Page 6 of The Deadliest Candidate

All this time, she had thought the decision, when the time came, would be so easy to make, but in the end, it wasn’t.

It was the hardest decision she ever made.

Fern handed in herresignation the following week—the day after she finished readingSymbolism of In-Between Doors. Oscar stared at her letter where she’d placed it on his leather desktop. Neither of them spoke, the room full of the crackling of kindling in his small fireplace.

Finally, Oscar released a heavy sigh and picked up her resignation letter, unfolding it with an unnecessarily theatrical gesture. He put on his gold-framed glasses, which were an accessory more designed for intimidation than to aid his sight, which was almost without flaw. His hawkish eyes skimmed the pale paper, the tidy handwriting, the signature.

He sat back with a groan, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. Then, he seemed to have an idea. He pushed his glasses back on and handed Fern her letter back.

“Throw it into the fire,” he whispered loudly, “and we can both pretend I never read it.”

Fern drew closer, tilting her head. “I’m not throwing it into the fire, Oscar. I’ve already given a copy to your secretary anyhow.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Oscar said.

“Do you accept my resignation?”

“Obviously I don’t accept it, Fern!”

“It’s a formality, you know that,” Fern said, propping herself up onto the corner of his desk. “It’s the professional thing to do. Please, accept my resignation.”

“What the devil are you thinking? Where is this coming from? What could you possibly be giving this up for?” Oscar sat up. “Is it the Imperial Library of Klivsky? Did they make you an offer? I knew it! Those bastards have been trying to poach you for years, but you’re too good for Klivsky, Fern, too good to lick the boots of the Reformed Vatican like they all do over there.”

“It’s not Klivsky. It’s Carthane.”

Oscar blinked. “Pardon?”

Fern smiled. She could not hide her pride, nor did she feel she ought to.

It was no secret how hard she had worked on her application. Vestersted Library was an institution of great renown, a place Fern held close to her heart. Leaving it would be like leaving a piece of herself behind, a precious organ for Oscar to keep in a tin box in his desk drawer like the sweets she kept in hers.

But the Carthane Athenaeum was worth it—this sacrifice—any and all sacrifices. It was the greatest arcane archive in the world and the only library to house not only one but multiple trans-dimensional Gateways. It was one of the oldest libraries in the world, and its Grand Archivists boasted some of the greatest academic minds still living.

Fern’s ambition was two-fold when it came to Carthane. On the one hand, it was the very peak of what she would achieve as an arcane librarian, her skills put to noble use retrieving some of the rarest and most coveted books in the world. On the other hand, Carthane wasthe only place in the world where she would be able to finally complete her research.

They recruited rarely, perhaps only once or twice every decade, and Fern had waited patiently, and worked assiduously, to become a candidate.

She would not give up her chance, not even for Vestersted Library, no matter how much she loved it. She could not. Her life’s work had led to this, and now, it depended on it, too.

Fern took the cream envelope from her pocket and placed it in front of Oscar. He picked it up, flipped it, then looked up sharply.

“You’ve not even opened it.”

“I already know what it says.”

“You’re unbearable.”

Without further ado, Oscar flicked loose the gold seal with the tip of his letter opener and pulled out the letter. He read it in seconds, then tossed it down on his desk. He glared at Fern.

“Well. You’re being offered a candidacy for the post of Grand Archivist.”

Fern nodded. “Yes.”

Oscar frowned and gestured to the letter. “It says here that once you accept and arrive at Carthane, you won’t be able to withdraw your candidacy.”

“Why would I?”

“You don’t think that’s a strange stipulation?”

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