The Confectioner Chronicles Box Set

by Claire Luana

  “Do you need me to leave you alone with the crab?”

  “No need. I plan on enchanting you with the wonder of crustaceans before this day is done.”

  “And discover whether Thom and Trick are being held at the Imbris house, right?” Wren said, reminding Hale of their mission.

  “Naturally. That too.”

  Chapter 18

  The rowboat was fairly sturdy, as it turned out. Hale sat at the oars, rowing them towards the harbor entrance in smooth, powerful strokes. A misty drizzle began to fall, and Wren put the hood of her cloak up as a barrier against the moisture. The wind had died down, and Wren watched, mesmerized, as the oars cut into the clear water, leaving ripples in their wake. As they neared the mouth of the harbor, he rowed close to the breakwater, slowing his strokes so they cut silently through the water. There was a lighthouse built onto one side of the breakwater, its torch designed to signal the safety of the harbor to those in the expanse of the sea. Now, as Wren craned her neck as they passed near it, she could see it was manned by blue uniformed soldiers of the Alesian Navy.

  The king had ordered the harbor chain to be drawn, and rusted links as thick as Hale’s arms were visible as they approached. The chain was attached to a pulley system on the top of the breakwater, so where it reached for land, it came out of the water and stretched upwards. It left an opening, far too small to be taken advantage of by any ship of note. But a small vessel, a little dinghy like they sat in, could slip right under it. As they neared the chain, Hale tucked the oars in, letting them glide silently through the water. He ducked his head as they passed under it; Wren just held her breath, her heart hammering like a herd of horses. Their progress slowed as their momentum faded, and Hale took hold of the oars once again, dipping them into the water.

  “That went well,” he whispered, flashing his trademark grin.

  Wren blew out a breath, pantomiming wiping her brow. Her smile joined his.

  Hale continued rowing, resuming his task with more enthusiasm now that the most dangerous bit was done. Wren looked around with interest, peering over the edge of the boat into the dark water, letting her fingers trail along its quicksilver surface.

  “It’s freezing,” she said, shaking the water off her hand and tucking it inside her cloak for thawing.

  “Don’t want to fall in that water,” Hale said. “You’ll last about five minutes.”

  “Will I get eaten by a sea creature?” Wren asked, curiosity overcoming her. She knew very little about the ocean, growing up inland. A forest was like a second home to her. But this…this was foreign territory.

  “You’ll die of hypothermia,” Hale said. “Your body gets too cold.”

  “That’s significantly less romantic. I might prefer the sea creature.”

  “Agreed.”

  Wren’s teeth had begun to chatter when they neared their destination. Hale had taken a few minutes to drop the crab pots, bright floating buoys now bobbing on the surface to mark their location. Dash Island had a haunting, windswept look about it. Soaring evergreen trees filled the middle in an impenetrable mass while the island itself was edged with rocky gray beaches and gnarled piles of driftwood like a giant had scattered his toothpicks. The island looked like a place of magic and mystery, superstition and surprise, but for the huge houses built on the shoreline.

  Some looked as big as the Guildhall, massive structures of stone and wood with walls of windows facing the sea.

  “These are people’s vacation homes?” Wren said, her eyes wide.

  “To be this rich…” Hale said wistfully. “It has its benefits.”

  “Your family was this wealthy, wasn’t it? When you lived in Aprica?”

  “Richer,” Hale said. “We had a beach house, much like these, except Aprican beaches aren’t cold, godforsaken hellholes like this. The water is warm…as clear as bathwater when you look through it, but from afar…it’s as turquoise as a gem. And the sand is white and as soft as sugar. The trees are tall, with shocks of leaves at the top that blow in the breeze…” Hale’s eyes were closed, his face upturned, as if the sun was shining its warmth upon him.

  “You miss it,” Wren said. She had assumed that Hale had everything he wanted, since life always seemed to go his way. To think there was something he longed for but couldn’t have… Other than Sable, that was. But Wren was confident he would win her before long.

  “I do,” Hale said. “But I can’t go back. At least under the current regime. Maradis is my home now. My cold, rainy home.”

  “It has its beauty, though,” Wren said, looking at the beach sliding by. “Doesn’t it?”

  “Indeed.” Hale’s eyes were wistful, and Wren knew he wasn’t seeing the scenery.

  “I’m proud of you, you know,” she said. “For telling Sable how you felt.”

  “I wasn’t aware you were there to witness my humiliation,” Hale said with a raised eyebrow.

  “I didn’t mean to overhear,” Wren said apologetically. “But I’m telling you. She’ll come around. You just need to find a way for her to be with you without losing her dignity.”

  “Thank you for that cruelly accurate assessment.”

  “You know what I mean. Her professional dignity.”

  “I wish I knew how to do that.”

  “You’ll figure it out. I’ll help. We’re family, remember?”

  Wren reached out her hand and Hale took his off the oar to grasp hers. He was warm and solid. She was suddenly profoundly grateful that she had forgiven him.

  “Your hands are like ice cubes, woman.” Hale yelped, pulling his hand back. “Do you need to row for a while to warm up?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, retracting her hands back inside her cloak and tucking them into her armpits for warmth. “Oh, I think we found our target,” Wren said, nodding ahead of them to a castle-like home that sat on a rocky bluff over the water. The emerald green and silver Imbris flag flapped lazily in the breath of wind above the house, declaring the identity of its owners.

  “Subtle,” Hale said. “It looks dark, doesn’t it?”

  It did look deserted. There were no lights inside the house, and she could see no signs of movement.

  “Maybe they’re in the dungeon,” Hale said.

  “I really hope there’s not a dungeon.”

  Hale rowed the boat up onto the beach, hopping out and pulling the bow up onto the sand, so Wren could step onto the rocky shore without soaking her boots. She helped him pull the boat the rest of the way out of the surf, though in truth, Hale did most of the pulling. He tied a rope to the bow and attached it to a thick piece of driftwood that had no doubt been a soaring cedar in a former life. “Hopefully, we won’t be here long.”

  “Do you think we should hide the boat?”

  “Hiding it would be more suspicious if anyone sees us,” Hale said. “As of right now, we’re just a couple on holiday taking a stroll on the beach.”

  “The private beach. On a private island.”

  “Maybe we’re a daring couple. Danger turns us on.”

  Wren snorted and started across the beach towards the steep staircase that led up to the house, avoiding patches of slimy brown kelp.

  Wren was warm by the time they summited the staircase and threw one shoulder of her cloak back to let in the chill air. The house’s grounds stretched before them, a stone path meandering through carefully manicured lawns. Several levels of balconies and patios nestled against the house, in case the inhabitants needed multiple locations from which to enjoy the sea view.

  Wren’s breath caught as she turned and looked back behind her. “Wow,” was all she could manage. Hale turned as well and they stood in silence for a moment, looking out at the vista. From here, she could see for miles, islands and land masses like green gumdrops bobbing in the gray-blue sea. Maradis glittered to their right, the lighthouse of the breakwater, the palace, the towers of the Lyceum. “I can see the Guildhall from here,” she said, squinting her eyes at the sliver of white marble that
peeked above the brown buildings around it.

  “Wow is right,” Hale said.

  Also visible was a fleet of Centese ships anchored in a cove just north of Maradis. Their blue sails were furled, but Wren recognized the style from the battle in the harbor. “I’m glad they’re here,” she said, pointing.

  “Me too.”

  Reluctantly, they turned from the view back towards the task at hand. Wren followed Hale as he skirted the treeline around the property, moving quietly, staying low. The house looked deserted. As they approached the front drive, Wren pointed to weeds poking out of the gravel stretch. “No carriage ruts,” she said. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in weeks.”

  “Perhaps the Imbris clan is a bit too busy to be vacationing this summer.”

  “Too busy murdering guildmasters and kidnapping artisans,” Wren grumbled.

  They backtracked along the trees. “That looks like a service entrance to me,” Hale said, nodding at a side door.

  “That must be where the kitchen is,” she agreed. “Double chimneys.”

  “Should we see if we can get inside?” Hale raised an eyebrow.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary…” Wren began, but Hale was already darting across the lawn towards the house. “Hale!” she hissed, grunting in frustration. Shaking her head, she darted after him, her blood thrumming in her veins.

  Hale was already bent down, examining the lock. “I think we’ll have to break the window,” he said.

  She pushed him aside and pulled two pins from her hair. It took her a minute or so before she heard the telltale click, but she was still proud of her accomplishment.

  “I forgot you were a criminal in your former life.”

  “We can’t all grow up fabulously wealthy,” she said, opening the door.

  They padded around the house, leaving faint footprints in the dust. The hearths in the kitchen were dark and cold, and the larder was empty, but for some spices. There was an extensive wine cellar stocked with bottles, and Wren was forced to convince Hale not to pinch one.

  “They’ll never believe we’re a couple on holiday if we steal from them,” she hissed.

  “I think we’re well beyond that now,” Hale pointed out, but he relented. He put the bottle back, lovingly caressing its neck.

  As they walked back up the stairs to the main room, Wren let out a frustrated breath. “They’re not here. We’ve searched every inch of the house. No one’s been here.”

  “Agreed,” Hale said, leading the way back through the kitchen. Wren relocked the door, and they made their way back to the staircase in silence.

  “I have no idea where to look now,” Wren said. “Maybe Lucas and Virgil will have another thought about where the hostages could be, but we can’t just search every property owned by the king in the city.”

  “We’ll figure out something,” Hale said, holding his hand out to help Wren into the boat before shoving it across the sand back into the waves. He hopped over the side in one lithe motion and resumed his position at the oars. “In other news, we just successfully infiltrated the king’s vacation home, and we learned that he never comes here. I think I’ll bring Sable here next summer.”

  “She’d love that,” Wren said. “Make sure not to tell her who it belongs to. It will be such a special surprise when the Black Guard wake you with blades at your throats.”

  “Always so negative, our little swallow.” Hale tsked his tongue.

  “Shut up.” Wren dipped her fingers in the water and flicked it at Hale.

  He cocked his head at her, his mouth open in warning. “That is a dangerous game. If I didn’t think you’d die of cold, I’d flick you with this oar right now and you would be completely drenched.”

  “Your reserve is noted,” she said with a laugh. The mirth died on her lips as she caught sight of a vessel rounding the island, cutting through the waters, its sails full.

  “Hale,” she said, her eyes wide. “What does the Aprican flag look like?”

  “Golden sunburst on a field of pale blue. Why?”

  She held out a numb finger. “Because there’s an Aprican ship headed our way.”

  Chapter 19

  “Ahoy there.” A blond sailor clad in a white shirt and navy pants trimmed with gold was hanging off the rigging, peering down at them.

  “Hello,” Hale replied. “Can we help you?”

  Another man in a sky-blue jacket with shiny gold epaulets pushed the other man aside. “You’ll need to come aboard. We have a few questions.”

  A ladder of rope and wooden slats tumbled down the side of the ship.

  “We’re just humble crab fishermen,” Hale said. “I’m not sure we know anything that’d interest you.”

  Wren suppressed a snort. The thought that Hale was just a humble anything was laughable.

  “We’ll be the judge of that. Come on up.” The man rested his hand on his sword hilt.

  “Let me do the talking,” Hale said under his breath as he moved their little rowboat against the hull of the Aprican vessel. “You first.”

  “Don’t look up my skirt,” she said.

  “I’m a consummate gentleman,” Hale said, feigning injury.

  “Says the guy kissing his sponsor on the countertop of the test kitchen,” Wren retorted, grasping the slats of the ladder. She hadn’t meant to see, but when she had peeked her head around the corner…

  Hale’s reply was lost in her skirts brushing past his face as she began to climb.

  The ladder was wobbly and thwacked against the wood of the boat, but she made it to the top in a few seconds. The two sailors helped her over the side, and she managed to heave herself onto the deck with a little dignity left intact.

  Wren looked around, blinking in disbelief at the sight. The ship’s decks were polished to a shine, the railings lacquered and covered in gilded-gold scrollwork. Ropes were coiled like neat little snails, and the crisp white sails were tidily reefed. But it wasn’t the bizarre museum-like quality of the boat that astonished her. It was the crew. It was like a dozen versions of Hale, if the copies had been slightly munged in the duplication process. Impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, with muscles bulging from shirts and coats. Golden-blond hair and lean, tanned faces, eyes as blue as the sky on a summer day. As she looked at them, she realized there were differences, one was shorter and a bit stouter, another had a wide forehead and a tan beard. But overall, the look was astonishing.

  “Welcome to the Holliander,” the man who had ushered them aboard said. He fixed a plumed tricorne hat atop his blond head. “I’m Captain Dysom.”

  Hale had reached the top of the ladder and ignored the sailor’s outstretched hand, springing over the railing. “Where should I tie up the boat?” He held a rope in his hand that trailed down to their little dinghy.

  “See to it, sailor,” the captain said, nodding to the other fellow, who took the rope from Hale without a word.

  Hale and the Captain looked each other up and down. “You don’t look like you’re from around here, friend,” Dysom remarked.

  “Don’t imagine it’s any of your business,” Hale retorted. “Now like I said, we’re just a husband and wife out for a little crab fishing. You get sick of beef after a while, you know.” Hale threw an arm around Wren and pulled her to him.

  Wren offered her best simpering smile. “You can see our crab pots from here,” Wren said, pointing at the bright yellow buoys just visible in the distance.

  “Dangerous times to be out of the harbor,” the captain said. “With war on the horizon.”

  “We have no problem with you lot,” Hale said. “This is king to king. It doesn’t need to concern ordinary folks like us.”

  “You keep saying you’re ordinary folk.” The captain leaned in. “But would ordinary folk be visiting the Alesian king’s beach home?”

  Wren’s breath hitched.

  “What’re you going on about?” Hale was sounding more rural the more their story unraveled.

  “We
saw you through our spyglass,” the captain said, unsheathing his sword with an ominous ring of steel. “We know you work for King Imbris. And we intend to extract every bit of information we can from you.”

  Hale and Wren exchanged a look of dismay. Not good.

  Wren’s mind searched desperately for a plan as a crewman locked irons on Hale’s and her wrists and shoved them forwards. Hale had to duck his head as they descended the stairs below deck and continued through a narrow corridor.

  The sailor opened a carved door before them and shoved them inside.

  Wren stumbled over the threshold, falling to her knees on the carpeted interior.

  Hale growled at the sailor, turning so he blocked the doorway with his bulk.

  The captain laid the sleek tip of his sword on Hale’s collarbone, his demeanor calm. “Inside, sir.”

  Hale stood stock-still for a moment, eyeing the captain.

  The fool is going to get himself killed, Wren thought. “Hale,” she barked.

  Hale turned and entered the room.

  It was a captain’s stateroom, with broad-paned windows across the stern of the vessel that let in weak rays of dying light. The sun was setting. Lanterns had already been lit and hung from the ceiling and from hooks on the walls. The room itself was tastefully decorated in whites and pale blues and grays. Hale helped Wren up and into one of the two crisp white velvet armchairs that flanked a little brazier, a polished marble table of white and gray veins between them. On the wall hung a portrait of their captain, as well as a map of the Western Reaches…Aprica to the north, Tamros, Alesia, Magnus to the far south. Well, it wasn’t Magnus anymore, but an Alesian colony. The islands of Centu stood out amidst stylized killer whales, while the right of the map held only vague lines. Perhaps no one knew what was beyond Ferwich territory in the east.

  The soldier had left and the captain was pouring two glasses of a clear liquid from a crystal decanter. “Rum? For me?” Hale said. “You shouldn’t have.”