The Confectioner's Truth

by Claire Luana

  “I keep wondering if I could have done something differently,” Callidus said absently.

  “Me too,” Wren added.

  “Me three,” Thom said, his words muffled through his shirt.

  “Less than two months in power, and I destroyed everything two centuries of guild masters before me worked to build. I guess my father was right. I guess I really am no good at this.”

  Wren shook her head. “It’s not you. It’s these circumstances. What could any of us do against men like Hadrian Imbris or Emperor Evander? What hope could we have ever had to make a difference? If you try to stand in their way, you just get trampled.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Callidus said. “Maybe we were on a fool’s errand all along.”

  “What would you do if you could do it again?” Wren asked.

  “That’s the thing,” Callidus said. “I’m not sure what else I could have done.”

  “We could have run. Ansel told me to run, and I didn’t listen. We were free in Forgotten Bay. We could have made a life somewhere, right? Evander’s reach has limits.”

  “I don’t know that it does. He found Lucas, didn’t he?”

  But the thought kept echoing in her mind. They could have run—all together, they could have made new lives for themselves. They’d come back because they’d felt a sense of duty and obligation to the city that had raised them, the Guild that had been their home. But the Guild wasn’t home. She was realizing that now. These people were. She’d come back to try to save a life that had changed her—given her meaning. But it hadn’t been the life that had done it. It had been the people. Everyone whom she cared about had been with her in that little fleet. Except one. Hale.

  Callidus leaned his head back against the wall, looking at the ceiling. “We could have run. But in a way I’m glad we didn’t. At least we tried.”

  Wren nodded. She supposed he was right. It was a bittersweet consolation prize. “It would have been nice to try and win.”

  Thom let out a strangled laugh, raising his head and wiping his nose. “We could still win.”

  Callidus and Wren laughed blackly at that.

  “What?” Thom said. “We’re not dead.”

  Callidus cuffed him over the head gently.

  “You are a fool optimist, aren’t you, Thom?” Wren said.

  “It’s seen me through,” Thom said defensively.

  “We’re so different, the three of us,” Callidus said. “I would have thought we’d have no common ground other than chocolate. But...”

  Wren nodded, and in that moment, a tear did brim in the corner of her eye. “There’s no one else I’d rather be here with than you two.”

  Thom and Callidus both nodded.

  “It would be nice to have Sable here too,” Thom said.

  “Yes. And Hale,” Wren added. “The old Hale.”

  Callidus rolled his eyes. “Yes. Even Hale.”

  Wren jumped as the door swung open. Her breath caught in her throat at the tall, broad figure silhouetted in the doorway. It was like their words had summoned a vision. “Hale?” she breathed. Even though she knew he was serving the Apricans now, a part of her trilled in hope. He had come to rescue them.

  He stepped into the cell, his head nearly touching the ceiling. He didn’t meet her eyes. Behind him, two more Aprican legionnaires stepped in, seeming to take up all the space and air in the cell.

  “That one.” Hale pointed, still not looking at her. “The girl.”

  The Guildhall sat dark and forbidding, its white marble columns like the tiers of a macabre wedding cake. Trick and Ella flanked Olivia, their cloaks pulled up to shadow their faces. They had talked Lucas into letting them come, despite the risk of them being recognized. Trick had contacts at the Guilds too, and they needed all the help they could get.

  “Are we ready for this?” Trick asked.

  “No,” Olivia said. “But when have we been ready for any of it?” The thought of Dash loomed in her mind. The wound of his absence—his betrayal—was raw and stinging. Olivia shoved it aside savagely. Shoved aside the guilt. It was her fault that they were in this predicament. She had insisted that Dash could be trusted. And he had turned on them, gotten Pike caught. Ruined everything. She still couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t reconcile the chocolate brown eyes, the devastating smile, the heat of his sure fingers as they trailed across her skin. How could it have all been a lie? she wondered. But hadn’t the past proved that she couldn’t tell a lie from the truth? That was why she hesitated now. What if Lennon and Marina and Beckett and all the rest couldn’t be trusted? What if they were still under the influence of the infused bread?

  She looked at Trick. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea for you both to come in with me. It’s too much of a risk.”

  “You said yourself—we’ll go in the back and try to find your friend,” Ella said.

  “We need to know,” Trick added. “It’s just as dangerous for us out here. Anyone could spot us.”

  Olivia nodded, pushing down her nerves.

  “Okay. Now or never.”

  They hurried across Guilder’s Row, circling around the back of the Guildhall. An Aprican Guard was visible on the top stair before the door, his head down. He hadn’t seen them as they passed. Olivia let out a breath.

  They slipped through the servant’s entrance, and it was like she’d never let. Familiar wooden floors, wrought-iron sconces, bowls of chocolate nestled in alcoves along the way. Her heart seized painfully in her chest. It was like she hadn’t even been missed. She’d always thought she and her grandaunt were integral to the running of the Guildhall. But perhaps she’d been wrong.

  They padded up the servant’s stairs to the second floor’s long corridor of rooms. She knocked on Lennon’s first, her body alive with adrenaline. Please be there, she thought, the words a mantra in her mind. Please be alone, she added, horror striking her at the thought of someone being there with him. Someone who wasn’t friendly.

  Lennon was their best chance. He had helped in the past—when they’d freed Hale, when they’d attacked the caravan holding Thom and the other Gifted. She hadn’t known then why Thom had been taken. It made so much more sense now.

  The door opened to reveal Lennon’s earnest face.

  “Lennon.” She threw herself into his arms, relief overtaking her.

  “Olivia, my gods, what are you doing here? I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “Can we come in?”

  Lennon narrowed his dark eyes at the two cloaked figures behind her but nodded, stepping back to let them inside the room.

  Olivia froze when she saw who else was there. Marina. Haughty as ever, wrapped in a gray sweater, her hair pulled into a bun. But the look on Marina’s face...it wasn’t what Olivia remembered. It was—relief? Hope?

  “It’s good to see you,” Marina said, crossing the room and pulling her into an embrace.

  Olivia patted the girl awkwardly. “You too.”

  “Who are your friends?” Lennon asked.

  Trick and Ella were standing by the closed door.

  “Before I tell you that, I must ask. What do you think of Emperor Evander?” Olivia asked.

  “I’d stick a knife in his gut myself,” Marina said, “if I could get close enough.”

  Lennon shrugged. “What she said.” His voice was flat.

  Trick and Ella threw back their hoods.

  Lennon and Marina exchanged startled glances. “You’re...Patrick Imbris?” Lennon said.

  Olivia nodded. “Lennon, Marina, meet Trick and Ella Imbris. Trick’s with the Vintner’s Guild. Or was before all this mess started.”

  “There’s a price on both your heads,” Marina said. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s a long story,” Olivia said. “We’ll explain everything, but first I must tell you something that you may not believe. Magic is real.”

  Marina waved a hand. “Yes, yes. The Gifted, the magic food.”

  Olivia recoiled. “You
know?” She looked to Lennon. “You both know?”

  He nodded.

  “My father told us a few hours ago when our minds started to come back to us. We couldn’t explain the things we’d been doing. The fog we’ve been living in. He figured it out.”

  “And how does he feel about it?” Olivia asked carefully. Marina’s father, Grandmaster Beckett, had been no friend to them in the past. He had been the one who had betrayed Callidus, Chandler, and the other guildmasters to King Imbris.

  “He’s furious,” Marina said. “I know my father’s ways may have seemed questionable in the past, but he always did what he thought was right for Maradis and the Guild. This—” She shook her head. “It’s horrific. There’s a meeting between the guildmasters in half an hour to discuss what to do.”

  “All of them?” Hope bloomed in Olivia.

  “All of them that are left,” Lennon said. “The Spicer’s Guild has been disbanded. But the others are meeting.”

  “Guildmaster Alban?” Trick asked, referring to the head of his own guild.

  Marina nodded. “My father’s heard very little, as everyone’s only just coming back to themselves. But from what he’s said, the Guilds are furious. Ready to revolt. But the Apricans are so powerful. I’m just not sure what we’re going to do.”

  Olivia exchanged a knowing glance with Ella and Trick. “I think we can help with that.”

  Chapter 43

  Lucas and Ansel waited in the dark back hallways of the Tradehall for hours, Lucas pacing the halls, Ansel lounging and sharpening his myriad knives.

  Finally, the door pushed open. It was Bran.

  Ansel rose, clapping hands with his second-in-command as they bumped each other on the backs. “Griff’s ships are in position,” Bran said. ”When the explosions go off, our men will be ready to scale the outer walls and breach the palace.”

  “Good work,” Ansel said.

  “I brought two dozen men. They’re in the alley. Should be quite a scramble as the guards try to figure out where the attacks are coming from.”

  “Excellent.” Ansel grinned his cocky, chipped-tooth smile. “This should be fun.”

  “And your men know what to do once we get in there?” Lucas asked. “Find Wren, Thom, Pike, and Callidus? Find the emperor?”

  “They know the drill. If they’re in there, we’ll get ’em back,” Ansel replied.

  Lucas tried not to focus on the other sentiment hidden in those words. If they’re still alive. Wren had to be still alive. He wondered what she was going through. Was she mourning him, thinking he was dead? Thinking that their last words to each other had been furious and tense? His anger towards her seemed insignificant now, a waste of a night together. Moments they could have shared, could have reveled in each other. He’d been a damned fool. Wren had only been doing the best she could—what she’d thought was right. And he had judged her for it.

  Lucas’s eyes drifted to Ansel. Was Wren mourning the mercenary too? Which loss does she feel more deeply? the little voice in his head asked. Ansel or Lucas? He banished the thought. It was no help right now.

  The door creaked open again and the men fell silent, but for the slow, slick sound of Ansel drawing his sword from its sheath.

  A figure materialized in the flickering light of their lantern. Trick. Lucas breathed out and rushed forward to embrace his brother. “Everything okay?” he asked, soaking in his brother’s presence. His last brother. From six, down to one. Trick and Ella were more precious than gold to him now. The only family he had left.

  “Better than okay,” Trick said, stepping aside. More figures began to materialize. Ella and Olivia. Trick’s guildmaster, dark-haired with white at his temples. What was the man’s name? That was right. Alban. And more. Chandler—the distiller’s guildmaster. The one-armed wiry man who ran the Cheesemonger’s Guild. The huge brute who ran the Butcher’s. Bruxius? Was that his name?

  More and more trailed in until they were forced to risk lighting more lanterns, moving from the hallway into one of the large meeting rooms flanked by marble columns.

  There had to be at least a hundred people crowding into the room.

  “There are more outside,” Trick said. “All the guildmasters brought as many of their guards as they could. The infused bread has worn off, and they’re angry. When we told them that there’s a chance to strike back and save Callidus and Pike in the process...they were eager to help.” Trick grinned.

  Lucas felt a swelling of hope. With these men, and the Falconer’s Gambit, and Ansel’s mercenaries...maybe they could actually pull this off.

  “There’s more,” Olivia said, pushing through, her eyes shining. Guards sporting the livery of different Guilds were depositing baskets and platters of food, jugs of ale, bottles of wine. A cornucopia of food was filling the tables, overflowing onto the ground, being set against the walls. Bran deposited two crates that bore the seal of the Confectioner’s Guild.

  Chandler pushed through the crowd, holding out his hand to shake Lucas’s. “Guildmaster Chandler of the Distiller’s Guild,” he said. “Your brother and sister have told us what you hope to do. First overthrowing the emperor, and what you’d like to do after. We’re with you. It’s time the Gifted stop living in the shadows. Time this secret comes out.”

  Lucas nodded, gratitude welling in him. “You and the other guildmasters are very, very welcome in our little alliance. But what’s all of this?” He pointed to the food.

  “All of us emptied our larders of all the infused food we have. Few of us are warriors. If we’re going into battle, we might as well be fully equipped.”

  “This is all infused?” Lucas’s eyes widened as big as saucers.

  “Indeed. Before we battle, let’s eat.”

  Wren marched next to Hale, her head held high. The two Aprican guards trailed them through the polished marble hallways.

  “This is a new low, even for you,” she said, struggling to keep back tears. It made it worse, the familiarity of having him at her side. A presence that should have been comforting, that should have made her feel safe. This betrayal stung her wounds anew. She’d thought he was working with the Falconer. That he was on their side. Apparently, Killian had been wrong.

  Hale said nothing.

  “Did you know?” she asked. “How could you be a part of this? Lucas is dead. His brother and sister. Olivia!”

  He seemed to flinch at the last name. “It’s not my call anymore, Wren.”

  “I don’t understand how you can work with him,” Wren tried again. “I know why you helped them in the beginning. You were mad with grief. It wasn’t right...but I don’t blame you. You weren’t yourself. What’s your excuse now?”

  “Maybe I’m tired of being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Hale said, finally looking at her.

  His comment struck her strangely, but that thought vanished as they turned the corner into a room. It was a large kitchen of sorts. Cabinets, a sink, burners, glass flasks, and jars. But the chair. Black leather, reclining. Like a dentist’s chair. The chair was wrong. This wasn’t a kitchen.

  She looked at Hale, the need to flee this place rushing over her in a wave.

  Pity was etched across his face.

  A whimper escaped her.

  The two guards took her hands and pulled her into the chair even as she fought them, struggling, falling backwards, her feet trying to dig into the ground. But the floor was slick tile and they overpowered her easily, lifting her into the chair. They strapped down her arms and legs and buckled a piece of leather over her torso.

  “Hale,” she cried, struggling against the restraints.

  He stood against the counter, his back to her, his head hanging low.

  “Excellent,” a voice said from the door, and her stomach dropped into the floor. Daemastra strode over, wearing a white cuisinier’s smock. “Miss Confectioner. So happy our paths crossed again. Sim Firena tells me you have quite a marvelous Gift.”

  Hale turned, his handsome face a mask.


  Wren said nothing. She would give nothing to this man by choice.

  “Hale, did you have a chance to finish what you were working on?” Daemastra asked.

  Hale’s mask slipped a little at that, his face going pale, his mouth narrowing to a thin line. In that moment, he looked like he had aged ten years. “Yes,” he responded. He pushed a small glass jar filled with what looked like white powder across the counter towards Daemastra before withdrawing his hand like it had burned him.

  “Is this all of it?” Daemastra frowned, holding up the jar.

  “The rest is still being...processed,” Hale said haltingly. “I thought you’d want this bit.”

  Daemastra nodded, satisfied with the explanation.

  There was a label on the jar. Wren squinted to make it out. Maximus Pike. Wren drew in a sharp breath, her mouth going dry, her body numb.

  “What did you do to him?” she whispered, looking to Daemastra.

  He wore a self-satisfied smirk on his face. ”Guildmaster Pike has generously volunteered to help our cause,” Daemastra said. “As will you.”

  “And what cause is that?”

  “Ensuring the might of Aprica, of course. And securing my rule.”

  “Don’t you mean the emperor’s rule?” Wren asked.

  Daemastra smirked. “Unfortunately, the emperor is quite ill. I fear he won’t last the month. You can imagine how many people would be lost if the Empire fell to civil war after he passes. It is critical that someone strong step in behind him, for the good of the empire.”

  “Let me guess. You’re that someone.”

  “I’ve been at the emperor’s side for the better part of two decades. I know better than anyone how this Empire runs. And I understand better than anyone its best asset. The Gifted.”

  “You want me to work for you,” Wren said. At this point, strapped to this chair, staring at a jar with Pike’s name on it and Hale’s sweaty, pale face, working for Daemastra sounded just fine.