The Confectioner Chronicles Box Set

by Claire Luana

  “Is that really necessary?” Lucas asked, furrowing his brow.

  “Your father’s orders. My lady.” The guards separated to search each of them, and Wren offered Lucas a halfhearted smile to let him know that she would tolerate the hands that were now patting down her torso. She looked down at the black-haired soldier as he felt around her ankles and back up the outside of her legs, feeling for weapons. Honestly, she didn’t know what he thought she could keep in this dress.

  But then she caught sight of his hands on her leg, and she froze, her thoughts shuddering to a stop. The soldier was missing a middle finger on his right hand. He stood and nodded behind him. “Enjoy the wedding,” he said, his green eyes already moving towards the next partygoer in line, motioning them forwards with that hand. That hand missing a finger.

  Wren was frozen in place, and it took Lucas calling her name twice and grabbing her hand before she could gather her wits enough to move, stumbling past the guards.

  “Wren?” Lucas asked. “You look like you’re about to be sick. I’m sorry you had to go through that—” Lucas said, but Wren held up a hand, needing space for the whirlwind of her thoughts.

  “That guard was one of the men who attacked Thom,” Wren said, looking back at him, trying to memorize his face. Thick neck, close-cropped beard, hawkish nose that lent him a slightly predatory look.

  “How do you know?” Lucas asked with dismay, clearly hoping she was wrong.

  “He’s missing a middle finger on his right hand. And he has green eyes. There can’t be two such men in Maradis.” The shock was wearing off and Wren was growing angry. Callidus was right. It wasn’t enough for the king to murder Kasper and try to frame her, now he was attacking Guild members?

  “Flaming hells,” Lucas swore. “You’re sure?”

  “As the grave,” Wren said.

  “What would my father want with an ice cream maker?” Lucas ran his hands through his hair. Wren, for the hundredth time, wished she could tell Lucas about the Gifting. It would be so much easier if he knew the truth of their Guild’s power, and the reason behind the struggle between the crown and the Guild.

  Wren shrugged, not wanting to lie.

  Lucas heaved a sigh and took her hand. “We’re not going to solve the mystery tonight. I’m sure you’re upset, but can we try to table this? Deal with it tomorrow?”

  Wren nodded. She needed a clear head if she was going to get through this night. And without knowing about the Gifting, Lucas wasn’t going to be much help in unraveling this mystery. She needed to talk to Callidus and Sable.

  He planted a grateful kiss on her cheek. “Thank you. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to find a drink.”

  Lucas pulled her forwards into a sprawling antechamber as big as the whole Confectioner’s Guildhall. The exterior of the palace was functional and sturdy, all formidable gray stone, hardly ornamented by even a stray gargoyle. But the inside had no such austere compunctions. Her heels clicked across a polished marble floor set with lifelike scenes of the gods—the wicked Huntress, the industrious Carpenter. The ceiling soared with crisscrossed wooden beams that must have been each carved from a single old-growth cedar. Three majestic chandeliers hung from the ceiling, dusting the guests below with glittering light. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting the beauty of Alesia—the snow-capped peak of Mount Luminis, the profile of Maradis as seen from the vantage of a boat coming into the harbor. Maradis’s iconic Drexter Tower, standing tall and proud over the city.

  “It’s quite lovely,” Wren offered weakly, trying not to think about how little she belonged here.

  “See, I didn’t grow up in a dark dungeon,” Lucas said.

  “You’d never know it by what a troll you are,” Wren joked, casting a sideways glance at him.

  “That’s why I love you, my dear. You’ll always give it to me straight.” Lucas said with forced cheer.

  Wren’s eyes widened. Love? Had Lucas just said…

  He seemed to realize his misstep as well. “I…” he began, but he was cut off as an elegant older woman swept their way.

  “Lucas!” she said, embracing him.

  “Hello, Mother,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks.

  “You must be Wren, the young lady I’ve heard so much about,” the queen said, taking Wren’s hands in her own and giving Wren two kisses as well. “I am Queen Eloise.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Wren stammered, unsure of what to make of the kindness of this woman. Queen Eloise was all grace and elegance, her silver hair swept up in an elaborate set of braids, her violet gown trimmed with gold thread and seed pearls. Her skin was smooth and supple but for a few lines around her eyes and mouth. Wren didn’t think this woman would even need the silver circlet atop her brow to announce her status as queen. She was royalty personified.

  “I am so glad that Lucas talked you into coming. I’ve wanted to meet you for some time.” The queen leaned in close between Lucas and Wren. “Anyone who can outwit my husband is a friend I’d like to make.” She leaned back and winked at Wren.

  Wren opened her mouth like a fish. This woman knew about Kasper’s death? And was glad she had eluded the king’s plan to frame her? Perhaps the king’s marriage wasn’t as idyllic as he would like the country to believe.

  Wren was saved by a trumpet call resounding from the corner of the hall. “Ah, time for the ceremony. Excuse me,” Queen Eloise said before disappearing into the crowd.

  “Your mother was…not what I expected.”

  “Virgil and I would have run away if not for her,” Lucas said. “I don’t know how she’s put up with my father all these years. But I’m glad she stuck it out. She’s done a lot of good for Alesia.”

  They followed the tide of bodies down the broad hallway into a soaring temple. Wren’s neck craned as she took it all in. The ceiling was a mass of warm wood, intricate arches and support beams. Emerald ivy and downy wisteria hung from the beams like softly falling snow over the heads of the colorful guests below. As Lucas led Wren past row after row of chairs, Wren could feel the eyes of the guests on her, swore she could hear their whispers as they gossiped about the identity of the girl walking beside one of their princes. This was why she hadn’t wanted to come. She wasn’t made to be seen and didn’t like it. She didn’t belong here.

  “I’m losing circulation in my arm,” Lucas whispered as he leaned in.

  Wren started and loosened her death grip on his bicep with a shaky laugh. “Sorry.”

  “Is it because we’re in a temple?” Lucas asked. He knew of Wren’s mysterious aversion to temples of the Alesian gods, though he didn’t know the source. One day she would tell him. When she was ready.

  Wren shook her head. “I don’t mind the Midwife and the Brewer so much.” This temple was dedicated to the Midwife, the goddess of fertility, and the Brewer, god of home and hearth. Weddings were frequently performed in their temple in the hopes of attracting their blessing for the marriage.

  “So you’re just prejudiced against the Sower?” Lucas asked with a sideways grin.

  Wren managed a halfhearted smile, which slid off her face as she realized who they would be sitting next to. Princess Ellarose, Lucas’s younger sister. The first few rows had been reserved for the royal family and guests, and Princess Ellarose sat haughtily at the end of the row, her back rod straight, wearing a bejeweled tiara and a gray gown that shimmered like the sea on a stormy day.

  “Ella,” Lucas said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I hear you’ve met Wren.” Met? Yes. The last time they had “met,” the princess had dressed down Wren for dooming Lucas to death, revealing the truth of what him vouching for Wren would really cost him. It was a conversation seared into Wren’s memory.

  Ella didn’t acknowledge Wren. “So good to see you alive and well, brother.”

  From the far side of the row, another Imbris was approaching, Virgil, Lucas’s older brother. The two shared many similarities, though Virgil was a bit more stoutly built. Wre
n had only ever seen him in the brown robes of the Sower’s order, but tonight he wore an elegant charcoal gray suit.

  “Wren!” Virgil exclaimed with delight. Wren tried to step past Ellarose into the aisle to greet him but found her heeled feet tangled with the princess’s. Before she knew it, she was pinwheeling towards the ground. Virgil ducked under her and caught her. “Woah there! Have we gotten a bit too aggressive with the wine?”

  “My clumsy feet,” Wren said, casting a dark glance over her shoulder at Ellarose, who wore a predatory smile on her face. The girl had certainly tripped her on purpose.

  They settled into their chairs, Lucas thankfully a buffer between Ellarose and Wren.

  “Where’s Trick?” Virgil leaned over to ask Ella. Trick was Ella’s twin, though they didn’t look or act particularly alike. He was a journeyman of the Vintner’s Guild and stuck with Ella like a shadow. Wren felt a surge of pride that she was beginning to keep this massive family straight.

  “I don’t know.” A pout appeared on Ella’s smooth face. “We were supposed to meet for brunch today with some friends, but he didn’t show up.”

  Lucas’s inspector antenna perked up. “Did you go to his place?”

  “I’m not his nursemaid,” Ella said. “And he lives all the way in Gemma Park. I did stop by the Guildhall, though, as it was on my way home. They hadn’t seen him since yesterday morning. It’s almost enough to make me worry about his stupid face.”

  Lucas exchanged a concerned look with Virgil. “I’m sure he just had a late night with some friends on Nysia Avenue and is sleeping it off,” Virgil offered. “Remember that time out at the island house on Dash Island when he fell asleep on the beach and we scoured the whole island looking for him?”

  Lucas guffawed. “Or that time you two were playing hide and seek in the castle and he was so proud of his spot in the top of one of the kitchen cabinets that he didn’t come out for hours and had the Black Guard turning over half the city looking for him?”

  “I thought Mother was going to have a heart attack.” Ella giggled, her shoulders relaxing.

  Wren took Lucas’s hand in her own, squeezing it. They were good brothers, trying to put their sister at ease. But the tightness around Lucas’s eyes as he smiled at her told another story. He was worried. It had been almost two days since Trick had been seen. And now he wasn’t at the wedding, an event Wren knew the king had made it very clear to all of his children that they were to attend. Where was he?

  Chapter 8

  The clear notes of a temple organ rang out through the space, quieting the audience. The ceremony was beginning. The temple hushed, and people looked backwards, anxious to see the royal families in their finery. The king and queen of Centu walked down the aisle first, dark-haired with dark eyes, short in stature but proud in posture. They wore colorful silken robes wrapped around them like armor, the blues and greens of the sea and the Centese islands. Their progress was painfully slow, as Wren came to see that the queen was wrapped so tightly in her dress that her feet could barely move. If the monarchs had second thoughts about tying their nation to one that was about to be invaded by a hostile power, they didn’t show it.

  Next came the king and queen of Alesia. Wren found her breath caught in her throat as she finally caught a glimpse of the most powerful man in the realm, this man who had tried to kill her. The queen glided at his side, her hand turned in the crook of his arm, but all eyes were drawn to the king. He was like gravity, this man, his power and influence. He was tall and lean like Lucas, his face a bit squarer where Lucas’s was oval, his nose less pronounced. The years had carved deep furrows into the skin of his face, and his hair was entirely silver. But his step was sure and his dark eyes were shrewd. He walked like a predator. As he passed, those eyes flicked to her, pinning her to her chair as surely as an arrow. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but be measured and weighed and found wanting, all in the space of a second. Lucas’s hand tightened on hers and time resumed again, her chest rising and falling. She narrowed her eyes.

  “You’re safe from him,” Lucas whispered in her ear, barely discernible over the drone of the organ.

  “This is Alesia,” she replied. “Is anyone safe from him?”

  Lucas didn’t answer.

  The king and queen were followed by the king’s four oldest sons by his first wife, Lucas’s older half-brothers. Crown Prince Zane, the groom, as well as Princes Casius, Maxim, and Rikard took up their places in the front. They were fair-haired, tall and thickly built, their skin olive-toned. They had prominent foreheads shading narrow eyes, lending the four, especially the crown prince, an expression of perpetual suspicion.

  “Their mother, the first queen, was Aprican,” Lucas whispered. “Trust me when I say our father is all we have in common.”

  Virgil leaned over and whispered to Wren and Lucas. “No one will want to put that face on a coin.” He nodded towards Crown Prince Zane. Even Ella cracked a smile at that.

  And then the bride walked down the aisle, a tiny dark-haired girl dressed in the red and gold of the Midwife and Brewer, the traditional wedding colors of Alesian ceremonies. Wren watched in detached interest as the priest took his position at the front of the room. They walked through the ceremony as Wren knew it—sharing a loaf of bread, the groom lighting the ceremonial candle with a flaming arrow. The Crown Prince’s aim was true, to the applause and sighs of the crowd. And then a Centese tradition, as the king of the island nation wrapped the husband- and wife-to-be’s hands in an intricate knot, no doubt symbolizing their life together. The bride’s face was unreadable, but she never looked her soon-to-be husband in the eye. Wren felt a wrenching pang of sympathy for the girl. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen. Like so many before her, her life—her choices—were not her own. Wren felt a sudden surge of gratitude for Sable and Hale and even Callidus, for the Guild that she was now a part of. Sable had assured Wren that when she was made master, Callidus would emancipate her, and then only Wren would control her destiny and choose the path she wanted to walk.

  Lucas’s hand tightened in hers as the ceremony came to an end, his thumb stroking a path along her knuckles. He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them. His expression was unreadable, though there was tenderness there. “What?” She mouthed.

  “I was thinking how lovely you’d look in red and gold,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear.

  Red and gold? Wedding colors? Lucas must have seen the look of sheer panic pass across her face, because he chuckled. “Relax. I’m not proposing.”

  Wren barely had time to collect her thoughts when their row rose to follow the bride and groom down the aisle towards the grand hall where the feast was to be held. It wasn’t that the thought of marrying Lucas was objectionable. To the contrary, the thought warmed her like an oven on a winter day. But Wren hadn’t really thought she would marry anyone. Marriage meant love, and love meant trust. Trust was…something she hadn’t thought she’d find again. But hadn’t she grown to trust Sable…even Callidus? And didn’t she trust Lucas? Perhaps she did need to open herself up to the possibility that life might hold a happy ending for her. Surely stranger things had happened before.

  The grand hall was lined with windows letting in the light of the city below, the twinkling stars above. Tables were stationed about the room, overflowing with more food and drink than Wren could have imagined. She knew the Confectioner’s Guild members had been working on several desserts for the past few weeks—including coordinating with the Baker’s Guild on a massive tiered wedding cake that was rumored to be fashioned after a Centese galleon. But surely that was an exaggeration.

  “I’ll go grab us some drinks,” Lucas said, and before Wren had the chance to protest, he disappeared into the swirling mass of people.

  Wren tried to make her way through the crowd towards the far wall, where she could safely avoid the press of people. As she dodged this way and that with an “excuse me” or “I’m sorry,
” she found herself surrounded by a mass of black uniforms—all ebony wool and silver buttons. Black Guards, though she didn’t see the green-eyed man among them. As the dark wall parted, time seemed to slow. Before her stood King Hadrian Imbris himself. And this was no chance meeting. His eyes were intent upon her.

  Her thoughts swam as if through sluggish water, but she managed to pull herself together enough to drop into a ragged curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she said. The words stuck in her throat, and she cleared it, railing at herself to summon her bravest countenance to face this man. She would not give him the satisfaction of showing the fear that gripped her.

  “Wren Confectioner,” the king said, his voice as smooth as whipped butter. “You must be quite proud of yourself, ensnaring my son’s affections. I suppose you aren’t entirely unfortunate to gaze upon. For a time.” His words burned, cutting her to her core. She, with no political knowledge or skill, had outsmarted this king and his assassin. Yet in a comment, he’d reduced her to an overreaching girl using her wiles to snare a man.

  Her next words rolled off her tongue as her anger rose like a wildfire. “You must be quite proud of yourself, murdering a guildmaster without consequences.” She plastered a tightlipped smile on her face, hiding her shaking hands in the folds of her dress. Gods, where had that come from? This was the king!

  The king peered at her before giving a small shake of his head. “You do have spirit. No wonder Brother Brax liked you. It’s a shame you ran off before the two of you became properly acquainted.”

  The wildfire roared out of control. How dare he…he knew…he knew what that man…what that man…that priest…did to the children in his care… Wren felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Yo—You—”

  The king’s guards tightened around him, the guard on the king’s right laying a hand on his sword. No words. She had no words to say to this man. This man who was supposed to protect his people and instead abused and used them, delighting in it with a smug smile on his face. And then she was speaking, words tumbling from her mouth too fast for her to hold in. “You may think you know me, but I know you too. Poison is a coward’s weapon. You resort to murder because you do not inspire the true loyalty of your people. Of your family,” she hissed. “I almost hope the Apricans breach these walls, so I can see your head on a pike.”