Page 111 of The Deadliest Candidate

And more recently even: she herself had told Srivastav where she was working in the Elemency Tower. She’d assumed Lautric had fallen for her trap and stolen her work because she’d set the trap forhim.

She’d hunted for a specific answer and never paused to question if she might have found the wrong one.

And Josefa’s door. She hadn’t been able to use the lock. Lautric had shown Fern the doors in the Mage Tower were impervious to wards, but neither of them had thought to try pyromancy.

Why should they? Fern had never considered Srivastav as a suspect, not once.

She had even seen his bandaged hands earlier and had assumed he must have burnt them during the assignment. But of course, he was a master pyromancer, far too skilled for such a simple injury, and Fern had slashed out with her knife before being pushed into the pit.

It was Srivastav.

It had been Srivastav all along. She had been handed all the evidence and been blinded by her hatred of the Lautric House. She had been wrong, and she would never forgive herself if she was too late.

She ran breathlessly, straight into the main entrance to the undercroft without even thinking who might see her or what the consequences might be, and then through the great dark chamber. Edmund was at her heel, and others too, she could hear running footsteps and voices. Wild fear whipped her onwards through the cavernous chamber, down the stairs, down the long corridor and towards the sewer.

Dank air hit her lungs, algae and mould and water and the smell of something acrid and rotten—not decay, but sulphur.

Fern’s feet faltered to a stop as she entered the underground sewers.

It was no longer sunk in darkness. Bright flames circled the chamber now, casting lights and shifting shadows across the stone floor and lichen-covered walls.

On the edge of the sewer pit, Srivastav knelt, head bowed down, staring into the pit as though desperately searching for something.

Before Fern could open her mouth, before she could so much as catch her breath, Edmund slammed past her, almost throwing her off her feet.

Fern stumbled and was caught by a firm hand on her elbow. She did not even have time to pull away from Lautric before a crackling sound ripped the air.

An alchemical symbol formed in front of Edmund, so large and bright it rivalled the red circle of fire coursing the perimeter of the chamber. Edmund smashed through the alchemical symbol, magic shimmering along his skin, and grabbed Srivastav by the collar, dragging the general up to him.

“Where is she?”

His roar was louder than the fire, amplified by the room, or by fury, or by magic—Fern could no longer tell. Lautric was drawing her back, placing his body between hers and the alchemical symbol, which arranged itself without Edmund even looking.

Fern glimpsed the key symbols, black sulphur, the crocus of iron, arsenic and aqua fortis, and she swallowed a knot of fear. Srivastav did not even seem to notice the spell gathering.

He faced Edmund with hollow eyes.

“She’s gone.” He shook his head slowly, almost in disbelief. “She’s gone.”

Ripping her arm out of Lautric’s grasp, Fern rushed to the pit, kneeling at the edge to peer down. In the blazing firelight, she could see the rusted pipes jutting from the walls of the pit like severed bones through skin. She could see the cold black water, the whirlpool at the far end of the pit.

Nothing else.

Fern remembered Emmeline’s cold skin and trembling limbs, and her eyes burned.

“What did you do?” she asked in a hoarse croak, looking up at Srivastav.

But Srivastav wasn’t looking at her—he barely even seemed to notice Edmund standing in front of him. His gaze was fixed on some faraway point, as though he were looking at a different place in time.

“We can’t all become Grand Archivists…” He spoke so quietly Fern barely heard him. His voice was sad, tired. “Was it not you who said so, Ferrow?” He wiped a tired hand across his face and spoke almost in a murmur, “The Emperor did not send me here to fail.”

“You came here to compete, not to kill!” Edmund bellowed, shoving Srivastav away from him.

“And youdid not?“ Srivastav said, shaking his head. “You said yourself the Poison Tower did not send you here just to sit exams and let the best candidate win. You told us all what you and your sister were capable of. Some of us listened. At Carthane, you must become predator or prey—you cannot avoid this fate.”

“What did you do?”

Fern looked up, surprised to hear Lautric’s voice. He stared at Srivastav unflinchingly, but there was no surprise in his face.

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