Page 116 of The Deadliest Candidate

Fern braced herself. She could see where this was going, and she almost resented Farouk for being so careful with it. It was better to deal the blow quickly and let the dreading of it end quickly.

But, “Congratulations, Miss Sullivan,” said Farouk. “For excellent work in the assignments thus far, for peerless academic work and research, and for risking your very life to protect Carthane and those within it,you have been selected as a finalist for the position of Grand Archivist at Carthane.”

Fern’s heart was marblein her chest. It seemed to be barely beating. She wasn’t sure what emotion she had been expecting, but she had at least expectedsomeemotion.

Instead, she felt nothing at all.

Was this not what she had worked so hard to achieve? Was she not one step closer to victory? She was getting exactly what she wanted, so why did she feel so hollow?

She gave Professor Farouk a polite smile. She felt utterly drained, impossibly empty.

“Thank you.”

“In light of Professor Saffyn’s continued absence, we have come to the decision that you will be re-assigned a mentor. As you know, the final part of your candidacy will be the preparation and presentation of a thesis. I will be your new mentor and will support you through your thesis.”

Fern had gone without a mentor for so long now that she could barely imagine why she might even need one at all. Nevertheless, she nodded and repeated, “Thank you.” And, because she could no longer hold the question trapped in her chest, she almost blurted out, “What’s going to happen to the general?”

Professor Farouk sighed. Now that Fern sat so close to her, she could see the lines around the Grand Archivist’s eyes and mouth, shaped by past laughter, now creased with regret and sadness.

For the first time, Fern was reminded that Farouk was just as real and human as she was.

“What happened in Carthane was a tragedy, we should never have allowed it to happen. Certain matters have kept our focus away from the candidacy. Of course, we never intended for the candidacy itself to take such a turn, to descend this quickly into chaos and corruption, but it was stillourresponsibility to oversee that it could not, and we failed to do so. Our oversight in this instance is beyond reprehensible—it is unforgivable. In trying to protect our Library, we have allowed those within it to become endangered, and we bear the culpability of that.”

Professor Farouk paused, shaking her head, seeming to collect herself for a moment before continuing.

“Mr Edmund Ferrow and General Srivastav are both currently in custody and will need to face justice for what they have done. This should have been preventable. Now, of course, our hands are tied.”

Edmund was alive. Srivastav was alive. At least no more deaths had occurred. Fern could only cling to those facts for comfort. There was so little else.

“And Emmeline Ferrow? Is there any chance she might have survived the sewers and washed up ashore as I did?”

“Miss Ferrow and Miss Novak are both rumoured to be dead,” said Farouk, “but neither has been found yet, either dead or alive. In the absence of bodies, we have reported them as missing, and a searchof Carthane and its surroundings has been organised. We will not rest until their bodies are found, Miss Sullivan, I assure you.”

Fern’s chest was crowded with emotions and questions, but she could bring herself to ask only one in the end.

“May I ask how many other finalists have been chosen?”

“Of course,” said Farouk, and a shadow briefly crossed her face. “Four of you were selected.”

Fern bit into her bottom lip, hesitated, and said, “Dr Essouadi?”

“Yes. Dr Essouadi, Mr Baudet, and Mr Lautric.”

The marble of Fern’s heart softened, melted away, relief rushing in to replace it. The doctor was still here, and Baudet, whom she had never considered a particularly strong candidate. Three of them, now, standing between Carthane and the Lautric House.

She must not have hidden the secret of her thoughts well because Professor Farouk, fingers wrapped around the rim of her teacup, hesitated, then said, “You need not worry abouthim, Miss Sullivan. The power of the Lautric House means nothing here.”

But that wasn’t quite true, was it? Because Lautric was a finalist, despite his unimpressive performance in the assignments, despite his family’s probable involvement in Saffyn’s absence.

Whatever plan the Grand Archivists had for the candidates, Fern could not fathom. She could only hope therewasa plan.

Fern returned to theMage Tower with a slight limp. The medicine had worn off a little, and despite Dr Essouadi’s intervention, the pain in her arms was beginning to flare back to life, but Fern was too distracted to dwell on it.

She wasn’t surprised to find out Lautric a finalist; she had expected the influence of his house to get him this far, but she could not shake off her unease, her questions. She could not shake off Farouk’s words, meant as reassurance, and yet leaving only more doubts in their wake.

How much did the Grand Archivists truly know? That was another question worth answering.

If Farouk had told her the truth, if the power of the Lautric House meant nothing in Carthane, then why allow Lautric to get this far? During her collaboration with him for the third task, Fern had not been impressed by his scholarly prowess or the depth of his academic knowledge. Unless he cheated in the other assignments, she doubted his research must have been particularly impressive.

---