by Claire Luana
“Come.” The elderly woman gestured. “Have some refreshments. I’ll explain all.”
Wren’s fire snuffed out. “Fine,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to still the panic Killian’s sudden appearance had wrought in her.
Mistress Violena led them into a well-appointed sitting room with a broad stretch of windows overlooking Lake Crima’s sparkling azure waters. Wren hadn’t noticed in her upset where they were. It was a townhouse of some sort, richly appointed with beautiful artwork and furnishings. “Is this your house?” Wren asked, sinking onto a velvet sofa.
“It is. My city home.” Mistress Violena motioned to a servant who had been standing silently in the corner, and the man disappeared.
“And you’re...part of the Falconers? You’re working with Killian?”
“I am.” She wore a dress of slate gray that reminded Wren of the Maradis sky, and her short, white hair was slicked against her scalp. Wren wasn’t sure if it was the color or the circumstance, but Mistress Violena seemed...dimmed. Perhaps it was the loss of Sable, whom she had helped raise and had loved like a daughter. Wren didn’t think she had reached the end of the repercussions of that loss.
The servant returned with a pot of tea and three cups. Wren waited until he had poured and left before speaking again. “How? How can you work with him? You know that he...he as good as killed Sable. You know that, right?”
Mistress Violena sighed. “I do. And I mourn Sable every day. But this is about more than one person. This is about all of our lives. Our future. I had to ask myself. If it could save Maradis, would I make a deal with the devil? And I knew the answer was yes.”
Wren shook her head. “But how do you know you can trust him?”
“Self-interest. His. He was one of King Imbris’s most loyal supporters. He knows who the other loyalists are. He won’t last under an Aprican emperor.”
“And so you just...forgive him? For what he did? Let him stay in your house?”
“I don’t have to like him. Or forgive him. I just have to work with him. And that I can do. You can, too.”
Wren took a sip of tea, suddenly feeling very weary. It was good. Peppermint. She closed her eyes, sighing. “What does he propose?”
“Shall we ask him?” Violena asked, her shrewd eyes watching Wren.
“Fine,” Wren replied.
Killian limped into the room, leaning heavily on his cane. He lowered himself into the other chair opposite Wren and Ansel. Ansel placed a hand on her back, lending his support.
“Violena has convinced me I should hear you out,” Wren said.
“She’s a very persuasive woman,” Killian said. “You see, first we need to win back our allies.”
“You’re talking about neutralizing the infused bread.”
“Exactly. Without it, the emperor’s stranglehold on this city will weaken significantly.”
“How do you propose to do this?” Ansel asked.
“We know where the baker’s being held.”
“You do?” Wren perked up. “How?”
“We have a man on the inside feeding us information. It seems that Daemastra is up to some...very unusual experiments.”
“What kind of experiments?” Wren was almost afraid to ask.
“He’s combining magic from different Gifted craftsmen. Different infusions. To create new magics.”
“Like the bread. Combining the magic of lies and the magic of devotion.”
“Exactly. Our contact says the man is creating some sort of supernatural soldier with the different infused foods.”
Wren’s stomach dropped. She exchanged a look with Ansel.
“Whatcha know about these soldiers?” Ansel leaned forward, his forearms on his knees.
“Not much. The formula isn’t complete yet. Apparently, he’s looking for members of the Confectioner’s and Spicer’s Guild to complete it.”
“The wanted posters...” Wren said, her gut roiling. Gods. What did that man want with them?
“We need to take out the baker first. Then we can hopefully rally our allies and neutralize these other experiments,” Killian said.
“Take out... You mean rescue,” Wren said. “I thought this baker had been kidnapped. That he was being forced to work against his will.”
“Of course, we’ll try to rescue him. If we can. If not, though...he has to be eliminated.”
Wren shook her head. She couldn’t think about that right now. Murdering a guild member for having the misfortune of being used for his gifts? It seemed wrong. “Who is your contact inside? Can he be trusted?”
“I think he can be trusted, though you may disagree.” Killian grimaced in pain, adjusting on the couch. “My contact is Hale Firena.”
Wren’s hand flew to her heart. Hale. She had tried not to think of him in the past weeks, of his stone-faced words to her on the steps of the Guildhall, his blue uniform trimmed in gold. “Hale is helping you?” she whispered.
“He doesn’t know it’s me. He’s helping the Falconer,” Killian said. “But yes. It seems he’s not as enamored with his new employer as you might think.”
If Hale was helping the Falconer from the inside...then maybe he’d come to his senses. Maybe he was back to his old self, just trapped in his current circumstances. Maybe they could get him back. Her thoughts shifted beneath her, becoming ever more complicated. So many moving parts. So many lives. In saving Maradis, could she somehow save Hale too?
“So how’d ya propose to get this baker?” Ansel asked, interrupting the whirlwind within her. “What’s the plan?”
“We still have a few barrels of black powder. All we need to do is find the right target, and we have a distraction that will keep the Apricans busy while we retrieve this baker.”
“My men could help,” Ansel said. “They’ve done this sorta mission before.”
“Who are you?” Killian asked
“Ansel. They call me ‘the Red Badger.’”
Killian raised an eyebrow. It seemed he had heard of him. “Made some new friends, have we, Wren? Who else is on your team, if I may ask?”
Wren exchanged a glance with Ansel. Were they trusting him? She looked at Mistress Violena. She may not have trusted Killian, but she trusted the woman, and she supposed it was true. Sometimes you needed to make a deal with the devil.
“Callidus and Thom. Pike and his men. The Imbrises. An Aprican legionnaire. And two hundred of Ansel’s mercenaries on six ships.”
Killian whistled softly. “You collect dangerous men like candy, Miss Confectioner. The infused bread cost me three-quarters of my forces. If we free the city from its compulsion, I’ll have four hundred fighting men, including a number of nobles who have significant resources.”
“I think the other Guilds would come around, too,” Wren said, ignoring Killian’s strange comment.
“If we coordinate our attack from inside and outside the city, we just might be able to get to the emperor. If we can kill him, the Apricans’ hold on Alesia will crumble,” Killian said.
“It’s possible.” Ansel nodded.
Hope surged through Wren. With this unholy alliance, they just might manage to take back their city.
Chapter 35
Wren’s soaring hope fell like a bad soufflé as they began discussing the logistics of getting everyone into the city safely.
“There are four tunnels under the city,” Killian explained, “leading from various points on the wall inside. Each of the members of the royal family has a—”
“Key,” Wren said, rubbing her temples. She’d known she would have to tell Lucas. She had meant to. But it didn’t mean she relished the thought. “The tunnels are compromised. The Apricans have a key.”
Killian raised an eyebrow. “How?”
“It’s a long story,” Wren said. “And Willings is working for them, so I think it’s safe to say he informed them of the location of any tunnels they didn’t know of.”
Killian leaned back stiffly, stroking his chin tho
ughtfully.
Wren played it over in her head. So, Lucas...funny story...you know how an invading force captured the city and murdered most of your family? Turns out I gave them the key to get in... She let out a pained sigh. Would he ever forgive her? If she were him, she wouldn’t forgive her.
“Is there another way in?” Ansel asked.
Killian and Violena exchanged a glance.
The elegant woman wrinkled her nose but nodded.
“There is,” Killian said. “Leads from the port directly to the palace. The Imbris clan wanted to be able to make a quick exit at any time. There are multiple tunnels in and out of the city and the palace. It’s how the Falconers were moving around before.”
“Do you think the tunnels might be compromised?” Wren asked.
“I’m certain they are. But there are likely no more than a few guards you’d have to dispatch, versus trying to get past the guards at the port, and then navigate the entire city.”
“It sounds preferable,” Ansel admitted.
“There’s just one thing you should know,” Killian said. “They don’t smell very good.”
“When do we leave?” Wren sprang to her feet. Maybe she wouldn’t need to tell Lucas right away after all.
“We ain’t goin’ anywhere,” Ansel said, standing and taking her shoulders gently in his hands. “Remember that wanted poster? There’s no need for ya to risk yourself. Killian can show me the way.”
“But—” Wren protested.
“But nothin,’ Wren. It’s an unnecessary risk.” This close, Ansel smelled of spice and leather, so different from Lucas’s fresh scent. His hands felt hot on her flesh, strong and real.
She looked down, warring with herself. She didn’t like the idea of letting Ansel leave here alone. True, he hadn’t betrayed her, but Ansel had always had a way of looking out for himself. And hadn’t he said in the park that if things went sideways, he’d find his way to the door? But their plan was coming together. There was gold to be had. She would need to trust him, one way or another, before this was all done.
“Wren?” He took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up so she was looking into his clear blue eyes. By the Beekeeper, the man had grown up well. Those copper curls, the rugged planes of his face. He was vital and devastating and so very Ansel. “Will ya see sense?”
“Fine,” she said, and it took all her willpower to wrench her gaze from his. “Just bring them back safely.”
Lucas was not pleased when Ansel came back alone. He didn’t trust that man—too sure, too cocky. He reminded him of Hale in a way. And though he had come to tolerate Hale, respect him even, he’d never liked him.
But Ansel promised they’d found the Falconer and a safe place to lie low, where Wren was waiting for them. And they’d get nowhere if they didn’t take some risks. This whole flaming plan was a risk.
“Are you sure we can trust him?” Trick whispered as they waited for a rowboat to be lowered into the dark water.
“Absolutely not,” Lucas murmured back.
“He and Wren go way back,” Thom said, his hand securely clasped in Trick’s. Those two had been inseparable as peanut butter and jelly since the Imbrises had been rescued from the Aprican vessel. “He wouldn’t do anything to put her at risk.”
“It’s not Wren I’m worried about,” Trick said, mirroring Lucas’s thoughts.
The man was a mercenary. Who was to say what he was willing to do? Lucas had seen the way Ansel looked at Wren—he watched her like a beggar eyes a feast though a window. Would the man be willing to eliminate a rival if it meant securing what he wanted?
“Well, I think he’s handsome,” Ella said, her bright eyes watching Ansel’s bunching muscles as he finished lowering the rowboat.
“Ready?” Ansel called, a brash grin on his face. He held out a hand to Ella. “Ladies first.”
Ella glided forward, placing her hand in his.
“If Ella likes him, we’re in even more trouble than I thought,” Trick whispered.
Lucas couldn’t help but agree.
The night was dark and quiet, the oars cutting quiet slices through the black water. They all seemed to hold their breaths as they neared shore. Ansel had explained that there were tunnels beneath the city that were known to the Falconer. No—to Killian. In a way, Lucas wasn’t surprised that the man was alive. He was like a cockroach—impossible to kill. And if Killian was anything, he was cunning and ruthless. Killian was a bastard, but he was their bastard. He was a welcome ally right about now.
Lucas coughed as Ansel drew near the tunnel that would take them under the city. He threw his arm over his nose, breathing into the crook of his elbow. “What is that smell?” he asked, his words muffled by the fabric of his shirt.
“Oh, did I not mention?” Ansel said. “These here are the sewer tunnels.”
Thom groaned audibly next to him as they all regarded the sewer tunnel that yawned over them with fetid breath.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ella said. “We’re supposed to go...in that?”
For once, Lucas shared Ella’s opinion.
“Sorry, princess,” Ansel said. “The outlet opens into a bunch of tunnels. Dry tunnels. It’s the best way. Unless ya fancy getting’ captured by the Apricans.”
Ella let out a little moan. “I fancy waking up in my bed and realizing this was all a horrible dream.”
Lucas had to give it to her. That did sound nice.
“Why can’t we use our keys and go through one of the dry, non-smelly tunnels?” Ella pouted.
Ansel shrugged. “Wren said they’re compromised.”
“Compromised?” Lucas frowned. “That would have meant they got one of the keys.” Perhaps they had taken them off the bodies of some of his other family members. But how had the Apricans discovered what the keys opened? A chilling thought struck Lucas. “Thom, does Wren still have her key?” He still wanted her to be able to flee the city if things went wrong.
Thom shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his curly hair. “Um, you’ll have to ask her.”
“What’s the hold up?” a voice hissed out of the dark behind them. Pike. There were two other rowboats of people lined up to enter this hellhole. Pike, Callidus, Olivia, and her new boyfriend, Dash—Lucas wasn’t sure where that fellow had come from—and some of Pike’s and Ansel’s men. Griff and the rest of the men and sailors would shelter behind Dash Island, waiting for the word.
Ansel rowed forward into the gloom. The smell was horrendous.
Trick pulled a torch out of their pack and struck a flint against the wall, lighting it. The tunnels were low, bowing over them in an archway formed of slick stone and cobwebs.
Ella had her eyes closed and the hood of her cloak up. She held the fabric before her nose, breathing through it.
The low path through the water opened into a tall junction between several tunnels. Lucas looked at the map Killian had drawn for Ansel. “There.” He pointed towards the left junction. “It’s that tunnel.”
While the paths of sludgy water continued into the depths of the sewer, the tunnels were wide enough here for a person to walk on the small ledges that bordered the channels. Ansel rowed the boat into a little alcove with a ladder against the wall.
“Looks like these paths were made for the workers that would be maintaining these tunnels,” Lucas said.
“Worst job ever,” Trick said.
“Agreed,” Thom said.
Trick went first, helping Ella and Thom out of the boat onto the ledge. Ansel tied off the rowboat on the ladder as Lucas stepped out himself, his long legs carrying him across easily. Ansel came last. They retreated farther into the sewers while the others tied off and stepped out of their boats. It was a difficult thing, trying on the one hand not to fall in the brackish water while on the other not to touch the slimy wall that hugged them.
“I don’t know about you, but I’d just as soon get out of the Piscator’s armpit and back up to solid ground,” Pike said, appearing
behind them.
“Agreed.”
“Let’s move.” Lucas and Ansel spoke at the same time. They looked at each other, seeming to fight a silent battle for alpha status. Finally, Ansel inclined his head stiffly. “You’re the prince. Lead the way.”
Wren’s relief was strong as hundred-proof whiskey when she saw Lucas walk through Violena’s front door. She ran and threw herself against him, burying her face in his damp cloak as he rocked her back and forth.
“Happy to see you too,” Lucas remarked wryly, giving her a kiss.
Wren wrapped her arm around his waist and led him into the sitting room, making room for the mass of cloaked figures that were parading through the door. Everyone filed into the sitting room after hanging up wet cloaks and jackets and removing muddy boots. The room was filled to the brim and toasty from the fire cracking in the hearth. Wren perched on the arm of a sofa next to Lucas as Violena’s few servants took drink orders and returned with hot teas, whiskey, and wine. Another put down a board heavy-laden with creamy cheeses and arrayed charcuterie, together with toasty baguettes.
“By the Piscator, it’s good to be back in Maradis,” Pike said, diving for a loaf and ripping off the heel.
“It’s safe?” Wren asked.
Violena gave a nod, and Wren took a piece of the bread and a slice of prosciutto, popping them both into her mouth.
They exchanged pleasantries and introductions while they ate and thawed themselves from the cold night, discussing the foulness of the tunnels, the hospitality of Griff’s sailors. Wren wrinkled her nose at Ella’s dramatic rendition of the sewers. She didn’t relish having to go into those.
Wren had worried about what Pike would think about working with Killian, given his role in the ambush that had led to Sable’s death, but it seemed that her concern was misplaced. Perhaps the head of the Spicer’s Guild had cooperated with enough double-crossers, enemies, and cutthroats that one more was of little note. When the cheese board (and a second) had been wiped clean, Pike leaned back in his chair, letting his silver belt buckle out one notch. “Are we all sufficiently sated to talk about the elephant in the room?”