by Claire Luana
Wren sighed and began picking things up, setting the books back on the shelf, her few dresses back on their hangers. A maid was already running the bathwater in the washroom. Another dropped a tray of hot butternut squash soup and rosemary focaccia bread on her table with a curtsy.
“We can come back with a broom for the feathers,” the maid said.
“Tomorrow,” Wren said. “Thank you.” She wanted to be alone. She needed to be alone.
Wren ate greedily as the bathwater finished running, letting the mundaneness of the movements wash over her, keep her from processing, from truly thinking of all that had happened in the last few days.
And when the last bit of fluffy, salty bread had soaked up the last remnant of the nutty soup, she went to the bathing chamber and stripped off her clothes, dirty and bloody from the Block.
Wren sank into the piping hot water, scented with the fragrance of orange blossom, hissing as the wounds under her fingernails hit the heat. She sank under the water, submerging herself until her lungs cried out for air. And when she rose, she was crying in great shuddering gasps, her throat tight with knotted tension. As her tears mingled with the scented water, she let herself sob, let herself mourn. For the pain she had suffered, the exhaustion of holding it together when she’d wanted to do nothing but fall apart. For the fear and terror that had met her at the edge of the grave this morning, for the thought that she would die alone, mourned by no one, her passing marked by nothing. For the anger at a corrupt king who had doomed her without even knowing her name, who held women in cells and doomed families to backbreaking labor without a thought to their humanity.
But mostly, she cried with relief, and hope, and disbelief. Because she was here, alive, when by all accounts she should have been dead. And for the first time since childhood, she had something to live for. More than just another day of work, another day of going through the motions of life. She had people to live for. Unexpected allies who had forced their way into her life and saved her when she couldn’t save herself. Chandler and Pike. Lennon and Olivia. And Callidus, the most unexpected of all. A family—Sable and Hale, who had come through for her at the last minute. As complicated and messy as any blood relations, but a family nonetheless. And maybe—love. Her thoughts of Lucas were like vignettes of the best parts of life, fresh coffee and rolled-up shirtsleeves and his body pressed to hers. She had felt more alive in her hours with Lucas than in so many years before. This thing—this beginning—terrified her and exhilarated her in turns. If there was a chance, any chance at all, she wasn’t going to shy away. Not this time.
Wren slept through the afternoon and evening and didn’t wake until the morning rays kissed her cheeks. She lay curled in the half of her bed that hadn’t been ripped apart, reveling in the feeling of safety. No more running. No more ticking clock that counted the hours until her doom. No more murderer lurking in the shadows. She was a journeyman of the Confectioner’s Guild, and this was her home.
It was Wren’s stomach that forced her out of her lazy decadence, complaining bitterly for attention. She rose and dressed in a rose-gold frock overlaid in white-dotted tulle. It was the last of the dresses she and Olivia had bought her first day in the guild. She ran a brush through her hair and twisted half of it back from her face, pinning it at the crown of her head. When she emerged from the bathroom, a tray sat on her little table bearing a bowl of steel-cut oatmeal with berries and clotted cream, a cup of steaming coffee, and two letters.
The first was from Sable, short and to the point. “Come see me when you wake,” it said, signed “S.”
The second was from Lucas. Her heart trilled in her chest. She had assumed he had been freed once her innocence had been proven, but it was good to see the proof.
Wren-
I recall promising that when this was all over, I would escort you to Salted Cream, the ice creamery worth killing over. As we both just escaped execution for murder, it seems the best time to undertake such a dangerous mission. I am a man of my word, after all. Meet me there at 2?
-Lucas
Wren couldn’t keep the grin from her face. Lucas and ice cream. She could hardly think of a sweeter combination.
Chapter 43
Wren headed to the Maradis Hospital first. She stopped at a florist’s shop and bought a bouquet of sugar-soft peonies for Sable. She buried her nose in them as she walked, making the rest of the way to the hospital.
Wren found Sable sitting up in bed, her ebony hair hanging like a curtain as she wrote. Around the bed was a sea of flowers—bouquets of every size, shape, and color—cheerful tulips, soft breathy lilacs, exquisite roses.
“Wren!” Sable said, looking up.
“I brought you these.” Wren chuckled, looking down at her humble bouquet wrapped in brown paper. “Maybe you can use them to fertilize the rest of these behemoths.”
Sable waved a hand dismissively. “Pike chose now of all times to decide he can’t live without me. The man is embarrassing himself, truly. Give them here.” She grabbed the flowers and inhaled deeply. “Perfect,” she breathed, closing her eyes for a moment. “This place smells like sick people and death. I can’t wait to get out of here.”
“When can you return to the Guildhall?” Wren asked, sitting at the foot of the bed.
“The doctor says a few more days. The poison almost killed me. If you and Hale hadn’t gotten the antidote…” She trailed off. “I blame myself, really. When I saw Greer’s name on that list, I was sure it was a mistake. I’ve known her for years, she was so kind to me when I joined the guild… I wanted to give her a chance to explain, to provide an airtight alibi. All I did was give her a chance to kill me.”
“You couldn’t have known—”
“But I should have known! I got cocky.”
“She hid her true nature well. For so long. She fooled everyone, didn’t she?”
“But not you,” Sable said, her eyes gleaming. “I’m proud of you. You figured it out without me, put the pieces together. And the bit with the salt water at the execution! Masterful!”
“It didn’t work,” Wren grumbled. “I would have been executed if you and Callidus and Hale hadn’t come.”
“Yes, well, the deck was stacked against you. That magister is in the king’s pocket, as sure as Killian or Willings are.”
“It’s not right,” Wren said darkly, her good mood turning.
“No, it’s not. But,” Sable said cheerfully, “Willings was arrested too. With all those witnesses, and Greer testifying against him, the king and the inquisitor will have to distance themselves from him, let him take the fall. I’ll bet he’ll meet the headsman’s axe before the month is out.”
Wren felt a grim satisfaction. It was fitting that he would suffer the fate he had tried to bring upon her.
“Greer’s been sentenced already.” Sable’s voice was softer.
“Poor Olivia.”
“Greer should have thought about that before she turned against us. The guild. She was a traitor to us all,” Sable said.
Wren nodded, looking about the room because she couldn’t bring herself to look at Sable without tears burning her eyes.
“Hale’s not here,” Sable said, changing the subject.
Wren raised an eyebrow.
“I sent him away. He told me what happened… what he did to you. And that kind of violence, from someone so close… it takes a woman time.” Her voice was sad as she said the words, far away. As if she had felt the sting of intimate betrayal in her own past. “I told him he couldn’t see you until you were ready. On your terms.”
“Oh,” Wren said, her voice small. “I appreciate that.” She was torn in two when it came to Hale. Part of her was furious that he had turned on her, that he had believed her capable of harming Sable. And she was wary of the temper and power that had nearly choked the life from her—that had transformed her into her helpless younger self in the blink of an eye. But the other part understood that he had been defending Sable, the one person in the world
he cared for more than himself.
“For what it’s worth, he was out of his mind over you. As soon as I awoke and confirmed what had happened, he practically drove me back into the grave with his panic over you, over how we would get to you. He felt terrible for how he had treated you. Lucas got us a message that you were to be executed. When Hale heard that… he was the one who convinced Callidus to bring me to the courthouse, to intercede on your behalf. Neither of us would be here if not for him.”
Wren nodded, swallowing thickly. To know what he had done for her, it did make a difference. “His betrayal hurt the most, I think. Not… what he did”—Wren rubbed her neck unconsciously—“but the fact that he didn’t trust me. My word wasn’t good enough. He believed that knife. Over me.”
“Tell me something. Did you truly trust Hale? Or me? Before these last few days?”
Wren’s face heated. “No.”
“You and I are alike in so many ways. And Hale. It’s hard for us to trust. To let people in. Look at me. I’ve known Hale for years, and I still didn’t tell him that Greer was on that list. I wanted to handle it myself, to spare her any suspicion or doubt. It’s no excuse, but… I guess I just want you to understand.”
“That it was as hard for him to trust me as it was for me to trust him?”
Sable nodded. “After so many years of people letting you down, it’s hard to believe there’s anything else. But there is. With Hale. And me. And you. Just… keep an open mind. I hope you can forgive him in time.”
Wren pondered this. Perhaps things between her and Hale would never be the same. But maybe… they could make a new beginning. She thought of his jests and easy laugh, his big arm slung around her shoulders. What would her life be at the Guildhall without Hale? With only distance and estrangement between them?
“Thanks for telling me,” Wren finally said. “I… I want to learn to trust him again. I’ll try.”
“Give him that chance. If anyone deserves it, Hale does. And he will fight to earn that trust.” Sable took her hand, squeezing it in a grip of surprising strength. “After all, we’re family. We have to look out for each other.”
Wren and Sable visited for an hour, comparing notes on the clues that had revealed Greer’s treachery, the king’s troubling moves, politics, and plans. At last, the doctor bustled Wren out of the room, insisting Sable needed to sleep, and it was time to meet Lucas, anyway.
She found him sitting on a bench outside the shop, looking across the street at the sparkling expanse of Lake Viri, the sun and breeze in his face. Her stomach flipped with excitement and nervousness when she saw him, his checked white shirt with sleeves rolled up and waistcoat unbuttoned, like that first day she had bumped into him on the street. He hopped to his feet at the sight of her, greeting her with a grin and an embrace that enveloped her in warmth and the rosemary-fresh scent of him. He buried his nose in the crook of her neck, not letting go, as if he didn’t care who might see them. She ran her hands up his back, feeling the straight arrow of his spine. Finally, reluctantly, he released her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
“Lucas,” she said, a jangle of nerves and raw emotion. She needed to get this part out of the way first. “What you overheard at Charger’s Estate…”
He shook his head. “I made a mistake that night. Not trusting you. I don’t mean to make that mistake again. If there’s something to tell, and you want to tell me someday… I’d be honored to hear it. And if we never speak of it again, that’s fine too. I trust that whatever you did… if you did anything… was for a good reason.”
A lump formed in her throat and she nodded. “That means more than you know,” she managed.
Lucas clapped his hands. “Now, ready for this mind-blowing experience?”
Wren nodded up at him, her spirit soaring.
A bell tinkled as they passed through into the shop. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the smells of sugar and waffle cones filling her nostrils.
It was a patron behind them who disturbed the spell of the moment. “Are you in line?” the woman asked with a hint of annoyance.
Wren started, staring back at her as if she had appeared out of nowhere. “Go ahead. We need a minute.”
Wren hadn’t even looked at the expansive list of ice cream flavors on the chalkboard behind the counter. And she didn’t really want to look at it, to look anywhere but at Lucas’s smile. Lucas took her hand, covering it in the warmth of his own. “Someone once told me the strawberry rhubarb is to die for.”
“I’ve heard that, too,” Wren said, resuming her memorization of every crinkle by Lucas’s eyes, the scrape on his knuckles, the smile he couldn’t seem to put away. She wanted to take it all in.
“I never would have forgiven myself, you know,” he said. “If you had died for me. I’m still mad about that.”
“That I tried to keep you”—she pointed to him—“from dying for me?”
“Well, when you put it that way, it does seem unreasonable. But it’s supposed to be my job to make gallant sacrifices for the good of… innocents.”
“Your job as an inspector?” she asked.
“Right,” he said.
“I couldn’t let you die for me,” she said softly. “Not if I could do something to stop it. And I’m sorry I put you in danger, with the bit with the salt water and Greer. It was too risky. But it was my only play.”
“It was just risky enough,” he said. “If you hadn’t done it, you wouldn’t be here. Maybe I wouldn’t either. So thank you.”
“Is that what this little meeting is for?” she asked. “A thank you?”
“Yes,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Okay,” she said, disappointment welling within her.
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
“No?”
“What can I get you?” The boy behind the counter interrupted whatever Lucas was about to say.
Wren glared at him. He was tall as a beanpole, with dirty blond hair and a storm of brown freckles across his face.
“Two cones with strawberry rhubarb,” Lucas said. “Is that okay?”
Wren nodded.
The boy behind the counter folded his lanky frame over the tubs and began scooping.
“You were saying?”
“Where was I?”
“No, this wasn’t a thank you,” Wren reminded him.
“Well, yes and no,” he said. “The truth is, the thought of losing you paralyzed me. It paralyzes me still. I don’t want to be… without you.” He looked up, his face flushed.
A smile crept onto her face. “Why?” she asked.
“Wow, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he said, grinning back. “Going to make me spell it out, are you?”
“Four fifty,” the boy said in a monotone, setting the cones in a little holder on the counter.
Wren looked daggers at him.
Lucas paid for the cones, handing one to Wren. They left the store and resumed their places on Lucas’s bench.
“Continue,” she said.
“You were shamelessly forcing me to bare my deepest emotions,” Lucas said. “Is that where we left off?” He took a lick of his ice cream, and his eyes widened. “Wow, this is really good.”
“Sounds right. I don’t think it’s such a bad thing, you know, after so many secrets and lies, to be completely honest with each other.” Even as she said the words, her smile faltered. There was one truth she wasn’t able to tell him, the truth of her Gift, and what it meant to the king. But she would find a way to work around that.
“I agree completely,” he said. He grabbed her hand, his solid and warm in her own. “I am falling for you. You’re lovely and talented and brave. Incredibly brave. I don’t blame you if you’d want nothing to do with me because of what my family has done to you. My father. But if you’re willing, I want to give this a try. Us.”
The words warmed her even more than the sweetness of the sun on her cheeks. “I want that too. I want…
you. But your father… he tried to have me executed. I can’t imagine he’d approve.”
“I’m a sixth son. My father has never wanted me for his political purposes; my brothers serve that role perfectly. He doesn’t care what I do, and if he did, it wouldn’t stop me from being with you.”
Wren grimaced. “He’s the king…”
“I don’t care,” he said. “I’m nothing to him. He doesn’t even have to know. We’ll be discreet. Stay out of his way. Give him nothing to concern himself with.”
Wren thought of the conversation she’d had with Callidus in the carriage. Somehow, she didn’t think that would be possible. A war was coming, and it was coming to their doorstep. But still, the image Lucas painted was so lovely, the earnestness and hope written across his face. They could be discreet. She was tired of playing it safe, of letting her fear paralyze her.
“If my father targets you again, I’ll protect you with my life,” Lucas said. “I swear it.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, Wren thought. But caution be damned. She had already made up her mind. Her luck had brought Lucas to her, and now he had woven his way into the tapestry of her life and heart. She wouldn’t give that up without a fight.
And so she squeezed Lucas’s hand and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. His kiss tasted of strawberry rhubarb—the silk of ice cream still on his lips. Sensation flooded over her as the sugar-sweetness hit her taste buds. Her eyes flew open and she pulled back, her gaze flying to the shop window. To the bean-pole boy scooping ice cream. Because the effervescence on her tongue was the telltale tingle of someone’s Gift. It was the taste of magic.
The Confectioner’s Exile
Copyright © 2018 by Claire Luana
Published by Live Edge Publishing