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She nodded, swallowing back her nausea. “Yes, thank you. Did you feel that?”

“Yes,” he said gravely, his expression darkening. “I felt the black portal working its evil.”

“Do you think something might have come through?”

Fern asked more in panic than anything; she was probably more qualified to answer than Srivastav. The pyromancer shook his head.

“Do not be worried, Miss Sullivan. Even if anything should pass through the portal, the Sentinels will gather to it. We shall not come to harm.”

She smiled at him, comforted by his words, the certainty in them. He returned her smile warmly and bentto help her gather her fallen notebooks and journals. He glanced down and hesitated before handing her the pile.

“Would you like some assistance carrying your things in?”

“No, you’re very kind, but I’m alright. Thank you.”

He gave a slight bow. “In this case, I’ll take my leave. Goodnight, Miss Sullivan. Be safe.”

“Goodnight, Mr Srivastav. You too.”

He disappeared down the corridor, swallowed by the darkness gathering amongst the pillars. His perfume lingered pleasantly after him, jasmine and cardamom. Out of all the candidates, he was Fern’s favourite after Josefa: an amiable, courteous man, who always behaved with the highest level of professionalism.

Despite Srivastav’s certainty that the Sentinels would see to the Gateway, Fern was too shaken to stay in the Alchemy Wing, which was now deserted. The midnight bell would soon ring, and doubtless all the candidates would be making their way back to the Mage Tower.

Taking her journals with her, Fern followed suit, leaving the deserted wing behind. She hastened back to the Mage Tower, her steps quicker than usual, and noticed many of the alcoves where Sentinels usually stood were now empty.

Somehow, it only made Fern quicken her steps.

She pushed past thedoors to the Mage Tower to a storm of voices coming from the common room. She stopped to listen, and as she did, her eyes fell upon thechessboard tiles of the atrium, where crimson droplets of blood formed a messy trail towards the stairs.

Fern ran up the tower, taking the steps two at a time. The common room, which was normally a peaceful, airy solarium, was crowded and noisy, voices overlapping. In the centre of the room, Dr Essouadi knelt by one of the velvet couches, bent over the body that lay draped upon it.

Fern drew closer. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp.

Vittoria Orsini lay on the couch, her eyes closed, her head lolling back against the golden embroidery of a cushion. She wore a gown of sea-foam green, and the front of it was drenched crimson with blood.

“What happened?” said Fern, but nobody heard her question.

All around, voices rose in fear and agitation. Only Raphaël Baudet stood in eerie silence, his pallid lips and fixed gaze betraying the shock that gripped them all.

Dr Essouadi, ignoring everyone’s questions, was murmuring an incantation that was so long and complex Fern could barely make out its parts. The doctor moved her hands over Vittoria’s face, neck and torso, and Fern noticed that her hands trembled with the effort of the spell she was working.

Then the incantation ended, and a faint light pulsed from within Vittoria’s chest, and her eyes fluttered open.

“Yes,” murmured Dr Essouadi. “Good.”

Vittoria’s eyes rolled in her head in pure disorientation for a moment, as though she were emerging from a drugged torpor.

“Miss Orsini, do you know who I am?” asked DrEssouadi.

“Of—of course,” Vittoria stammered faintly. “You’re Anoush Essouadi. You’re the famous surgeon. You made Princess Genevria’s porcelain arm.”

“One of my prosthetics, yes, you’re quite right.” Dr Essouadi smiled, brushing Vittoria’s sweat-drenched curls from her face. “Do you know where you are right now?”

Vittoria’s expression changed, her mouth drooping at the corners.

“Yes,” she said. Then, “Carthane, the black library.” And then she closed her eyes, and her lips trembled. “I should never have come here. They made me. It was the only way.”

“Can’t you see that she’s hurt?” Raphaël bit out, stepping towards Dr Essouadi with shocking ferocity. “Help her.”