by Claire Luana
“You don’t need to be rude,” Olivia said, drawing herself up. “We’re just trying to help.”
Lucas closed his eyes, taking a long-suffering breath. He couldn’t be held responsible for anyone else’s feelings right now. “I’m sorry, Olivia,” he said with as much gentleness as he could muster. “I know you mean well. I just can’t think about this right now.”
“Forgiven,” she said primly. “Just...don’t miss your chance, Lucas.”
They lapsed back into uneasy silence as the carriage trundled beneath them, the clop of the horse’s hooves sounding deafening in his ears.
Callidus and Olivia’s points, though uninvited, held a ring of truth. Yes, he was furious at Wren. He wanted to rage and scream at her for what she’d done—the risk she’d taken. She could have been killed. She could have gotten all of them killed. But then, part of him wanted to bury his head in her shoulder and cry, to breathe in her scent of sugar and vanilla. To mourn with her. To taste the salt of her tears on her lips as they navigated this madness together.
But now...Olivia’s words rang in his mind. Don’t miss your chance. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he already had.
Wren’s misery made poor company as they moved through the foul-smelling passageway towards the palace entrance. She shoved down all throughs of Lucas as she walked between Ansel and Pike, Dash bringing up the rear. Now was not the time. If she’d kept moving after Sable had died, she could keep moving after Lucas turned his back on her. At least he was alive. And that meant there was a chance of fixing it, however remote it seemed.
The day had been spent preparing and planning. Arguing. It seemed everyone was against Wren going with the group to retrieve the baker Liam, but she had insisted, standing her ground. She had convinced them that she might be easier for Liam to trust than Ansel or Pike. They didn’t need to know the true reason for her stubbornness. Wren wanted to be there to ensure that nothing untoward happened to the poor Gifted baker. She could see Ansel or even Pike being more cavalier with the man’s life. She would do everything in her power to make sure that no one else died on their crazy mission.
The tunnels were still and quiet but for the scuffle of their footsteps and the occasional drip of water echoing against the walls. Killian’s Falconers had triggered an explosion in the warehouse holding the infused grain a half hour ago. That was their diversion; now the rest was up to them.
By a stroke of luck, the tunnel let out in the west wing of the palace, which was also, according to Hale, where the baker was being kept. Dash had confirmed that it was the area of the palace Daemastra had claimed for his own.
Wren’s heart hammered harder in her chest the closer they got. They hadn’t seen any guards, like Killian had warned them to watch out for. Every corner they turned around, she kept waiting for someone to jump out, despite the infused chocolates each one of them had eaten, and the four she carried in her pocket, wrapped securely in wax paper.
But there was no one. This place was empty but for the scuffling of rats.
Finally, they reached the dead end that Killian’s map showed as their exit point. There was a ladder with iron rungs heading up the side of the wall.
“I’ll go first,” Ansel said.
Ansel summited the ladder and turned a crank that opened the trapdoor above them. The crank screeched with protest, and they all winced. Ansel waited for a moment as they all stood stock still, listening for signs that someone had heard the noise. Nothing. Ansel cracked the trapdoor, and a sliver of light shone into the darkness of the tunnel.
Sweat prickled Wren’s skin, despite the chill of the tunnels. She wanted out of here.
“It’s clear,” Ansel said, throwing the door open and climbing through. The rest of them made quick time of it, and they found themselves in a storeroom. Dash was last through, closing the trapdoor. From this angle, it was indistinguishable from the rest of the floorboards.
Ansel peeked into the hallway next. He motioned to them that it was all clear. “Dash, take a gander and see if ya can tell where we are,” Ansel hissed.
Dash followed instructions, poking his head into the hallway. He closed the door again. “We’re near the bathing pools. If Killian’s source is correct, we’re a few hallways over from there the baker is being kept.”
“You know the way?” Pike asked.
Dash nodded.
“Lead on.” Ansel gestured.
The stone hallways were deserted.
As they went to turn a corner, Ansel pulled Dash back, shoving him against the wall.
The sound of boots on the stones sounded down the corridor. Wren peeked around the corner, sandwiching herself between Dash and Ansel. Her stomach dropped. It was Hale, his face hard, his uniform buttons gleaming in the flickering torchlight.
She pulled back against the far wall, trying to keep her breathing in check. Hale was here. In the same wing as Daemastra. The same wing as the baker. Was he helping the Apricans with their strange experiments, or trying to undermine them from the inside?
“Clear,” Ansel said.
Wren followed in their wake, her mind sluggish after the sight of Hale.
“You all right?” Pike asked.
She nodded woodenly. She didn’t know. She hadn’t been prepared to see him in this place.
“I think I found ‘im,” Ansel said.
Wren let out a breath. Could it be that easy?
“Wren, do the honors?” Ansel asked, nodding towards the lock.
Wren knelt down, taking her lockpicks out with shaky fingers.
“You’ve got this,” Pike said.
She worked at the lock, springing it free. She stood and pushed the door open.
The man inside was gaunt and haggard, heavy shadows under his eyes. He sat up from a hard bunk where he lay. “Already?” His voice was hoarse. “I’ve just had an hour. I’m supposed to get at least two hours of sleep. Please.” He looked near tears.
“We’re not here to take you to the Apricans. We’re here to rescue you,” Wren said. “Come with us.”
“What? Who are you?”
“We’re from the Confectioner’s Guild,” Wren said.
“And Spicer’s,” Pike said, cutting in. “We need to get you out.”
Ansel strode into the room and hoisted the man to his feet. “Come on, man. We can do introductions after we get ya outta here.”
“How’s the city?” Liam asked, letting Ansel half-walk, half-carry him into the hallway. “I’ve feared...what they’ve been doing.”
“It’s not great,” Pike said. “You’ve pretty much brainwashed the entire populous.”
“Oh,” the man said, his voice quiet, his jaw going slack.
“But that ends now,” Wren said.
They hurried around the corner and pulled up short. Wren let out a squeak of fear and disbelief.
They were face to face with a pack of Aprican soldiers—their spears leveled.
Behind them stood a smug-faced Willings. “Oh, Miss Confectioner, if only that were true. But alas. You aren’t going anywhere.”
Dash stood up straight and saluted. “Lieutenant Dashiell Cardas, reporting in. Please inform Captain Ambrose I’ve brought him two fugitives and a person of interest.”
Chapter 38
“Traitor!” Ansel shouted, leaping into action before Wren’s mind had time to even register the threat. Dash had betrayed them. Flame it all to hell, she’d known...she’d told Olivia... Her thoughts spun from her as the flash of swords pulled her back into the moment.
Ansel’s blade swung directly at Willings’s ginger head.
Willings dove out of the way, his eyes going wide with fear. Wren didn’t blame him. Ansel was a sight to behold.
Willings’s men did a bit better than Willings. The front man, short but stocky, in the Aprican uniform of sky blue, had his sword out in a blink, parrying Ansel’s wicked strike.
And then, chaos reigned.
Pike threw himself into the fight, hitting a
t Willings’s men with the force of a whirlwind.
Willings scrambled to his feet, coming for Wren and Liam, who had backed against the far wall.
Dash seemed to be holding himself back out of the fray; perhaps some small decent part of him couldn’t bring himself to come to blows with those he’d supped with just hours before.
Wren kept her arm under Liam’s armpit, holding him erect. The man was weak with exhaustion and hunger—he was in no shape to fight. He was in hardly any shape to run. It would be up to Wren.
She pulled a dagger from her belt, letting its solid shape strengthen her resolve. She wasn’t much of a fighter, but neither, it appeared, was Willings. “I should have known I’d find a bottom feeder like you here,” Wren practically spat. “Always riding on better men’s coattails. You’re like a parasite.”
“Better a parasite than a little bird. So easily crushed. Give him over to me,” Willings said, a short sword in his hand. He circled her warily, not seeming to want to test his skills against her own.
“You can’t have him,” Wren said, baring her teeth. Best be bold, oversell her skills here. “You’ve exploited this man long enough.”
“Another dozen men are on their way to our position right now,” Willings said. “You’ll never get out in time. There’s nowhere to go but the gallows for you, confectioner.”
”Funny,” Wren said. “I could say the same about you.” She lunged at him with her knife, and as she predicted, Willings scrambled back, rather than blocking with his own sword.
She grabbed Liam with her other hand and yanked him forward, past Willings, towards the storeroom they had come out of. Ansel and Pike had downed several Aprican men, but if Willings had been telling the truth that there were reinforcements coming, they had only moments to make their escape.
Out of the corner of her eye, Wren saw Ansel turn his wrath towards Dash, and the man held up his hands, backing up.
“Ansel!” Wren called. “Leave him.”
Liam’s breathing was ragged as she pulled him along behind her, scooting around a corner, only to be confronted by another band of soldiers hurdling down the hallway towards them.
“We’ll never get out,” Liam moaned.
“We’re not far.” Wren puffed, pulling him down the hallway and wrenching open the door to the storeroom they had come out of. Ansel and Pike ran down the hallway, naked blades in hand, and skidded to a halt behind.
“What are you doing?” Liam asked, his eyes wide. “We’ll be trapped in here!”
“No, we’re not,” Wren said as Pike wedged a chair up against the door handle to stop the soldiers who were already crashing against the door.
Ansel pulled open the trapdoor and motioned to Liam. “Inside!” he hissed.
The man scrambled forward with wide eyes, dropping into the tunnel below. Wren quickly followed, then Ansel and Pike brought up the rear.
“What is this place?” Liam asked.
“The sewer,” she said. “If we can get through to another exit, we’re home free.”
“I can’t swim,” Liam said, misery etched across his face.
“We won’t have to swim,” Wren said. “Come on.”
“Quit your complainin,’ man,” Ansel snapped, close on their heels. “We’re tryin’ to save your life. Sorry we couldn’t drive up front with a comfy carriage for ya.”
Wren couldn’t help but agree as she grabbed the torch they had left burning at the base of the trapdoor and they ran forward through the dark tunnels. An explosion sounded behind them, and they all flinched inadvertently.
“They’re in,” Pike said. “But they don’t know which way we’ve gone.”
“They can tell from our light,” Liam said. “It’ll lead them right to us.”
The pounding of boots behind them was growing louder.
“He’s right,” Ansel said. “Come here.” He shoved both Liam and Wren into a little alcove and tossed the torch into the water, snuffing it, plunging them into darkness. “We’ll be right around the corner,” he whispered.
Wren and Liam scrunched down into the alcove, pressing themselves against the slimy wall.
The bootsteps had slowed. It seemed their pursuers were making a more leisurely investigation of the tunnels. “Come out, come out wherever you are...” Willings’s nasal voice called in the dark. Wren shivered and Liam clutched her hand. His own was shaking like a leaf in a gale.
“I won’t go back,” he whispered.
“You won’t have to,” Wren said. She wanted to pull the chocolates from her pocket but feared that the crinkling of the paper would give them away. “Trust me.”
A light was blooming at the end of the tunnel. They were getting closer. What had they been thinking, trying to hide here? If the Apricans happened to come this way, they would see them—they’d be totally exposed.
The light grew closer, and Wren’s breath hitched in her throat. Even knowing Ansel and Pike were nearby, she worried it wasn’t enough. It was two men against how many? If it was too many, they’d be slaughtered.
Wren felt like she was going to explode. Liam’s hand was clutched in hers, his breathing coming in short little bursts of air.
The light was just feet from them, and Wren could see Willings’s face now, his pockmarked skin cast in garish shadow.
Wren squeezed her eyes closed, wishing that it could make her invisible.
And then a roar sounded from down the tunnel, and two men hurdled through the blackness, crashing into the group of soldiers behind Willings. Ansel and Pike were like berserkers in the night, tossing men bodily into the channels of dirty water, slicing others clean through with bloodied swords.
“Come on!” Wren cried and grabbed Liam’s hand, darting past Willings towards another tunnel that she prayed led towards Violena’s. In the mad dash of their flight, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure where they were in the maze of the sewer.
Wren could have wept in relief as she saw two men tearing after them and recognized the brawny forms of Ansel and Pike.
“Did you get him?” Wren asked breathlessly.
“Redhaired bastard? Scuttled off,” Ansel said. “More men’re coming; we’ve gotta go.”
“More?” Wren said with dismay, skidding to a stop in front of a wide channel of sluggish water. She pulled the crumpled map from her pocket, looking at it, willing it to reveal its mysteries to her.
“Now’s not a great time to be lost...” Pike said, looking back. Shouts were ricocheting off the tunnel behind them, growing nearer.
Liam had his eyes closed, moaning softly.
“There.” Wren pointed across the wide stretch of water. “We’re a few tunnels down, but if we cross this, we should be just one or two turns from the entrance to Violena’s.”
“Across?” Ansel said with dismay. “Ya know what’s in this water, right?”
“It’s this or the sword,” Wren said, and with a cry of disgust, she leaped into the center of the river.
She gagged as she came up for air, stroking quickly towards the other side. It wasn’t far, and as long as you didn’t think about what might have been floating in the water with you...it wasn’t so bad. Splashes and curses sounded behind her, and she knew that the others had joined. She reached the other side and with all of her strength, hauled her wet self up onto the slimy stones. She gasped and turned to see Ansel and Pike crossing the channel. Liam was standing on the other side, his eyes wide with terror.
Oh, gods. He had said he couldn’t swim.
“Come on, Liam!” she cried. “Go back. Help him. He can’t swim.”
Pike swore and turned, swimming back across the channel with sure strokes. He pulled himself out of the water with a heave. “Come on, man,” Pike said, shaking like a wet dog. “I’ll help you across.”
It was then that another half-dozen Aprican soldiers manifested from the blackness behind Liam.
“Pike! Liam!” she screamed. “Jump!”
But Liam appeared frozen to the spo
t. A soldier seized him, three others leveling swords at Pike. He lifted his hands slowly. “Easy, mates.”
Liam struggled against the soldiers, his eyes meeting Wren’s. She recognized what she saw there because she had felt it at times too—in some of the darkest moments of her life. Despair.
“Liam, no!” Wren cried, and the moment seemed to slow as he reached for one of the soldiers’ belts and seized a knife. But instead of stabbing the soldier or fighting his way free, he turned the knife towards his own stomach and plunged it in to the hilt.
Hale was stunned. The baker was free. Or possibly dead. But wherever he was, he wasn’t in that oppressive kitchen, baking his fingers to the bone anymore. Someone had freed him. But who?
It had to be the Falconer. It had been a risk—passing every piece of information to the man. Making his way to Gemma Park, to the carousel. It was risky even leaving the palace anymore, strange and unsettling to move among the people of Maradis, to hear the same whispered words, the same flat professions of admiration and love for the emperor. He had thought what Daemastra had done to him had been bad. What he had done to the baker. To the icebox full of Gifted he had ground up into dust. But what he had done to the people of Maradis, robbing an entire city of their free will, their very faculty to think and dissent and engage...it was something else entirely.
Yet somehow it seemed Daemastra had missed a few. While the Falconer’s attacks had diminished significantly after the infused bread had swept through the city as soundly as the Red Plague, they hadn’t stopped. And that meant that there was hope, however small and insignificant a thing it seemed.
The sounds of fighting had roused Hale from his bunk, where he’d dosed the afternoon away. They had been too quick for Hale to catch a glimpse of who it was. Except one. A man Hale had seen before... He wracked his brain to place him as the man strode past him liked he owned the place. The foreign haircut, long in the middle and shorn on the sides. The stern set of his handsome face... There it was! The memory bloomed to life in Hale’s mind. He had seen the man once before on the steps of the Confectioner’s Guild, pacing before the door. The day Hale had gone to warn Wren. Hale craned his neck at the man’s retreating form. Who was he?
