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He came to a heavy pause, moving his eyes slowly over the candidates.

“Instead, we find ourselves in a position where we are forced to clarify certain matters to you we hoped would be matters of course. In light of recent events that have been brought to our attention, let me clarify this.”

He leaned forward on the podium, and he spoke in a tone like a crushing rock.

“Cheating will not be tolerated in Carthane. Stealing will not be tolerated in Carthane.Interferingwith other candidates, with our staff of archivists, with our Sentinels—none of it will be tolerated.”

For a moment, Fern was so overwhelmed by his words that she could barely breathe. Part of her was relieved that the Grand Archivists were taking the matter seriously. But another part of her was like a pebble sinking into a well: somethinghadhappened to Josefa.

She straightened herself, shifting in her seat to quickly glance at the other candidates. She wished she could watch all their faces, study them for clues of emotion, capture the nuances of their expressions. All she saw was a series of surprised expressions.

“Cheating, thieving, and impeding or harming one of your fellow candidates will result in your immediate disqualification from this candidacy and blacklisting from Carthane Library,” Dr Auden continued. “Such a matter will be reported to the Reformed Vatican, and any guilty parties will be prosecuted to the very fullest extent of international law. Carthane is one of the oldest and noblest libraries in the world. Throughout history, we havekept it safe of outside influence, safe of the muck and mire of religion and politics. We have kept it sacrosanct. We shallnever”—the word boomed from his chest like rolling thunder—“allow the sanctity of Carthane to be defiled. Do you all understand this?”

Silence answered. Nobody dared breathe a word—not even Fern, though a rush of shivers had just traversed her body. This was the library she loved, these were the Grand Archivists she would one day call her colleagues. Men and women who would call out immorality and challenge injustice. She only hoped that they did not suspect her of any of the things they were condemning.

Her heart tripped over the thought.Didthey suspect her?

Dr Auden stepped back from the podium and was replaced by Professor Kundani, the youngest of the Grand Archivists and an Invocations prodigy, whose braided hair was long almost to her waist, and whose eyes were the brilliant black of a beetle’s elytra.

“Your second assignment,” Professor Kundani announced, “will be based on the Great School of Invocation. We realise that this candidacy is competitive—we appreciate how hard you have all worked to get this far, how much you have all given up to be here to begin with. But we cannot—will not—allow the nature of this candidacy to be corrupted by greed and ambition, by the despair of succeeding. You are all competitors, yes, but while you are in Carthane, you are colleagues.Ourcolleagues.Each other’scolleagues.”

Fern shrank back in her seat. She agreed with Professor Kundani’s words, but where was this going?

“In light of this, and recent events, this assignment will be conducted differently. This time, you will work in pairs. Together, you will decide on the most powerful form of Invocation and present your reasoning and research. You will select the most powerful practitioner of your chosen form of Invocation and perform their greatest spell. Though you will not be judged on your magical ability, you will be judged on how accurately you know the incantation and its recitation. You may decide between yourselves which of you presents which part of the assignment, but the spell will have to be performed by both of you separately. You will be given a mark out of fifty for individual performance, and a mark out of fifty as a pair.”

A paired task.

Fern had not expected it and rankled at the thought. She worked best alone. Even in her teaching days, she had been known to woefully neglect her teaching assistant. And now, she must work with one of her rivals, with the only one she trusted missing.

It was a clever choice by the Grand Archivists, of course. Not just as a way to reinforce their earlier message but it would also show them how capable each candidate was of working with somebody they did not particularly like and with whom they were in direct professional competition.

Fern flicked through the candidates in her mind. After Josefa, the first candidate who came to her mind for collaboration was Dr Essouadi. She was intelligent, calm, older, more experienced, and a woman: far less likely to allow her ego to interfere with the work.

Lautric, of course, was a student of Transgressive Invocation, and therefore, the candidate with the best natural advantage for the assignment, but working with him would be keeping one’s enemies closer than she preferred.

And then there was Baudet. He would have had access to books and papers at the Reformed Vatican that most scholars would never even have heard of. The Reformed Vatican jealously guarded its archives from the rest of the world, and its status kept it protected from most intellectual laws. The twins had selected him for an ally for Alchemy for a reason—they must have seen the same potential in him as Fern saw.

“We are all professional adults, so you may choose your own pairs,” Professor Kundani concluded. “Please take into consideration that there are only nine of you remaining, so a group of three must be formed.”

Fern’s heart lurched, her eyes widened. Professor Kundani stepped back from the podium, and Lady Covington took her place, Housemistress Sarlet drawing forward to stand by his side.

“Which brings us to our final announcements,” said Lady Covington, her voice heavy and aristocratic. “First, Miss Josefa Novak will not be continuing her candidacy for the post of Grand Archivist. Second, your apartments will be searched as part of an internal investigation we have launched as a result of recent events.”

Silence followed her words. Fern had half-expected a clamour of protests to rise from the candidates, but nobody spoke. If anybody had anything to hide, they must know that protesting the search of their private quarters would only draw suspicion to them.

Perhaps that might even have been part of the Grand Archivists’ plan.

But nobody spoke, and Sarlet was the last to speak, standing like a spindly shadow at Lady Covington’s side.

“The search will be conducted over the course of this morning and afternoon. You will not be allowed access to the Mage Tower until the dinner bell, and the entrance will be guarded by Sentinels. Lunch will be served in the hall where your welcoming banquet was held, and tea and coffee will be available in the Invocation Wing all day. That is all.”

She did not wait for anybody to reply. She turned and left, preceding the Grand Archivists out. The door to the Palissy Auditorium fell closed behind them, and the silence was pierced like a balloon by a volley of voices.

Jumping to her feet,Fern ran out of the Palissy Auditorium, the door closing behind her and cutting off the voices of the candidates.

“Excuse me!”

The Grand Archivists stopped. Housemistress Sarlet turned her head, slowing but not stopping her footsteps.