Page 114 of The Deadliest Candidate

“I never intended to harm her,” Srivastav was saying. “But whatever her life is worth to you, my wife’s and daughter’s lives are worth a thousandfold to me.”

“You’re not going to hurt Fern again,” Lautric said, and his voice was low and full of authority and sorrow, andFern rose her damaged arms to stop him, and knew that she could not, and she was weak, now, and sick of death, and she was so very tired.

“That’ll do, Mr Lautric.”

Fern turned sluggishly. Housemistress Sarlet, hands clasped in front of her, emerged into the chamber.Too late, thought Fern in a blaze of sudden fury.Entirely, despicably, unforgivably too late. Two Sentinels flanked Sarlet. And beyond the Sentinels, the Grand Archivists had—finally—arrived into the chamber.

All seven of them, solemn-faced and chests crossed with black satin, and Fern almost failed to notice the subtle, powerful ward that trembled like a heat haze around them as they entered.

Fern’s eyes moved back to Lautric. He gazed at the Grand Archivists with some strange, dark emotion. When he spoke, his voice was calm, though his dagger was still at Srivastav’s throat.

“Mr Srivastav attacked Miss Sullivan and tried to trap her down there. He did the same thing to Emmeline. Emmeline is gone now, probably dead, and her brother might be dead too. Emmeline probably killed Josefa Novak.”

“Thank you, Mr Lautric, you may step away now,” Sarlet said. She gave a nod, and the Sentinels stepped forward to seize Srivastav by his arms. The pyromancer did not speak. He looked tired, now, as tired as Fern felt. “This has become a criminal matter: the Reformed Vatican will be informed, and legal proceedings will be put in place to deal with everything that has happened here. You will all be required to write witness statements, and volunteer any information you have. For now I mustask you both to leave, with thanks for your intervention but a stern reminder that the undercroftisforbidden to candidates.”

Before Fern could even think of a retort, Lautric spoke up, though it was not Sarlet he addressed, but Srivastav.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, low and almost regretful. “I’m sorry about your family.”

For a moment, Srivastav made no reply, and there was only the sound of the water gushing out of the pipes. The circling flames from earlier had all but faded now. The Grand Archivists watched from behind their ward, silent witnesses.

Srivastav’s voice, when he finally spoke, was a dull knell.

“May the Gods curse your house.”

Lautric nodded, and answered, “They already have.”

Chapter fifty-five

The Finalists

Fern awoke without knowingwhat time it was, where she was or when she had even sunk into unconsciousness. She sat up with difficulty and found herself looking at midnight-blue upholstery, arched windows and narrow bookcases.

She was lying on a couch in the solarium of the Mage Tower.

Outside the windows, night had fallen. The storm from the previous night had left a peaceful, windless silence in its wake; Fern couldn’t even hear the rush of the ocean. All she could hear was the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

She tried to wipe her tired eyes and found her hands covered in bandages up to the elbows. Her memories rushed back in a flood: running back to Carthane, the pit, the fight between Edmund and Srivastav, channelling the fire, Lautric’s dagger at Srivastav’s neck, the Grand Archivists arriving, finally, to set things right.

Only, nothing felt right. Nothingwasright.

Josefa was gone, killed by Emmeline, whom Fern had tried to save. It did not matter: both of them were beyond saving now. Edmund was dead or grievously injured. Srivastav was gone, taken into custody by the Grand Archivists, who would, in turn, inevitably surrender him to the Reformed Vatican.

His family would probably remain in the clutches of his Emperor. Fern could only hope Srivastav’s desperate actions would be enough to convince his Emperor he had done everything he could to succeed.

There was no justice to any of it. Only death and wasted lives. And, for every question answered, there was another unanswered question. What had happened to Vittoria? She, too, was gone, but Srivastav had never mentioned her. Who had been in the Arboretum that night? Who had created the Gateway in the Astronomy Tower?

And, with everything that had happened, why had the Grand Archivists not interfered earlier?

They’d lied and claimed Josefa had left. Why? To protect the candidates, or themselves? Did they not care what was happening within the hallowed halls of Carthane, so long as its reputation, or theirs, remained intact?

And finally, there was Lautric, always. Lautric, whose family had threatened the missing Professor Saffyn. Lautric, who had made a deal with Vittoria and allied himself with the murderous alchemists. And if Lautric wasn’t the saboteur all along, then where was he going in the nights?

And how much of what he said and did was the truth, and how much was a lie?

Fern was exhausted and could not bear to think about it, could not bear to think about anything at all. She gazed around the room and saw Dr Essouadi, half-asleep in an armchair, no doubt exhausted from helping Fern and Lautric with their burns.

Fern remembered only glimpses of what had happened after they left the undercroft, but she remembered the warmth of Dr Essouadi’s voice when she recited her healing incantations, how soothing her magic had felt. She must have passed out then.

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