Wren, but she found she couldn’t return it. Warning bells rang loudly in her mind. She had heard talk like this before, had been the one whispering it herself. It was the kind of talk that changed the tide of lives—of nations. And it was the type of talk that would get them all killed.
Chapter 5
Olivia stomped through the halls of the Guildhall, her turquoise skirt swishing about her. She’d finally convinced the comptroller to give her a look at the Guild’s books, and what she’d seen was atrocious. Callidus hadn’t collected rents on use of the Guild’s artesian wells for the past two weeks. The Guild depended on that income—how did Callidus expect her to keep them all fed if he couldn’t be bothered to collect their debts? “Fool man,” she muttered, thundering down the stairs from the top floor. His office had been empty. Where was he? “Probably hiding in some kitchen,” Olivia said under her breath, striding into the hallway that housed the teaching kitchens. “After I’m done with him, he’ll wish he had a place to hide.”
Olivia poked her head into two dark kitchens before she found one that was occupied. Lennon and Marina were within.
Olivia stifled a grimace at the sight of Marina. She didn’t mind Lennon, but she and Marina had never gotten along. Seated on a stool, the girl was bent over a bowl, whisking furiously. Lennon was standi
ng in the corner, his shirtsleeves rolled up, a canvas apron tied tightly around his narrow waist. His dark hair was mussed, his kind features sallow. But his fatigue seemed to melt away when he saw her paused in the doorway. “Olivia!” he said. “What’re you doing here?”
“Looking for Callidus,” she said. “Have you seen him?”
Marina turned. Her dark brown tresses were pulled into a high bun with a few wisps escaping, her dark-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose. “I saw Callidus, Wren, and Thom skulk off a few hours ago. I guess they were summoned to the palace,” Marina said coolly. “No doubt they’re on some new secret mission, leaving the rest of us to mind the shop without them.”
Summoned to the palace? Why? Olivia walked over, examining what was on Lennon’s tray.
“Coconut patties,” he explained.
Marina rolled her eyes. “I told him no one likes coconut, but he couldn’t be dissuaded.”
“I think they smell heavenly.” Olivia laid a kind hand on his arm, trying to soothe the sting of Marina’s comment. “And I like coconut.”
“What’re you making, Marina?” Olivia then asked, trying to be nice. It was like pulling teeth, but her grandaunt had taught her to be polite. Olivia’s thoughts stuttered like they always did when she hit a memory of her Grandaunt Iris Greer. The woman who’d betrayed them all and murdered her own twin brother. Olivia clearly needed to find a new role model.
“Rosewater meringues,” Marine replied to Olivia’s question. “And I better be done soon because I think my arm is about to fall off.”
“Do you know anything else about this summons? What do the Apricans want with Callidus?” Olivia asked.
Marina narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you mean what do they want with Wren and Thom? I’m so sick of those three galivanting about like the rules don’t apply to them.”
