The Confectioner's Guild, page 11
“By all means,” Wren said. “Attend to your bacon emergency. I should come down anyway.” She tucked the newspaper behind her back and followed Olivia and the servant as they hurried back down the stairs. She paused on the landing as she took in the milling crowd. She really needed to get some breakfast, but she wasn’t particularly inclined to face the crowd.
“Wren!” a voice called from below. It was Hazel, one of Master Oldrick’s apprentices, waving enthusiastically over the crowd.
Wren wove through the bustle of bodies into Hazel’s enthusiastic hug, surprised to find herself genuinely pleased to see her. Hazel’s dirty blonde hair was pulled into a tidy braid over her shoulder, and her dress looked almost new. Master Oldrick must have been pulling out all the stops for the assembly.
Tate, the gangly other apprentice, hung back, shuffling. “Hey, Wren,” he said, and she found herself pulling him into an embrace as well. Their familiar faces were a balm to her chaffed soul in this strange place.
“Hey, Tate,” she said.
“Is it true that you killed the head of the guild?” he asked. “Talk’s all over town.”
“Tate,” Hazel chastised, cuffing his ear lightly. “You know those are foul lies. Aren’t they, Wren?” Her words held an inquisitive tone.
“Yes,” Wren said. “I’ve been accused of it, but I didn’t do it. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Wren’s confections only bring joy and happiness,” a gruff voice said behind her. “Not sorrow.”
She turned to find Master Oldrick, as ruddy and round as ever. She hugged him, feeling strangely sentimental, despite spending nights and weeks and months dreaming of being free of him.
“Miss you, Wren,” he said. “Shop ain’t the same without you.”
“You mean your profits aren’t the same without me,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Aye. Same thing. Tate and Hazel don’t have half your talent between the two of them.”
“Oldrick!” she said, looking apologetically at the other apprentices.
They seemed unperturbed. “‘It’s true,” Tate said. “You always did have a gift.”
His words sank within her. It was true. How had she never seen it for what it was? Something different than what other people had? Something more than a deft hand or a good nose for flavor?
“I miss you all too. But I think… I will like it here. Once the murder investigation is over.”
“Don’t let that Grand Inquisitor lay his hands on you. Whatever happens. If the worst should come, end it,” Master Oldrick said. “I hear his ways are twisted. He takes pleasure in it. Finds your weaknesses and your fears. Exploits them.”
Wren’s stomach turned and the blood drained from her face as Master Oldrick went on. “I knew a man who had the misfortune of crossing the royals. Fell in love with one of the royal ladies, and she loved him too. Killian took the man apart, piece by piece, in front of her.”
All the saliva had left Wren’s mouth. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt as sticky as glue.
“What a cheerful fellow you are.” Hale came to her rescue, banishing the dark spell that had fallen over them with his brash golden aura. He slung one arm around Wren’s shoulder and squeezed her arm while offering his other hand to Master Oldrick. “Master Oldrick, I imagine. Hale Firena, of Aprica. Artisan of the Guild.”
Hazel’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the vision before her.
Wren pasted on a smile, grateful for the change of subject, though not entirely soothed. Oldrick’s words rung in her ears. Twisted. Took the man apart piece by piece.
Master Oldrick shook his hand, staring up at Hale with more than a bit of surprise. “Pleasure,” he managed.
Hale turned to her. “Wren, my dear, the Assembly is starting. We should take our seats.”
“Of course,” Wren said, ready to be away from Oldrick’s dark tale. “Master Oldrick, can I speak with you after the assembly? I have a question I must ask you.”
“Of course,” Master Oldrick said. “We’re staying through tomorrow.”
As Wren let Hale steer her away from her former life with a commanding arm, she heard Hazel whisper to Tate behind her. “I see why she likes it here.”
Rows of chairs sat neatly in the ballroom, leading to a low wooden platform erected for the assembly. Hale’s arm was still wrapped protectively around Wren’s shoulder, and the guild members melted away as they cut a path to their seats. She should have shrugged it off, she thought, prove to herself she wasn’t being sucked into Hale’s orbit, lulled by warm skin and flashing white teeth. But it was a comfort amongst these unfamiliar faces and questioning eyes. So she let it stay.
Three chairs sat empty atop the platform, facing the crowd. “Callidus and Sable—and who is the third candidate?” Wren asked Hale.
“Grandmaster Beckett,” Hale explained. “There are two other Grandmasters in the guild, Legox and Swift, but Legox is off negotiating a trade deal with the Centu Clans in the islands, and Swift is as old as death itself.”
“How does one become a grandmaster?” She realized that while she knew the procession through the first four steps of the guild, the final title was a mystery to her.
“It’s a combination of exceptional skill and service to the Guild. The head of the Guild makes the nomination, but it requires a vote of two-thirds of the masters to make the next level. To become a grandmaster, you need to be well-connected and have allies within the Guild. The idea is that the voting requirement ensures that the next level of guild leadership will take the diverse interests of the guild into account.”
Wren considered this. “In other words, it becomes a campaign of favors, deals, and political machinations?”
Hale chuckled, ushering her to a seat near the front. “You are wise for one so young, my blue jay. Yes and no. Sable had to make a lot of promises to achieve her rank so young, especially because she was female. But she figured by the time she was guildmaster, most of those people would be dead. Kasper seemed to do what he wanted.”
A bell sounded in the back of the room, and guildmembers streamed in to take their places, the room humming with conversation. There had to be almost one hundred masters in the room.
“I almost forgot,” Wren whispered to Hale. “I brought you something.”
“A present? For me?” His turquoise eyes sparkled, and she was suddenly very aware of how close they were.
She tried to cover the hitch in her breath with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing.” She pulled two caramels out of the pocket of her dress and handed one to him. After the previous day’s failed attempt at spying on Callidus, she had returned to the teaching kitchen to cut and wrap her cooled caramels. She hadn’t tried one yet.
A mischievous grin transformed Hale’s face, his dimples flashing. “This is not nothing, my sly little raven. This is precious as gold.”
“Just proving to my teacher that I’m an apt pupil,” she said.
“Bottoms up,” he said, unwrapping his caramel and popping it in his mouth.
She did the same, glancing furtively at the chatting guildmembers around her. Hale had said all infused products were supposed to go to the king, but how would she know if she had been successful if she couldn’t try a thing or two?
Hale nodded approvingly as he chewed the caramel. “Delicious. You are an apt pupil.”
The hair on her arms stood up as the tingle of the magic swept through her like a ray of sunshine bursting through the clouds. How had she never noticed this for what it was? Something special? Magic.
A wizened old man taking the stage distracted her from her thoughts. He ascended to the platform with laborious steps and a wobbly hand on his cane.
“Grandmaster Swift,” Hale whispered. “You can see where he gets his name.”
“Guildmembers,” the old man called, quieting the crowd. His voice was strong and clear, incongruous coming out of the withered body. “We gathered here twenty-four years ago to select our last guildmaster. Francis Kasper was a diplomat, a scholar, a friend. His loss is felt keenly by our Guild and its members. Especially as he was taken from us too soon.”
Wren’s stomach flipped nervously at his words. Hushed whispers fluttered around her.
“Let us have a moment of silence in his memory.”
Wren bowed her head, the thudding of her heart seeming to fill the silence. Fear curled through her, banishing the warm tingles from the magic. Lucas had said that the Guild had a legal obligation to protect her until the investigation had been completed—his vouching for her had made certain of that. But what did that really mean? People could turn to cruelty in a heartbeat, especially when together in large groups. Maybe she shouldn’t be here.
“Thank you,” Swift said, rapping his cane once to summon the crowd’s attention. “The task falls on us, those who remain behind, to elect new leadership. This is a task we must go about thoughtfully, and with great care. The choice we make today will set the direction our ship will sail for the next decade or two or three.”
Grandmaster Swift called the three candidates up on stage, and they were met with applause and the occasional cheer. Sable looked stunning in a dress of royal blue embroidered with a rainbow of colors at the hem, cuffs, and scooping neckline. She wore the elaborate beaded necklace that was her signature, and her gleaming midnight hair was swept back and curled around her shoulders.
Callidus looked as unpleasant as ever, his pale face twisted, as if he had just caught a whiff of curdled milk. He wore a fine black suit and charcoal gray waistcoat, modeling his styling after an undertaker. A black journal was tucked under his arm. That damn journal, taunting her. So close, yet infinitely out of reach.
The last man, Beckett, was fair-skinned and fair-haired with watery blue eyes, a plump mid-section, and clammy-looking sausage fingers. This was Marina’s father? She looked nothing like him. It was a mystery how he had snared a woman beautiful enough to produce an offspring as lovely as Marina.
“Quiet, quiet,” ancient Grandmaster Swift called, shushing the audience with his hands. “Each of the candidates will have five minutes to speak to you. Give them your utmost attention.”
Sable went first, her words velvety and eloquent. She complimented the Guild, the wisdom and talent its members had shown over the years. She looked each member in the eye with a smile and a challenge to usher the guild into a new era of prosperity and cooperation with the other guilds. Hale sat next to her in rapt silence, and around the room Wren saw heads nodding. The applause was thunderous when Sable was done.
Beckett went next, talking in length about his experience as an ambassador with the Tradehouse and other guilds. He promised “lower tariffs, lower taxes, and greater profit,” and the crowd seemed impressed with his rhetoric.
Last but not least, Callidus stood, walking slowly to center stage. He glared at the members with startling blue eyes. The audience quieted until an uneasy silence hung over the room.
“These are not easy times for the guilds, for our city, or for Alesia,” Callidus began, his voice strong and powerful. “Strikes and union uprisings throughout the city are growing in numbers and frequency. There are riots in the Central Quarter over the conditions of the poor and working class. On our northern border, our friend and ally Tamros has been aggressively occupied by the Apricans.”
Wren glanced at Hale, whose golden coloring was so common in Aprica. She hadn’t thought about why he was here, living in the Guild under Sable’s sponsorship. Was he originally from Aprica? If so, had the war in his home country driven him from it?
Callidus continued. “While the Aprican king speaks of peace, the marshaling of his forces suggest he would push on into fertile Alesia itself. The Ferwich clans harry us on the east, and the Centu—growing ever bolder in the Cerulean sea—seek to renegotiate our trade deals, refusing to transport our exports on their ships without a heavy toll. Rest assured,” Callidus said. “It will not be an easy road ahead.”
Wren blew out a breath. By the Beekeeper! She had heard rumbles of unrest in Maradis, of the burdensome impact the king’s domestic policy was having on the lower class of the city, but to be surrounded by enemies on every side… She didn’t envy the next guildmaster their role.
“Pretty words or pie-in-the-sky promises will not be enough to navigate our ship, as Grandmaster Swift so aptly put it, through the treacherous waters ahead. We need clear-headed and shrewd leadership. We need willingness to sacrifice, to make difficult decisions, to protect the safety and security of our guild from any threat, even a threat from the inside.”
Callidus looked directly at Wren; his powerful gaze pinning her to her seat like an arrow.
“I am that leader. I am the only one who seems to remember why we are even here today. Our guildmaster was murdered. I watched Kasper die. Watched the light leave his eyes. Someone killed him. Someone who may very well be sitting in this room.”
Whispers snaked throughout the crowd and Wren felt the blood drain from her, leaving her an empty shell. Faces turned her direction, pointing eyes and mouths and fingers.
“That’s enough, Callidus,” Sable thundered, standing, her chair rocking back behind her.
Wren tensed to flee, her breath coming in quick gasps. The murmuring of the crowd pressed upon her, a living angry thing, bringing flashes of memories to the front of her mind. The feeling of being cornered, of being small and powerless, swept over her. She hated that feeling, had forgotten it for a time in the relative peace of her apprenticeship under Oldrick. But who was she kidding? It had never really gone. Magic or no, she would always be weak and alone.
Callidus continued, assuring the Guild that he was the only one to take the threat seriously, who had the cunning and will to do what needed to be done.
Panic thrummed through her, and her muscles tensed to run. She needed to get out of here, be away from these people and their accusing eyes. As she started to rise, Hale grasped her hand in his own, his grip painful. “Sit,” he hissed in her ear. “If you move, you’re the target.”
“I’m already the target,” Wren hissed back.
“The focus is still on him,” Hale retorted.
Wren saw he was right. Callidus was coming to the final crescendo of his tirade. But the urge to flee was powerful—she felt like a flighty deer in a den of wolves.
“Stay. I won’t let anything happen to you,” Hale whispered. His hand was warm and firm, and it made the difference. In that moment, he reminded her so powerfully of Hugo that the pain of her brother’s memory took her breath away. A long time ago, she had felt safe. Hugo had been that shelter from the uncertainty of the world, from her father’s drunken rages. To have found that again… she didn’t dare hope.
Callidus finally finished and the audience erupted, applause and voices filling the space.
“Settle down, settle down!” Using Beckett’s shoulders as a railing, Swift stood on Callidus’s chair, shouting over the din. The crowd quieted, stunned at the sight of the frail man teetering over them. “It is time to vote. Ballots have been handed out to the masters. Mark your vote and drop them in the box at the back. Then, join me in the dining hall for a meal!”
With Sable’s help this time, Swift made it to the ground, where he retrieved his cane. He began the slow walk to the back of the room while the other guild members began marking paper ballots.
Wren let out a breath. Hale loosened his death grip on her fingers. “Are you sure you made those caramels right?”
A shaky laugh escaped Wren, but it died on her lips as her eyes met Callidus’s. He was staring right at her, a silent herald of doom amongst the buzz of voices.
“We wait until everyone is gone,” Hale said. “And we’ll sneak out the back.”
Hale shouldered into the conservatory, his hand wrapped around hers.
As they drew deeper into the shadows of the foliage, Wren felt the tension in her body begin to uncoil.
“Fool!” Hale exploded, knocking a potted herb onto the ground with a powerful strike.
Wren jumped away from him with wide eyes, backing against a workbench draped with ferns, rattling them with her body.
Hale turned and took in her wide eyes and white face. “I’m sorry, Wren—not you. Callidus.” He advanced and enveloped her in his arms, pulling her tightly against his chest. She stiffened, but the solid comfort of his arms soothed the alarm ringing in her senses, and she leaned into him. For once, his nearness—the leather and musk scent of him—didn’t send all reason fleeing from her mind. Yes, Hale was the most handsome man she had ever seen. But she wanted more from him than a fling—or even a romance. She wanted something that she hadn’t had in a long time. A friend.
Voices sounded outside the door, and he pulled her farther into the conservatory, to a vine-draped corner illuminated by rays of sunlight pooling through the glass walls.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the little table and chairs, and she obliged, her knees shaky. “I can’t believe he pointed the finger at you in front of the whole guild,” Hale said. “He really doesn’t like you, does he?”
“I have that effect on people,” Wren joked, her voice hoarse. A feeling of wretchedness washed over her. Why did he hate her so much?
“Nonsense,” he said. “You’re perfectly lovely.”
She found a smile crossing her face. “Do you think Sable will win?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Sable is the newest grandmaster. We knew Callidus’s chances were stronger to start. It depends on whether his fearmongering resonates with people.”
It resonated with me, Wren thought. “I didn’t realize things were so bad. I had heard about the war in Tamros… Do you really think Aprica will attack?”
Hale nodded grimly. “That bastard on the throne is hungry. Nothing will ever be enough for him. Could be a month, could be a year. He’ll come.” Hale’s eyes flashed, the thick muscles of his jaw stiff with anger. “But don’t worry about that right now. Our one and only job is to figure out who killed Kasper.”
