The Confectioner's Exile

by Claire Luana

  “Your mother said you’re willing to work to earn your way. Yes?”

  “We weren’t really presented with a choice in the matter,” Hale groused under his breath, crossing his arms.

  “Yes, sir,” Cal said, glaring at Hale. “What can we do?”

  “Let me introduce you,” Chiron said. They followed the man to the front wagon, where two men rode behind a team of bay horses. See, these men were allowed to ride! “This is Stiv and Hamilton,” he said, pointing to a burly man with close-cropped fair hair and a lanky fellow with straggly locks and a dark goatee. “They keep this caravan running. They’re your bosses. They say jump, you ask how high. Understood?”

  Hale suppressed a snort. He jumped for no man. But he gave a curt nod to keep Chiron from giving him a hard time.

  “Who are the others?” Hale asked, pointing back at the last wagon, where the pretty blonde girl sat.

  “That’s my wife, Rebekah, and my daughter, Emery. You stay one hundred paces from her at all times and we’ll be just fine,” Chiron said, advancing a step.

  Hale held up his hands. “Just wanting to get the lay of the land,” he said innocently. I’ll stay one hundred paces from her, he thought with a smirk, but I can’t promise she’ll stay away from me.

  There wasn’t much to do while the wagons were moving. Walk and stare out at the countryside passing by, walk and eat dust, walk and ignore the blisters on his heels. Aprica looked different on foot than it did whizzing by through a carriage window. The colors bleached in the heat of the sun, the dusky green of sagebrush and the spiky spines of aloe vera blending into a monochromatic haze. The cerulean line of the sea was visible in the distance, but it pulled at his mood like the tide, bringing memories bubbling up of trips drinking sparkling wine on a friend’s yacht, that time he tossed Stacia Rostina into the sea over her screams and giggles of protest. If only the Nightingale had made it out of the harbor, they wouldn’t be tromping around like peasants, chewing on dirt for lunch.

  Speaking of lunch, they didn’t even stop as the sun reached its zenith in the sky. Chiron’s wife and daughter, and his own mother, who had apparently been taken under their wing, passed out rations and water canteens. “Thank you,” he said with a devilish smile as Chiron’s daughter handed him two strips of jerky and a hard roll.

  She smiled and ducked her head, a dimple appearing in her smooth pale cheek. Gods, was there anything more inviting than a set of dimples?

  Hale gripped the jerky in his teeth and pulled and pulled, barely able to manhandle off a bite. “Ugh.” He spit the bite into the dirt, where the dog instantly appeared to snap up his ration. “This isn’t fit for human consumption.” He went to toss the piece over his shoulder, but Cal grabbed it from him.

  “We shouldn’t waste it. We don’t know when we’ll get another good meal. You can’t be so picky. We’re not in Se Caelus anymore.”

  Hale feigned shock, looking around in a panic. “What? Not in Se Caelus? This is the first I’ve realized!”

  “Will you just stop?” Cal snapped. “Enough. Just for a few hours, can you stop being Hale and be my brother again?” He whirled and stalked back towards their mother, leaving Hale hanging with his mouth open.

  By the time Chiron called for the wagons to pull off the road into a stand of scraggly trees, Hale was ready to drop from exhaustion. It was only sheer stubbornness that had stopped him from asking if they were there yet a thousand times. His feet ached, his legs ached, his hips ached, his back ached. The skin on his face and neck was tight and sunburned, despite his normally tan complexion. The number of chores needed to ready the caravan for camp was mindboggling. Unhitch the horses. Comb the horses, feed the horses, water the horses. Who knew horses were so damn needy? Gather wood, start a fire, carry water to set it for boiling. To put it mildly, he was in hell. This was hell. Not even the sight of Emery chopping vegetables on the side of her wagon raised his flagging spirits. Who had time to care about girls when they were this tired? Not to mention hungry. His stomach was a yawning chasm of emptiness. He had half a mind to try to seduce the potatoes going in Emery’s pot; at this moment, they looked far more attractive than the girl herself.

  “Hale?” Brea appeared at his side, Cal in tow. “Can I talk to you boys for a moment? Sim Chiron said I can borrow you while dinner is cooking.”

  “He doesn’t want us to build him a palace or something before we eat?” Hale asked, but then he caught Cal’s eye and fell silent. “Sure.”

  The fading twilight cast shadows of knotty pines as Brea led them into a little clearing under a massive carob tree. Seed pods littered the hard ground and crunched under Hale’s boots. She turned, her eyes shining with tears. “I thought we should take a moment. To say goodbye to your father. I hate that he won’t be laid to rest with the other Firena ancestors in their tomb in Greenhelm Park…but nothing is how it’s supposed to be. At least we can give him a sendoff. Help ease his passing.”

  Hale swallowed, his throat dry. His eyes were drier. He didn’t think he could summon tears for his father’s passing. One more failure. He had never been enough son for his father, but at least he could be here for his mother. “It’s a great idea, Mother. What would you like to do?”

  “I was thinking we could each say a few words, and then…sing a song, perhaps.”

  “I’ll start,” Cal said, shrugging his shoulders.

  Brea smiled, her face lighting up. “Go ahead, darling.”

  “I was thinking today about all the times up at the lake house. Just how different he seemed there. It was the only time I felt like he could really…let go. The only time I would see him without his waistcoat, reading the paper with his sleeves rolled up in the morning…” Cal began to recount his memories of their summers at the lake house, a stately home that had been in his father’s family for generations. Hale had fond memories of the lake house as well, but mostly when his father wasn’t there. He combed through his memories, desperately searching for a memory of his father that wasn’t filled with tension and taut breath, his father’s dark disapproval, lectures about what it took to honor the Firena legacy. Honoring the Firena legacy, he had learned at a young age, did not include enjoying any of life’s pleasures. It meant duty and responsibility. Work and achievement. Not humor or play or fun. Those did not honor the Firena legacy.

  “Hale?” Brea was looking at him with anticipation. Hale started, realizing Cal had finished. Hale cleared his dry throat. “I was thinking about that harvest festival the year after you opened the winery. You and Father hosted that party in the vineyard, and the King came, and all the ministers. Father had bought you those ruby earrings—”

  “He said they’d match the wine in my glass…” Brea finished, with a little laugh.

  “Right,” Hale said. “He wouldn’t shut up about how you’d negotiated all the contracts and sourced the best grapes and set it up…He was so proud of you. He was chewing everyone’s ear off. That night…we felt like a family.”

  Brea nodded, the sadness in her eyes tempered by her wistful smile. “Thank you, Hale.”

  “What’s your story, Mother?” Cal asked.

  “Have I ever told you the story of how your father courted me?”

  The boys shook their heads.

  “Well. You know your father is a tenacious man when he sees something he wants. I was nearly engaged to another man, a patrician’s son I’d known since childhood. I was at the ranch and your father and uncle came in to look at a stallion. He insisted that your uncle wait at the stable and check out some other options while he put this stallion through its paces. He got out in the paddock with the horse, and before I knew it, he was leaping the fence and galloping away across the countryside!”

  “He stole a horse?” Cal asked.

  Brea held up her hand. “I was outraged. I looked at your uncle, who only shrugged and said I better go after him. I hopped on my horse and took off. I was ready to chew his ear off, to call the constable, to do something! I finally found
him on a path next to a nearby lake. I flew off my horse ready to give him a piece of my mind, and he dropped to his knees and begged my forgiveness. He said it was the only way he could get me alone. He said he wouldn’t go back until I spent the day with him, and after that, if I never wanted to see him again, he’d pay double for the horse and be out of my life.”

  “So he stole a horse and kidnapped you?” Hale said.

  Brea rolled her eyes. “He had this devilish grin on his face, and he was so handsome. I knew right there I was lost. He was so alive back then. You remind me a lot of him, Hale—how he was back then.”

  “Me?” Hale asked with surprise.

  “He was only hard on you because he saw so much of himself in you,” she said quietly. She opened her arms and Cal and Hale moved into her embrace automatically, the gesture wired in from childhood. “He loved both you boys.” Hale wrapped his arm around his mother’s small frame, burying his head in her shoulder, trying to banish the unease her comment had left in him. He wasn’t anything like his father, was he? Was that the man he was destined to become?

  Brea released them and pulled a small pocket knife from the pouch on her belt. She began carving in the trunk of the tree, a crude rendering of WJF, his father’s initials. It was such a small marker to represent a man who Hale had spent his whole life molding himself around.

  When she was finished, Brea began to sing, her soprano voice clear and haunting, far too fine for the setting. It was a hymn of the Sower, one of their gods, who supposedly harvested souls ready to move on to more fertile lands.

  * * *

  “Once was a time to sow

  Is now a time to reap

  To pull the flaxen chaff

  From the fields of wheat

  Memories are borne

  On the fertile sea

  Souls of ones we loved

  Gone on to find their peace.”

  * * *

  The hairs on the back of Hale’s neck rose as the last note of his mother’s song hung in the air. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and before Hale was only darkness. He took his mother’s hand, clinging to it as if she were the only solid thing in this world.

  Chapter 8

  A tempting smell greeted them when they rejoined the other members of the caravan around the fire. The fairer of the two workers—Hale had already forgotten his name—had pulled out a guitar and was strumming it softly. Someone had dragged some logs up around the fire, and Hale took a seat on one next to Griff. Gods, the thing was uncomfortable. Cal sat beside him while Brea went to sit next to Chiron. Emery was stirring the stew, her blonde hair glinting rose gold in the firelight. She really was quite lovely with her round, cherubic face, wide eyes, and long, dark lashes.

  “No need to be so obvious,” Griff remarked under his breath. “Don’t want Chiron to cut you in your sleep.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hale said. “I’m staring at the voluptuous curves of that stew pot.”

  Cal snorted, leaning forward. “I wouldn’t waste your breath, Griff. Trying to get Hale to give up admiring women is like trying to tame the wind. But with more bluster.”

  Griff laughed. “Appreciate the warning.”

  “I’m glad you two can bond at my expense. You’re very welcome—” But all thoughts of his companions were lost when a hot bowl of soup and a crusty brown roll were shoved into his hands. He flashed his best smile, only to find that Chiron’s wife was on the receiving end. Ah, well. Wouldn’t hurt to ingratiate himself with her, too. Older women loved him just as much as young ones.

  “Don’t suppose you have any ale?” he called after her. She didn’t respond.

  “Guess that’s a no,” he murmured, digging in to dinner. The stew wasn’t bad—sure, it was no lamb shank drizzled with mint juice, but it filled him with warmth and quieted the gnawing emptiness in his belly.

  “Sim Chiron,” his mother said after taking a demure bite of her own stew. “How did you find yourself running this caravan? You’re an army man, if I’m not mistaken?”

  “You’ve a keen eye, madam,” Chiron said. “Served for twenty years. Spent a lot of my time on border patrol, or on loan to Tamros. Bandits have been growing increasingly bold in the past ten years as the Tamrosi government has fallen into infighting and squabbles. There’s not enough money to pay soldiers to patrol, and not enough will to make it happen.”

  “Aprica volunteered its soldiers? That seems unusually…charitable of King Vespian.”

  “It came at a price. Favorable terms for Tamrosi timber, hops, grapes—whatever the Aprican elite wanted. It didn’t work, though. The forests in Tamros are so thick, the bandits can hide in there for years. They’ve even set up a town in the foothills of Mount Elkri—it’s a hell of a place, a den of thieves, slavers, and murderers—home base for their raiding parties, where they can steal from whoever comes their way. They’ve even taken to raiding into southern Aprica.”

  “A town of bandits? How come I’ve never heard of it?” Hale asked.

  Captain Brimmer chimed in from across the fire. “Sryalta is no subject for civilized conversation. No place for civilized folk, neither.”

  “Why doesn’t the government wipe this town from the map?” Brea murmured.

  “We tried,” said Chiron. “It was an epic failure. We…I…lost many men. If they don’t want you coming, you ain’t getting in. And if they don’t want you leaving…” Chiron heaved a sigh. “The kings were talking about making another go at the town, but it would have been suicide. Not without a much larger force than we were willing to commit.”

  Brea softened. “Is that why you left the army?”

  Chiron shrugged his massive shoulders. “Yes and no. I kind of fell into this role. Me and my men escorted a number of caravans through Tamros. I got to know one man well. He was looking to retire, to find someone to sell to. I was looking to make a change. It worked out.”

  “And your family doesn’t mind living on the road?”

  “It was better than me being on the road and never seeing them. As long as we’re together.” Chiron reached out and snaked his arm around his wife’s waist, pulling her into a sideways hug. It was strange to see a married couple that was affectionate. Hale didn’t think he had ever seen his parents touch each other for years, except when they’d been required to at official functions. He had assumed all married couples were as unhappy.

  “Are these bandits still a problem?” Cal called out across the fire. “Will we need to be on alert?”

  “Yes,” Chiron said. “We’ll set a watch each night. You two will join the rotation. There’s a lot of territory out there, far from where official forces can help. But don’t worry. We’ve taken this route many times without a problem.”

  Watch? Hale groaned inside. Hardly any food, hardly any sleep… He’d be half-dead by the time they reached Tamros. He stood and stretched his legs, taking his bowl over to the farthest wagon, where Emery was doing something at a little table.

  “Just set your bowl on the bench.” She motioned with her head. “We’ll wash them later.”

  “Thank you. The stew was delicious,” he said.

  She pursed her lips. “I’m sure you’ve had much finer fare.”

  “Sometimes the simple pleasures are underappreciated,” Hale said, his voice as soft as honey. His eyes were on Emery, but he was getting distracted by her hands.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, peering closer through the light of the lantern.

  “I’m cutting this caramel and wrapping it,” she said. She had a rolling cutter in her hand and was making long slices on a sheet of golden candy.

  “Did you make this?” Hale asked, leaning down to examine it more closely in the lamplight.

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s a hobby of mine. Father endures it because I can actually sell it for a pretty penny in Terrasia. I made this batch at the inn this morning, and it’s all cooled now and ready to be wrapped.”

  “Can I try a piece?�
� Hale asked. He wasn’t sure the last time he’d had caramel. There was something quaint about it. It reminded him of happier times. Younger days.

  “One,” she said. “One of the ugly bits on the end.”

  “Oh, all I deserve is the ugly bit?”

  “Unless you’re paying.” She giggled.

  “Fair point.” Hale swooped up one of the jagged edges of one of her rows and popped it in his mouth. The chewiness yielded flavors of buttery toffee and smooth milkiness, but there was something else, too. The bitter bite of coffee and…an earthiness he couldn’t place.

  “What’s in this?”

  “It’s a coffee stout caramel.” She smiled. Those dimples again. Scrumptious.

  “You put coffee and beer in this candy?” Hale’s eyes widened. “I think I’m in love!”

  Even in the low lamplight, Hale could see the blush rising on the round apples of her cheeks. “It’s my own recipe. One of my bestsellers.”

  “It’s genius! I never knew candy could be more than boring old chocolate or peppermint.”

  “There’s no end to the flavor combinations you can try! You can add liquor, or herbs, or spices—all sorts of things people wouldn’t expect.” Her smile turned mischievous. “Now, are you going to stand there, or are you going to help me wrap these up?” Emery had already begun rolling and twisting the caramels in little wax papers.

  “Apologies, my lady. I did promise to provide labor on this trip. Let’s wrap.”

  Hale fell into an easy rhythm next to Emery, his mind quieting for the first time in a long time. Somehow he didn’t even feel like charming her with witty banter—it was nice to just stand in the glow of her presence, taking in her scent of sugar and lavender.

  They were just finishing the last few caramels when Sim Chiron stormed over like a thundercloud. “What did I tell you about getting near my daughter, boy?”