The Confectioner's Truth

by Claire Luana

  “A bribe?” Olivia said around another bite of her strudel. “How could you think such a thing? The emperor is a fair and righteous ruler.”

  Wren froze, maple bar halfway to her mouth. “What did you say?”

  “She’s right,” Lennon said. “If we trust in him, he will bring glory to all the lands of the Aprican empire.”

  Those words. She had heard those words before. Coming out of Chandler. And the other guild members. A heaviness settled over her—gluing her to the floor where she stood. What had Guildmaster Beatrix said? A baker’s guild member was missing. A Gifted guild member.

  The maple bar fell from her hand as the pieces clicked into place. This food was infused. The pastries at the Guild meeting. The bread on the street. It was all infused.

  “Wren? Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Olivia said.

  Lennon snapped his fingers before her face. “You’re as white as a sheet.”

  “Who...else...?” Wren swallowed. “Who else has eaten these pastries?”

  “Marina and Beckett. They were just delivered fifteen minutes ago.” Olivia frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Callidus grabbed one with his coffee a few minutes ago,” Lennon added.

  “Callidus?” Wren’s eyes widened. “Where did he go?”

  “His office, I think.”

  Wren dashed from the library, spinning around the bannister to take the stairs up to the third floor two by two. The guards on the stairs leaped out of her way in surprise.

  “Callidus!” she screamed as she tore down the hallway and burst through his closed office door.

  Callidus sat at his desk, the cruller in his hand moving towards his lips.

  Chapter 11

  Wren dove bodily across the desk, batting the pastry out of Callidus’s narrow fingers.

  Callidus held his hands up, frozen in shock at Wren’s sudden appearance before him. “What in the Beekeeper’s name are you doing?”

  Wren let her head fall down, relief washing over her like a sugar glaze. “Infused...pastry.”

  Callidus shot to his feet, retrieving the offending cruller. He held it between two fingers and examined it as Wren crawled off the desk, pushing her hair out of her face. “How do you know?”

  “They’re infused. All of them. The ones at the meeting this morning. The ones in the library. Olivia and Lennon were spouting the exact same nonsense as Chandler. What was it?” Wren paused. “Oh, right. ‘The emperor is a fair and righteous ruler,’” she said, her voice as even as an automaton.

  Callidus fell into his chair with a heavy thunk, staring at the cruller. Wren sat in the leather-wrapped armchair before him, weariness washing over her.

  Callidus spoke. “They’re brainwashing the Guilds. With pastries.”

  If she weren’t so overcome with despair, Wren might have laughed. It sounded ridiculous when you put it like that. “That’s not the worst of it. That crowd outside on Guilder’s Row? They’re handing out bread to the people. I bet they’re doing it all over the city.”

  “They’ll have the whole city under their control in a matter of days. But this... How...?” Callidus trailed off, rubbing his sharp chin with his fingers, his eyes distant.

  “They have a member of the Baker’s Guild. They must have discovered his Gift.”

  “Blooming hell,” Callidus said. “This feels more like Vintner’s Guild magic.”

  The thought chilled her. The Vintner’s Guild—the magic of secrets and lies. “Maybe the Apricans have some new way of combining magics. We don’t know. We’ve never really understood what gives one person the ability to create a certain type of infusion.”

  “What if they can put it in other food? Beyond bread or pastries? Who’s to say that any of our food is safe?” Callidus asked, tossing the cruller onto the table, brushing the frosting off his hands with a grimace.

  Wren blew out a slow breath. “He’s already gotten to so many. All the guildmasters. Lennon. Olivia. Marina and Beckett.”

  Callidus looked up at that.

  “Oh yes, Beckett is back,” Wren said. “He’s the one who brought the presents.”

  Callidus wiped his mouth with the back of a shaky hand. “Once it spreads, the rebellion will die naturally. There will be no chance of removing Evander from the throne.”

  “And we’ll all be mindless drones, marching to whatever beat the emperor plays for us,” Wren finished. She leaned forward, her head falling into her hands. This was worse. Worse than anything they had faced before. She hadn’t thought it was possible, but here it was.

  Callidus looked up with alarm. “Thom. Where’s Thom?”

  Wren and Callidus were out of their chairs and scrambling towards the door in the blink of an eye. They raced down the hallway, rounding the stairs, taking them at a breakneck pace. Lieutenant Dashiell was at the bottom, chatting with one of the guild guards. “Have you seen Thom?” Callidus cried.

  “Dining hall.” Dash crooked a thumb behind him. “What’s wrong?”

  Dining hall, Wren mouthed to Callidus in horror.

  Without answering, they were off again, racing through the hallways, bursting through the doors into the dining hall. Thom was sitting at a table by himself in the empty hall, a forkful of pancake poised before his mouth. Wren ran forward, batting the fork out of his mouth. “Don’t eat that!” she cried.

  The fork spiraled out of his hand, skidding across the wooden floor. “Sweet caramel, Wren, what’s gotten into you?”

  Wren dropped onto the bench across from him. Please, by the gods, let that pancake be safe. “What do you think about the emperor?” she asked, her forehead scrunching in preparation for his stock answer.

  “I hope the bastard chokes on a truffle and does us all a favor,” he said. “Why?”

  Callidus let out a triumphant laugh of relief, grabbing Thom by the shoulders and shaking him with excitement.

  Thom looked between the two of them, confusion etched across his freckled face.

  Dash trotted into the hall, his hand on his sword. “Everything all right?”

  “False alarm.” Callidus waved him away. He slid onto the bench next to Thom, adjusting his hair to return it to position.

  Dash scowled at them, but he turned and left.

  “Now will someone tell me what my pancake did to you?” Thom asked.

  Wren answered in a whisper. “The emperor is spreading infused baked goods through the city. When you eat them...it changes you. You become his number one fan.”

  Thom looked between them in disbelief. “Is that even possible?”

  “I assure you, it is. And it has happened,” Callidus said grimly.

  “How long does it last?” he asked.

  Wren shrugged. “We’ll see. But if people keep eating the infused bread, they’ll keep getting re-infected.”

  “All the other Guild heads are under his spell,” Callidus said. “And we can’t trust anything in the city. Swarms, I hate to admit it, but the emperor’s plan was genius.”

  “Evil genius,” Thom said. “So...can I finish this pancake? It came from the guild kitchen, not from the palace.” He motioned to the half sitting on his plate.

  Callidus nodded sharply.

  Thom retrieved his fork, wiped it on his napkin, and dug in.

  “Callidus...” Wren’s mind was working. “Not all the Guildmasters are infected. Well, at least we don’t know that for sure. What about Pike?” The notorious head of the disbanded Spicer’s Guild. He hadn’t been at the meeting. Presumably, he hadn’t eaten an infused pastry yet. “He might be our only ally.”

  “By the Beekeeper, I hate that Pike keeps turning up as our only ally.”

  “You should go see him,” Thom said around a bite of pancake.

  “You?” Wren asked, turning to Thom. “What are you going to be doing?”

  Thom was chewing his last enormous bite and pushed up from the bench. “I’m going to warn my family. Maybe they haven’t eaten the bread yet.”
>
  Right. Sometimes Wren forgot that Thom had another family.

  “Go see to them. But come right back here. And eat nothing.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.” Thom saluted, fixing his hat over his curls.

  When Thom was gone, Callidus turned back to Wren.

  “We have to at least see if Pike’s infected,” she protested.

  “You’re forgetting one thing,” Callidus said. “The emperor has deemed Pike an enemy of the crown. If anyone is caught cavorting with him, they’ll be arrested too. He’s likely in hiding.”

  “We know where some of his hideouts are. It’s worth a try. We should at least warn him.”

  Callidus grunted. “Fine. You’re an expert at skulking about. How do you propose getting around our guard friend?”

  Wren looked over her shoulder at where Dash had disappeared. That was right. If Dash knew they were going to meet with Pike, he’d be forced to arrest them. They’d have to ditch him.

  “The direct way is the best way. We walk out the back door. Let’s go.” She stood.

  “Now?”

  “No time like the present.”

  The Unicorn Mercantile, a dance club on Nysia Avenue, was one of Guildmaster Pike’s lesser-known business ventures. They had found him there once before, when he was hiding from King Imbris’s watchful eye. Perhaps they’d find him there again.

  The brick building sat empty and dark in the low light of mid-morning.

  Callidus banged on the metal front door with his fist. “The place looks deserted.”

  “Pike’s office was downstairs. He could be in there and you’d never know.”

  Callidus banged again, more insistent this time. No answer.

  “Should we go around back?” Wren offered. “See if we can look in the window?”

  “It’s a club. There are no windows by design,” Callidus said, pounding a third time, keeping up an even tempo, his fist echoing on the metal door.

  The door cracked open as Callidus’s hand was poised for another round. “What?” a deadpan voice said.

  Wren squinted. She recognized the man. It was Pike’s second-in-command, a dark-goateed man named Rizio.

  Wren peeked her head under Callidus’s arm. “Can we come in? Is the Guildmaster here?”

  “Nope. And I’m not taking visitors.” Rizio started to close the door.

  “Please! We bring important news to share about the emperor.”

  Rizio sighed and closed the door. A chain on the inside rattled, and he opened the door, standing back to let them in. “Quickly. Prying eyes everywhere these days.”

  They descended the dark staircase into the still dance hall and beyond, into the bowels of the building, where Pike’s office lay. The office was empty, desk drawers pulled out, files piled on the sofa and in boxes.

  “Going somewhere?” Callidus asked, surveying the scene.

  “It’s not safe in Maradis for us anymore. The Guild has been disbanded. Time for us to return to sea. It’s where we belong anyway.”

  Callidus spoke. “It’s even less safe than you might imagine. For all of us. The emperor has a member of the Baker’s Guild producing infused pastries and breads. He’s distributing them all over the city. They remove your ability to think freely. By eating the bread, you become brainwashed to believe the emperor is the best thing for Maradis since...well, since sliced bread.”

  “Coward,” Rizio said, his mouth twisting in distaste. “Politics. The Guilds have become like rats, scheming and maneuvering in the dark.”

  “Where’s Pike?” Callidus asked. “Can we speak with him?”

  “He’s already left the city. He’s safe.”

  “When do you leave?” Wren asked. She wanted to ask where Pike was but feared that was too blunt a question.

  “I and the last of the spicers leave tomorrow. I appreciate you sharing your intelligence. We will be able to avoid any of the infused foods before we leave.”

  “It’s been mostly bread, but you have to assume nothing is safe, save what you’ve prepared yourself,” Wren said.

  “Take us with you,” Callidus said.

  Shock coursed through her. He was thinking of fleeing? Abandoning the city? The Guild? A day ago, she might have welcomed a chance to run, to make a new start. A day ago she’d been weary. But that was before the emperor had shown his true colors. Now—she was angry. What he’d done was unconscionable. A horror on a level Wren couldn’t have even conceived of. The emperor didn’t intend to let Maradis rule itself. Their resources and their sovereignty weren’t enough. He would have their very minds—their free will. They couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

  “Callidus,” Wren began, but he held up a hand. She fell silent, unease roiling within her.

  “You don’t even know where we’re going,” Rizio said slowly.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s too dangerous for us here right now. We need to regroup in safety. To make plans. We can pay you.”

  Regroup. That was promising. It meant Callidus didn’t mean to flee forever.

  The dark-haired man crossed his arms before them, considering. The silver rings in his ears glimmered in the low light of the office. “One hundred gold crowns for each of you.”

  Wren’s eyes bugged out. One hundred! That was a king’s ransom!

  Callidus paled. “We’re a wealthy Guild, but not that wealthy. Twenty.”

  “Eighty.”

  “One hundred for the lot of us,” Callidus said.

  Rizio rolled his eyes. “Fine. But you share a cabin. And no complaining.”

  “Done.” Callidus thrust his hand out, and Rizio shook it.

  “Where are we going?” Wren asked.

  Rizio shook his head. “Better you don’t know. In case you get caught. I’ll just say...bring a cloak. A waterproof one.”

  Great, that narrowed it down to about everywhere between here and Aprica.

  “Where shall we meet you?” Callidus asked.

  “Our boat is the Black Jasmine, docked at the end of Pier 91 in the Port Quarter. Be there at midnight tomorrow or we leave without you.”

  Chapter 12

  “Terrible idea,” Hale muttered to himself as he hurried through the slick streets, heading for the Confectioner’s Guildhall. Yet his feet were bearing him ever closer.

  Hale couldn’t shake his conversation with Liam and Beckett. And Daemastra most of all. Something was going on and it involved infused food. He would stake his life on it. He knew that he had made his choice—he was an Aprican stooge now. He knew that the Guilds—the city—blamed him for his current predicament. But old habits died hard. And so he found himself turning onto the wide avenue of Guilder’s Row, the white marble Guildhall before him. Just a quick word to tell them they should be on their guard. That was all.

  Hale started up the stairs to the Guildhall and spun quickly, hurrying back down when he spotted who was pacing before the doorway. Hale crossed the street and ducked into the shadow of the Tradehall before turning, blowing out a breath. He squinted to make him out. A legionnaire in sky blue, his brown hair cut short on the sides, a trim beard covering his jaw. The man looked furious, pacing back and forth like a rabid dog before the door. There was no way Hale could enter the Guildhall without that man noticing him. And Hale did not want an Aprican legionnaire to notice him.

  Twin surges of relief and disappointment welled in him. “Well, that’s that,” he murmured under his breath. He had come, he had tried to warn them. But it wasn’t meant to be. Wren and Callidus were smart. They had been through worse scrapes. Whatever Daemastra was up to—the Guild would be able to stay one step ahead of it. Hale hoped.

  With a resigned nod, Hale shoved off the wall, heading back towards the sidewalk—where he was barreled into by a man hurrying by, his jacket pulled tightly around his throat, his hat pulled low.

  “Watch where you’re going,” Hale shouted as he recoiled off the man, stumbling to catch his footing. The stranger hurried on without a word, not even looking
back.

  “Son of a spicer,” Hale swore, shaking his head. At that moment, he noticed the man had dropped something. A letter. Hale picked it up and looked up for the man so he could call out for him. But he’d vanished.

  Hale frowned and brushed off the creamy vellum on his pant leg. The letter was sealed with green wax formed in the shape of a falcon. The Imbris crest. He turned the letter over and froze. Hale Firena, it read.

  Hale’s senses surged to full alert, his awareness buzzing. He looked around, but no one was paying him any attention. His pulse raced in his veins as he broke open the seal.

  Mr. Firena-

  We are pleased to learn that despite your past misdeeds, you continue to have the best interests of Maradis at heart. As an Aprican soldier, you have unique access to intelligence that could be of use to the resistance. If you should ever come across information that you would like to share in order to assist in our efforts, we would be most obliged to receive it. If you do, place the information in an envelope underneath the seat of the Hippogriff carriage on the carousel at Gemma Park. Do not attempt to contact us. We will contact you.

  Sincerely,

  The Falconer

  P.S. And, Mr. Firena, whatever you do, don’t eat the bread.

  Wren was stunned. They were leaving Maradis. “Is there no other way?” she asked Callidus as they emerged from the Unicorn Mercantile into the blustery slate day.

  “I don’t fancy becoming a mindless emperor-worshipper, do you?”

  “Of course not.” Wren sighed. “It just feels...like giving up.” Which, if she were being honest with herself, she had been wanting to do for weeks now.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” Callidus asked. His tone was harsh. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing these past weeks? Withdrawing from the world, feeling sorry for yourself? It may be news to you, Wren, but you’re not the only one who cared about Aiyani Sable. Or this Guild. Or this city.”

  Wren winced. The truth of Callidus’s words cut as sharp as knives. She had been wrapped up in her own grief, callous to the fact that those around her were grieving too. “I’m sorry, Callidus,” she said softly. “I’m just...” She trailed off. How to make him understand? She and Thom hadn’t told Callidus that they had accompanied Hale to see the Aprican general the night before the city had fallen. She was afraid to.