Page 108 of The Deadliest Candidate

The Crossroads

By the time Fernreached the gates of Carthane, her head was pounding and her leg wound had reopened. Her shoulders burned, her muscles ached, even her skin felt sore. She pushed aside the pain, a problem she could simply not deal with right now.

She was about to pull on the bell rope when two dark forms appeared behind the ornate ironwork of the gate. Sentinels. It would seem as though Fern did not need to announce her return: Carthane awaited her.

In the daylight, the Sentinels were deathly pale, their skin stretched tightly over the outline of their skulls. They pulled open the gate, and Fern felt the force of the hermetic spell shifting as they did so. She passed through, and the Sentinels closed the gate behind her, but she did not wait to hear the heavy click of the gate locking shut behind her this time.

She sprinted up the winding path ahead of the Sentinels, her lungs tight, her breath frantic. She stopped only briefly, to check her watch. Fifteen minutes until the assignment. The other candidates must be makingtheir final preparations, and as for Edmund, he must be out of his mind with fear and fury.

Fern broke into a run up the path, sensing the dark, silent presence of the Sentinel following her.

She reached the colossal steps of Carthane’s entrance, her body a beacon of pain, and came to an abrupt stop, almost falling over. Housemistress Sarlet, with her raven-black hair in its severe knot, stood in the entrance to the library, her arms in front of her, fingers interlaced.

“How did you leave Carthane?”

Fern bit back an angry retort. Did it not seem obvious to Sarlet that Fern had not left willingly? Could she not see Fern’s bruises or the blood seeping through the fabric of her trousers? Had she failed to notice the strange pattern of disappearances at Carthane?

She did not care. She had not cared about Josefa and she did not care about Fern. It was not her job to care. Sarlet was first and foremost Carthane’s guardian.Carthanewas all she cared about.

“There’s a murderer in Carthane,” Fern said. “They trapped Emmeline Ferrow in the sewers and left her there, and tried to do the same to me. They’re probably behind Vittoria Orsini’s disappearance, maybe even the break-in of your office.”

Sarlet did not seem startled by any of this. She narrowed her eyes.

“How did you leave Carthane?” she repeated.

“I was pushed into the sewers and spat out to sea,” Fern snapped.

Sarlet raised an eyebrow. “By whom?”

“I don’t know yet. The same person who attacked the others. I assure you, I intend to find out.”

Sarlet regarded her wordlessly for a moment, then she stepped aside.

“You need not concern yourself with this, Miss Sullivan. Carthane and its safekeeping is in my remit, not yours. For now, I advise you to make your way to the Grand Mage Hall, or you risk being late for your third and final assignment.”

Fern bit back an angry retort, her mind working quickly. Although she had no intention of leaving the matter in Sarlet’s hands, it would do her no good to antagonise the housemistress. She needed to take another approach.

The bell began to chime ten o’clock, echoing from the bosom of the library. The assignment was about to begin. Fern was out of time.

“Emmeline Ferrow is trapped in the sewers as we speak,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “She’ll die if someone doesn’t help her soon.”

Housemistress Sarlet bowed her head, almost in concession.

“I will inform the Grand Archivists and deal with the situation personally.”

Fern thought of Josefa, of how Sarlet promised she would be found only for the Grand Archivists to announce her exit from Carthane soon after. Sarlet had Carthane’s interests at heart, Fern did not doubt that for a moment, but as for the interests of the candidates, that remained to be seen. This time, Fern would not wait to find out.

With a quick farewell to Sarlet, Fern ran through the doors and sprinted to the Grand Mage Hall without stopping.

Her stomach clenched when she saw a tall figure pacing the ornate corridor, barring the path to the Grand Mage Hall antechamber.Not him,she thought,not now.

Lautric’s face was a map of emotions. Surprise, concern, pity and anger all merged into one another like the bleeding colours of a fresh painting.

In Fern’s mind, there had never really been a doubt that Lautric was the saboteur at Carthane. He had locked Josefa out of her room somehow, trapped Emmeline in the sewer pit and pushed Fern in.

Every path of inquiry led back to him: his deal with Vittoria, his family’s card in the missing Professor Saffyn’s drawer, his night-time wanderings, even the Astronomy Tower and the monstrous Gateway within it. Everything was linked to Lautric.

He was simply the weakest candidate, ridding himself of his rivals the only way he could.

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