The Confectioner's Guild, page 22
She had no idea when Lucas would return, and so Wren picked a novel that looked interesting, The Enigma of the Odette Isles, and settled onto the couch to wait. That was how he found her, hours later, curled up in the same spot, engrossed in the story.
When Lucas opened the door, her heart leaped at the sight of him. “Hello,” she said loudly, announcing her presence.
Lucas started, nearly dropping his package in shock. “Wren! You gave me a fright.”
“Sorry,” she said, setting the book down gently. “I needed a place to be before we went to Charger’s Estate tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “The inquisitor is looking for you.”
Her heart seized in her chest. Was he going to turn her over? Had she misjudged him? “I’ll go then. I shouldn’t have come.”
He set his bag down. “I didn’t mean it like that. I won’t turn you in. I just meant Maradis isn’t safe.”
“I couldn’t miss the meeting tonight,” she said. She pulled the scroll out of her pocket, unrolling it to show him the name. “Bianca Chandler was at the party with the poisoned cupcake. And Guildmaster Chandler gifted the whiskey with the other half of the poison.”
“The handwriting does match the threatening letter,” Lucas admitted.
“Our guilds are bitter rivals,” Wren explained. “They’ve been feuding for decades over water rights. Don’t you see? I don’t know if it’s politics, or something more personal, but it’s Chandler. Tonight we can prove it. Tell me you found Charger’s Estate.”
“I found it,” Lucas said. “But, you know, we may find nothing there.”
“I do,” Wren admitted. She had thought as much herself. “If the meeting was only for Chandler and Kasper, then Chandler will have no reason to attend, now that Kasper is dead.”
“We could be on a fool’s errand.”
“We have to try. Perhaps others were invited. Perhaps Chandler will be there anyway, confessing his evil plan to the night sky,” she said wryly.
“If only we were so lucky.” Lucas chuckled.
She smiled grimly to herself, thinking of the tingling she had felt after eating the macaron. Maybe they would be so lucky. “We have to try.”
“Agreed. But I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“All I have left are my hopes,” Wren said, putting the scroll back in her pocket. “So they will go in whatever direction they please.”
Lucas approached her, suddenly awkward, all arms and hands with nowhere to put them. “Your hopes are my hopes,” he said, finally tucking a lock of auburn hair behind her ear.
“Because if I die, you die.” She said it like a statement but meant it as a question.
“No. Because your life matters to me. I’ve found it a very precious thing that I’m not interested in going without.”
She stepped into his arms and he enveloped her, the heat of his mouth on hers, the taste of peppermint lingering on his breath. His kiss this time was slow and deliberate, full of promise, unlike the frantic press of their last meeting. Like he was memorizing her too.
His lips left hers and he wrapped her in an embrace. “You are without a doubt the sweetest thing the Confectioner’s Guild has ever produced,” he murmured into her hair.
Her heart melted like warm butter, and she leaned against him, enjoying—for the first time in a long time—not feeling alone.
Charger’s Estate was a sprawling property on the Northeastern shore of Lake Viri in the Lyceum Quarter. Through some surreptitious questioning, Lucas had discovered its location and its owner. Guildmaster Chandler.
Wren’s mind raced as she and Lucas rode in the carriage that would take them to Nysia Avenue, the main drag of shops and bars and unseemly nightlife that cut through the Lyceum Quarter. From there, they would walk, make their way over the fence, and hopefully find the hermitage.
She fought down tendrils of fear that threatened to wrap around her lungs, squeezing them tight. She tried to focus on her hand, which was currently wrapped securely in Lucas’s calloused fingers. On the memory of his butterfly kisses trailing fire down her neck… on the way her body flushed and pulsed at the nearness of him. Lucas was something unexpected. Something new, that she wanted to savor like a dark chocolate peanut butter truffle. Her favorite. But that fear kept squeezing, kept circling her thoughts back to the fact that now that she had found him, she had something more to lose.
The tree-lined street was dark and quiet. They skirted the perimeter of Charger’s Estate, keeping a hawkish eye out for a way over the tall wrought-iron fence. From time to time, they’d pass someone—a lone soul out for a walk, a group of lyceum students ruddy with wine and company. Each time, Lucas and Wren would melt into each other, his arm would be around her in a flash, his face buried in her hair, hers on his chest, as if they were two young lovers floating in a universe all their own. When the strangers would pass, they’d pull apart, a little more slowly each time. Lucas’s fingers would linger in her hair, her hand on the warm flat plane of his chest.
Focus, she thought.
At last, they found their way in. An ancient elm tree sprawled between sidewalk and fence, its branches hanging over into the grassy estate. A limb hung over the sidewalk and roadway, low enough to clamber onto.
After casting furtive glances about, Wren made quick work of it, taking her sandals off and tucking them into the belt of her dress. With her bare feet, she scrambled up the trunk, stretching for the branch and pulling herself onto it.
Lucas gaped at her from below when she straddled the branch and offered a hand. “That was…”
“A holdover from childhood,” she said. “We had a lot of trees. Come on, before anyone comes by.”
Between his height and her hand, Lucas was able to make his way up onto the branch, hauling himself over it like a fish flopping onto the bank.
“Graceful,” she remarked before making her way to the next branch. The thick network was easy to navigate, and in no time, they were over the fence and silently dropping onto the broad lawn.
Wren put her shoes back on and they set off.
“I found an old building permit in one of the city files,” Lucas whispered as they moved down towards the gentle lapping of the lakeshore. “I think the hermitage building is by the edge of the water.”
“I don’t like how exposed we are,” Wren admitted, her nerves jangling with warning. The broad expanse of lawn had trees dotted here and there, but very little cover.
“There it is,” he said, pointing to a granite rotunda bounded by arched columns. Light poured from within, illuminating stripes across the lush grass.
“Someone’s there!” she said, gratified. She knew it was the right idea to come here.
They gave the hermitage a wide berth, skirting around to crouch behind another massive tree. Thick ivy snaked up the walls, punching through panes of the leaded glass dome that topped the structure.
“We can climb the ivy and look in from above,” she whispered.
Lucas took out his pocket watch. “It’s fifteen to midnight. Almost time.”
Without another word, Wren dashed across the lawn in a half crouch, adrenaline pounding in her veins. Hope beat in her chest like a drum. They were going to figure it out. Clear their name. And then… then she could finally think about the future. Think about becoming a master. Finishing what she and Lucas had started…
She filed away these thoughts as she reached the edge of the building. The only windows were too high for her to see through from the ground. She pulled at the ivy, testing its strength. Between the rough edges of the stones and the gnarled covering of ivy, the building seemed easy enough to scale.
Lucas had crept from the tree next to her and was looking up the side of the hermitage uncertainly.
Voices sounded a ways distant, from the direction of the well-lit manor house. Someone was coming.
“Come on,” she hissed, and she began to climb.
She made her way to the domed roof without too much trouble. Finding a comfortable perch was considerably more difficult. The stone edge of the dome had a small lip, but if she sat on it, anyone looking up through the glass would be able to see her. However, the dome was made up of three crisscrossing stone arches, which held up the ornate glasswork. If she shimmied along the rim to one of those stone arches, she would be blocked from sight for the most part but still be able to peer in. The pane of glass next to the closest arch was broken as well. So she could hear.
Lucas had made it up the ivy-covered side of the hermitage and was performing the same mental calculus as she. He began working his way to the left, using the ivy to assist him.
She hissed at him and he froze when they both saw Chandler nearing from the manor house.
Lucas hid his face, sinking into the ivy, letting the thick leaves block him from view.
Then Chandler was inside. Wren and Lucas both let out a breath.
She peeked in through the dome as she began to slowly slide around towards the arch that would be her perch. There were other men inside. One was huge, even larger than Hale. He had a thick, brown beard and forearms like tree trunks.
The other seemed quite ordinary—brown hair, scholarly spectacles, a well-tailored waistcoat and jacket. But when he turned to greet Chandler, Wren saw that the man had only one arm. The sleeve of his jacket was pinned neatly.
“I wasn’t sure we were still meeting,” the one-armed man said. “Now that Kasper is dead.”
Wren continued to inch towards her perch.
“Kasper’s death only proves that this group is more important than ever,” Chandler said. “In fact, I think this group is the reason Kasper was murdered.”
“I thought some jealous guild-girl slipped him poison,” the big man rumbled.
Wren narrowed her eyes while she continued to inch. She was almost there.
“If you believe that, you’re as dense as you look,” Chandler retorted. “The girl is a patsy. Someone to distract us while the real killer slips away unnoticed.”
Chandler was defending her? If he murdered Kasper, wouldn’t he want the suspicion to stay on her? And what was this group? Who were these men and what had Kasper been doing with them?
“So if you have it all figured out, who murdered Kasper?” the shorter, one-armed man retorted.
“The king,” Chandler said.
Wren lost her grip on the edge as a piece of granite crumbled under her hand. She pitched forward, through the hole where a pane of glass had once been. Hands windmilling in panic, she fell down, down, into the empty space below.
The big man broke her fall, though not through any intention of his own. A shriek of fear and horror escaped her lips as she toppled over the edge. The three men looked up with surprise, and it was sheer luck that the brutish man was positioned under her.
They both fell to the hard stones with a crash.
Wren rolled off the top of his barrel chest onto the mosaic tiles of the floor. A groan escaped her lips. Everything hurt—she moved gingerly. Nothing seemed broken.
“What in the Sower’s name is this?”
“You’re… Wren Confectioner?” Chandler asked incredulously, peering at her as she lay on the floor panting.
She struggled to her feet, her head ringing. She was furious at herself. How could she have let herself fall? She might have ruined her and Lucas’s one chance to clear their names. To get to the bottom of Kasper’s death.
The big man stood as well, rolling his neck and rubbing his head.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, trying to back away towards the entrance. Maybe she could salvage this. If she ran, Lucas could still overhear anything else they might say…
“You aren’t going anywhere,” the man with one arm said, and the big man positioned himself between her and the door in a flash, his tree-trunk arms crossed over his chest. He was surprisingly fast.
Her eyes darted about, like a wild animal looking for its escape. The tendrils of fear squeezed tighter, like a python around her middle. If Chandler had killed Kasper, he would have no qualms about killing her. It looked like her luck had run out.
“Wren.” Chandler’s voice was soothing, his hands outstretched. “That is who you are, isn’t it? I saw you with Sable at the Council meeting.” His posture of gentleness only made her more wary, ready to bolt. One couldn’t trust kindness. It was just as often a façade as it was real. “We’re not going to hurt you. Tell me what you’re doing here.”
She looked from one man to another, willing herself not to look up to see if Lucas watched the scene. She couldn’t give him away. Even if she died, he didn’t have to. What would happen to him if she died before she was tried or convicted? Would his vouching simply go away?
“I… I found a message on the bottle of whiskey you gave Kasper. About this meeting,” Wren stammered. She could think of nothing clever to say, no lie to get her out of this.
“Clever girl,” Chandler said. “But why did you come here?”
“I’m… trying to clear my name. I needed to follow any lead… no matter how… unusual,” she said. Her mind raced. Best not to accuse him outright. Perhaps if he didn’t realize she suspected him, he would let her leave. A small chance, but one she had to try to exploit.
“What did you think you would find here?” he asked.
“Well… you. Since the note must have come from you, and this is your estate. Beyond that, I didn’t know.”
“And what do you think you’ve found?”
“I… don’t know,” she whispered. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here. I don’t even know what I’ve seen. Please let me go.” She knew it was a faint hope. If they did plan on killing her, perhaps she could get them to confess before it was over. Then, at least Lucas could clear his name.
“This is the girl they’ve framed for Kasper’s murder?” the one-armed man scoffed. “You think they could do better than that.”
“Agreed. No one would believe this girl could kill a fly, let alone a guildmaster,” the big one said.
Wren bristled inside but said nothing. She knew what they saw when they looked at her. Small and skinny, no connections, no nerve. It was the same thing she saw herself most days.
Chandler was looking at her like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve, stroking his lined chin with a hand. “Maybe fortune has brought us a gift. Maybe we can use her.”
“It’s too dangerous,” the man with one arm said. “This girl looks like she’ll faint under a withering gaze. She’ll be useless to us.”
“She’s more than she seems,” Chandler said. “She’s Gifted.”
The two men stilled, their appraisals of her turning thoughtful, calculating. She felt like an injured lamb being circled by three hungry wolves.
“If she’s Gifted,” the big man said, “how do we know she’s not compromised? Perhaps she really did play a hand in the murder.”
“She’s not compromised,” Chandler said. “The king doesn’t know about her. Kasper discovered her only weeks ago. Days before he died.”
The king? What did the king have to do with this? Again, it took everything she had not to look upwards, not to find Lucas and meet his gaze. If these men had something against the king, the last thing she needed was to deliver a royal prince into their hands.
“And Kasper told you this?” the big man asked.
“He did. Kasper and I had begun to trust each other before his untimely end.”
“I don’t like the timing. A few days is enough to get to her. With the right motivation, anyone will turn on his guild brothers. Or hers,” the one-armed man said.
“It’s not her,” Chandler said, more forceful now. “I have a feeling about such things.”
You know it’s not me because you killed him yourself, Wren thought. These other two men were unknown commodities, though. Who were they, and had they had a hand in Kasper’s murder? From their fine clothes, they appeared to be wealthy merchants or guild members. But which guild? And why were they here at this secret meeting?
“Pardon me if I don’t trust your feelings when it comes to something like this. There’s only one way to know for sure.” The one-armed man pulled an engraved steel flask out of his pocket.
“Is that ice wine?” the big man asked. “I haven’t been able to get any of that since the market burned down.”
“A Vintner’s Guild member owed me a favor,” he said. “You never know when it will come in handy.”
“All right,” Chandler said. “If you want to use it on her, I suppose.”
Wren looked back and forth between the men, who were all but ignoring her as they decided her fate. Ice wine? Something from the Vintner’s Guild? She thought of the wine Kasper had made her drink that had burned her throat and sealed the secret of the Gifting to her lips. Her tongue went dry, and whatever slim bit of bravery she had fled her. She bolted for the door.
Once again, the big man was faster. He hooked a hand around her ankle, yanking her feet out from under her. She hit the stones like a ton of bricks, her palms stinging, blood in her mouth from where she’d bit her lip. She groaned as he hauled her up by her upper arms and deposited her on the stone table in the center of the room. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, girlie,” he said, leaning perpendicularly over her chest with the bulk of his body, pinning her arms and torso beneath him like a vise, crushing the wind from her lungs. She struggled and squirmed, her legs kicking uselessly, her heels scrambling at the table, but she couldn’t move. A tidal wave of terror washed over her.
