Page 31 of The Deadliest Candidate

“Because human knowledge has limits, I suppose,” she said.

“Unlike human greed,” Lautric said.

Fern’s mouth almost fell open at this, at the simple, shameless audacity ofhim, the scion of House Lautric, bringing up the limitless nature of human greed. She slowly closed her books, watching Lautric carefully now.

“Greed is for power and wealth, not for knowledge. This, Mr Lautric, is what differentiates those who would use the Gateways for ill and those who would use it for the betterment of civilisation.”

“Call me Léo,” Lautric said, and a gentle smile stretched his pale lips, which no food had passed since he sat at the table. “And you’re wrong. Everyone whouses the Gateways uses them for the same reason, because they want something—because of greed.”

“Wanting something isn’t the same as greed,” said Fern.

And Lautric’s eyelids drooped over his brown eyes, and he tilted his head ever so slightly. “No, but only in the sense that want and greed are two different points along the self-same path.” His eyes brushed over Fern in the most curious of ways, almost a caress. “A path you and I may one day meet on, Miss Sullivan.”

Fern shifted in her seat, uneasy now.

She could no longer fathom Lautric’s purpose, as though the puppet strings with which he was controlling their conversation were no longer visible to her. Fern could tolerate an attempt at manipulation, so long as she was aware she was being manipulated. She closed her book, raking her mind for an excuse to leave even as she spoke.

“I did not realise you had such an interest in Sumbra,” she said, artlessly dragging the conversation back to firmer ground. “You must be very well read on the matter.”

She feared, for a moment, that she had spoken too brashly and that Lautric would know she had seen him take the books from Vittoria Orsini. But Lautric had no reaction except for a slow shake of the head.

“Compared to you,” he said, “I know nothing at all.” And, almost sweetly, “Perhaps you will be so kind, one day, as to share some of your expertise with me.”

He yawned and rubbed his face after he spoke, knuckles brushing across his eyes. No matter how hard Fern looked for it, she could not discern any hint ofdeviousness or cruelty in his expression. He seemed to mean what he was saying, simply, without artfulness or emotion.

And somehow, that was far more intimidating than any of the men and threats his family had sent after her over the years.

Before she could think of a reply, the door opened, and Emmeline Ferrow appeared, a vision in emerald silk, her amber hair loose and glossy as satin on her shoulders. Her brother was at her side, and both appeared in high spirits.

“We are going to the Alchemy Wing, Léo. Will you join us?” Emmeline said brightly, sweeping up to Lautric. Then, noticing Fern, she added in a tone of surprise, “Oh, good morning, Miss Sullivan.”

Fern stood and quickly gathered her things, grateful for the opportunity the Ferrows had just given her to make a quick exit.

“Good morning, Miss Ferrow, Mr Ferrow. If you’ll excuse me, Mr Lautric. Good day,” she said all in one breath.

She slipped between the Ferrow siblings on her way out, forcing them to stand apart from one another, and hurried out of the room without another look at Lautric.

Chapter fifteen

The Gateway

Two nights before theassignment, Fern was heading back to the Alchemy Wing after a brief visit to another section, a pile of notebooks and academic journals teetering in her arms, when a horrible sensation seized her: a dizzying sense of inversion, as if the world had just tipped upside down or turned inside out around her.

A wave of nausea washed over her, and she stumbled, throwing out her arm to right herself. Her armful of books went flying, but she barely noticed.

Her skin crawled sharply, pierced by invisible quills. Around her, everything looked the same, the grandeur of Carthane undisturbed. Marble pillars, gilded portraits, lanterns dangling on their golden chains. Nothing had changed, but Fern immediately recognised the sensation.

Somewhere in Carthane, a Gateway was exercising its influence, the entity beyond it calling to itself. Perhaps it washerit called, or perhaps every person in Carthane.

Fern had felt the presence of Gateways since arriving at Carthane, but never like this. This was a powerfulGateway, its entity exercising heavy strength and intent to call it itself.

Perhaps something else had happened—something might even have passed through. Some Gateways served as exactly that: entrances to other places, black unknowns from which anything might escape. By Sumbral Law, nothing was allowed to pass through, not from either side.

Another wave of nausea hit Fern, and she clapped her hand over her mouth in the sudden terror that she would throw up. A hand fell over her shoulder, and she turned with a start.

General Srivastav stood by her side. As usual, he wore beautiful clothing, his long hair wrapped in a bun. Rings glittered on his fingers and he bore the satchel of colourful leather in which he always carried his work.

“Are you alright, Miss Sullivan?” An expression of concern was on his face, a slight frown on his customarily smiling countenance.

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