The Confectioner's Guild, page 4
Her knees grew weak and Wren found her way onto a stool at the end of the island. She rested her cheek on the smooth surface of the wood, letting the surroundings calm her racing thoughts and jangling nerves. This was a place she understood. More her home than anywhere else.
“Miss?” a deep voice said. “Are you all right?”
Wren shot bolt upright to meet the intruder, shoving a curtain of auburn locks back from her face. “Of course,” she said.
A man stood in the doorway, framing it with his height and broad torso. She had never seen a man so tall or muscular. He looked like a god from the priests’ stories, the golden Sower himself fresh from harvesting the seasons. “Are you Wren?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Great. Stay right there.” He disappeared, leaving Wren perched on the stool, her mouth gaping like a fish.
Wren stood, hastily combing her hair with her fingers, straightening her thin dress on her thin frame. She stifled a sigh and sat back down. What did it matter how she looked?
No sooner had she sat than a raven-haired woman strode into the room, her crimson skirts swishing with purpose. Her foot tapped on the white marble tiles of the floor while she inspected Wren. “This is her?”
“Yep,” the man said, reappearing behind the woman.
“She doesn’t look like much, does she?”
“Only the wise man sees the treasure that hides in plain sight,” the tall man said appraisingly.
The woman looked back, arching one fine, ebony eyebrow. “When did you get so philosophical?”
“I learn from the best.” The man grinned, a broad arc of mirth and white teeth that made Wren glad she was already sitting down.
“That you do.” The woman retrieved another stool from beneath the island and perched upon it. The man stayed standing, leaning against the countertop, crossing muscled arms before him.
“Don’t mind Hale,” the woman said. “He likes to position himself in the best light.”
Hale chuckled. “Everywhere is my best light.”
Wren was loath to admit it, but she tended to agree with him. From his bronze skin to his honey-blonde locks pulled back into a knot to the fine brows and high cheekbones that framed his aquamarine eyes, the man was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
She ripped her eyes from him and turned to the woman. She was watching Wren with an amused expression on her face. “I’m Grandmaster Sable,” she said. “And you’ve already met my Hale, my artisan.”
“You’re a grandmaster?” Wren couldn’t help herself. The woman looked so young, her olive skin smooth and supple, her dark eyes framed by a fringe of black-feathered lashes.
“I get that a lot,” Sable said. “Youngest in a century. Though Hale is on his way to beating my record.”
“If you don’t hold me back out of spite,” Hale said, a dimple appearing around his arresting grin.
Wren was staring again! She turned back to Sable, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the woman. She wore a beautiful choker made of tiny beads, a riot of color swirling about her throat. Just look at the necklace, Wren, she told herself. Not at the living god standing behind her.
“Callidus told me you were here,” Sable said.
“Callidus?” Wren swallowed.
“I see his name strikes fear into your heart already. He would be pleased. He aspires to new heights of wretchedness.”
“Did he tell you…” Wren trailed off. That I’m a suspected murderer? Surely, this woman wouldn’t be talking to her if she knew of the afternoon’s events.
“Yes.” Sable stilled for a moment, rubbing the space between her arching brows. “He filled me in on his conspiracy theory. Not his best work. But the fact that Callidus seeks to pin poor Kasper’s murder on you is reason enough for me to take up your cause.”
“Nothing brings Sable pleasure like confounding Callidus,” Hale quipped, though his bright smile had faltered at the mention of their guildmaster’s death.
Sable glanced at him in annoyance but then dismissed it with a shrug. “That’s true.”
“Take up my cause,” Wren asked. “How do you mean?”
“Kasper told me he had discovered another Gifted confectioner. You will need to be trained. Taught the ways of the guilds, the court, the political arena.”
“I’ve been trained for four years,” Wren said, her pride chaffing at Sable’s words. “I’m an excellent confectioner.”
“I’m sure you are. But I didn’t mean that you were a gifted confectioner, I meant Gifted.” Sable emphasized the last word with a knowing look.
“Gifted,” Wren said. The burning in her throat and tongue that had been present before when she’d gotten too close to her new secret was absent.
“That’s right. You can talk about it with us. Hale and I are Gifted as well. We’re in the know.”
“You make… magic confections as well?” she asked, still disbelieving this was all really happening.
“Indeed. It’s the three of us and Callidus. And since Callidus is inclined to leave you drifting in the wind, I will claim you for our side. With Kasper gone, we need all the allies we can get.”
“Allies? I’m sorry, are you at war?” Wren said the word like a joke, but the expression on Sable’s face was deadly serious.
“We’re always at war. With those who seek the power of the Guild from the outside and in. The thing about power like ours is that there is always someone waiting to take it from you.”
A bubble of fear surfaced in Wren’s mind. She had done everything she could in the last four years to stay as far away as she could from danger. Yet it had found her again. “It sounds very tiring,” she managed.
Sable let out a bitter laugh. “It can be. But it’s the way of this world, and the world does not see fit to be changed by mortals like us. But know this. We are your family now, Hale and I. Your tribe. I am your chieftain, and Hale is your brother. I have already transferred your apprenticeship from that half-wit Master Oldrick. You are promoted immediately to journeyman status, and if you are as good as Oldrick says you are, I may make you an artisan soon enough.”
“Thank you,” Wren said, surprised by the sudden kindness. So, Sable was her family and Hale was her brother. She’d had a brother once. Three lives ago. Before he had died. Hugo… To her horror, she found tears welling in her eyes. She tried to shove the thought of him away, cursing herself for still getting emotional when thinking of him, despite the passage of so many years. Like Sable said—it was the way of the world—those with power taking what they wished.
“Don’t cry. I don’t tolerate criers. Hale cried for days when he arrived, and I had to beat it out of him.”
A great booming laugh exploded from Hale, nearly startling Wren from her stool. She couldn’t tell if Sable was joking. She bit her inner cheek, letting the sharp pain stun the tears into oblivion.
“Yes, Grandmaster.”
“Hale will be seeing to most of your lessons because frankly, I don’t have the time. I’ll stop by from time to time. But all that comes second to your chief task.”
“Which is?”
“We must uncover the identity of Kasper’s killer before the king returns from Tamros with the Grand Inquisitor. You’ll be of no use to our cause if the inquisitor gets his hands on you and tortures you into a quivering mess.”
Wren paled, gripping the countertop to steady herself.
“Make no mistake. We cannot let it come to pass, or you are lost to me. Lost to yourself. I don’t know why Steward Willings took such a dislike to you, but even I cannot keep you from the inquisitor’s knives once the King’s steward has called for an inquiry. At least you somehow convinced that inspector to vouch for you, which shows you have some wits at your disposal. He has secured you the opportunity to save yourself.”
“I don’t know where to start,” Wren lamented. “I know nothing about this place… who would want to kill Kasper.”
Sable rolled her dark eyes. “I don’t take apprentices only to abandon them. I will seek to put together the political pieces, if there is something there. You and Hale must discover what lurks in the hidden corners of this place, the things that the walls and servants know but keep from grandmasters like me.”
“All right,” Wren said softly, cold doubt gnawing at her insides. This task felt too big, too wide and foreign.
“Believe me,” Sable said. “Someone knows who did this deed. All you have to do is find out who.”
Wren tossed and turned that night. Though her body felt leaden, her mind whirred and skipped over the day’s events. The bed she lay in felt strange—too large, too soft, the goose-down comforter too cloud-like against her skin. She thought with longing of the hard narrow bed in her postage stamp room above Master Oldrick’s shop. It was a miserly offering, in keeping with Master Oldrick’s cheap nature, but it had a door that locked, and it been the first place she had ever laid her head that felt safe. This room wasn’t safe, no matter how tasteful the furnishings. She had no compunctions about thinking so. She felt a sting of resentment towards her Gift. It felt more like a curse, landing her in this strange bed with a murder charge hanging over her head.
Hale had shown her to her room after Sable had unceremoniously swept from the teaching kitchen to gods-knew-where. He had beamed down on her with such genuine good humor that Wren felt her tension melting, despite her best efforts to remain cool and aloof. She had found herself offering back a shy smile, much to her horror. Did none of her natural defenses work against this man?
“The Guildhall is not a bad place to live,” he said as they walked. “Everyone is quite nice. Well, except Callidus. A person has everything they need. A roof over their head, access to the most powerful and interesting people in Maradis, and the best food you’ve ever eaten. Plus, there’s chocolate in every room.” He’d snagged one from a bowl sitting in the hallway and tossed it to her. She had startled like a deer as the foil-wrapped chocolate flew over her hands. She’d retrieved it and jogged to keep up with Hale’s impossibly long strides.
“I wouldn’t mind living here, I suppose,” she’d said softly, finding her voice embarrassingly scratchy in his presence. She’d cleared it. “But I don’t know how I’m supposed to discover who killed Kasper. I don’t know why anyone would want him dead.”
“Well, that’s easy,” Hale had said. “Callidus and Kasper have been at each other for years. It’s gotten much worse as of late, though no one really understands why. Plus, Callidus is in line to take Kasper’s job.”
“Callidus will become guildmaster?” Wren had asked, horrified to think of the sour man taking charge of their lives and futures. In particular, her life. In Maradis, all unmarried women had an appointed male guardian. Whether father or brother or sponsor or husband, Alesian women were beholden to men in almost every aspect of life. A guardian could emancipate his ward, which wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t exactly common, either. And though she hadn’t had time to discuss it with him, she had assumed Kasper would take over the role from Oldrick upon her joining the guild. She didn’t relish the thought of Callidus having the job.
“He, Sable, and Beckett are the only other grandmasters of note. Not to mention”—he’d leaned towards her conspiratorially in a way that had set her heart racing—“Callidus and Sable are the only other Gifted guildmembers besides us. The Head is always Gifted.”
“Why can’t Sable take over?”
Hale’s gaze had grown distant for a moment, his face softening. “She’s younger than Callidus, and ten times as smart, but she doesn’t have the political backing. She was trying to position herself to challenge Callidus for the position, but this all happened too soon.”
“So Callidus knew that if Kasper didn’t pass away for years more, he would have a challenger for the head seat, and perhaps even lose it?”
“Good to see you’re not just a pretty face.” Hale had winked at her.
Her heart fluttered, and she squashed it ruthlessly. Steady, Wren, she’d cautioned herself. Focus.
“Callidus was the one who suggested the guards arrest me. He was angry when the inspector wanted to let me go. And he’s the only reason I was in Kasper’s office this afternoon.” Wren’s blood had begun to boil as the pieces fell into place.
“Truly?”
“So Callidus… tried to frame me? Kill the guildmaster and blame it on some nobody who wouldn’t be missed? That… blooming bastard!” She’d exploded.
Hale had let out a boom of laughter and put his arm around Wren’s shoulders, pulling her sideways into his body with a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here, Wren. Things have been far too dull for far too long.”
Her traitorous body had shifted from anger to something low and tingly in a second, responding to his warmth and scent of orange and spice. She’d shrugged his arm off her, not trusting herself to remain in her right mind if he continued the contact.
They had arrived at the bedchamber Sable had secured for Wren, and Hale had swept through the door, ducking his head slightly to enter.
The room was larger than Master Oldrick’s whole shop and was adorned with handsome wooden furniture with wrought-iron legs. Green succulent plants curled in containers on the desk and wardrobe, and gauzy white curtains covered the window panes.
“It’s not much, but it’ll do,” Hale had said, looking around, opening the wardrobe to reveal its empty shelves.
It had been difficult for Wren to take in her surroundings, so attune had been her awareness to the fact that this godlike man stood in her bedroom. It was frustrating, really, how her thoughts seemed to addle when he was near.
He’d continued his exploration, crossing to the other side of the room to the bookshelf, where a few volumes sat lonely and unused.
“See,” he’d said. “Chocolate everywhere.”
He’d tossed another chocolate to her from the bowl on the shelf, which had promptly sailed over her shoulder before she’d gotten her startled hands up to intercept it.
“Will you stop that?” she’d asked.
He’d cackled and crossed to the bed, giving it a few bounces as he sat. The bed was covered in a cloud of white pillows and comforters, but nothing was so dreamlike as him sitting on it.
He’d grinned roguishly at her wide-eyed expression, and realization had dawned on her. He’s doing this on purpose! He knew his impact on women and he was exploiting it for his own merrymaking.
Wren’s eyes had narrowed. “Thank you for showing me to my room. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve had a trying day and should get some sleep.”
“Want me to tuck you in?” He’d leaned back on his elbows, the collar of his striped button-down shirt opening slightly to reveal a V of tanned flesh.
“No, thank you.”
He had stood in a flash. “Good girl. I’ll see you in the morning for your first lesson.”
Wren’s mind replayed the scene in a loop, her face flushed in memory. Wren’s position here was precarious, to put it kindly. The last thing she needed was to muddy her thinking with some school-girl crush. Especially on a man who must have had women throwing themselves at him on an hourly basis. She’d only embarrass herself.
She wasn’t bad-looking, she supposed; her thick, auburn curls had drawn compliments in the past from customers, and her face was petite with tilted eyes and elfin features. But that was where the good ended. Her skin was pale, and her frame was thin, lacking any semblance of feminine curve. No doubt Hale had sampled choicer morsels than she. Not that she even wanted to be sampled, she reminded herself. No attachments was her rule. That included romantic ones.
She finally threw the covers back, huffing. Though the light of the August sun barely cleared the horizon, she could tell there would be no more sleep this morning.
As she filled the copper bathtub with hot water from the tap, she pondered the mystery of Kasper’s death. She was sorry he was gone. He had been kind to her. In the few minutes she had known him, he had struck her as a warm soul with infectious enthusiasm for life and his craft. Wren had always felt a bit sorry for those types of people, as in her estimate, such optimism could only be a byproduct of naïveté about the cruel nature of the world. Though it didn’t seem to be so with Kasper… He had been savvy enough to rise to the top of this complex world.
Master Oldrick’s apprentice Hazel was the bubbly type, hailing from a big family full of warmth and love and bedtime stories full of hope. Wren had been sure that some twist of fate would open Hazel’s eyes to their harsh reality sooner or later and had been ready to commiserate about dashed dreams and unscrupulous men. She felt a sudden twinge of fondness, though she had never been fond of Hazel before. Would she ever see her again?
Wren stepped into the heat of the water, shuddering with pleasure. Master Oldrick’s shop had been too small for a proper bath; she had washed at the public bathhouse once a week. Bathing alone in this giant tub of water was an unprecedented luxury.
Wren drifted for a time in a warm haze, the tension in her body uncurling until her muscles felt as soft as taffy.
Her mind was buzzing with pleasant nothingness when the door to her bedroom opened. Wren sat up in the tub, sloshing water onto the slate tile floor. “Don’t come in!” she shrieked.
“Wren?” a feminine voice called, unsure.
Wren peeked around the end of the tub and sighed with relief. “Olivia, thank the Beekeeper. I thought you were Hale.”
Olivia approached, standing just shy of the bathroom doorway. A sly smile crossed her face, the gossip clearly too juicy to pass up, even if it concerned an accused murderer. “Why would you think I was Hale? Did something happen between the two of you?”
“No!” Wren said, her ears burning. “He showed me to my room last night, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh,” Olivia said with a giggle.
“Hand me that towel?” Wren asked, pointing to the fluffy, white monstrosity hanging on the iron rod.
Olivia obliged and then turned her back, giving Wren privacy.
