Page 94 of The Deadliest Candidate

Baudet’s voice was a wheeze; he could barely speak. Dr Essouadi stepped forward with a hand raised, but Edmund turned poison-green eyes on her, stilling her mid-step.

“I don’t wish to hurt you, Doctor. But take one more step, and that tumour in your chest will be a flower compared to what I’ll do to your heart.”

This was no idle threat, everyone in the room knew it. Fern’s heart seized as Edmund advanced upon the wounded cleric.

“My sister, Baudet. Where is she? I won’t ask you again.”

“I don’t—” Blood spluttered blackly from Baudet’s tongue as he struggled to speak. “I don’t know—I don’t know what you mean, I—”

“Do notlieto me.”

Edmund’s voice was a vice; it seemed to hold everyone in the room by the throat. Fern hardly dared breathe. Her heart was beating fast, her skin crawled with shivers, her mind scrambling. If something had happened to Emmeline, then Edmund was capable of anything. He had been abundantly sincere about his utter disregard for the other candidates—he would probably slaughter them all right here without so much as the merest flicker of remorse to stir his heart.

His heart, after all, was absent from the room. It was with Emmeline, wherever she was.

“You threatened my sister in front of me. Now she’s gone. Who else, if not you?”

“She’s probably somewhere in the library, Mr Ferrow,” Dr Essouadi intervened. “Please, you must—”

“I may not have your great prestige, Doctor,” Edmund said, “but do not take me for a fool. Nothing in this Library, nothing in this whole wretchedworld,could keep Emmeline away from me.”

He turned back to Baudet, who was scratching at his throat and had half-fallen back upon the dining table, plates and glasses clattering away from him. Edmund raised his hand.

An alchemical symbol began to glow into shape across the table; Fern only had time to spot a few of the inner symbols—iron, aqua regia, saltpetre, the Caduceus, for control over vital forces, and an alchemical retort, meaning an extraction process—before they formed and merged into a complex pattern.

Edmund was an alchemist of extraordinary skill and speed, the symbols obeyed his will, shaped into perfect accuracy, burning bright with power. Fear, thick and sluggish, roiled in Fern’s stomach.

“This is your final chance, Baudet.” Edmund’s voice was calm and deadly, and below the level surface of his voice, a black and terrible power writhed like Sumbra. “Where is my sister?”

“Please,” Baudet rasped through a mouthful of blood.

Behind him, Vasili Drei had drawn back against a wall and was watching the scene unfold with grim fascination. Fern met his gaze, and Drei gave a strange bow of the head, as though he read her intention and encouraged it. Fern stepped forward.

“Mr Ferrow,” she said, voice clear and level. “Stop. I’ll help you look for Emmeline.”

Edmund turned to her sharply. “You’ll help my sister and I? The same way you helped Josefa Novak?”

Fern flinched at the naked implication in his words. “I would never—”

“You’ll do what you must,” Edmund snarled, cutting her off. “Just as we all will. Just as Baudet did.” The alchemical circle, fully formed now, seared the table with an audible sizzle, filling the air with the smell of burning wood. Spellcraft of this power would have sent Fern crumpling upon attempt, but Edmund barely seemed to feel it.

The dagger handle was cold and solid in Fern’s palm. She squeezed it and thought, suddenly and with complete clarity, of Oscar. Oscar, who had cared for his library and never felt the need to harm a soul to doso, Oscar who had been one of her only friends.

Oscar—who would have done the right thing and would expect Fern to do the same.

“Edmund.” Fern took three slow steps towards Baudet, standing between the burning alchemical symbol and him. “You’ve already hurt Mr Baudet. More violence isn’t the answer.Murderisn’t the answer. If someone is targeting the candidates, we need to tighten our ranks, not turn on each other.”

“Ifsomeone is targeting candidates?” Edmund’s anger was cold and haughty. “Open your eyes, Sullivan. We’re going missing one by one. If you think violence isn’t the answer, it’s because you haven’t tried it yet—but you will.”

Fern let him talk but kept moving closer to the table between them, the coruscating light of it filling her vision.

“Killing Baudet won’t help you find your sister,” she said.

Edmund took an angry step towards her so that nothing stood between them now but his spell.

“What will?” he snarled.

I will, thought Fern. Out loud, she said, “Housemistress Sarlet has Sentinels posted all over Carthane. If she mobilises them, they will search the grounds ten times faster than we will. If your sister is here, the Sentinels will find her.”

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