by Claire Luana
Wren went over what she knew as she strode back towards the Guildhall. Greer had been at the party at Violena’s home where one of Wren’s cupcakes had been consumed. Either she or Bianca might have recognized the effects of a Gifted item… Either knew about it. Greer must have taken the cupcakes back with her and poisoned them. Greer was in charge of monitoring and approving packages that came into the Guildhall. No doubt when Guildmaster Chandler had sent Kasper a bottle of his small batch Destrier’s Reserve, Greer would have known about it. Perhaps had even taken the gift up to Kasper herself. She could have added the second poison, knowing that no one but Kasper would drink his private stash. But somewhere along the way, she had gotten the poison on her fingertips. And when the lingering Gemini had come in contact with her false tears, it had tinged her fingertips blue. When Sable had discovered the truth of Greer’s involvement, Greer had poisoned her—framing Wren a second time. Wren was an easy scapegoat since the suspicion was already on her.
What Wren didn’t understand, what she didn’t have the first clue about, was why. What possible reason did Greer have to poison her brother? The king’s likely involvement meant that money could be a factor—perhaps she had been paid handsomely. But she had a secure position at the Guild and comfortable surroundings. Would an offer of payment truly be enough to turn her against family? Wren thought of the voluminous closet, the rainbow of dresses and shoes and hats. Perhaps her finery reflected more than just nostalgia for her old life. Perhaps she wanted it back.
Wren approached the broad square at the end of Guilder’s Row and ducked into the shadow of a building. Lucas. Should she go to him, share her theory? He hadn’t thought the king could be involved, still believing Chandler guilty of the crime. And he had seemed so angry with her when she wouldn’t explain the Gifting. No. Words wouldn’t be enough to sway him. Not without proof. She needed to confirm that the Gemini was in Greer’s quarters. Once she did, she’d level her accusations at Greer in public before the woman had a chance to hide the evidence or kill again.
Wren ducked between two guildhalls as she neared the end of Guilder’s Row. The hall was still crawling with inspectors, no doubt investigating Sable’s poisoning. She bit her lip, peering around the corner. How to get inside without being seen? Greer’s quarters were on the second floor. She could take the servants’ entrance and stairs most of the way there, but she could easily run into the wrong person in the hallway. Entering the Guild at all was a dangerous gamble. What she needed, she realized, was luck.
With a silent prayer, Wren looped around the neighboring Cuisinier’s Guildhall into the yard behind her hall. The gravel expanse was blessedly empty. Wren slipped through the door, darting towards the teaching kitchen where she had stashed the rest of the macarons. Sable had asked for four types, so even after cutting the recipes in half, the batches had made extra cookies. Wren thought of the carefree ferry ride across Lake Viri with a pang of regret. How quickly things had changed.
She heard the tap of heels on the tiles of the hall and ducked into a nearby teaching kitchen. She flattened herself against the wall, watching the figure pass by. It was Olivia.
Wren let out a sigh of relief when she disappeared from view. Poor Olivia, Wren thought. This would devastate her. She had already lost her parents, her granduncle, and now her grandaunt? Wren shoved down her guilt. Greer should have thought of that before she’d gotten into this whole dirty business. Wren wasn’t going to let herself and Lucas be executed to protect Olivia’s feelings. Her friend would get over it. In time.
When the coast was clear, Wren turned out of the kitchen and came face-to-face with Marina. Wren inhaled a sharp breath, her heart jumping like a startled rabbit in her chest. “Gods, Marina!” she said.
Marina walked into the kitchen, a smirk wide on her face. “The murderess herself,” she said. “Here for another victim?”
“I’m not a murderer,” Wren said.
“That’s not what they’re saying,” Marina said, spinning a measuring spoon that had been discarded on the countertop. “And if you’re not a murderer, why did you run? The guards saw you and Hale fleeing the building this morning.”
“I didn’t run,” Wren said. “I went to get an antidote. And now I’m back.”
“But not really, are you?” Marina said. “Or you wouldn’t be skulking about. Perhaps I’ll just holler for the closest guards.”
“Don’t!” Wren hissed, her eyes wide.
“You’re a danger and a menace. My father says it served Sable right, getting poisoned. Teach her to take in mongrels like you. You don’t belong here.”
Another time, Marina’s words might have stung her. Wren had wanted desperately to fit in here, to find her place. But her entire universe had narrowed to one focus: Greer. Wren simply didn’t have time for this. “I don’t care what you think of me, Marina. I didn’t kill Kasper and I didn’t poison Sable. I’m going to prove it.”
“Not from the Block you aren’t,” Marina said. “I’m sure the Grand Inquisitor will be eager to meet you.”
Wren growled, her nerves as tight as a taut bowstring. She wasn’t going to let Marina’s petty vendetta against her jeopardize her last chance of clearing her name.
In one fluid motion, Wren seized a copper-bottomed pot off the stove and whacked Marina across the head with it. The girl crumpled to the floor, as limp as an empty sack of flour.
Wren’s eyes went wide as she regarded Marina’s unconscious form. Blood dribbled from a cut on the girl’s forehead, and her glasses had skittered across the floor. Horror filled her. Had Wren hit her too hard? Gods, had she killed Marina? Wren knelt down, feeling for Marina’s pulse. It was there. Fluttering against her throat, but there. Wren blew out a deep breath. Thank the Beekeeper.
Wren smoothed back Marina’s hair and tried to arrange her body in a less awkward angle, sending the girl a silent apology.
Shoving down her trepidation, Wren poked her head into the hallway. It was empty. She darted to the next teaching kitchen and through the door, breathing a sigh of relief. Her macarons sat on the marble counter where she had left them, neatly wrapped in brown paper and twine. She ripped open the package, shoving the first cookie in her mouth—lemon studded with flecks of basil. Tangy and chewy, the macaron’s magic glittered on her tongue, a last lifeline in a sinking sea of danger. She grabbed another one—a green pistachio, biting into it before she had fully downed the last. Her life had once been so simple, about the uncomplicated monotony of making confections. Day after day in the kitchens, forming and stirring and drizzling. Now… she didn’t know what she had become. Skulking and attacking and falling from roofs and picking locks and wolfing down an entire pack of macarons. She’d thought she had left all of this behind when she had joined the guild. Turned her back on those who had turned their backs on her. But somehow the danger had found her again, in a new and more sophisticated form.
Wren polished off the chocolate mocha now, unsure if she was still eating for comfort or for luck. As she swallowed thickly, she set down the box, knowing she had delayed enough. This luck would have to be enough to get her into Greer’s rooms.
She next filled up a little herb pouch with salt from the shaker, tying it off and tucking it in her pocket. She would have to test the contents of the bottles to be sure they contained the Gemini poison.
The hallway was deserted. She backtracked and mounted the servants’ stairway to the second floor. Her heart hammered and her palms sweated. This was her one chance. If she was taken by the guards, she’d never have another opportunity to prove Greer’s guilt. She couldn’t fail.
As she repeated those words in her head like a mantra, Wren rounded the stairs. And came face-to-face with a maid. She drew in a sharp breath. Would she have to leave a trail of unconscious bodies in her wake?
But the maid just bobbed a curtsey, hurrying past her and down the stairs. She didn’t seem to know who Wren was or that she was wanted by the entire guild.
Wren breathed a s
igh of relief, continuing on her way. She smiled grimly at her luck. Finally, her Gift was coming in handy.
She reached the door to Greer’s rooms and paused with her hand poised over the handle. What if the woman was inside? She usually was bustling about the Guildhall during the day, directing servants, taking inventory, working in the office. But what if she wasn’t today? With Sable’s poisoning and the investigators in the hall… who knew what the woman was up to? Indecision plagued her. She didn’t want to confront the woman outright; it would be Wren’s word against Greer’s. But she had to do something. She was so close.
Her decision was made for her as a set of booted footsteps sounded up the far stairway. Someone was coming. Wren turned the handle and slipped inside, shutting the door quickly.
She surveyed the room and sagged in relief against the door. It was empty and quiet. The room smelled of roses, the myriad vases now filled with tender pink blossoms. They didn’t look like the rooms of a murderer. But what had she expected? Vials of blood and torture implements hanging from the wall? Wren knew better than most that people weren’t always what they seemed.
In the closet, a dozen ornate glass bottles of colored and clear glass glittered on Greer’s vanity. The bottle that Wren had been smelling when Greer snapped at her had been made of lavender glass with a cork stopper.
Wren took it and carried it to the desk. She didn’t want the poison to touch her skin, but she didn’t know any other way to do this. As long as she didn’t ingest it, she should be fine. Plus, the poison had two halves. Hopefully, this half was the same half as she had eaten in the cupcake. Or if the cupcake poison was the other half, perhaps it had worn off. If she didn’t find out, she’d be dead anyway. Her luck would have to hold.
Wren took out the stopper and placed the heel of her hand against the opening, turning it over, letting the liquid splash against her skin. She re-stoppered the bottle and took the little pouch of salt out of her pocket. She rubbed a few grains of salt on her hand. Nothing.
She looked at the other bottles, repocketing the salt packet. Had she remembered wrong? Was it one of the other bottles? Or had Greer gotten rid of the poison altogether? The thought chilled Wren. If that was the case, she’d never be able to prove Greer’s guilt. No one would believe Wren that she had seen the discoloration on Greer’s fingers. Not when she had such a motivation to point the finger at another.
Wren sighed, looking down. Her eyes widened and she let out a gasp of disbelief. There on her palm was a spot of blue.
Even as elation flooded her, a sadness did as well. This meant that Greer actually killed her brother. As much as the pieces had fit together, Wren hadn’t wanted to believe that.
“Why did you do it?” Wren asked, looking at the bottle.
“An intriguing question.” Greer’s voice came from behind her.
Chapter 36
Greer stood calm and serene, wreathed by the closet door. She wore a navy blue dress trimmed in eyelet lace, and her flaxen hair was swept back in a twist.
Wren eyed her warily, the bottle gripped tightly in her palm. Her mind raced through her options. She had planned to leave the poison here to be discovered later. If she took it with her, it would be her word against Greer’s that she had discovered it in the Guildmistress’s rooms.
“Marina will be fine,” Greer said, her smooth face impassive. “You should have hit her harder. She scampered off to find me the second she came to.”
Wren was silent. She had no words, no plan, no clever retorts.
“Poor Wren,” Greer said. “I see you thinking hard, looking for a way out. By now, you’ve realized that there isn’t one. I’m sorry it came to this. You were simply an expedient scapegoat.”
“Why?” Wren asked. While she was stalling, she was genuinely curious as well. “Why did you kill your own brother?”
Greer’s gaze hardened, and she paced before the doorway, as if choosing her words carefully.
“Kasper was a sentimental fool. He had all the power in the world, power that should have been mine by rights, but he had no ambition. He would have been content to putter around his kitchen making peanut brittle all his life, squandering the Gift the Beekeeper had given him. The only reason he even rose to guildmaster was because I made it so! Not that it ever benefited me in the end. But when I found out that Kasper was going to throw all of his power and influence away by crossing the king and revealing the secret of the Gifted… I couldn’t let him be so foolish. Just because some peasants died of plague?”
“Thousands died!” Wren said, shivering at her memories of watching from her little room above Oldrick’s shop as carts of bodies passed by.
“The secret of the Gifts are what keep Alesia strong. And what keeps the guilds in power. Showing their hand would make the guilds an enemy of the king and put a target on all of our backs. How long do you think it would take before Aprica invaded? The Ferwich clans? Before the Gifted were assassinated, picked off one by one? Or taken, enslaved to new masters? No, it could not be. I knew Kasper’s plan was folly, that he and Chandler had lost their minds over their dream of an egalitarian future where Gifted skipped through the meadows with poor and rich alike. It’s a fantasy!”
“So you killed him over a… policy disagreement?” As much as Wren was horrified by what Greer was saying, a small part of her agreed. In the minutes she had known Kasper, she had seen the light in him. The hope and joy and sparkle that didn’t fit into this dark world. Optimism was not a quality that lasted long under the crushing weight of reality. The fact that Kasper had held on to his for so long was nothing short of a miracle, but it was a miracle that had blinded him. Blinded him to the gritty, ugly truth of what revealing the Gifts could do. It could be the end of the Gifted, the Guilds. Or worse.
“Kasper and I debated the prospect of revealing the Gifted until we were blue in the face. The man was as stubborn as a mule. So when I was approached about a solution, I knew it was my patriotic duty to assist.” Greer idly stroked a jewel-toned scarf hanging on the wall.
“And I’m sure you were handsomely compensated as well.” Wren’s eyes narrowed.
Greer lifted her chin defiantly. “One doesn’t take a risk for no reward. Kasper didn’t understand that. I ran this Guild for the last twenty years. I had the business sense and could have been the most powerful woman in Maradis. If not for the unfortunate circumstances of our births. That should have been my Gift,” Greer said. “But he took it, and he squandered it. And more than that. He kept me here, practically his prisoner, to serve as guildmistress. Guildmistress! Pah.” Greer let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I was a glorified servant. Francis met with kings and diplomats, brokered deals and made fortunes. I decided which tea to serve them.”
“What do you mean, practically his prisoner? Couldn’t you have left?” Wren furrowed her brow. She needed to extricate herself, but she found herself stalling. She genuinely wanted to understand why this woman had killed her brother.
“You know that in Alesia, women are only allowed to marry if their male guardian allows it?”
Wren nodded.
“Kasper refused to let me marry again. After Carter died…” Her blue eyes went hazy for a moment before hardening. “He said I couldn’t be trusted. With a husband. Or children. Or… a family-in-law.”
“Why would he…?” Wren trailed off, memories surfacing of her second day at the Guild when the seamstress flitted about her with a measuring tape, telling the tragic story of how Earl Greer’s entire family had died shortly after he had, shortly after Iris Greer had lost her baby and been turned out.
“Bad meat… was it?” Wren said slowly, grasping the bottle of poison in her sweaty hand. Dear gods, the woman had poisoned her late husband’s whole family?
A predatory smile crossed Greer’s face. “They deposited me in a carriage and hustled me down the street before my baby’s body was cold. Without a Greer heir in my belly, I was nothing to them. They had never wanted Carter to marry me. I was to
o lowborn, too uncultured. They deserved what they got.” Greer was now winding the scarf between her tight fists in an unconscious gesture.
Wren backed up a step.
“I didn’t get what I deserved, though.” Greer’s voice thundered, hard as iron. “Because I was a lowly woman without an heir, the Greer riches went to some third cousin in Tamros. Francis was so horrified by the whole affair he refused to let me marry again. I lost my chance to have children. To have a life. A place in society. A household to run. All because Kasper was so syrupy-sweet that he couldn’t get past what I had done.”
“I’m… sorry,” was all Wren could think to say.
“But it’s not too late for me, you see. Why do you think I take such pains to keep up with fashions, to stay looking young?”
“You plan to marry?”
“I was made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. A handsome husband, a position in court, riches beyond any charity Kasper deigned to give me. A guardian who would approve any choice I made. A chance for the life Kasper refused me. Finally.” Greer heaved a huge sigh, closing her eyes for a moment, as if telling her tale had unburdened her.
Wren tensed to run, but Greer snapped her eyes open, stepping into the closet doorway.
“Why are you telling me all this?” Wren asked.
“Because no one will believe you,” Greer said confidently. “I’d just kill you myself, but the king needs someone to publically take the fall for Kasper’s death. Give the people the closure of an execution. I thought you’d appreciate understanding why you were sacrificed in the end. It’s for the greater good. If that brings you some comfort.”
“Your greater good! Don’t you think people will wonder why Kasper’s sister has suddenly risen in fortune?” Wren asked. “They’re not fools.”
“They won’t wonder after I catch the murderer of the head of the Confectioner’s Guild,” Greer said, a sly smile crossing her face.