The Confectioner's Coup

by Claire Luana

  And then the bride walked down the aisle, a tiny dark-haired girl dressed in the red and gold of the Midwife and Brewer, the traditional wedding colors of Alesian ceremonies. Wren watched in detached interest as the priest took his position at the front of the room. They walked through the ceremony as Wren knew it—sharing a loaf of bread, the groom lighting the ceremonial candle with a flaming arrow. The Crown Prince’s aim was true, to the applause and sighs of the crowd. And then a Centese tradition, as the king of the island nation wrapped the husband- and wife-to-be’s hands in an intricate knot, no doubt symbolizing their life together. The bride’s face was unreadable, but she never looked her soon-to-be husband in the eye. Wren felt a wrenching pang of sympathy for the girl. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen. Like so many before her, her life—her choices—were not her own. Wren felt a sudden surge of gratitude for Sable and Hale and even Callidus, for the Guild that she was now a part of. Sable had assured Wren that when she was made master, Callidus would emancipate her, and then only Wren would control her destiny and choose the path she wanted to walk.

  Lucas’s hand tightened in hers as the ceremony came to an end, his thumb stroking a path along her knuckles. He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them. His expression was unreadable, though there was tenderness there. “What?” She mouthed.

  “I was thinking how lovely you’d look in red and gold,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear.

  Red and gold? Wedding colors? Lucas must have seen the look of sheer panic pass across her face, because he chuckled. “Relax. I’m not proposing.”

  Wren barely had time to collect her thoughts when their row rose to follow the bride and groom down the aisle towards the grand hall where the feast was to be held. It wasn’t that the thought of marrying Lucas was objectionable. To the contrary, the thought warmed her like an oven on a winter day. But Wren hadn’t really thought she would marry anyone. Marriage meant love, and love meant trust. Trust was…something she hadn’t thought she’d find again. But hadn’t she grown to trust Sable…even Callidus? And didn’t she trust Lucas? Perhaps she did need to open herself up to the possibility that life might hold a happy ending for her. Surely stranger things had happened before.

  The grand hall was lined with windows letting in the light of the city below, the twinkling stars above. Tables were stationed about the room, overflowing with more food and drink than Wren could have imagined. She knew the Confectioner’s Guild members had been working on several desserts for the past few weeks—including coordinating with the Baker’s Guild on a massive tiered wedding cake that was rumored to be fashioned after a Centese galleon. But surely that was an exaggeration.

  “I’ll go grab us some drinks,” Lucas said, and before Wren had the chance to protest, he disappeared into the swirling mass of people.

  Wren tried to make her way through the crowd towards the far wall, where she could safely avoid the press of people. As she dodged this way and that with an “excuse me” or “I’m sorry,” she found herself surrounded by a mass of black uniforms—all ebony wool and silver buttons. Black Guards, though she didn’t see the green-eyed man among them. As the dark wall parted, time seemed to slow. Before her stood King Hadrian Imbris himself. And this was no chance meeting. His eyes were intent upon her.

  Her thoughts swam as if through sluggish water, but she managed to pull herself together enough to drop into a ragged curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she said. The words stuck in her throat, and she cleared it, railing at herself to summon her bravest countenance to face this man. She would not give him the satisfaction of showing the fear that gripped her.

  “Wren Confectioner,” the king said, his voice as smooth as whipped butter. “You must be quite proud of yourself, ensnaring my son’s affections. I suppose you aren’t entirely unfortunate to gaze upon. For a time.” His words burned, cutting her to her core. She, with no political knowledge or skill, had outsmarted this king and his assassin. Yet in a comment, he’d reduced her to an overreaching girl using her wiles to snare a man.

  Her next words rolled off her tongue as her anger rose like a wildfire. “You must be quite proud of yourself, murdering a guildmaster without consequences.” She plastered a tightlipped smile on her face, hiding her shaking hands in the folds of her dress. Gods, where had that come from? This was the king!

  The king peered at her before giving a small shake of his head. “You do have spirit. No wonder Brother Brax liked you. It’s a shame you ran off before the two of you became properly acquainted.”

  The wildfire roared out of control. How dare he…he knew…he knew what that man…what that man…that priest…did to the children in his care… Wren felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Yo—You—”

  The king’s guards tightened around him, the guard on the king’s right laying a hand on his sword. No words. She had no words to say to this man. This man who was supposed to protect his people and instead abused and used them, delighting in it with a smug smile on his face. And then she was speaking, words tumbling from her mouth too fast for her to hold in. “You may think you know me, but I know you too. Poison is a coward’s weapon. You resort to murder because you do not inspire the true loyalty of your people. Of your family,” she hissed. “I almost hope the Apricans breach these walls, so I can see your head on a pike.”

  Lucas chose that moment to return with two flutes of sparkling wine. “Wren, Father.” His tone was wary.

  The king relaxed in the blink of an eye, grasping Lucas’s bicep warmly. “My son, I was just getting to know your delightful new companion,” he said, inclining his head to Wren as if they were long-lost friends.

  Wren was not so practiced at the art of subterfuge and stood with her fists balled, her body flushed, her skin clammy.

  Lucas held out a glass to her, but she didn’t take it, afraid to let the king see how much her hands shook. “Is everything all right?” Lucas turned to Wren, concern etched across his face.

  “I’ll leave you two to enjoy the festivities,” the king said. “I have many guests to see to. Wren, I do hope we see more of you.”

  “What was that?” Lucas asked, frowning at his father’s retreating form. “Are you all right? Did he say something to you?”

  “It was a mistake to come here,” Wren said, turning from him, trying to navigate her way through the crowds of revelers towards the exit.

  “Wren!” he called after her.

  She had made it out of the grand hall and into the hallway when Lucas caught up with her. He had managed to deposit the wine glasses and grabbed her arms, pulling her to a stop.

  “Let me go,” she said. “I don’t belong here.”

  “I could kill him,” Lucas seethed. “Whatever he said to you, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

  Wren shook her head. Her mistake hadn’t been letting him leave her alone, it was in letting him convince her to come here in the first place. Letting him convince her that she would somehow fit in. But how could she pretend that the king was anything other than a leech sucking away the life from Maradis to fill his coffers?

  “I know,” Lucas said. “Please just tell me what he said. Tell me how I can make it better.”

  The king’s words burned through her memory again. “It doesn’t matter. He’s a bastard. Even though he tried to frame me for murder and have me tortured and executed for a crime I didn’t commit, I didn’t truly realize what a bastard he was until tonight.”

  “I know he’s a bastard and I hate him,” Lucas said, his voice low. “I hate that I’m related to him, that the man has any claim to me. Just…tell me the truth.”

  Wren’s common sense seemed to wake up at that. “What do you mean?”

  “When you look at me, is he all that you see?” Lucas’s eyes were filled with sorrow and pleading, his wide mouth curved in a frown.

  Wren softened, studying him. No, the king wasn’t all she saw. She saw laugh lines from his mother, and Virg
il’s kindness, and Ella’s grace. And a desire to help, to do the right thing, that was all Lucas. She saw the day they had met, the Lucas with his pen scratching in his little notebook as he resolved himself to pledge his life to save a girl he had just met.

  “I see you,” she whispered, reaching up to stroke the peak of his cheekbone with her thumb.

  He caught her hand in his own and kissed her palm, the soft heat of his lips saying more than words ever could. Wren felt herself tremble at that touch. And then the tremble grew into a rumbling shake. And it wasn’t just her. Lucas’s eyes were wide, and shouts and screams rang out from the grand hall. A boom rang out in the night, and the windows shattered inward with concussive force.

  Lucas threw himself over Wren, bearing her to the ground and covering her with his body. Shards of broken glass and wooden splinters rained down upon them in deadly showers.

  “What’s happening?” Wren managed.

  “I think…we’re under attack,” Lucas said, lifting his head, his fingers picking shards of glass out of her hair. “Are you all right?”

  Wren nodded as another boom sounded outside, shaking the foundations beneath them. “The Apricans? So close?”

  Lucas’s mouth set in a grim line. “Our intelligence put King Evander and his forces days away from the city…but I don’t know who else it would be.” Lucas pulled her to her feet and looked her over. “You’re bleeding,” he said. He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed a drop of blood off her cheek before wrapping it around her palm where a shard of glass had slashed her.

  “I’m okay,” Wren said. “We should see if anyone else is hurt.”

  “I want you back at the Guildhall,” Lucas said. “I’ll be called to defend the wall with the rest of the city guard and inspector’s office. I won’t be able to watch over you.”

  “I don’t need protecting,” Wren protested halfheartedly, pride warring with practicality.

  “I know you’re tough,” Lucas said, taking her hands. “But I won’t be able to focus if I’m worrying about how close you are, about what would happen if they got through.”

  “They won’t get through, though, right? This is just a skirmish…to…upset the wedding? Test our defenses?” Realistically, she knew she wouldn’t stand a chance if Aprican soldiers actually got into the palace.

  “Please, Wren. Will you go back?”

  Wren heaved a sigh, her shoulders slumping. She didn’t even know why she was arguing; she didn’t want to stay in this infernal palace any more than he wanted her here. “Fine.”

  “Thank you.” Lucas leaned forwards and kissed her soundly.

  As another blast boomed, he turned and ran back towards the grand hall. “Now go!”

  Chapter 9

  Wren slipped through the front doors of the palace, cursing the height of the heels Olivia had convinced her to wear. Wedding guests were streaming into the courtyard, calling for carriages, looking for relatives and servants. There was no way Wren would be able to get a carriage back to the Guildhall. It looked like she was walking.

  “The king has called for a curfew,” a Black Guard was calling from the top of the stairs. “All citizens are to make their way back to their homes in an orderly fashion and to shelter there until the attack has passed.” The words only added kindling to the flame of panic gripping the nobles of Maradis. Wren picked her way across the stones of the courtyard towards the palace gates, bunching the fabric of her skirt in one hand. A carriage barreled her way, the horses whipped into a frenzy by the coachman. Wren leaped out of the way, barely avoiding being crushed by the lacquered wheels. “Watch where you’re going,” she hollered after the driver, wishing she could find a rock to throw at the carriage’s retreating back.

  “Does my lady need a chariot?”

  Wren whirled and was met by a very dark, very tall velvet nose. The horse let out a gentle whiff of breath, fluttering the locks of hair about her face. She peered around it. Virgil sat astride the beast, a very Imbris grin on his face. Wren’s heartstrings sang a note. He looked so much like Lucas.

  “Did Lucas send you to rescue me? I am capable of walking across the city on my own without an escort,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Though to be fair, did she really want to walk in these shoes?

  “Rescue you?” Virgil snorted. “Lucas suggested that you escort me back to the temple. It’s a dangerous night out there and I’m likely to end up with my throat slit without a savvy companion to protect me.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of Wren’s mouth. “He said that, did he?”

  “He’s quite confident of your abilities. Mine, not so much. Plus,” Virgil said, swinging down from the horse, “those shoes look more suitable for self-defense than actual walking.”

  “I could put an eye out with these spikes,” Wren mused.

  “Exactly. I’ll be much more comfortable with you to accompany me.”

  “You win,” she said, letting Vigil hoist her up on the horse. The dress was not designed for riding, or even sitting…really for anything but standing extremely straight with her stomach sucked in….so she ended up flashing a great deal of leg. Virgil pointedly ignored this, swinging back up into the saddle behind her. “I assure you,” he said, “This is just as distasteful for me as it is for you.”

  Wren laughed, leaning back against him, her mind flickering through the images of King Imbris standing before her. The memories were like throwing oil on the fire of her anger. “You’re a gentleman, Virgil. How you and Lucas sprang from the seed of that awful man, I will never know. Ella, I can kind of see.”

  “She grows on you,” Virgil offered.

  “Kind of like black mold?”

  That merited a chuckle. “She generally smells better. The truth is, we have much of our mother in us. Anything in us that seems decent and human, we owe to her.”

  “I met her. I liked her,” Wren admitted.

  “It’s impossible to meet her and not like her. She’s the reason Father let me become a priest, Lucas an inspector. She convinced him that having his children in the community, playacting as real live human beings, would ingratiate him with the people.”

  “Joke’s on him,” Wren said. “You turned out to be real live human beings.”

  “Indeed. It’s a secret we must keep in the strictest confidence, you understand. But truly, Mother’s the only reason this city hasn’t fallen into total misery under my father’s rule.”

  “We owe her much then,” Wren said, lapsing into silent thought as they clopped through the dark streets. Growing up, when she had been a part of Ansel’s gang of street orphans, it had seemed simple. There were haves and have-nots. Taking anything from the haves was justified, because it was known that they had no qualms about taking anything from the have-nots. But… perhaps it wasn’t so simple after all. Lucas and Virgil had shown her that. And now Queen Eloise. She had much to think about.

  They arrived at the Guildhall without incident and Virgil helped her down off the horse. “Be safe,” he said.

  “You too.”

  She turned to walk up the five massive steps to the Guildhall, hiking her dress up more than she cared to. A knot of brown-uniformed Cedar Guards stood inside the door. “What’s your business, miss?” a stocky guard with small, nut-brown eyes asked, blocking her path.

  “I live here,” Wren said. “My business is my bed.”

  “Care to take a business partner?” she heard one of the other guards whisper to another as he looked her up and down. Wren’s skin crawled, but she forced herself to stand tall, not to move to cross her arms or hike her dress up to cover more of her décolletage. This was her home; she wasn’t going to be intimidated in it by some pig-headed lout.

  “Identification?” the guard before her said.

  “Identification?” She scoffed. “Where do you suppose I would keep identification in this dress? And what are you even doing here, questioning me? By whose authority are you here?” Wren asked, her indignation overcoming her bet
ter judgment. She had no patience for this, not after the night she’d had.

  “By the king’s authority.” The guard stepped towards her menacingly. “We’ve been dispatched to protect the Guilds.”

  “A fine job you’re doing,” she said. “I feel quite protected, unable to even enter my own Guildhall. Bang-up job. Did the king send you here because you’re all too incompetent to defend the wall?” She knew she shouldn’t antagonize him, but their presence here infuriated her.

  The guard grabbed her wrist, hauling her towards him. “If you don’t have identification, we’ll have to detain you until we can verify who you really are.”

  “Take your hands off her.” Callidus stood at the top of the stairs like a dark specter, his voice crackling with anger. “I have deigned to allow you in my Guildhall for one night until I can take the issue of your presence up with the king. I did not grant you permission to harass and intimidate my Guild members. Wren, come with me.”

  Wren wrenched her wrist from the man’s grip, barreling past him. It took much restraint not to jog up the stairs, to get away from these men, from their pressing eyes. A wave of almost friendly gratitude for Callidus’s sudden appearance washed over her. “What are they doing here?” she asked, her voice low.

  “They showed up just after the booming started,” Callidus said. “They’re here to protect us during the curfew.” He drew air quotes around the word protect. “The king will hear from me about this. I won’t let him turn my Guildhall into a glorified prison.”

  They summited the stairs. “Callidus,” Wren said when they were out of earshot of the guards. “I saw one of the men who attacked Thom. At the wedding. He’s a Black Guard.”

  “Son of a spicer,” Callidus said. “You’re sure?”

  Wren nodded.

  Callidus shook his head. “All right. At least we know what we’re dealing with.” Indeed. A tyrant who seemed to be growing more repressive by the day.