The Confectioner Chronicles Box Set

by Claire Luana

  “Are you an apprentice?”

  “No, I live here with my grandaunt and granduncle. I help around the Guildhall in exchange for my room and board. My grandaunt is the Guildmistress. She’s training me to take over for her someday.”

  “Wonderful,” Wren said, trying to put some enthusiasm into the word. Kasper had mentioned Guildmistress Greer before… Wren’s mind stumbled over the thought. Before he died, she forced herself to think. She would need to be able to face the facts.

  “I’m Olivia,” the girl said, extending her hand.

  “Wren.”

  “Oh!” Olivia said, her mouth forming a rosy ‘o.’ “Did Callidus just abandon you? Is that why you’re wandering the Guildhall? The man is notorious for such things. My grandaunt has scolded him for it a hundred times.”

  Wren nodded, her cheeks reddening. She thought she’d like to meet this grandaunt, if she was truly in a position to scold black-hearted Callidus.

  “I can take you to her to find you a room,” Olivia said, setting her watering can down and weaving her arm through Wren’s.

  “Actually…” Wren’s cheeks reddened further. “I really need a washroom.”

  “Ock!” Olivia tsked, towing Wren towards the far end of the room. “That man! Can’t gain respect, so he has to rule by fear. Now Guildmaster Kasper, he’s so very different. You’ve met him, have you?”

  Wren nodded mutely, her rising spirits suddenly sinking like a weight. Poor Olivia didn’t yet know of the guildmaster’s death. When she found out, she would hate Wren as much as Callidus did. Everyone in the Guild would. How could Wren ever survive here, let alone make this her home?

  Despite the bleak outlook, Wren brightened considerably when Olivia found her a washroom.

  Olivia was waiting for her in the hallway when Wren finished, toying with a thread on her linen apron. She threaded her arm back into the crook of Wren’s elbow and continued forward.

  Wren’s stomach rumbled. Her body seemed determined to assert itself, despite this uncertain new landscape.

  “When’s the last time you ate?” Olivia asked, alarmed by the sound.

  “Breakfast?” Wren offered. She didn’t think she should count the bite of magical cupcake or sip of binding wine that had tried to close her throat up.

  “Breakfast!” Olivia squealed in outrage. “I have half a mind to thump Callidus myself. No wonder you’re such a skinny thing!”

  Wren had been called a skinny thing all her life, as well as some less flattering turns of phrase, but it was the first time she had heard someone say it with a tone of wistfulness. She eyed Olivia sideways.

  “I’ll take you to the kitchens before we go to see my grandaunt.”

  “Olivia!” a voice called from behind them.

  The girls whirled.

  “Come with me.” A stately older woman stood at the end of the hallway, her hands twisting in the fabric of her sleek navy dress. Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled into an elegant bun on top of her head, several wisps artfully framing her face. This must be Guildmistress Greer, Olivia’s grandaunt.

  “Grandaunt, this is a new apprentice, Wren,” Olivia said, approaching.

  Wren dragged her feet, resisting Olivia’s pull.

  The Guildmistress’s blue eyes were red-rimmed, and the look she leveled at Wren was far from friendly. Greer wiped her face hastily with a shaky hand, her fingers stained blue with some sort of dye. She quickly buried her hands in the folds of her skirt. “Leave her,” the Guildmistress said. “I must speak to you. Something has happened.”

  Olivia looked between them, suddenly unsure.

  Wren withdrew her arm. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

  “Turn right at the end of this hallway. Pass the classroom kitchens—the real kitchens are at the far end. The cooks will be able to find you something,” Olivia said, following her grandaunt, who had already turned on her heel. “I’ll come find you when I’m done!” She waved.

  No you won’t, Wren thought with a twinge of sorrow. Wren watched the swishing skirts of the two women until they disappeared around the corner. She had known Olivia for all of four minutes, but somehow Wren’s plight felt even darker now than before her sudden appearance. She had represented the promise of a friend, an ally in this strange place. But Olivia wouldn’t want anything to do with her once she found out about the guildmaster.

  Wren sighed and headed down the hallway in the direction Olivia had pointed her. Alone once again. It was probably for the best. Wren had never enjoyed good luck when it came to her friendships. If no one was close to you, there was no one to betray you. She pushed the thoughts aside and set her mind to the manageable task of navigating towards the kitchen. But as she rounded the corner into the next hallway, an open doorway called to her like a siren, seeming to glow with light. Wren poked her head inside and her brown eyes went as round as saucers.

  It might have been the loveliest thing she had ever seen. The large, rectangular room was lined with long, butcher block countertops illuminated from above by a central skylight that displayed a stamp of blue sky. A tidy white tile backsplash guarded majestic iron stoves. Shiny copper pots hung from hooks on the ceiling. A squat candy stove sat tucked in the corner. And in the center of it all was an island of warm wood, its swirling surface calling to be covered in flour and chocolate. She ran her fingers along the grain, letting its simple beauty soothe her soul. It was a kitchen called forth from a confectioner’s dream.

  Her knees grew weak and Wren found her way onto a stool at the end of the island. She rested her cheek on the smooth surface of the wood, letting the surroundings calm her racing thoughts and jangling nerves. This was a place she understood. More her home than anywhere else.

  “Miss?” a deep voice said. “Are you all right?”

  Wren shot bolt upright to meet the intruder, shoving a curtain of auburn locks back from her face. “Of course,” she said.

  A man stood in the doorway, framing it with his height and broad torso. She had never seen a man so tall or muscular. He looked like a god from the priests’ stories, the golden Sower himself fresh from harvesting the seasons. “Are you Wren?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Great. Stay right there.” He disappeared, leaving Wren perched on the stool, her mouth gaping like a fish.

  Wren stood, hastily combing her hair with her fingers, straightening her thin dress on her thin frame. She stifled a sigh and sat back down. What did it matter how she looked?

  No sooner had she sat than a raven-haired woman strode into the room, her crimson skirts swishing with purpose. Her foot tapped on the white marble tiles of the floor while she inspected Wren. “This is her?”

  “Yep,” the man said, reappearing behind the woman.

  “She doesn’t look like much, does she?”

  “Only the wise man sees the treasure that hides in plain sight,” the tall man said appraisingly.

  The woman looked back, arching one fine, ebony eyebrow. “When did you get so philosophical?”

  “I learn from the best.” The man grinned, a broad arc of mirth and white teeth that made Wren glad she was already sitting down.

  “That you do.” The woman retrieved another stool from beneath the island and perched upon it. The man stayed standing, leaning against the countertop, crossing muscled arms before him.

  “Don’t mind Hale,” the woman said. “He likes to position himself in the best light.”

  Hale chuckled. “Everywhere is my best light.”

  Wren was loath to admit it, but she tended to agree with him. From his bronze skin to his honey-blonde locks pulled back into a knot to the fine brows and high cheekbones that framed his aquamarine eyes, the man was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

  She ripped her eyes from him and turned to the woman. She was watching Wren with an amused expression on her face. “I’m Grandmaster Sable,” she said. “And you’ve already met my Hale, my artisan.”

  “You’re a grandmaster?” Wre
n couldn’t help herself. The woman looked so young, her olive skin smooth and supple, her dark eyes framed by a fringe of black-feathered lashes.

  “I get that a lot,” Sable said. “Youngest in a century. Though Hale is on his way to beating my record.”

  “If you don’t hold me back out of spite,” Hale said, a dimple appearing around his arresting grin.

  Wren was staring again! She turned back to Sable, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the woman. She wore a beautiful choker made of tiny beads, a riot of color swirling about her throat. Just look at the necklace, Wren, she told herself. Not at the living god standing behind her.

  “Callidus told me you were here,” Sable said.

  “Callidus?” Wren swallowed.

  “I see his name strikes fear into your heart already. He would be pleased. He aspires to new heights of wretchedness.”

  “Did he tell you…” Wren trailed off. That I’m a suspected murderer? Surely, this woman wouldn’t be talking to her if she knew of the afternoon’s events.

  “Yes.” Sable stilled for a moment, rubbing the space between her arching brows. “He filled me in on his conspiracy theory. Not his best work. But the fact that Callidus seeks to pin poor Kasper’s murder on you is reason enough for me to take up your cause.”

  “Nothing brings Sable pleasure like confounding Callidus,” Hale quipped, though his bright smile had faltered at the mention of their guildmaster’s death.

  Sable glanced at him in annoyance but then dismissed it with a shrug. “That’s true.”

  “Take up my cause,” Wren asked. “How do you mean?”

  “Kasper told me he had discovered another Gifted confectioner. You will need to be trained. Taught the ways of the guilds, the court, the political arena.”

  “I’ve been trained for four years,” Wren said, her pride chaffing at Sable’s words. “I’m an excellent confectioner.”

  “I’m sure you are. But I didn’t mean that you were a gifted confectioner, I meant Gifted.” Sable emphasized the last word with a knowing look.

  “Gifted,” Wren said. The burning in her throat and tongue that had been present before when she’d gotten too close to her new secret was absent.

  “That’s right. You can talk about it with us. Hale and I are Gifted as well. We’re in the know.”

  “You make… magic confections as well?” she asked, still disbelieving this was all really happening.

  “Indeed. It’s the three of us and Callidus. And since Callidus is inclined to leave you drifting in the wind, I will claim you for our side. With Kasper gone, we need all the allies we can get.”

  “Allies? I’m sorry, are you at war?” Wren said the word like a joke, but the expression on Sable’s face was deadly serious.

  “We’re always at war. With those who seek the power of the Guild from the outside and in. The thing about power like ours is that there is always someone waiting to take it from you.”

  A bubble of fear surfaced in Wren’s mind. She had done everything she could in the last four years to stay as far away as she could from danger. Yet it had found her again. “It sounds very tiring,” she managed.

  Sable let out a bitter laugh. “It can be. But it’s the way of this world, and the world does not see fit to be changed by mortals like us. But know this. We are your family now, Hale and I. Your tribe. I am your chieftain, and Hale is your brother. I have already transferred your apprenticeship from that half-wit Master Oldrick. You are promoted immediately to journeyman status, and if you are as good as Oldrick says you are, I may make you an artisan soon enough.”

  “Thank you,” Wren said, surprised by the sudden kindness. So, Sable was her family and Hale was her brother. She’d had a brother once. Three lives ago. Before he had died. Hugo… To her horror, she found tears welling in her eyes. She tried to shove the thought of him away, cursing herself for still getting emotional when thinking of him, despite the passage of so many years. Like Sable said—it was the way of the world—those with power taking what they wished.

  “Don’t cry. I don’t tolerate criers. Hale cried for days when he arrived, and I had to beat it out of him.”

  A great booming laugh exploded from Hale, nearly startling Wren from her stool. She couldn’t tell if Sable was joking. She bit her inner cheek, letting the sharp pain stun the tears into oblivion.

  “Yes, Grandmaster.”

  “Hale will be seeing to most of your lessons because frankly, I don’t have the time. I’ll stop by from time to time. But all that comes second to your chief task.”

  “Which is?”

  “We must uncover the identity of Kasper’s killer before the king returns from Tamros with the Grand Inquisitor. You’ll be of no use to our cause if the inquisitor gets his hands on you and tortures you into a quivering mess.”

  Wren paled, gripping the countertop to steady herself.

  “Make no mistake. We cannot let it come to pass, or you are lost to me. Lost to yourself. I don’t know why Steward Willings took such a dislike to you, but even I cannot keep you from the inquisitor’s knives once the King’s steward has called for an inquiry. At least you somehow convinced that inspector to vouch for you, which shows you have some wits at your disposal. He has secured you the opportunity to save yourself.”

  “I don’t know where to start,” Wren lamented. “I know nothing about this place… who would want to kill Kasper.”

  Sable rolled her dark eyes. “I don’t take apprentices only to abandon them. I will seek to put together the political pieces, if there is something there. You and Hale must discover what lurks in the hidden corners of this place, the things that the walls and servants know but keep from grandmasters like me.”

  “All right,” Wren said softly, cold doubt gnawing at her insides. This task felt too big, too wide and foreign.

  “Believe me,” Sable said. “Someone knows who did this deed. All you have to do is find out who.”

  Chapter 5

  Wren tossed and turned that night. Though her body felt leaden, her mind whirred and skipped over the day’s events. The bed she lay in felt strange—too large, too soft, the goose-down comforter too cloud-like against her skin. She thought with longing of the hard narrow bed in her postage stamp room above Master Oldrick’s shop. It was a miserly offering, in keeping with Master Oldrick’s cheap nature, but it had a door that locked, and it had been the first place she had ever laid her head that felt safe. This room wasn’t safe, no matter how tasteful the furnishings. She had no compunctions about thinking so. She felt a sting of resentment towards her Gift. It felt more like a curse, landing her in this strange bed with a murder charge hanging over her head.

  Hale had shown her to her room after Sable had unceremoniously swept from the teaching kitchen to gods-knew-where. He had beamed down on her with such genuine good humor that Wren felt her tension melting, despite her best efforts to remain cool and aloof. She had found herself offering back a shy smile, much to her horror. Did none of her natural defenses work against this man?

  “The Guildhall is not a bad place to live,” he said as they walked. “Everyone is quite nice. Well, except Callidus. A person has everything they need. A roof over their head, access to the most powerful and interesting people in Maradis, and the best food you’ve ever eaten. Plus, there’s chocolate in every room.” He’d snagged one from a bowl sitting in the hallway and tossed it to her. She had startled like a deer as the foil-wrapped chocolate flew over her hands. She’d retrieved it and jogged to keep up with Hale’s impossibly long strides.

  “I wouldn’t mind living here, I suppose,” she’d said softly, finding her voice embarrassingly scratchy in his presence. She’d cleared it. “But I don’t know how I’m supposed to discover who killed Kasper. I don’t know why anyone would want him dead.”

  “Well, that’s easy,” Hale had said. “Callidus and Kasper have been at each other for years. It’s gotten much worse as of late, though no one really understands why. Plus, Callidus is in line to take Kas
per’s job.”

  “Callidus will become guildmaster?” Wren had asked, horrified to think of the sour man taking charge of their lives and futures. In particular, her life. In Maradis, all unmarried women had an appointed male guardian. Whether father or brother or sponsor or husband, Alesian women were beholden to men in almost every aspect of life. A guardian could emancipate his ward, which wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t exactly common, either. And though she hadn’t had time to discuss it with him, she had assumed Kasper would take over the role from Oldrick upon her joining the guild. She didn’t relish the thought of Callidus having the job.

  “He, Sable, and Beckett are the only other grandmasters of note. Not to mention”—he’d leaned towards her conspiratorially in a way that had set her heart racing—“Callidus and Sable are the only other Gifted guildmembers besides us. The Head is always Gifted.”

  “Why can’t Sable take over?”

  Hale’s gaze had grown distant for a moment, his face softening. “She’s younger than Callidus, and ten times as smart, but she doesn’t have the political backing. She was trying to position herself to challenge Callidus for the position, but this all happened too soon.”

  “So Callidus knew that if Kasper didn’t pass away for years more, he would have a challenger for the head seat, and perhaps even lose it?”

  “Good to see you’re not just a pretty face.” Hale had winked at her.

  Her heart fluttered, and she squashed it ruthlessly. Steady, Wren, she’d cautioned herself. Focus.

  “Callidus was the one who suggested the guards arrest me. He was angry when the inspector wanted to let me go. And he’s the only reason I was in Kasper’s office this afternoon.” Wren’s blood had begun to boil as the pieces fell into place.

  “Truly?”

  “So Callidus… tried to frame me? Kill the guildmaster and blame it on some nobody who wouldn’t be missed? That… blooming bastard!” She’d exploded.