The Confectioner Chronicles Box Set

by Claire Luana

  “Why did they separate?”

  “Hale will bed anything that moves. I don’t think it was ever more than a fling to him.”

  Wren processed this information, placing it on a prominent pedestal in the front of her mind. Do not fall for him! she chided herself.

  “Have you and Hale ever…?” Wren asked.

  “No!” Olivia squealed. “Grandaunt would kill me. It’d almost be worth it…” She trailed off, her eyes turning dreamy for a moment.

  “Who was that other boy with Marina?”

  “Lennon,” Olivia said. “Poor guy has to suffer her reign.”

  “Do they both live at the Guildhall?”

  “Yes. They are both sponsored by Grandmaster Beckett, who’s the guild’s ambassador to the Tradehouse. The guildmaster represents the Guild on the Guilder’s Council, but the ambassador does much of the real political work. Policymaking, securing alliances and such. Since he lives at the hall, they live at the hall.”

  “The Guilder’s Council reports to the king, right?” Wren asked. She had dropped out of school when she’d been only eight, and so her understanding of the Alesian political system was sketchy at best.

  “Right. The Nobles’ Council and the Guilder’s Council are the two legislative branches. They make and oversee the laws. All the guilds have a representative on the council, but the ten aperitive guilds make up the Inner Council. They have the most power.”

  “The aperitive guilds. Those are the ones who… make food, yes? And the Confectioner’s is one of those, yes?”

  “Yes, and drink. I’m not actually sure why those have more influence than the other guilds, like the Solicitor’s or Seamstress’s Guild. But that’s how it’s always been.”

  Wren thought she did, in fact, know why the aperitive guilds held more power than the rest, thanks to her revealing conversation with Kasper yesterday. But she could never tell Olivia. Or anyone else, for that matter.

  “Here we are!” Olivia said, stopping in front of a shop with a stylized needle and thread on the front window.

  A cheerful bell trilled as they opened the shop door.

  The seamstress, an elegant woman, glided to the front of the shop to meet them. “Olivia, my buttercup,” Elda said, kissing the girl on both cheeks. “I’m so, so sorry to hear about your granduncle.”

  “Thank you, Elda.” Olivia dimmed for a moment.

  “You let me know if there is anything I can do for you or Iris,” Elda said, taking Olivia’s hands in hers and squeezing.

  “I will. You could help my friend. She needs a full wardrobe,” Olivia remarked, seeming to brighten at the thought of shopping.

  Wren felt a pang of sympathy for Olivia. She knew what it was to try to shove aside your sorrow, to pretend that everything was fine and normal. The grief would catch up with Olivia sooner or later. But, she supposed, Wren could help distract her today.

  With a businesslike nod, Elda led Olivia to a plush velvet divan, retrieving a cold glass of ginger soda for the girl.

  Wren, on the other hand, was unceremoniously shooed onto a raised pedestal, where Elda began measuring, poking, and prodding with disapproving clucks and sighs.

  “Just a few things,” Wren protested, “a dress or two.”

  Elda and Olivia exchanged a knowing glance and proceeded to ignore Wren completely, spinning through yards of fabric, spindles of ribbon, and piles of accessories. Wren didn’t really mind. She knew little about dresses and fashion; it was a relief to not have to try to muddle her way through on her own.

  “Seamstress Elda and my grandaunt are old friends,” Olivia explained from her perch, trying on a burgundy hat she had pulled off a nearby stand.

  “Well, yes and no. You should have seen her back then,” Elda said as she measured Wren’s foot for a pair of shoes. “Iris was the most beautiful rose in a field of poppies. Lovely, gregarious, funny. All the eligible men sought to win her hand. When Carter Greer, the king’s up-and-coming finance minister, caught her eye, it was the talk of the town.”

  Wren declined to say that she rather liked poppies, thinking their understated beauty far more interesting than the cloying scent of roses.

  Elda continued. “I was a young artisan seamstress, just out of my master’s shop. I had few clients, barely enough money to buy fabric to make my samples. Until Iris saw one of my designs in the window, a daring floral beaded corset with sheer sleeves, and a full velvet skirt…” Elda’s eyes grew misty. “Every woman in Maradis wanted my designs after Iris wore that dress to her wedding. I was set, and Iris and I have made striking gowns together ever since. I suppose you could say she is my muse.”

  Wren murmured platitudes, wondering what it would be like to know and trust someone for decades. She looked over at Olivia, who was pawing through a pile of jeweled brooches. She couldn’t help but smile. If Iris Greer had any of Olivia’s infectious enthusiasm in her youth, Wren could see why men had lined up to court her.

  “How did your grandaunt end up at the guild?” Wren asked.

  Olivia grimaced, putting a brooch back in the pile. “Her husband died very young. He fell off a horse. Grandaunt was with child, but she lost the baby. Her husband’s family was unkind to her, and she came to live with her brother, Kasper, at the guild while she recovered.”

  “Those curs threw her out when she needed them most,” Elda said, curling her fist around a pair of scissors. “I hope they’re going hungry in hell.”

  Wren and Olivia looked at each other with eyes wide, and Olivia covered her mouth to keep from giggling. “Elda! Language.”

  “Well, it’s true, my little bluebell,” Elda said, picking up four jeweled headbands and holding one after another up to Wren’s auburn locks.

  “What happened to them?” Wren asked, curiosity overcoming her.

  “Bad meat. Apparently, their head cuisiner was buying cheap goods from non-guild members, skimming off the top. The whole Greer clan was taken with an awful stomach ailment at a feast. I hear it was a messy way to go.”

  Wren wrinkled her nose, shuddering slightly. In her experience, those who deserved punishment didn’t often get it. Perhaps justice had been done, after a fashion, on this occasion.

  “Anyway,” Olivia said brightly, “Grandaunt stayed with the Guild to help Kasper rise to the top. She has an excellent nose for politics.”

  “That she does,” Elda said with a proud nod. “And she can run a household better than anyone. Your Guild is purring like a prize tomcat. It’s a shame she never married again, or had children. She still comes in every month for a new dress, though, whatever I design. It’s our little tradition.”

  A dress a month! Wren had never dreamed of such excess. Wren’s eyes wandered as she imagined such a life, staring out the window onto the sunny street as the two women continued to sing and chirp about her like nesting robins.

  A man strode by the front window, tall and lean, with a sprinkle of white in his dark hair. It was Lucas! The inspector who had vouched for her yesterday. Before she knew what she was doing, Wren launched herself from the platform, twirling to unroll herself from a draping of polka dot lace.

  Chapter 7

  Wren raced into the street, pulling the jeweled headband from her tresses. “Mr. Imbris! Lucas!”

  He turned, his eyes widening when he saw her.

  She stilled. He looked a different man off the job—hair tousled rather than slicked down, a tweed waistcoat hanging unbuttoned down his front, white shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. Yes, despite the flecks of gray in his hair, he definitely wasn’t old. Twenty, maybe?

  “Hello, Wren,” he said, taking in the headband in her hand and the shopfront from which she had emerged. “Shopping, are we?”

  Her face flushed. What was she thinking, wasting time at Mistress Elda’s store instead of spending every moment trying to find the real murderer? “I… only have one dress,” she stammered lamely.

  “I’m not judging,” he said soothingly. “You’re entitl
ed to a bit of merriment after yesterday’s events. How are you holding up?”

  “Decently, I suppose. Grandmaster Sable has sponsored me, so I’m not a total orphan. Well, I am an orphan, but not at the guild.” Sweet mercy, she was babbling. “What I mean is, she and her other sponsored artisan have promised to help me uncover the truth.” She breathed in the faint smell of rosemary wafting from the sprig in the buttonhole of his waistcoat, trying to calm her galloping nerves.

  “That’s excellent,” Lucas said. “Though I can’t condone anyone interfering with the official investigation.”

  “Of course not,” Wren said. “We’ll just help where we can.”

  “Good,” Lucas said.

  A pause. Wren worried the headband with her hand, watching it glitter in the light. “I… didn’t get to thank you.”

  She looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were smoky gray quartz. Mesmerizing. “For believing me. For vouching for me. I’ll repay you, I swear.” She wasn’t used to being in a person’s debt, besides Master Oldrick’s perhaps. It wasn’t entirely comfortable.

  “You’re welcome. But you don’t owe me anything. It’s my job to protect the vulnerable in Maradis.”

  “Your job,” Wren said. Of course, he was doing his job. What he did for her, he would have done for anyone in need. But still, in her experience, nothing came for free.

  “Wren,” Olivia said, peeking her head out the door.

  “A moment,” Wren said over her shoulder before turning back. “Well, thank you again. Please let me know if I can help with your investigation.”

  A shadow passed across Lucas’s handsome face. “There is… something I’d like to discuss with you. Could you meet me in an hour?”

  “Of course,” Wren said.

  “Do you know of the Bitterbird Cafe on Third Avenue?”

  “No, but I’m sure Olivia can help me find it.”

  He pulled a silver pocket watch from his waistcoat, checking it. “Meet me at 12:30, and if it’s not too difficult, come alone. My news is for your ears alone.”

  Wren fidgeted through the remainder of her fitting, unable to focus on the chattering around her. When Elda finally finished the ordering, Wren numbly handed over two of her precious gold crowns, getting a handful of silver and copper in return. It was more money than she had ever had in her life, let alone parted with in one sitting. But Olivia assured her that she was getting an assortment of dresses for casual and dress wear, stockings, shoes, undergarments, and even jewelry and accessories to match. If she was going to live longer than a month, she would need something to wear.

  “We’ll take that burgundy hat, too,” Wren said, coming out of her reverie, pointing to the one Olivia had been eying wistfully.

  “Oh no,” Olivia said. “You needn’t!”

  “It’s the least I can do to thank you for your kindness,” Wren said, finding she meant it deeply. She had already grown to depend on Olivia. She cautioned herself. Depending on anyone else was a sure path to ruin.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Olivia squealed, hugging Wren. “I have the perfect dress to wear it with!”

  Wren and Olivia left with one package wrapped in white paper and twine tucked under Wren’s arm. A sky blue dress that Elda had sewn for another customer before the order had been canceled. It would be enough to get Wren through until the rest of her order was ready.

  “Olivia,” Wren said, “do you know of the Bitterbird Cafe?”

  “Of course. It’s at the intersection where Nysia Avenue meets Third.”

  “Can I ask you to take me there and then head back to the Guildhall?”“

  “Why?”

  “I’m to meet Lucas, er, Mr. Imbris, the inspector. He said he has something to tell just me.”

  “How mysterious,” Olivia said with delight. “Let’s go.”

  Olivia deposited Wren on the doorstep of the Bitterbird Cafe five minutes early. Wren pulled open the red front door and entered, taking in the warm exposed brick, the curving wooden tables, the inviting worn leather chairs. The pungent smell of roasting coffee beans swirled about the cafe’s patrons—Maradis’s upper class, rich nobles and scholars who had the luxury of leisure.

  Wren shyly ordered herself a coffee, black, and after retrieving the earthen mug with its warm inky brew from the bar, tucked herself into a small corner facing the street. She looked out the window with wide eyes, watching the world go by. It seemed the whole of the Western Reaches had been brought together on Nysia Avenue—from aristocratic Apricans swathed in silk and leather to a dark-haired Centu clansman heading to his ship nestled in the Port Quarter to grubby Tamrosis in their flowing patchwork cloaks, refugees from the Red Plague or Aprican occupation. She even saw two Magnish children, their dark skin and inky hair decrying their heritage even more than their matching starched uniforms. Sable’s exotic coloring and beaded choker suggested she was from the conquered land of Magnus in the far south. Could she have been one of the unfortunate children plucked from the fur and ice of their homes to be educated and “civilized” in Maradis?

  “Hello,” a deep voice said.

  She looked up from the street to see Lucas standing above her, his hands in his pockets. She hastily stood and gestured to the chair opposite her. “Please.”

  “See something interesting?” He motioned with his head to the street.

  “All of it,” she said wistfully. “I’ve never been somewhere like this before.”

  “A coffee shop?” he asked, bemused.

  “I’ve been to coffee shops before—to drop off confections, mostly. Hardly ever as a patron. Do none of these people work for a living?” she whispered. Wren could hardly remember a day that wasn’t filled with eye-twisting work.

  Lucas laughed, his smile spilling across his face like a sunbeam. “Not in the way you think, I suspect. Some are writers or artists, some are businesspeople here for meetings, like me,” he said. “And you. But yes, some of them don’t have to work.”

  Wren shook her head, unable to comprehend such a life. Living on the street, she’d aspired to having a steady paycheck and a roof over her head. To think that there would ever be more than that… It had been unthinkable.

  “You’re not like other guildmembers I’ve met,” Lucas said, tilting his head appraisingly.

  Wren gripped her hands together to keep from smoothing her dress under his gaze. “Is that why you… vouched for me?” Her eyes met his.

  “Yes, I suppose,” he said. “I don’t know what you did to get Grandmaster Callidus and Steward Willings so out of sorts, but I couldn’t stand by while you were blamed for something you didn’t do. It would be a miscarriage of justice.”

  Wren didn’t think much of Alesian justice, but she supposed Lucas must believe in the concept to have entered the field he had.

  He continued. “The guilds are full of wolves waiting to pounce and spiders weaving their webs. No offense. Not just your guild—all of them.”

  Wren waved the comment away. She agreed.

  “Anyway, it’s plain to see you are neither a wolf nor a spider.”

  “Oh?” She arched a curious eyebrow. “What am I then?”

  “I don’t know…” He looked at the bricked ceiling, his handsome face twisted in thought. “A sparrow, perhaps.”

  “A sparrow?” She found a smile forming and struggled to restrain it. “Five points for not saying a wren, but minus three for sticking in the small bird category. Lacking in creativity.”

  “I’ll leave the creativity to the artists and confectioners. I deal in facts. I’ll take the two points.” He pretended to catch them in the air and pocket them.

  “And you? What are you in this zoological metaphor?”

  He laughed. He drummed his elegant fingers on his knee, just once. “A wolf. But a wolf trying to find a new way.”

  A wolf? Was that a warning somehow? “I would have thought you would have said a falcon.” The falcon was the Imbris clan crest, blazoned across Alesia’s flag and carved into
its buildings.

  He shook his head vehemently. “Definitely not. I try to keep as far away from… my clan as I can.”

  That was interesting. She filed the information away. “So a wolf then. Choosing your own destiny. But wolves aren’t meant to be solitary creatures,” she said.

  “No,” he agreed.

  They looked at each other over the table, the bustling world orbiting around the frozen moment. She felt herself teetering on the edge of something as she pondered his words, trying to ignore how his presence alone steadied and soothed her. And then she pulled back from the edge and looked away, grabbing her forgotten and cooling coffee from the table and taking a gulp. The bitter flavor of the brew brought her back to herself. Affection was a distraction she could ill afford. She did better alone. It had always seen her through. Besides, she didn’t know this man. Wolf or falcon, it didn’t matter. Either could take down a wren.

  “So,” she said. “You said you had news. Have you discovered something?”

  “Yes.” He leaned forward. “We discovered what type of poison was used.” Lucas looked around and leaned closer. He smelled fresh like mint and rosemary. “It’s a poison known as Gemini. It’s extremely rare and extremely expensive. As far as I know, one needs contacts in the Spicer’s Guild to get it, as it comes from beyond Ferwich territory in the east.”

  “So someone like me would never have had access to something like that,” Wren said. That was promising.

  “No, you’d need to have a benefactor or be working for someone with connections. But that’s not the most interesting thing. Gemini is effective because it’s a two-part poison. One part can be hidden in something like your cupcake, while the other part is hidden in another edible. Only individuals who ingest both elements of the poison will die. Either half of the poison, on its own, is harmless.”

  “Which is why I didn’t get sick when I also ate the cupcake?” Wren asked, piecing it together.

  “Exactly.”

  “But… that looks bad for me, doesn’t it. I could have poisoned the cupcake safely, knowing I could eat it and be fine.” Disappointment pooled heavy in her chest.