The Confectioner's Truth

by Claire Luana

  “I know, but I have intelligence for the emperor’s ears alone. Extremely time-sensitive. If I don’t get it to him, his interests could be irreparably harmed. Do you want to be the men responsible for one of the largest travesties in the history of the Empire?” Hale was laying it on a little thick, but the man’s attitude rubbed him the wrong way.

  The guards exchanged a look. “Could send him to the emperor’s steward, let him decide,” the one on the right said.

  The other seemed relieved by this suggestion. “Steward Exita’s chambers are at the end of the second hallway on the right. He will decide if you can interrupt the emperor at this hour.”

  “Thanks, mates,” Hale said, offering a little bow. “You’re a credit to your unit.” He rolled his eyes as soon as he passed by the two men.

  Hale didn’t turn right at the second hallway. He kept going straight towards the next set of guards. “Here to see the emperor,” he said.

  “Not here,” the guard said.

  Not here? Shouldn’t the other guards have just told him that?

  “When will he be back?” Hale said through gritted teeth, trying not to let his annoyance show.

  “Not sure.”

  “About now,” a wizened voice said behind him.

  Hale turned to find the emperor wrapped in a dressing gown, two more white uniformed guards behind him.

  “Sir,” Hale said. “I need to speak to you. It’s a matter of utmost importance.”

  “Middle of the night.” The emperor shuffled past him. He hardly came up to Hale’s shoulder. It seemed Daemastra’s poisons had been effective.

  “Please,” Hale said. He didn’t want to tip his hand before the guards—he wasn’t sure who might be in Daemastra’s pocket.

  “Go,” the emperor barked, opening his door. The two guards were approaching Hale.

  “You don’t even have a moment for the son of Willum Firena?” Hale called as the emperor went to shut the door.

  The emperor froze, turning to look at him. His eyes were milky, but Hale saw the recognition there. “Calladan, was it?” The emperor straightened.

  “Hale,” he said, his voice thick. He hadn’t heard anyone speak of Calladan, his older brother, in years. “The younger son.”

  The emperor sighed. “Come in. Five minutes. I just drank a sleeping draught.”

  Hale shouldered past the guards, shaking one of the men’s hands from where it rested in a less-than-friendly manner on his shoulder.

  The emperor’s chambers were huge, opulent, trimmed in gold gilt, with a dozen lanterns blazing merrily. The emperor waved Hale towards the fireplace before lowering himself into one of two large wingback chairs.

  “I’ll get right to it,” Hale said. “Sim Daemastra has been poisoning you. You’re not sick. Well, you weren’t originally. He made you sick. I found it all in his notebooks.”

  The emperor looked at him through watery blue eyes, the lines on his face shadowed in the flickering firelight. Then he started to laugh—a wet, wheezing sound.

  Hale leaned back, frowning as a hacking fit overcame the man.

  When his deep, phlegmy coughs died down, the emperor looked back at him, seeming to weigh him. “I thank you kindly for your loyalty. I always respected your father, you know. Even though I had him killed. He was an honorable man.”

  Hale furrowed his brow at the non sequitur. “Your Majesty, what about Daemastra?”

  “I’ll tell you this, because in your old age, you get nostalgic. And I’m pleased to see you, this reminder of the old days. But this news, this revelation you bring me—is nothing I don’t already know.”

  “What?” Hale leaned back, shocked. “You—You already know?”

  “When you make a deal with the devil, don’t be surprised when the devil comes to collect.” The king pushed up one of the sleeves of his dressing gown, revealing wrinkled skin covered in sun spots. But beneath... Hale leaned forward, his eyes widening in horror. Lines of black twisted beneath the skin, as if snaking through the emperor’s veins.

  “You don’t have to be a doctor to realize this isn’t natural,” the emperor said, pushing his sleeve back down.

  “What...?” Hale stammered, trying to shake off his shock.

  The emperor sighed. “I was young and power-hungry, and I let Daemastra off the leash, sanctioned his twisted...experiments. His obsession with the occult, with the Gifted, with infusions. He got me results, so I looked the other way and ignored his tactics. Before I knew it, we had run out of Aprican enemies to defeat. I was king, and I was satisfied. It turned out he wasn’t.”

  “Why don’t you have him arrested? Executed?”

  “Besides the fact that I would die? That mattered to me for a while; it doesn’t so much anymore. But my daughter, my grandchildren...I wouldn’t want them harmed. Daemastra knows my leverage points. He’s made it quite clear what would happen to my family if any ham befell him.”

  Hale shook his head. “So you do nothing? Let him have his way with Alesia?”

  The emperor stood on shaky legs. “I suggest you do what I do. Stay out of his way. Beneath his notice.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Hale said softly.

  “Then run,” the emperor said. “You did it once. You made a new life for yourself here. You could do it again.”

  “I don’t know that I could,” Hale said. “Everything I love...it is...it was...here.”

  “Then this is your bed, and I suggest you get comfortable,” the emperor said, shooing him towards the door. “That’s all a man can do.”

  Chapter 14

  “That is, without a doubt, the most idiotic, harebrained scheme I’ve ever heard. It will get us all killed. Or jailed. Or jailed and then killed.” Callidus sat behind his desk, as dark as a storm cloud.

  Wren and Thom sat before him, having just laid out their idiotic, harebrained scheme to ferry Olivia, Lennon, and Marina out of Maradis.

  “Does that mean you’ll let us bring them?” Thom asked, flashing his widest grin.

  Callidus rubbed his temples. “They’re not stray puppies.” But Wren saw him softening, considering.

  Wren and Thom exchanged a hopeful look but remained silent.

  “Beckett is Marina’s father. I’m not going to take her away from her family,” Callidus said. “But Olivia...I do feel responsible for her in a way. After what happened with Kasper and Greer.”

  Thom gave a little victorious shake of his fists.

  Wren smiled despite herself. “And Lennon?” she asked.

  Callidus let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, and Lennon. In for a pinch, in for a pound.”

  “Yes! You won’t regret this,” Thom said.

  “I doubt that very much,” Callidus said drolly. “To pull this off...” He pulled out a little black notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. “We’ll need a forged bill of lading from the emperor for the goods, a whole hell of a lot of chocolates to use as cover, boxes to hide our actual luggage, and something to incapacitate Dash, Lennon, and Olivia.”

  “I figured we’d just knock them over the head,” Wren suggested.

  “Oh, did you? Do you want to be the one who has the honor of incapacitating Lieutenant Cardas without getting yourself killed?”

  Wren and Thom looked at each other and shrugged. “We figured you’d do it,” Thom said.

  “No thank you, Thom, no thank you. We’d be just as likely to kill the lot of them than knock them unconscious.”

  “What do you suggest?” Wren asked.

  “I know an apothecary who should be able to get us something that will put them under for a time.” He scribbled in his notebook, scrunching his already thick eyebrows into one long line. “Yes, I think we can pull it off. If you two make all the confections, I can handle the other arrangements.”

  “Yes, Guildmaster,” Thom said.

  Wren and Thom stood in unison. It wasn’t the worst of the jobs, to have to make the chocolate.

  “And don’t eat anything
before tomorrow that you haven’t made with your own hands. The last thing I need is to lose you two as well.”

  “Yes, Guildmaster,” Wren said as they headed towards the door, winking at Thom.

  “Why does it sound like an insult when they say that?” She heard Callidus muttering under his breath as she closed the door.

  Wren and Thom spent the next twenty-four hours in the kitchen, mixing and boiling and stirring and pouring. They made amaretti truffles, buckwheat beehives, chai tigers, and spiked earl grey ganache. On and on they poured—orange blossoms and dulce de leche balls and toffee drops and gingerbread squares and peppermint swirls. They cooked until Wren’s feet ached and her stomach yowled from hunger. They took turns stealing a few hours’ sleep on the hard, little bench in the heat of the conservatory, the humid air melting away the aches in their backs and cricks in their necks.

  Wren was swaying on her feet, placing the last of the mezcal macadamia chews into neat rows in tidy brown cardboard boxes, when Callidus appeared in the doorway to check on their progress. He looked over the stacks of boxes tied with twine and merely grunted. “I had the servants bring a packing crate up to each of your rooms. Pack only what you need and then we’ll put the chocolates on top. Be ready in two hours.” He disappeared into the hallway as quickly as he had materialized.

  “If I didn’t know better, I would think that grunt was a compliment,” Thom said.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were right.”

  Wren and Thom trudged wearily up the stairs towards their rooms. Wren tripped over the first stair—only Thom’s arm kept her from falling flat on her face.

  “Did you infuse the chocolates?” Thom asked. “I know you’re clumsy, but even you can usually conquer a set of stairs.”

  Wren looked crossly at Thom. “Some of them. It’s hard not to when you’re making that many.” Wren’s gift infused chocolate with good luck, but in the act of infusing, she gave up her own luck for a time. She certainly didn’t feel very lucky right now.

  “Wren, Thom!” Olivia stood at the second-floor landing above them.

  “Hello,” Wren said carefully as she and Thom summited the final steps to the landing. It was strange to interact with Olivia, knowing she was under the emperor’s thrall.

  “You two look positively dead on your feet,” Olivia said, her pretty face twisted with concern.

  “We had a large order of confections to make. An order from the emperor,” Thom said.

  “About that,” Olivia said, walking beside them towards their room. “Why exactly did Callidus want me to come along? I normally handle deliveries to the Guild, not from it.”

  Wren’s mind raced. “Um...I suggested you come along.”

  “Why?”

  Thom and Wren exchanged a panicked look. Wren came up with the excuse. “Because...Lieutenant Cardas. He... I think he likes you.”

  “The Aprican Legionnaire? With the beard?” Olivia said. Her blue eyes widened.

  Thom raised an eyebrow and Wren gave a hopeless little shrug. “Yep. He asked me about you. Since we all have to live with the Apricans now, I figure it can’t hurt to get to know them.”

  “All right,” Olivia said slowly, deep in thought. A smile crept onto her cherubic face. “You’re right. It can’t hurt to be friendly. We leave at what, eleven? A little late for a delivery, isn’t it?”

  “To keep out of sight of the Falconer rebels,” Thom said sagely.

  “Makes sense.”

  They had reached Wren’s door now.

  “I’ll see you both in a few hours,” Olivia said brightly, waving and heading back down the hallway.

  “That was some first-class bullshitting. Dash has a crush on her?” He snorted a laugh.

  “Hopefully, they’ll be too busy flirting with each other to realize our cover story makes absolutely no sense.”

  “See you in two?”

  Wren nodded.

  As Callidus promised, one of the wooden packing crates had been delivered to Wren’s chambers. Wren looked about, at a loss as to what to pack. She’d never had much in the way of worldly possessions, and since arriving at the Guild, she hadn’t had a lot of leisure time for shopping. In her closet, she stripped off the chocolate-stained dress she wore and pulled on a navy-blue skirt and sky-blue blouse, cinching them both with a brown leather belt. She pulled on thick woolen stockings and laced up her good brown boots. Traveling attire, check. She looked through her meager closet, pulling out a few of the more sensible warm dresses, a few pairs of leggings and a thick sweater to sleep in. She ran her hands past the velvet dress she had worn to Callidus’s Appointment Gala, and then the beaded gown she had worn to Crown Prince Zane’s royal wedding. The black dress was heavy in her hands, its weight pulling at her. It had been a gift from Lucas. The first gift from Lucas. She wanted to bring it with her but knew it was completely impractical. There would be no need for fancy dresses where she was going. She didn’t even know where she was going.

  Wren leaned against the wall, pulling out of her blouse the chain that held Lucas’s ring. She stroked the ring’s carved edges, imagining him touching this very surface before he gave it to her.

  “Where are you?” she whispered. “What if I never figure out what it means? What if I never find you?” She closed her eyes, trying to conjure up the image of him, to trace the contours of his features with her mind’s eye. Dark hair laced with flecks of premature gray, soft gray eyes over a serious nose. A smile...a smile that melted her like chocolate in the sun. Checked suits, long fingers laced through hers, the rosemary-fresh scent of him. He was fading. She could see the pieces individually if she focused on them, brought them to the forefront of her mind. But the picture—the whole picture—was fuzzy. Wherever he was, was Lucas forgetting her too?

  Wren shoved the ring back under her blouse, wishing her emotions could disappear as easily. She needed to finish packing.

  She finished shoving clothes into the box—underclothes, a scarf woven in the forest-green plaid of the Imbris clan—a second gift from Lucas. A toothbrush and hairbrush and various bathroom implements, including some hairpins for any lockpicking she may need to do in the future. She took the coins she had saved up from their little hiding place on the bookshelf, adding them to the pouch on her belt. A deck of cards she had borrowed from Hale. Well, those were hers now. She packed the cards inside the crate and covered her measly worldly possessions with some crinkled paper before securely fastening on the lid. Perfect. Time to go.

  Dash, apparently in good spirits again despite their unchaperoned outing yesterday, had commissioned a wagon for them. He seemed eager to prove his usefulness, which Wren supposed was better than him lurking about doing nothing. Thom and Lennon dutifully carried the crates of chocolate along with some of the guild servants.

  “What does the emperor need all of this for?” Lennon asked, raindrops shimmering on his dark hair.

  “He’s having an All Hallows’ Eve party for the ages,” Wren said. “He wanted the best confections.”

  Thom winked at her, mouthing, “First class.”

  Wren made a shushing motion at him. She was almost starting to enjoy coming up with a load of hogwash to feed the others.

  “That’s the last of it,” Dash said, dusting off his hands. “Shall we get going?”

  “By all means,” Callidus said, with an incline of his head. “After you.”

  The city streets were largely deserted this time of night, and they made good time to the Port Quarter. Their group was quiet, huddling under the wagon’s canvas cover to keep out of the rain. Wren watched the silent buildings pass by—stones grayed with moisture, the light of lamps and candles turning the leaded glass windows into blinking eyes. When she had first come to Maradis, it had seemed a terrifying maze of strange faces and dark alleys. Now, despite its flaws, it had come to feel like home. When would she see it again?

  Thom stared out the other side of the wagon, deep in thought. Was he wondering the same th
ing?

  Wren shoved her hands in her pockets, half to ward against the cold, half to check, for the tenth time, that the little bottle Callidus had given her was still there. They each had one; the clear liquid was supposed to be strong enough to knock out a horse when inhaled through the nostrils. Wren had to admit that relying on a chemical was preferable to clubbing their friends over the back of the head and hoping nothing went wrong.

  As it was, so very much could go wrong.

  Chapter 15

  The Black Jasmine was a handsome three-masted schooner with a hull of lacquered jet black. Its crew swarmed over it like ants, making final preparations for departure. Olivia shivered in her cloak. She would have refused this strange little job if it weren’t for two things. The emperor had requested it of them, and they needed to do whatever they could to prove their competence to their new sovereign. And Dash. Olivia looked sideways at the man from beneath the dark of her hood. The Aprican lieutenant who was staying with them just happened to be one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen. Yet another reason to rejoice the emperor had come to save Alesia.

  “Why isn’t the emperor using one of the Aprican merchant vessels?” Dash asked with a frown, pulling the horses to a stop.

  “This one’s supposed to be the fastest in Maradis,” Callidus said quickly. “He needs speed to get the confections there in good shape before All Hallows’ Eve.”

  The frown stayed fixed to Dash’s face, but he hopped down from the carriage bench. Callidus hurried after him. “I’ll tell the captain we’ve arrived,” Callidus said. “Why don’t you each grab a box and bring them on board?” Callidus strode down the dock, his black cloak flapping behind him.

  Dash rounded the carriage to Olivia’s side, offering his hand to help her from her seat. She didn’t need the help, but it was considerate of him to offer, wasn’t it? She placed her hand in his and he put the other on her waist, steadying her as she hopped down from the wagon. His hand was warm and broad, his thick callouses hard beneath the skin of her fingers. “Thank you,” she murmured, breathing in his faint fresh smell of pine and sage.