by Claire Luana
“What’s your offer?”
Hale took a breath. “One round of hazard. I win, we take our two friends. You win, you keep my winnings.”
“You offer me my own money back? You’ll have to do better than that.”
Hale held up a hand. “My winnings, and the two of us.”
“Hale!” Griff hissed, her face turning pale. Her fingernails were now clenching painfully into his thigh under the table.
Rakoni looked between them thoughtfully before leaning across the table and twisting a lock of Griff’s hair around his index finger. She sat as still as a statue as Rakoni examined her with obvious interest, digging her fingers tighter into Hale’s flesh. Finally, Rakoni withdrew his hand and the curl bounced back. Griff released her grip with a tense exhale of breath. Damn, the girl was strong!
“I can see the charms presented by your young companion, but what do you propose I do with you?”
“Pleasure slave?” Hale shrugged with a sympathetic grin. “I’m sure I could entertain some of Sryalta’s lonely widows.”
To Hale’s surprise, Rakoni burst out laughing. “By the Sower, boy, you do have a pair on you. All right. The two of you for the two of them. One round of hazard. But I throw the dice. You bet.”
Hale’s mind raced. His luck should still hold if he was betting, but he couldn’t predict what Rakoni might try to do to tilt the odds against Hale. How could he pull this out of the fire? “I’d prefer to throw,” Hale said, stalling while he raced for a solution to even the playing field.
“I’m sure you would.” Rakoni chuckled. “But that’s my wager. Take it or leave it.”
Brilliance struck Hale like lightning. “On one condition. I place my wager silently with the dealer. You don’t know whether I’m betting on you to pass or not pass.”
Mirth glimmered in the man’s blue eyes. “Very well. A fair addition to the terms. You have your bet.”
Hale grinned and stood, throwing back the glass of whisky that had been set before him. “Let’s go.”
Rakoni stood and strolled back to the hazard table. The crowd parted for him like waves breaking on the rocks.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Griff whispered in his ear. “You had no right to wager with my freedom.”
“You said yourself you were going to trade yourself for the captain. I’m sorry, but it was necessary. This whole nightmare is almost over.”
“Can you win?” she asked, her voice laced with desperation—and something else. Something he had never heard from Griff. Fear. She would rather than die than be a slave again. He could see it in her eyes as he turned to her. “Trust me,” he said, leaning down to kiss her on her cheek.
Sim Rakoni was handing his jacket to one of his bodyguards and rolling up the starched sleeves of his shirt. A man like Rakoni would want to win. Would be good at winning. So Hale should bet on him to pass. Unless…a frown crept onto his face. Unless the man knew Hale would expect him to try to win, so he’d try to lose instead. Not that the man could control the dice…but a seasoned player…could make a difference.
“Why so serious, Mr. Firena?” Rakoni turned with a predatory smile. “Not having fun anymore?”
Hale straightened and smiled. “To the contrary, sir. Life is lived on the edge of wager.”
“Isn’t that the truth? Give Mr. Firena a piece of paper and a pen. He’ll be writing down his bet.”
The dealer passed him a thick piece of paper and a fine pen. Hale bent over to write and found himself hesitating. Pass or no pass? Normally, his instincts fired crystal clear. He knew what to do, which horse, which number, which card. In his easy arrogance was a truth, a kernel of intuition that had never steered him wrong. But something about Rakoni’s slick smile, Griff’s desperate plea. Cal. This place, these clothes. Dirt and blood and loss. They had thrown him. He wasn’t the same Hale that he had been before—carefree and cocky. People depended on him now. His mother, Griff. It was all fine to wager and bluster. But when it mattered, was it enough? Was he enough?
Pass or no pass? It should have been simple. The most obvious thing in the world. Heads or tails. Pass or no pass.
“We’re waiting, Mr. Firena,” Sim Rakoni said.
Hale closed his eyes, trying to center himself, but found only tumult. Now was not the time for his luck to desert him. Now was not the time to overthink. He needed to go back to the basics. The core essence. And what was the most fundamental rule of gambling? The house always wins. He would bet that Rakoni would win.
Pass, Hale wrote, folding the paper once and handing it to the dealer.
Griff’s eyes were wild with panic now. She had seen the hesitation, the shaking of Hale’s hand on the pen. She knew that he doubted. It’ll be okay, he wanted to assure her. It’ll be okay, he wanted to assure himself.
The stickman pushed the green dice across the table to Sim Rakoni. With casual grace, the man picked up the dice and rolled them. They clicked to the end of the table, where they came to rest. Nine was his main. Damnation. Where some of the other mains had two rolls that could nick them, there was only one roll that could nick a nine—another nine.
Hale straightened and met Sim Rakoni’s eyes with a bold smile. “An excellent roll,” he said.
Rakoni took the dice again, to a collective inhale of breath. The tension in the room was palpable. Only Hale knew whether he wanted Rakoni to win or lose; not even Griff knew what number she should be rooting for. He took the dice again and with painful slowness, shook them in his fist. His eyes never left Hale’s as he threw.
Click-click, click-click.
They landed with the weight of a thousand prayers. “Nicks!” the dealer called incredulously. The crowd cheered for Sim Rakoni—for his expert roll.
Griff pressed herself to Hale’s side. “Tell me you wrote pass on that little piece of paper.” Her knuckles were white.
The dealer unfolded the paper and read from it. “PASS!” he shouted, holding it aloft. “The young man wins!”
Griff collapsed against him, her forehead resting on his arm. “Thank the Sower. You lucky bastard.”
Rakoni’s smile of congratulation was tight-lipped. “Well played, Mr. Firena. Do you care to make one more wager?”
Griff’s nails of doom were back, biting into his bicep.
“What do you propose?” Hale asked.
“One more roll. Same terms if I win.”
“And if I win?” Hale looked down at Griff.
“No,” she hissed. “Do not.”
“There were two other women who were captured with us,” said Hale. “The wife and daughter of Sim Chiron. Free them. And grant us all safe passage from this place. Get us to Maradis, the capital of Alesia. In style,” he amended.
Rakoni snorted. “Is that all?”
“Those are my terms.”
“Hale, you wool-headed fool,” Griff whispered. “He has you now.”
A cautious man would have taken his mother and Captain Brimmer and run for the hills. But Hale was not a cautious man. And he had realized there was nothing keeping Rakoni from slitting all their throats when they were out of sight. There was honor among thieves, but he didn’t know how far it extended. Plus, it had never sat well with him to leave Emery and her mother behind. A place like this would eat up an innocent girl like that.
“We have another wager,” Rakoni said, seizing the dice once again. “Get him another piece of paper.”
Hale found himself pondering again. If he was Rakoni, he’d try to lose now, to throw Hale off. But he must have known that Hale would guess that. Or maybe he would guess that Hale would guess, so he’d plan for a winning roll, expecting Hale to expect him to throw the match.
His choice was easier this time. His intuition, his luck, flowed through him more freely. He had come back to himself. Rakoni was a man who had to be seen winning. That was why he had offered this second bet. He would expect Hale to think he would try a new strategy. But for a man like Rakoni, there was only one strategy: Wi
n.
Pass, he wrote on the paper.
He nodded solemnly to Rakoni, who had lost his smile. With intense focus, he threw the dice. “Six!” the dealer called.
Hale wrapped an arm around Griff as Rakoni threw again. But he already knew what it would be. The tingle inside told him—his luck would hold.
Epilogue
“Your expertise is quite impressive, Sa Firena. Word of your fine vintages has traveled even this far.” Hale and his mother sat in two plush velvet chairs opposite Guildmaster Alban, the head of Alesia’s Vintner’s Guild. Brea had put in an application to join.
“When you love what you do, it doesn’t feel like work,” Brea said graciously. “I’m eager to get back to it.”
“I must admit, I’ll be pleased to have you within our guild rather than as a competitor to it.”
Hale sat politely, half-listening to them discuss the location of Brea’s new winery. There was an old warehouse in the north of the Port Quarter that was well located and going for a good price. Brea wouldn’t be able to grow her grapes here—no one could, what with western Alesia’s cool, wet climate—but she could source her grapes from across the Cascadian mountains and brew and bottle here.
Brea looked as beautiful and full of color as she once had, in a bronze dress that highlighted the gold of her hair. Rakoni had kept his word and had gotten them passage to Alesia on a finely-appointed vessel. The voyage from Sryalta had healed some wounds, though other, deeper cuts would take more time. Like Cal, Hale thought with a pang. Sometimes he and his mother sat in silence thinking of him, while other nights they told stories, shared memories. At least they had each other. That was enough for now—to get them through.
He had said goodbye to Griff yesterday out on the docks. He had given her a share of his winnings from the hazard game, and she and Brimmer had bought a little ship. Not as grand as the Nightingale, but the captain assured him that they would steal a grander one soon enough. Though Hale was sad to see her go, he was glad she was flying free once again. She had let Theo down as easily as she could after returning the money they had borrowed, explaining that she just couldn’t see herself married and settled down.
“Stop and see me whenever you’re in Maradis?” Hale had asked. “I’ll want all the stories of your grand adventures.”
“Somehow, I think you’ll manage to have a grand adventure or two of your own right here. Maradis won’t know what hit it.” Griff had grinned. She’d been back in trousers and a jacket, a broad-brimmed hat pulled over her fiery hair. Though she had been beautiful in the dress, this suited her beauty more. He saw that now.
He’d watched them raise their sails, stark against the blustery gray sky. He’d stood there until they’d been past the breakwater and out of sight. Maradis felt a little more alien without Griff in it. But Hale had turned, shrugging it off. Griff had said so herself—here was a whole new city, ripe for the picking. There was fun to be had. Women to be courted. Trouble to be found.
“Hale?” Brea’s hand was on Hale’s arm. She was standing. He started, looking from her to the guildmaster. They were done here. Hale stood. “Apologies,” he said.
The guildmaster walked them through the dark-paneled hallways of the Vintner’s guildhall, out onto the front steps. They stood on Guilder’s Row, an impressive stretch of buildings housing each of the ten guilds. The sky in the background was gray, sputtering rain. Maradis was a city painted in shades of gray, Hale had quickly realized. He would miss the blue skies of his home.
The guildmaster shook his mother’s hand, then Hale’s. “What about you, son? Will you be joining the guild as well? You’re past the age to start as an apprentice, but we could get you brought up to speed quickly enough, if you have your mother’s talents.”
Brea looked at Hale. “I’m afraid Hale may be taking Maradis’s business world by storm. He’s supernaturally lucky. I keep telling him he should go into finance. Stocks.”
The guildmaster raised an eyebrow appraisingly. “You know, you might consider exploring the Confectioner’s Guild.” He pointed to a white marble building a few down the row. “One of the most influential and venerated guilds. Plus, I know the guildmaster, Kasper, myself.”
“Chocolates?” Brea asked with amusement. “I’m not sure that would be up Hale’s alley.”
“You’d be surprised, Sa Firena. The culinary arts call with a siren song. I have a feeling a lucky fellow like Hale would be well suited for confections.”
Hale considered. He had enjoyed rolling those caramels with Emery. But that was a thin slice of experience to base his career on. Why did this man seem so certain it would be a fit?
As he looked down the stone street, he caught sight of a vision that stilled his breath. A woman—unlike any he had ever seen. Dark hair so black, it looked blue whipping in the wind. Olive skin, dark, arching eyebrows and full lips that were ripe for kissing. A burgundy dress hugged her generous curves, rippling against her legs in the wind. She wore a necklace of colorful beads at her swan-like throat. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Guildmaster Alban followed his gaze and let out a chuckle. “Master Sable. She’s one of the Confectioner’s Guild’s most promising young members.”
Sable. Hale wanted to roll the word on his tongue like a fine bourbon. He turned to Alban, straightening his waistcoat. “You know, I think the Confectioner’s Guild might be the place for me after all. Can you make an introduction?”
The Confectioner’s Coup
Copyright © 2018 by Claire Luana
Published by Live Edge Publishing
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-948947-93-0
eBook ISBN: 978-1-948947-92-3
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: Bookfly Design
Interior Formatting: Integrity Formatting
Editing: Amy McNulty
Out of the frying pan, into the fire…
Wren thought things were bad when her boyfriend's father tried to frame her for murder. But that was before a hostile army showed up at the city gates, ready to swallow Maradis whole. And before guild members began disappearing one by one—including the Confectioner's Guild's newest Gifted recruit.
Wren, suspecting the king is to blame for the disappearances, undertakes a dangerous investigation that sets her on a collision course with old and new enemies alike. Will she be able to find the missing guild members before tensions boil over into outright rebellion? Or are the guilds willing to go further than she ever realized to rid themselves of the king's tyranny…
Don't miss this thrilling Book 2 in the Confectioner Chronicles!
Chapter 1
“Ice cream’s not technically a confection, you know,” Wren said, her knees bouncing nervously.
“Oh?” Callidus murmured without pulling his gaze from the ice cream shop. Salted Cream. The ice cream shop where she and Lucas had shared their first date, almost a month ago. The ice cream shop where she had discovered another Gifted confectioner—a boy who could stir magic into food as deftly as spun sugar.
“Master Oldrick always said a confection had to be rich in sugar and intricate in detail to qualify,” Wren said. She was rambling. Normally, uneasiness turned her quiet. But Callidus’s silence seemed to be bringing out the opposite in her.
“Oldrick is an idiot,” Callidus said, finally turning and resting the full intensity of his bright blue gaze on her. Tall, windswept ebony hair crowned his narrow face. “Confection is a broad definition. Are truffles intricate in detail? No, they’re brown lumps. A child could make them. Besides. We want ice cream to fall under our Guild’s purview.”
“Precisely,” Callidus replied. There were only four Gifted currently at the Guild, since the old Guildmaster, Kasper, had been murdered. Guildmaster Callidus, sitting beside her, Grandmaster Sable, Wren, and Hale. Wren pushed away the wave of emotions that flooded her at the thought of Hale, her handsome blond colleague. A fifth Gifted would be a valuable addition.
They had been sitting on the banks of sparkling Lake Viri for an hour as the brightness and heat of the September evening slowly dimmed. It was twilight now, the light low and dusky. They were here for the Gifted boy, whose name, they had discovered, was Thom Percival. They were here to invite him to join them. To share Alesia’s most feared and treasured secret—that the cuisiniers and bakers and distillers of Maradis made food infused by magic. But first, Thom’s master had to leave the blooming shop.
A cool breeze blew, ruffling Wren’s auburn curls. She pulled her cardigan tighter around her narrow waist with a shiver. “What’s he doing in there?” Wren complained. “They closed a half hour ago.”
“It’s his shop. Tallying the day’s sales? Taking inventory? Perhaps you’ve forgotten what it’s like to work for a living. It seems every time I see you around the Guild, you and Prince Imbris are twined around each other like licorice whips.”
Wren’s face heated. One time! One time he’d walked in on her and Lucas kissing in the library. Gods, would there be no end to her mortification? It’d probably be etched on her tombstone. Here lies Wren Confectioner, whose Guildmaster once caught her kissing a boy. Her thoughts rallied a comeback. “Well, perhaps if you didn’t cut me out of Accord negotiations, I’d have something to keep me busy.”