The Confectioner's Guild, page 7
“You’re right,” she said sweetly to Hale. “I’m lucky to have you and Sable. There’s so much I don’t understand about this place.”
“That’s all right,” Hale said, brightening and pulling two stools up to the counter. “We’re here to teach you.”
Wren sat, donning the guise of a wide-eyed and pliable pupil. But as Hale began to talk, she found herself growing into her charade, fascinated by what he told her.
“Our understanding of the Gifted is limited because each guild is extremely secretive about their own power. Kasper made you drink the binding wine, yes?”
Wren touched her lips, shivering with the memory of her mouth and throat sealing shut. She nodded.
“So you understand how closely this secret is guarded. It’s why the king tolerates the guilds having such power. Because he needs us. Our Gifts. This secret, these Gifts, are what made Alesia what it is today.”
“I don’t understand,” Wren admitted.
“How much history do you know?”
“Not much,” she admitted.
“But you know that Alesia was not always united, that in the past the clans each held their own territory and warred between one another?”
“Yes, until the Imbris clan conquered the others, claimed the territory of Alesia, and set up Maradis as its capital. The other clans were driven east over the Cascadian mountains into Ferwald.”
“Precisely. But do you know how King Leon Imbris, the father of Alesia, rose and conquered the other clans after centuries of petty wars?”
“No.”
“Few know the real reason. He discovered the first Gifted. It was said he was Gifted himself.”
Wren’s eyebrows raised. “He used Gifted guildmembers to win battles? Surely, it couldn’t have such an impact.”
“What magic does your Gift generate, if you know?”
“Luck,” she said.
“What type?”
“Good luck.”
“We’re a pair, aren’t we! I’m good luck too,” Hale said. “But only when it comes to betting. Games.”
Wren’s eyes were wide.
“Can you see how a little luck might change the course of a battle? Make a man his fortune? An arrow missing its mark, a gambler hitting the right number and making his fortune. Small things change the course of history.”
She nodded. “So the king uses the Gifted to maintain his throne?”
“Yes,” Hale said. “The deal is simple. The Gifted supply their wares to the king for his use and discretion, and they keep the secret of the king’s power. In return, the king leaves the guilds alone, allows us to do what we please—set our own rates, collect our own tariffs and dues. We renegotiate the terms of the Accord between the king and the guilds every twenty-five years, but it’s mostly symbolic. The terms haven’t changed in centuries. Actually, it’s up for negotiation this fall.”
“I understand why you distrust the crown,” Wren said. “But what do all these Gifts do? Surely, they don’t all have to do with luck.”
“You are correct, my bright pupil. Kasper and the prior guildheads have spent decades uncovering the power of the other guilds. We know generally what magic most of their Gifts create. We don’t, however, know the identities of the Gifted in other guilds, or the specifics of their Gifts. With the exception of a few.”
“Why don’t the guilds work together? Share information to become more powerful?”
“There’s a history of distrust between us, which Sable suspects the king encourages. And revealing you are Gifted makes you a target. Kidnapping, murder, extortion. All are risks. No one is willing to be the first to bare themselves.”
His words chilled her. Kidnapping? Extortion? Someone would go to such lengths to get their hands on a Gifted… She thought of Kasper, convulsing on the floor, his mouth foaming. Yes… she supposed he spoke the truth. She wasn’t sure she wanted any part of this.
“You said you know the general nature of the other Guilds’ magic. What is it?”
“The ten aperitive guilds are divided into the three orders. The Leavening Guilds—that is, us, the Baker’s Guild, and the Cheesemonger’s Guild. Our powers deal with luck and fortune. The Cheesemonger’s Guild’s magic deals with intelligence and learning. Imagine being able to learn a new skill overnight. It would come in handy, would it not?”
“I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that,” she admitted, thinking of all the learning she had missed through her childhood. She wouldn’t even be able to read if it hadn’t been for her brother.
“You and me both.”
“What’s next? The Infusing Guilds?”
“Precisely. The Piscator’s, Butcher’s, and Cuisinier’s Guilds. Their magic is a bit more foreign to us since they don’t make something from scratch, like we do. But best as we figure it, the Butcher’s Guild’s magic gives strength and prowess in battle, and the Cuisinier’s Guild has the power of healing and health.”
“Healing?” Wren’s eyes widened.
He nodded. “You can see how those would all be important on the battlefield. The last Order are the Fermenting Guilds—the Vintner’s, Distiller’s, and Brewer’s Guilds. The Vintner’s Guild magic deals with secrets and lies. We’re not sure about all the rest.”
“Secrets and lies…” she said. “The wine I drank.”
“Oh, yes,” Hale said. “All the guilds know of the Vintner’s Guild’s magic, thanks to the binding wine. It’s part of the Accord, that we will bind all Gifted with it.”
“That’s only nine guilds.” Wren said, ticking them off on her fingers. “The last is the Spicer’s Guild? What power do they have?”
“The magic of death.”
“Death?” Wren asked. “As in, their spices kill people?”
“Is it so hard to believe? Food gives life… or it can bring death. Steal years from a life, bring on wasting sickness.”
“Do you think they had anything to do with Kasper’s death?” Wren asked. “Would another guild oppose ours in that way?”
Hale frowned, an expression that still managed to look alluring on his handsome face. “The guilds tend to prefer political maneuvering and dirty looks over the council table, but it’s possible. The head of the Spicer’s Guild is a devil of a man named Pike. He’d poison his own sister if it put a few crowns in his pocket. Sable seems to adore him; the gods only know why. I’ll ask her about him, though.”
“Ask me about who?”
Hale and Wren both jumped, as if they had been caught with their hands in the candy jar.
Sable stood at the door, looking effortlessly beautiful in an olive gown with a mustard-gold bodice. One dark eyebrow was arched in a question.
“Grandmaster.” Hale straightened, inclining his head. “Wren and I were discussing our theories about potential suspects.”
Sable pulled Hale’s stool out from behind him and sat on it, motioning Wren to sit as well. Hale leaned against the wooden countertops, at ease despite Sable’s slight. So far, Sable seemed to be the only woman Hale didn’t turn his charms on. He was strangely deferential around her. Perhaps she’s immune, Wren thought, with more than a little jealousy. If her stupid stomach would quit performing somersaults in Hale’s presence, it would simplify things considerably.
“Tell me your theories,” Sable said.
“Well,” Wren stuttered, caught off guard. It had been less than a day since Kasper had been declared dead. Was she already expected to have theories? “Callidus.”
“No,” Sable said, shaking her head curtly. “What else?”
“But… He stands to be the next guildmaster. And he had access to the cupcake. He was alone with it. He knew I would be there, and he literally pointed the finger at me. He’s the obvious suspect.”
“It was not Callidus. Do not focus your energy there.”
Wren looked at Hale for support. His eyes were sympathetic, but his face remained stony.
“How do you know?”
“I know, girl,” Sable said. “Callidus is miserable and spiteful and unfeeling, but he is not a murderer. He certainly wouldn’t have harmed Kasper in particular.”
Wren opened her mouth to protest again, but the intensity of Sable’s expression made her think the better of it.
“Got it,” Wren said. “Not Callidus.”
“Who else?”
Hale chimed in. “Wren had the good instincts that it might be one of the other guildmasters. Moving in on our territory, seeking to consolidate power.”
“Perhaps,” Sable said, pondering. “The Distiller’s Guild and the Confectioner’s have always vied for position at the head of the table, so to speak. Guildmaster Chandler seems innocuous enough, but that could be a façade. I will think on it.”
Wren let out a breath, dismayed to find how much this woman’s approval mattered to her. But as Sable had said last night, she and Hale were her family now. They were the only guild members besides Olivia who had shown any interest in helping or protecting her. If she was going to find Kasper’s killer, she couldn’t do it alone. She needed to be in Sable’s good graces.
“Have you learned anything else?” Sable asked. “You spoke to the Inspector today, yes?”
“Yes,” Wren said, glancing sidelong at Hale. How had Sable known? Hale hadn’t left her side. “The poison that killed Kasper is called Gemini.”
Sable’s eyes widened.
“You’ve heard of it?” asked Wren.
“Yes. Very hard to come by. Very hard indeed. And expensive. This will narrow our pool of suspects considerably. I will speak to Guildmaster Pike to see what he knows.”
“Luc—Inspector Imbris still doesn’t know how the second poison was delivered,” Wren admitted. “It’s possible we’ll never know.”
“Then I suggest you focus on what we do know.”
A pause.
“The cupcake,” Sable said, exasperated. “We know the cupcake was poisoned.”
“Right, which Callidus had,” Wren countered, wishing the woman would reconsider her position on the man.
“The cupcake didn’t spring into existence fully formed in Callidus’s hand.”
“No…” Wren admitted.
“Presumably your Master sold it to someone, someone who had knowledge of its unusual properties ate it, and somehow Kasper learned of it. There shouldn’t be a long list of individuals who meet those criteria.”
“Does Callidus know who the original purchaser was?” Wren asked. “Did he retrieve it?”
Sable shook her head. “I asked him. Kasper was the one who learned of your Gift and acquired the cupcakes. Callidus is unaware of how.”
So he says, Wren wanted to scream. Callidus may have Sable convinced, but Wren wouldn’t be fooled so easily.
“I could ask Master Oldrick whom he sold the cupcakes to,” suggested Wren. “He may still have a record.”
“Excellent,” Sable said. “The Masters will be convening in two days’ time to vote on a new guildmaster. You can ask him then.” Sable rose with a swish of silk and chiffon. “Hale, I have need of you. You can resume your lessons tomorrow.”
She nodded to Wren and swept from the room, Hale trailing like an eager puppy.
Wren sat on the stool for a moment, dumbfounded. Sable was like a looming thunderstorm, full of barely contained power and force.
She looked about the kitchen, biting her lip. Did she have the rest of the afternoon to herself? She needed to discover who’d killed Kasper, that much was perfectly clear. The cupcake, the secret of the second part of the poison, these were both possibilities to explore. But where should she start? Indecision gnawed at her.
Lucas should still be upstairs investigating Kasper’s rooms, she realized, her feet propelling her before her conscious mind made the decision. Maybe he’d found something.
Wren met no resistance until she rounded the hallway and found an ebony-haired guardsman with a mustache standing sentry before Kasper’s door. “No one allowed inside, miss,” he said with more than a little hostility. “’Specially you.”
“I’m assisting Inspector Imbris with the investigation,” Wren said, sticking her chin out haughtily. “He asked for me.”
The man looked at her, his bushy eyebrows furrowed.
“Ask him yourself,” she said, praying that Lucas would corroborate her story.
The guard slipped through the door with a grumble, closing it in her face. Muffled voices sounded inside.
He reappeared and opened the door for her, clearly not happy about it. “You leave when the Inspector leaves,” he said. “And I supervise. It’s the scene of a crime.”
“Fine,” she said, stepping inside, the guard following close on her heels. The man positioned himself against the bookshelf where Callidus himself had been leaning just just the day before.
“Hello,” Wren said, crossing to where Lucas was pawing through a pile of papers on Kasper’s desk.
“I asked for you, did I?” Lucas said in a low voice.
A guilty smile flitted across her face. “Thanks for going with it,” she whispered.
“That Hale fellow bored with you already?” he asked, not looking at her.
Wren crossed her arms. “No. Sable had need of him. Our lesson was short today.”
Lucas snorted. “I’ll offer another lesson then, free of charge. That artisan has been under the skirts of half of Maradis. Watch yourself with him.”
“You presume that I’m foolish enough to need that type of lesson?” she snapped. “Give me a little credit.”
He held his hands up in surrender. “Forgive me for questioning your wisdom, my lady. Surely, you don’t have time for such distractions anyway.”
“I don’t,” she said, as much to herself as to him. “As you said, the king and his inquisitor return in less than a month.”
“Is that why you’re here? To keep away from… distractions?” His eyes met hers and warmth blazed through her.
“Yes. I thought I could help you do… whatever you’re doing. It is my neck on the line.” Her eyes drifted to the dark spot on the patterned Ferwich rug where Kasper’s blood and foam had mingled as he’d died. Why did the man have to die? It might not have been so bad—to be sleeping in her huge feather bed, taking lessons from Hale, shopping with Olivia—if there wasn’t a murder charge hanging over her head. Why could things not have gone her way, just once?
Lucas straightened, considering her appraisingly. He softened. “There’s a lot to go through… But no.”
“No?” Wren said, dismayed at the waver in her voice.
“I’ll find whoever did this. But I can’t have your help,” he said softly, his eyes flicking to where the guard stood, watching them. “It’s bad enough that I vouched for you. I’m lucky they didn’t take me off the case.”
Her throat constricted as she tried to suppress her disappointment.
“There must be something,” she said. “I can’t… I can’t just do nothing.”
He sighed, looking about the room. “Just—sit over there.” Lucas pointed to the couch. “I can’t have you touching anything, but you can observe.
“Thank you!” she said, following instructions. At least she could be the first to learn of anything he learned.
“You there,” Lucas said to the mustached guard. “What’s your name?”
“Pimm,” the man said.
“Would you mind helping if you’re going to be in here?”
The man’s mustache twitched with distaste, but he nodded, leaning his spear against the bookshelf.
“Take everything you find that you can eat or drink and pile it in that corner,” Lucas said to the guard. He crossed to a table near where Wren sat, riffling through some papers, speaking low. “I procured a bit of Gemini poison that was forgotten in the evidence vault. If one of these items reacts…”
“Then we know it’s filled with Gemini’s other half.”
“Precisely.”
Wren watched as the guard piled bottles of wine and brandy, boxes of chocolates, and even a wedge of hard cheese. “This man had quite an appetite,” Wren commented as she surveyed the growing pile.
Lucas stood from the desk where he had resumed leafing through letters and knelt by the pile, pulling a small indigo vial out of his vest pocket.
Wren held her breath, watching like a hawk as Lucas removed the stopper and began administering a tiny drop in each of the bottles and delectables Kasper had in his office.
“That’s the last I could find,” Pimm said, depositing a bottle of bourbon-infused maple syrup on the floor next to the others. “What’re you looking for?” the guard asked, his role in the investigation apparently sparking his curiosity.
“I’m not sure,” Lucas said. “But I feel like there should be something out of the ordinary… I’m basically going on instinct here.”
Wren knew that feeling.
As Lucas put the last drop on the wedge of what looked and smelled like gruyere cheese, she deflated slightly. None of the edibles had reacted.
They exchanged a disappointed look.
“I was so sure…” Lucas said. He shook his head. “It’s fine. We’ll find it.”
Wren looked about the room, a niggling feeling biting at her. She had been so sure he would find it here too.
“Is there anywhere you didn’t look?” she asked.
“No. Well—” he amended. “The bottom desk drawer is locked, but I haven’t found the keys. It’s pretty solid. I’ll have to come back with one of our locksmiths.”
“There are a spare set of keys to everything in the guardsmen’s office,” Pimm suggested. “It might have a key to the desk.”
