“It’s a rare man who can pull this off,” he said with a chuckle.
“Is that the smoked salmon vendor?” Thom pointed to a tent a few down, emblazoned with a bronze fish leaping.
“That’s the guy,” Hale said. “Just wait. It’ll be the best you’ve ever eaten.” He prayed Sable would like the gift. That it would mean something to her—the fact that he had listened and remembered. For a normal girl, he would have bought flowers. Not roses, but ranunculus, so he could tell her she was too rare and beautiful for a boring old rose. But Sable was no ordinary girl. He was in uncharted waters. With only smoked salmon for company.
They said such a wedding had never been seen before in Maradis. One hundred roast swans coated in sparkling demi-glace from the Butcher’s Guild, truckloads of fragrant sourdough bread from the Baker’s, mountains of hand-rolled pasta from the Cuisinier’s. And then there was the alcohol. Two hundred barrels of the Brewer’s Guild’s finest lager, one thousand bottles of crisp rosé, velvety reds and fruity whites from the Vintner’s, and one hundred bottles of twelve-year reserve whiskey from the Distiller’s Guild. If there was even a whiff of truth to these last numbers, Wren thought, the wedding would devolve into a drunken row before the vows were even exchanged.
They said that the Centese princess that was marrying Crown Prince Zane was so beautiful that the gods themselves had gathered to see her off, the Piscator anointing her with his golden trident, the Midwife placing a fertile hand on the girl’s belly to bless the many future sons of the union between Centu and Alesia. Wren knew that “they” were full of crap.
“One hundred galleons,” Lucas whispered, his breath tickling her ear in a way she quite liked, “loaded with iron ore, fifty blacksmiths specializing in weapons and armor. Three scientists with the secret knowledge of the Centese dragonfire, to assist in our defense and match the Aprican black powder cannons.” Lucas was accounting for the true value of the wedding, the weapons and aid Alesia had bought with this advantageous marriage and new ally. Wren found Lucas’s tally vastly more comforting.
Wren’s spine was an arrow-straight rod of tension as the carriage rocked to a stop. She told herself her haughty posture was due to the dress. This wasn’t a dress you slouched in, after all. But she had never been very good at lying to herself. It was nerves. Tonight she would meet enough nobles to make her eyes bleed. And more importantly—Lucas’s whole family. What would they think of her? Say to her? Would they be cruel? Saccharine sweet with kindness? Allude to the messy business that had passed between them over Kasper’s murder? If they thought she would let that go, they had another think coming.
“You’ll be magnificent,” Lucas said, nuzzling her ear. “Although it’s taking all my restraint not to tell the driver to turn around and take us to my apartment this minute.” She did look good. She knew it. The dress fit her like a glove, hugging her thin frame in a way that gave the illusion of curves, though she didn’t have much to speak of in that department. Olivia had pinned Wren’s curls to the side so they cascaded down over one shoulder, painted a smoky eye and burgundy lip on her, and lent her a pair of gem-encrusted earrings from her grandaunt’s old collection. It felt strange to be wearing a dead woman’s jewelry, but Olivia had insisted the dress needed earrings. And Wren had learned not to cross Olivia when it came to matters of fashion.
The carriage door opened and an elderly footman in forest green Imbris livery peered inside, offering his hand to Wren. “Prince Imbris. Welcome,” the man said as Wren gratefully accepted his hand. Given the height of the shoes Olivia had lent her, Wren needed all the help she could get. Once she had successfully maneuvered herself onto the cobblestones, she took Lucas’s outstretched arm, and they made their way into the line of guests waiting to be admitted.
“You don’t look half-bad yourself,” Wren murmured. Lucas wore a jet-black formal suit with tails that went down to his knees, a creamy white brocade waistcoat and tie, and black shoes that shined like a mirror. “How did you even tie that tie?” She eyed the extravagant knot cinched around his neck.
“I spun three times under the full moon and sacrificed a small goat,” he said with a straight face, looking ahead at the gaping doors to the palace. Guards in the black and silver uniform of the Black Guard, the king’s personal soldiers, were stationed at the entrance, searching the bodies and the bags of those waiting to enter.
Wren laughed and punched his shoulder, using it as an excuse to snuggle closer against him. Lucas’s reassuring presence soothed her nerves—the rosemary scent of him, the strong solid feel of the muscles of his arm beneath the soft wool of his suit.
“I won’t let anything happen to you in there,” he murmured against her hair. “I won’t leave your side. I’ll be like a leech.”
She laughed. “You speak such sweet poetry to me, Prince Imbris.”
“Prince Lucas Imbris and…guest.” They had reached the front of the line, and one of the two guards before them had apparently recognized Lucas.
“Wren Confectioner,” Lucas said.
“We’ll need to search you both for weapons,” the other soldier said. They were both tall and well-muscled, no doubt selected to intimidate anyone who might think of making trouble.
“Is that really necessary?” Lucas asked, furrowing his brow.
“Your father’s orders. My lady.” The guards separated to search each of them, and Wren offered Lucas a halfhearted smile to let him know that she would tolerate the hands that were now patting down her torso. She looked down at the black-haired soldier as he felt around her ankles and back up the outside of her legs, feeling for weapons. Honestly, she didn’t know what he thought she could keep in this dress.
But then she caught sight of his hands on her leg, and she froze, her thoughts shuddering to a stop. The soldier was missing a middle finger on his right hand. He stood and nodded behind him. “Enjoy the wedding,” he said, his green eyes already moving towards the next partygoer in line, motioning them forwards with that hand. That hand missing a finger.
Wren was frozen in place, and it took Lucas calling her name twice and grabbing her hand before she could gather her wits enough to move, stumbling past the guards.
“Wren?” Lucas asked. “You look like you’re about to be sick. I’m sorry you had to go through that—” Lucas said, but Wren held up a hand, needing space for the whirlwind of her thoughts.
“That guard was one of the men who attacked Thom,” Wren said, looking back at him, trying to memorize his face. Thick neck, close-cropped beard, hawkish nose that lent him a slightly predatory look.
“How do you know?” Lucas asked with dismay, clearly hoping she was wrong.
“He’s missing a middle finger on his right hand. And he has green eyes. There can’t be two such men in Maradis.” The shock was wearing off and Wren was growing angry. Callidus was right. It wasn’t enough for the king to murder Kasper and try to frame her, now he was attacking Guild members?
“Flaming hells,” Lucas swore. “You’re sure?”
“As the grave,” Wren said.
“What would my father want with an ice cream maker?” Lucas ran his hands through his hair. Wren, for the hundredth time, wished she could tell Lucas about the Gifting. It would be so much easier if he knew the truth of their Guild’s power, and the reason behind the struggle between the crown and the Guild.
Wren shrugged, not wanting to lie.
Lucas heaved a sigh and took her hand. “We’re not going to solve the mystery tonight. I’m sure you’re upset, but can we try to table this? Deal with it tomorrow?”
Wren nodded. She needed a clear head if she was going to get through this night. And without knowing about the Gifting, Lucas wasn’t going to be much help in unraveling this mystery. She needed to talk to Callidus and Sable.
He planted a grateful kiss on her cheek. “Thank you. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to find a drink.”
Lucas pulled her forwards into a sprawling antechamber as big as the
whole Confectioner’s Guildhall. The exterior of the palace was functional and sturdy, all formidable gray stone, hardly ornamented by even a stray gargoyle. But the inside had no such austere compunctions. Her heels clicked across a polished marble floor set with lifelike scenes of the gods—the wicked Huntress, the industrious Carpenter. The ceiling soared with crisscrossed wooden beams that must have been each carved from a single old-growth cedar. Three majestic chandeliers hung from the ceiling, dusting the guests below with glittering light. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting the beauty of Alesia—the snow-capped peak of Mount Luminis, the profile of Maradis as seen from the vantage of a boat coming into the harbor. Maradis’s iconic Drexter Tower, standing tall and proud over the city.
“It’s quite lovely,” Wren offered weakly, trying not to think about how little she belonged here.
“See, I didn’t grow up in a dark dungeon,” Lucas said.
“You’d never know it by what a troll you are,” Wren joked, casting a sideways glance at him.
“That’s why I love you, my dear. You’ll always give it to me straight.” Lucas said with forced cheer.
Wren’s eyes widened. Love? Had Lucas just said…
He seemed to realize his misstep as well. “I…” he began, but he was cut off as an elegant older woman swept their way.
“Lucas!” she said, embracing him.
“Hello, Mother,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks.
“You must be Wren, the young lady I’ve heard so much about,” the queen said, taking Wren’s hands in her own and giving Wren two kisses as well. “I am Queen Eloise.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Wren stammered, unsure of what to make of the kindness of this woman. Queen Eloise was all grace and elegance, her silver hair swept up in an elaborate set of braids, her violet gown trimmed with gold thread and seed pearls. Her skin was smooth and supple but for a few lines around her eyes and mouth. Wren didn’t think this woman would even need the silver circlet atop her brow to announce her status as queen. She was royalty personified.
“I am so glad that Lucas talked you into coming. I’ve wanted to meet you for some time.” The queen leaned in close between Lucas and Wren. “Anyone who can outwit my husband is a friend I’d like to make.” She leaned back and winked at Wren.
Wren opened her mouth like a fish. This woman knew about Kasper’s death? And was glad she had eluded the king’s plan to frame her? Perhaps the king’s marriage wasn’t as idyllic as he would like the country to believe.
Wren was saved by a trumpet call resounding from the corner of the hall. “Ah, time for the ceremony. Excuse me,” Queen Eloise said before disappearing into the crowd.
“Your mother was…not what I expected.”
“Virgil and I would have run away if not for her,” Lucas said. “I don’t know how she’s put up with my father all these years. But I’m glad she stuck it out. She’s done a lot of good for Alesia.”
They followed the tide of bodies down the broad hallway into a soaring temple. Wren’s neck craned as she took it all in. The ceiling was a mass of warm wood, intricate arches and support beams. Emerald ivy and downy wisteria hung from the beams like softly falling snow over the heads of the colorful guests below. As Lucas led Wren past row after row of chairs, Wren could feel the eyes of the guests on her, swore she could hear their whispers as they gossiped about the identity of the girl walking beside one of their princes. This was why she hadn’t wanted to come. She wasn’t made to be seen and didn’t like it. She didn’t belong here.
“I’m losing circulation in my arm,” Lucas whispered as he leaned in.
Wren started and loosened her death grip on his bicep with a shaky laugh. “Sorry.”
“Is it because we’re in a temple?” Lucas asked. He knew of Wren’s mysterious aversion to temples of the Alesian gods, though he didn’t know the source. One day she would tell him. When she was ready.
Wren shook her head. “I don’t mind the Midwife and the Brewer so much.” This temple was dedicated to the Midwife, the goddess of fertility, and the Brewer, god of home and hearth. Weddings were frequently performed in their temple in the hopes of attracting their blessing for the marriage.
“So you’re just prejudiced against the Sower?” Lucas asked with a sideways grin.
Wren managed a halfhearted smile, which slid off her face as she realized who they would be sitting next to. Princess Ellarose, Lucas’s younger sister. The first few rows had been reserved for the royal family and guests, and Princess Ellarose sat haughtily at the end of the row, her back rod straight, wearing a bejeweled tiara and a gray gown that shimmered like the sea on a stormy day.
“Ella,” Lucas said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I hear you’ve met Wren.” Met? Yes. The last time they had “met,” the princess had dressed down Wren for dooming Lucas to death, revealing the truth of what him vouching for Wren would really cost him. It was a conversation seared into Wren’s memory.
Ella didn’t acknowledge Wren. “So good to see you alive and well, brother.”
From the far side of the row, another Imbris was approaching, Virgil, Lucas’s older brother. The two shared many similarities, though Virgil was a bit more stoutly built. Wren had only ever seen him in the brown robes of the Sower’s order, but tonight he wore an elegant charcoal gray suit.
“Wren!” Virgil exclaimed with delight. Wren tried to step past Ellarose into the aisle to greet him but found her heeled feet tangled with the princess’s. Before she knew it, she was pinwheeling towards the ground. Virgil ducked under her and caught her. “Woah there! Have we gotten a bit too aggressive with the wine?”
“My clumsy feet,” Wren said, casting a dark glance over her shoulder at Ellarose, who wore a predatory smile on her face. The girl had certainly tripped her on purpose.
They settled into their chairs, Lucas thankfully a buffer between Ellarose and Wren.
“Where’s Trick?” Virgil leaned over to ask Ella. Trick was Ella’s twin, though they didn’t look or act particularly alike. He was a journeyman of the Vintner’s Guild and stuck with Ella like a shadow. Wren felt a surge of pride that she was beginning to keep this massive family straight.
“I don’t know.” A pout appeared on Ella’s smooth face. “We were supposed to meet for brunch today with some friends, but he didn’t show up.”
Lucas’s inspector antenna perked up. “Did you go to his place?”
“I’m not his nursemaid,” Ella said. “And he lives all the way in Gemma Park. I did stop by the Guildhall, though, as it was on my way home. They hadn’t seen him since yesterday morning. It’s almost enough to make me worry about his stupid face.”
Lucas exchanged a concerned look with Virgil. “I’m sure he just had a late night with some friends on Nysia Avenue and is sleeping it off,” Virgil offered. “Remember that time out at the island house on Dash Island when he fell asleep on the beach and we scoured the whole island looking for him?”
Lucas guffawed. “Or that time you two were playing hide and seek in the castle and he was so proud of his spot in the top of one of the kitchen cabinets that he didn’t come out for hours and had the Black Guard turning over half the city looking for him?”
“I thought Mother was going to have a heart attack.” Ella giggled, her shoulders relaxing.
Wren took Lucas’s hand in her own, squeezing it. They were good brothers, trying to put their sister at ease. But the tightness around Lucas’s eyes as he smiled at her told another story. He was worried. It had been almost two days since Trick had been seen. And now he wasn’t at the wedding, an event Wren knew the king had made it very clear to all of his children that they were to attend. Where was he?
The clear notes of a temple organ rang out through the space, quieting the audience. The ceremony was beginning. The temple hushed, and people looked backwards, anxious to see the royal families in their finery. The king and queen of Centu walked down the aisle first, dark-haired with dark eyes, short in stature but proud
in posture. They wore colorful silken robes wrapped around them like armor, the blues and greens of the sea and the Centese islands. Their progress was painfully slow, as Wren came to see that the queen was wrapped so tightly in her dress that her feet could barely move. If the monarchs had second thoughts about tying their nation to one that was about to be invaded by a hostile power, they didn’t show it.
Next came the king and queen of Alesia. Wren found her breath caught in her throat as she finally caught a glimpse of the most powerful man in the realm, this man who had tried to kill her. The queen glided at his side, her hand turned in the crook of his arm, but all eyes were drawn to the king. He was like gravity, this man, his power and influence. He was tall and lean like Lucas, his face a bit squarer where Lucas’s was oval, his nose less pronounced. The years had carved deep furrows into the skin of his face, and his hair was entirely silver. But his step was sure and his dark eyes were shrewd. He walked like a predator. As he passed, those eyes flicked to her, pinning her to her chair as surely as an arrow. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but be measured and weighed and found wanting, all in the space of a second. Lucas’s hand tightened on hers and time resumed again, her chest rising and falling. She narrowed her eyes.
“You’re safe from him,” Lucas whispered in her ear, barely discernible over the drone of the organ.
“This is Alesia,” she replied. “Is anyone safe from him?”
Lucas didn’t answer.
The king and queen were followed by the king’s four oldest sons by his first wife, Lucas’s older half-brothers. Crown Prince Zane, the groom, as well as Princes Casius, Maxim, and Rikard took up their places in the front. They were fair-haired, tall and thickly built, their skin olive-toned. They had prominent foreheads shading narrow eyes, lending the four, especially the crown prince, an expression of perpetual suspicion.
“Their mother, the first queen, was Aprican,” Lucas whispered. “Trust me when I say our father is all we have in common.”
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