Page 38

Her brother’s eyes snapped to her; the rest of Emmeline’s sentence died on her tongue. He had said nothing,had barely even moved, but the look he’d given her was enough.

A silent message exchanged between two souls far more intertwined than two souls ever ought to be. Fern’s skin itched and her stomach churned in discomfort at the thought of ever being thus intertwined with another.

“Do you have proof that Edmund took your work?” Lautric was asking Josefa.

Josefa shook her head. Tears glittered amongst her eyelashes. Whatever Emmeline had been about to say, Josefa seemed as lost and confused as everyone else in the room.

“What has happened here is awful,” Lautric said with a sigh. “And should certainly be reported to the Grand Archivists. But accusing anybody without proof is neither going to help you find your work nor catch the actual thief.”

Josefa seemed to deflate like a balloon suddenly emptied of air. The high colour had drained from her cheeks now, and she looked as pale and delicate as she had appeared to Fern that first night.

“What am I to do?”

“For now,” Lautric said gently, “I think the best course is to let everybody return to their work. Perhaps this is all a misunderstanding, and your work has simply been misplaced by archivists. Edmund and Emmeline… if you wouldn’t mind continuing with our research for now, I will help Miss Novak search for her work awhile.”

Emmeline nodded and though she walked away, her eyes remained fixed on Josefa, and the expression on her face made Fern recoil to witness it.

Edmund, hurrying after his sister, took her elbow and said, low and anxious, “Emmeline.”

Whatever question or entreaty was concealed in that utterance, Fern could not guess. All she knew was Emmeline’s response, bitten out between her teeth.

“No.”

Chapter eighteen

The Hand

Fern made her wayto her own desk, deep in thought. Edmund had seemed genuinely offended by Josefa’s accusation, and Emmeline deeply wounded on his behalf; Fern’s instinct told her they weren’t lying.

Of course, she could be wrong: Santa Velia alchemists were probably well-versed in the art of manipulation. But Edmund and Emmeline’s brand of manipulation was not this indignant anger, this impassioned rage. It was pretty and polished, a high shine, that glossy, venomous veneer—and a far cry from what Fern had just witnessed.

Sitting down, she organised her things, her mind racing.

Whoever had stolen Josefa’s research mustn’t have had many opportunities to do so. Josefa had left the Alchemy Wing at dinner, as had all the other candidates, including Fern. Fern had been the first to return to the Alchemy Wing, and the last to leave it, when she’d heard the strange noise in the night.

Whoever had stolen Josefa’s work had either done it during dinner or in the presence of others, but they would surely have been noticed. Or else, somebody else had been up deep in the night and visited the wingafterFern had left.

Fern froze and looked up.

Lautric was still talking to Josefa, who was listening and nodding tearfully. Last night, she had guessed he was coming from the grounds, but she didn’t know this for a fact. And she had no way of knowing where he had come from within the central building. All she knew for certain was that Lautric had been roaming about the library after Fern herself had left the Alchemy Wing.

This could not be a mere coincidence.

Fern had imagined that all the events were threaded together with Carthane in the centre but what if she had been wrong? What if the common thing tying all these things together wasn’t the library but Lautric himself?

Fern could barely focuson her work that morning. Her thoughts felt long and disjointed and without focus. No matter how hard she tried, she could not concentrate.

She kept glancing at Lautric, sitting amongst his golden alliance with a book on his lap, then Josefa, who was trying to gather herself after their search had failed. Her misery was difficult to miss, more difficult still to ignore. Her shoulders sloped, and her face was a mask of sadness. She looked utterly defeated.

Fern thought of the threads of connections between the candidates and tried to put Josefa out of her mind. If Josefa struggled in the assignment and failed in her candidacy, it would mean one less candidate to compete with.

Eventually, Fern would need to send all the candidates home, so why should she concern herself with them?

And yet she could not bring herself to stop thinking about the young historian. The injustice of the situation scratched at Fern, refusing to be ignored. Fern understood and respected competition, but she despised thieves and cheaters.

The new Grand Archivist of Carthane would have to do many things to achieve this position—but deception and crime should not be one of them. The Grand Archivists deserved more;Carthanedeserved more.

When the clock chimed lunchtime, the candidates trickled out one by one until nobody remained in the Alchemy Wing except Fern and Josefa. The young woman was standing in front of her desk, gathering her books and notes with lethargic movements. She started slightly when Fern approached her.