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Fern closed her eyes and tried to think of what she would tell her parents, if she could speak to them.

But nothing came to her head, only the horrible little memory of the Abyssal cross hanging above her narrow cot in the orphanage, and how she had spent her first night there—the night of her parents’ death—staring at it.

Fern opened her eyes, and turned briskly, and left the Arboretum, the darkness of falling night swallowing the Astronomy Tower.

When she arrived atthe Mage Tower, it was to the sound of music. A record player was pouring out cheery melodies into the common room, where Fern found the other candidates gathered around a bar cart. Bottles of champagne, wine and liquor glimmered on the glossyshelves, with crystal flutes and glass jars of garnishes nestled around buckets of ice.

“Finally!” Emmeline Ferrow exclaimed, startling Fern as she appeared in front of her. “We’ve been wondering where you’d gone, Miss Sullivan. Champagne?”

She wore a dress of royal blue silk and held two flutes of champagne, one of which she handed Fern. The other candidates were in various states of formal and informal wear: Vittoria Orsini in an ivory-coloured dress and pearls, Edmund and Raphaël in smoking jackets, Srivastav in a jodhpuri suit of green samite.

Essouadi, who normally favoured trousers and loose tunics, wore a long robe embroidered at the sleeves and collar, bracelets at her wrists. Josefa wore black, her blunt chin-length hair gleaming like satin, and scarlet lipstick made her mouth look like a rose.

Feeling decidedly underdressed, Fern took the cup of champagne Emmeline offered her and drank. Emmeline, watching her, widened her eyes in pleasure and said, “That’s the spirit, my dear Sullivan!”

Fern wasn’t in the mood to celebrate, but the alcohol, like the sugar in her coffee earlier, would work its own chemistry upon her, a spell for softening the edges of her worries and easing the pressure driving like an iron stake through her.

She drained her glass and handed it to Edmund, who seemed only too happy to refill it.

“If you would allow me,” General Srivastav said as she drank, raising his own glass. “I’d like to make a toast. We have all left our homes and those beloved to us behind to come here. We are all competitors, but comrades too, a regiment of a sort. It is in the spirit of companionshipI wish to bid you all good fortune upon this first assignment. To us all, and to our health!”

There was a resounding cheer as the candidates—all ten of them gathered for once—clinked their glasses and drank. The twins, placing their cups down, stepped hand-in-hand onto the centre of the room, where the marble tiles formed a pattern of sharp-pointed black stars. Edmund bowed to his sister, laughter in his eyes, and the two launched into an informal waltz.

Their light-heartedness was understandable. Out of all the candidates, this assignment was most suited to them, and they must reign comfortable in the idea that they would be securing the highest marks for it.

Fern could not say the same, and did not feel much like dancing, but she watched as Ravi Srivastav offered Dr Essouadi his hand for a dance, and Baudet drew Vittoria Orsini to him with a gentle arm curled about her wounded middle. Turning, Fern caught Josefa’s dark eyes.

The two women stared at one another for a silent moment, sharing a slow-blossoming smile. Then Fern set her cup down and gave Josefa her elbow, which Josefa took with a little laugh.

They were both poor dancers, both more than a little tired, so they twirled slowly, Fern leading, Josefa following.

“I hope you did well today,” Fern said through the music.

“As well as the circumstances allowed,” Josefa said. “And yourself?”

“As well as I think I was able,” said Fern. She thought of the three symbols that had appeared on her desk,the complex, meticulous spellwork behind them. She hesitated before adding, “Ought I thank you for today?”

Josefa gave a slight frown. “I’m not sure what you mean. Certainly, I ought to thank you. Your research notes helped me tremendously, and your aid rekindled the motivation I had lost. I hope you know how much it means to me.”

It was neither acknowledgement that she was the mysterious helper nor a complete denial. If shehadhelped Fern, then she did not wish to admit it, at least not here. And if it wasn’t her, then Fern could think of nobody else who might have something to gain from her success.

Just another unanswered question to add to her ever-growing collection of mysteries.

“I can only hope that my notes were good enough for a historian of alchemy.”

“Oh, much more than good enough. Your notes were impressive. Do you have much of an interest in Alchemy?”

Fern was tempted to tell Josefa that she was not an accomplished magic-user due to her small reserves of power, but she held her tongue. It was one thing to allow herself to be friendly with Josefa, it was another altogether to confess to her own limitations.

They were, after all, still rivals.

“Only where Alchemy intersects with Sumbra,” Fern answered, selecting a different truth to tell the dark-haired historian. “My work has been mostly to trace the origin of symbols back to the Gateways and their entities. In that sense, I suppose you could say my knowledge of Alchemy is more akin to yours as ahistorian than, for example, that of Miss Ferrow and her brother.”

“Practitioners look down on historians and archivists,” Josefa said with a nod, “but what’s the point of knowledge if it’s not safeguarded and studied? We still know so little about the powers we use, sometimes I think—”

She stopped herself to catch her breath, and Fern slowed their dancing, concerned at the young woman’s flushed face. But Josefa seemed more expressive than ever, her eyes glittering with almost child-like excitement.

“You know, Miss Sullivan, I’ve read all your publications on Sumbra influences on alchemical principles.”