The Confectioner's Truth

by Claire Luana

  “Just what, Wren?” Callidus asked, looking at her sideways over the high collar of his coat. A memory flickered, tugging at her. It was so much like the first time she’d ever seen him, in Master Oldrick’s shop. She’d been afraid then, and she was afraid now. She was afraid to stay and afraid to go. Her fears were like glistening thorns surrounding her, a maze of brambles that she couldn’t escape. As she shied away from one, another would pierce her. They crowded around her, their limbs growing tighter by the day. Soon she wouldn’t be able to move at all. She wouldn’t be able to breathe. She had to break free.

  “I’m afraid that if I try to help, I’m only going to make it worse,” she stammered out.

  Callidus wrinkled his thick black brows. “It can’t get much worse than this, Wren.”

  “Last time...” She faltered, but she shook herself, gathering her courage around her. “Last time I tried to make it better and it made it worse. All of this is my fault, Callidus. The city wouldn’t have fallen if it weren’t for me.”

  Callidus stopped in his tracks. “What are you talking about?”

  So Wren told him, her words tripping over each other. How she and Thom and Hale had gone to make a deal with the Apricans to secure his freedom. How Hale had betrayed them and taken the key Lucas had given her to the secret passageway. She needed to confess her sins. She needed him to know. “So you see,” she finished, “it wasn’t just Hale who betrayed Maradis. It was me.”

  Callidus heaved a massive sigh and rubbed his temples with two long fingers.

  Wren’s stomach flipped nervously. “Please, Callidus, say something.”

  “What you did was stupid and reckless,” Callidus said. He softened, looking up with those ice-blue eyes. “But you did it to save me. So I suppose I cannot fault you too terribly.”

  Relief flowed through Wren like a tidal wave. She sprung at Callidus, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her face into the scratchy wool of his coat. “Thank you. Thank you for forgiving me.”

  Callidus wrapped his arms around her, rocking her gently. “There’s nothing to forgive. The Apricans were going to break through the wall in another few days. If you hadn’t done what you’d done, I’d be dead. Along with Chandler, McArt, and Bruxius.”

  She felt about a thousand times lighter. How had she once thought Callidus was hard and cruel?

  Callidus patted her gently. “Now let’s get out of this rain.”

  They hurried the rest of the way to the Guildhall, only to be met by a golden thundercloud at the door. From the damp shoulders of his sky-blue uniform, it was clear that Dash had been waiting there for some time.

  “You two!” he shouted at them, bounding down the steps to face them. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

  “We went for a cup of coffee,” Callidus said, looking down his nose at Dash. “I wasn’t aware it was illegal under the emperor’s rule.”

  “For a cup of coffee?” Dash crossed his arms. “Sneaking out the back way? You must think I was born yesterday.”

  “To the contrary, I give no thought to when you were born. Now if you would excuse us, we’d like to get inside out of the rain.”

  Dash grabbed Callidus’s arm as he tried to shove past the lieutenant. “Don’t ever. Try to duck my watch again. There will be consequences.”

  “For him maybe,” Wren muttered as she followed Callidus up the steps.

  “I heard that,” Dash said.

  Wren looked over her shoulder in surprise.

  He was right on her heel. “Oh yes. From now on we’re as inseparable as salt and pepper. Enjoy.”

  Wren parted ways with Dash at her room, slamming the door in his face.

  “Wren.”

  She jumped against the door, her hand flying to her heart. “Thom!” She let out a shaky laugh. “You scared the sugar out of me.” She looked back over her shoulder and held up her finger to her lips. “Dash is out there,” she whispered.

  Thom was sitting at the table by her window, one long leg crossed over the other.

  Wren rang the bell for a servant before taking the seat across from him. Some coffee would warm her up.

  Thom grabbed a chocolate from the little bowl on the table. “Think these are safe?”

  Wren shrugged. “I can’t imagine the emperor’s been everywhere.”

  A knock sounded on the door. Wren met the servant, poking her head into the hallway. “Just some coffee for me and Master Thom,” she whispered, ignoring Dash, who was leaning against the wall, one booted foot crossed over the other, examining his fingernails.

  The maid curtseyed and took off down the hall.

  “Didn’t you and Callidus just go out for ‘coffee’ an hour ago?” Dash crooked his fingers around the word “coffee.”

  “We Alesians drink a great amount of coffee. Perhaps you should do some research before you invade a country next time.” Wren slammed the door again.

  “How’d it go with your family?” Wren asked, dropping back into the chair.

  Thom shook his head. “I was too late.”

  Wren deflated. “I’m so sorry.”

  Thom shrugged. “It might be safer for them. They’ll toe the line, stay out of trouble. At least until we can find a solution. Did you talk to Pike?”

  Wren took one of the chocolates, unwrapping it. They were tasty, with a gooey center of just the right consistency and sweet milk chocolate on the outside. There was nothing worse than a caramel that dripped out of the center of its chocolate home. She could never understand confectioners who preferred that type of confection. But she was stalling. “We found Rizio. Pike’s left the city. The whole Spicer’s Guild has.”

  “Blooming hell,” Thom said. “It’s that bad, huh?”

  Wren nodded before meeting his eyes. “We’re going too.”

  “What?” Thom exploded.

  Wren cringed. “Shh!”

  Sorry, he mouthed. “You’re leaving?”

  “We’re leaving. Or at least, I hope you’re coming too. It’s not forever. Just long enough for us to regroup and figure out what to do about this bread.”

  Thom was nodding. “I’ll come. But only if we bring the others.”

  “What others?” Wren asked.

  Thom rolled his eyes. “Lennon. Marina. Olivia. We can’t just leave them here under the emperor’s mind control.”

  “They’re too dangerous to bring along. They could give us up to the emperor’s men. They’re not our allies right now.”

  “If they didn’t know what we were doing until it was too late, then they wouldn’t have a reason to fight us. We need to give the infused bread a chance to wear off.”

  “It would provide good information,” Wren admitted. “To know how long it takes to wear off. But it’s going to be complicated enough to get us out of the Guildhall with Lieutenant Babysitter watching our every move. To try to get three more...”

  “When I was kidnapped by King Imbris, you didn’t leave me to rot. You planned to get me out,” Thom pointed out. “They’re our allies.”

  “Olivia and Lennon are,” Wren muttered. She sighed. “I’m not sure Callidus will go for it. But we can try.”

  “Good.” Thom brightened.

  “We can’t go to Callidus without a plan, though.” She clapped her hands. “So. What’s your master plan to get us all out of here?”

  Thom unwrapped another chocolate, grinning. “I was hoping you’d come up with one.”

  Wren groaned. “Take them out for a dinner in the Port Quarter? On one of Pike’s ships? Then it starts going and before they’re any the wiser, we’re gone?” She let out a halfhearted laugh. It was a terrible plan. Hardly even worthy of the name.

  “No one eats dinner in the Port Quarter. Plus, how would we lose Dash? And don’t you think they’d wonder about our luggage?”

  “Luggage.” Wren scrunched her lip. “I forgot about that.”

  Another knock sounded on the door and Thom went to fetch their coffee. “We didn’t ask for any food
,” he said, which warranted a murmured response from the maid. “Fine,” he said, closing the door with one foot, a silver tray in his hands.

  “They sent up pastries.” He smiled sweetly. “Courtesy of the emperor,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “Should I throw them in the fire?”

  But an idea was blossoming in Wren’s mind. “Keep them,” she said as Thom sat down.

  “Cream? Sugar?” he asked, and she shook her head.

  “Black. Thom. I think...I think I have an idea.”

  “Thank the Beekeeper.” Thom handed her an earthen mug, its contents warm and black. “Lay it on me.”

  Wren dumped out the chocolates onto the table and positioned the two croissants across from each other. “This croissant is the ship. This one’s the Guild. The chocolates are us. And...” She snagged a sugar cube from the bowl and placed it with the chocolates. “This is Dash.”

  “Your plan looks delicious thus far.”

  She shot him a look. She added the little silver pitcher of cream to the pile of chocolates and sugar cube. “This is a wagon full of Guild goods. We tell Dash that we have been ordered by the emperor to transport these special products to a ship that will take them back to Aprica.”

  “What will be in the wagon?”

  “We’ll need to make some chocolate. But underneath, we can put our luggage.”

  “Nice,” Thom said. “Won’t we need some sort of paperwork? Official order or some such?”

  Wren waved her hand. “We can forge it.”

  “Oh, of course. Silly me. Continue.”

  “We get Lennon and Marina and Olivia to assist us with the transport.”

  “Why would they come too?”

  “I don’t know, Thom. I haven’t worked out every detail. We’ll tell them...the emperor asked for them to supervise. They’re so in love with him, they’ll swoon all over themselves for the chance to serve.”

  “Things are getting shaky, but go on.”

  “We all take the wagon down to the docks, where it will be loaded onto the ship bound for ‘Aprica.’” She moved her little convoy of chocolate and coffee accoutrements to the other croissant. “While Lennon, Marina, and Olivia are carrying the stuff into the ship, one of us distracts Dash and knocks him out. We tie him up inside the wagon.” Wren dropped the sugar cube into the cream.

  “Not it,” Thom said.

  “Now Dash is out of the way, our guild members are on the ship, together with our luggage. All we have to do is keep them on the ship and let Pike’s men cast off.”

  Thom rubbed his jaw, pondering. “It’s not terrible.”

  Wren blew out a breath. “Will Callidus go for it?”

  Thom grinned. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Chapter 13

  A pillow smacked Hale in the face.

  “You’re rolling about like a virgin getting his first lay.” The soldier in the bunk above him peered down, his stringy, black hair hanging like a curtain. “Quit it.”

  “Sorry,” Hale mumbled. He didn’t remember the man’s name.

  The face disappeared and the bunk above him creaked as the soldier settled back down.

  Hale sat up. He set his feet on the stone floor and cradled his head in his hands. There was no way he was going to sleep tonight. The Falconer’s message was haunting him, playing over and over in his mind. Why was Daemastra keeping a Gifted Baker’s Guild member hostage? What was he doing to the bread?

  Hale hopped into his trousers, grabbing his boots and a flannel shirt. He padded through the dark barracks in his bare feet, pausing in the dimly-lit hallway outside to finish dressing.

  It was well past midnight, what his mother had always called “the witching hour.” A sad smile twisted on his face. His mother had been magic and she hadn’t even known it. She would have been delighted. His father would have hated it.

  Hale walked through the slumbering palace, not sure where he was headed. He just knew that his feet needed to mirror his thoughts—moving, moving.

  He found himself in the empty hallways of Daemastra’s west wing. Moving towards the cuisinier’s kitchen, workshop, lair—whatever the man considered it. Daemastra seemed like the type of man who might work at all hours of the night, but Hale saw as he approached carefully that the room was dark.

  He lit an oil lamp, carrying it with him, running his fingers over books, the utensils, and implements. He wasn’t certain what he was searching for, only that there was something to find.

  Hale opened the icebox, revealing a meticulously organized set of glass vials and jars of various sizes. Each was labeled with a name. He frowned, taking one out, looking at its contents in the light of the lamp. Some sort of white powder. He held up one of the big ones, the size of a large jar that you might keep peaches in. “Martin,” the neat lettering read. He put it back, closing the door with a frown.

  He continued his surreptitious inspection, pulling a book off the shelf. He flipped through the pages before pulling the next. Anatomy. Infectious diseases. Alchemy. Metalworking. Chemistry. There seemed to be no natural science that Daemastra hadn’t studied. Perhaps the man truly was trying to discover a cure for the emperor’s condition.

  Hale put the last book back on the shelf. He tried to open a set of cabinets, but they were locked. Hale smiled. Locked cabinets had worthy contents. He looked around for something to pick the lock with and came up with a small knife and a paper clip. “Thank you, Wren,” he said as he maneuvered the lock open. His smile faded at the thought of her, his elation dimming. What was going on back at the Guild? He sighed. That wasn’t his home anymore. He had lost the right to care about them. This sterile workshop was his home now.

  “Jackpot,” Hale whispered as he pulled open the cabinet doors. The bottom shelf was filled with a dozen black notebooks. He pulled the last one off the shelf, flipping through it. Daemastra’s script was small and neat, his documentation meticulous. Experiment 427? Hale’s brow furrowed. Better start at the beginning. He retrieved the first notebook off the shelf, pulled up a stool, and began reading.

  As the pages turned and the oil in the lamp burned off, Hale’s horror grew. The notebooks went back a decade. It started with Daemastra’s notes on the Aprican Gifted. Cataloging them, studying them. Experimenting on them—oftentimes against their wills. Which infusions had which result. Secrets, leverage. This man lived and breathed the Gifted. Infusions.

  The notebooks documented Daemastra’s own increased vitality as he began using infused products himself. Youth. Intelligence. The healing of the limp that had plagued him since a riding injury years back.

  Hale moved through the notebooks, flipping through the pages, his eyes growing wider and wider. Daemastra’s rise to power. Working as Grand Patrician Evander’s cuisinier. Notes on recipes. Formulas. The coup that had ended King Vespian and Hale’s own father—Daemastra had been integral in aiding Evander’s rise to power. Hale’s mother’s name. Gifted potions to counter the emperor’s condition. The emperor’s condition...

  Hale slammed the book closed. “By the Beekeeper’s balls,” he swore. He ran his hand through his golden hair. Daemastra was keeping the emperor alive. But he was also poisoning him.

  “That crafty bastard,” Hale whispered into the darkness. In a way, it was impressive. Daemastra had made himself indispensable to the emperor. Him, and his twisted obsession with cataloging and understanding the secret of the Gifted and their infusions. By infecting the emperor with a disease that only Daemastra and his “infused formulas” could keep at bay.

  Hale slid the notebook back into its spot. He closed the cabinet, fumbling for far too long while trying to relock it. His heart was hammering in his chest. He was overcome with the desperate need to be away from this place—this room and the secrets it held. He hadn’t had a chance to read through all the notebooks, to find out if they revealed what Daemastra was doing to the bread, but that seemed like a small concern in light of what he’d uncovered. If Daemastra found him here...there was
no telling what the madman would do.

  Finally, blessedly, the cabinet lock clicked shut. Hale blew out the lamp, replacing it where he’d found it.

  Hale weighed his options as he hurried back towards the barracks. He shook his head, fighting with himself. There was really only one option, and it was lunacy.

  But there it was. He needed to tell Evander. The man ruled an empire, and he was completely at Daemastra’s mercy. The invasion, the imprisonment of Gifted members, perhaps Hale could end it all by telling the emperor the truth. Or perhaps he would lose his head.

  Hale paused, chewing on his lip. He pulled a silver crown from his pocket. “Heads, I go talk to the emperor, tails, I go back to bed,” he said to himself. His luck had never led him astray. He shoved aside the little voice that told him that luck may not stay with traitors to their friends and countries. He flipped.

  Heads. Well, that settled it. Blooming hell.

  He turned left towards Emperor Evander’s wing. He had only glimpsed the man once since he’d taken over Alesia, since Daemastra had made Hale stand on that balcony behind the new ruler, forced him to look down upon the sea of people whose lives he’d helped ruin. Evander had changed much, no doubt thanks to Daemastra’s poisons. Hale remembered Evander from his youth as a virile man with a hard set to his jaw, a man who hadn’t smiled much. Actually, Evander had reminded Hale a lot of his father, though they’d been mortal enemies in Aprican politics. Now, the man was a shadow of his former self. A puppet.

  A set of guards in white and gold uniforms stood outside the emperor’s wing. “State your business.”

  “I need to speak to the emperor,” Hale said.

  “And I need a good lay,” the man said. “Doesn’t mean we’re going to get it. It’s past 2 a.m.”