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“Where do we begin?” he asked, handing Fern a cup and sitting down with his.

“By reading,” Fern said, tapping her notebook with the tip of her pen. “We have many branches of Invocation to choose from—our choice should be educated, and I’m not an expert on Invocation. Unlike you.”

Lautric had been pulling his small notebook from his pocket and paused, looking up with an expression of confusion.

“You studied Transgressive Invocation, did you not?” Fern asked, a hint of irritation clipping at her syllables.

She wondered how much Lautric had contributed to his alliance during the Alchemy task. He seemed almost too tired to be clever, as if his mind was too mired by exhaustion to function at regular speed.

“You studied Sumbra,” Lautric said in a thoughtful tone, “would you consider yourself an expert on the subject?”

“Of course not, but—” Fern interrupted herself. Her mind burned with a question, she asked it almost on impulse, “Since we are partners in this assignment, would you be willing to tell me your score for the first assignment?”

“Sixty-three.”

He sounded neither embarrassed nor reluctant. He reached into his pocket, rifled around and pulled out a folded envelope, which he handed Fern. She took it and read the letter within. It was the same as the one she had received the previous morning, confirming that he had just told her the truth about his score.

“You don’t seem impressed,” Lautric said when Fern handed him his letter back.

“I thought you’d achieve a higher score, given you worked with Santa Velia alchemists.”

“They are not to blame, I am. I was distracted during the assignment, my symbols lacked accuracy as a result.”

“Distracted?” Fern said, trying to stifle her outrage. “What could possibly be more important than the assignment?”

Lautric tilted his head, watching her in silence before answering her question. He seemed to be scrutinising her, and he seemed as outraged by her question as she had been by his statement, only his outrage was not so much judgemental as melancholy.

“Don’t you have things you care about outside of this candidacy?”

He posed his question gently, thoughtfully, but it struck Fern like a needle to the chest.

“If this candidacy wasn’t the most important thing to me, then I wouldn’t be here,” she said.

“More important than your only friend, the librarian?”

The needle struck deeper, a sharp stab right to the heart. Unbidden, the image of Oscar’s face, his dark, harsh features and hawk eyes, the streak of white in his beard, his quick, brilliant smile over a glass of brandy.Fern swallowed back a wave of violent, sudden emotion and narrowed her eyes at Lautric.

“You do not know me well enough to be implying what you are implying right now,” she said.

“Which is?”

“That my ambition makes a poor friend of me.”

Lautric’s mouth fell in consternation. His fingers clasped his notebook, almost nervously. He shook his head.

“I don’t think you’re a poor friend. I saw the way you helped Miss Novak, how kind you were to her. I find it merely sad that you should care more for a job than for anything else when you’re so—”

He stopped himself. A bitter taste was in Fern’s mouth now.

“When I’m so what?” she said coldly.

“Forgive me,” Lautric said, and now there was a miserable tilt to his mouth. “I spoke carelessly. It was not my intention to hurt you.”

“You don’t have the power to hurt me, Mr Lautric.” Fern stood, mustering her dignity like armour. “Our partnership requires neither your opinions on my personal affairs nor your pity, so I politely ask you keep those to yourself. Since enough time has been wasted on this conversation, I’m going to get started on my research and strongly suggest you do the same. Tomorrow, we will reconvene and select the type of Invocation we’ll be focusing on for our assignment. Until then.”

Lautric nodded and said nothing, his eyes turned up to Fern’s with an expression almost like a plea. Simmering with quiet fury, Fern turned and walked away and feltthe yearning pull of his pleading gaze long after she’d left his line of sight.

Fern skipped dinner thatnight, determined to avoid Lautric and too tired to deal with the other candidates anyhow. She made a quick stop by Josefa’s room, using the key with the blue ribbon. It was empty now—as though she had never been there at all. All her effects were gone. Fern closed her eyes with a frustrated sigh.