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“Might you be able to tell mewhenProfessor Saffyn might return to Carthane?”

Fern sensed no hostility from the Grand Archivists, but something worse: a great, frosty distance, as though a wall of perfectly transparent ice separated them from her. They looked at her almost as though they hardly saw her—as though she was not important enough to be seen.

“Unfortunately, Professor Saffyn had to leave Carthane for an important personal matter,” Lord Battyl said. “Rest assured, Professor Saffyn’s absence will not have a detrimental effect on your candidacy.”

“Thank you,” Fern said, though the viper of resentment was slowly transforming inside her chest, its scales growing sharp and pointed, gleaming dangerously. “Is it likely that this… important personal matter will keep Professor Saffyn away for much longer?”

“We certainly hope not,” Dr Auden said, casting a sharp glance at Lord Battyl.

A thought flared to life in Fern’s mind for the first time. Could it be the Grand Archivists themselves were not aware of Professor Saffyn’s whereabouts?

“He should be back presently,” Professor Incera added.

“In the meantime, we thank you for your patience and understanding,” said Lord Battyl. “Is there anything else?”

“No, thank you very much.” Fern stood. She was stuck with Lautric whether she liked it or not, and she had no choice but to continue without a mentor for the time being, but she was not shackled, and she was not helpless. “My apologies for taking up your time, Lord Battyl, Dr Auden, Professor Incera. Good day.”

She turned and left, feeling the concentrated weight of their fixed stares through the wall of ice they seemed barricaded behind.

They had told her all they would, helped her as much as they were willing to, which was not much at all. As for Fern, she had done exactly what was required of her and followed the formal process, deferring to her superiors.

Now, it was time to take matters into her own hands.

Part Two: The Blaze, the Splendour, and the Symmetry

“Am I to leave this haven of my rest,

This cradle of my glory, this soft clime,

This calm luxuriance of blissful light,

These crystalline pavilions, and pure fanes,

Of all my lucent empire? It is left

Deserted, void, nor any haunt of mine.

The blaze, the splendour, and the symmetry,

I cannot see—but darkness, death and darkness.”

~

Hyperion, John Keats

Chapter twenty-eight

The Lock

It took Fern anight and a day to map out a path from the laundry room in the Mage Tower to Professor Saffyn’s office. It was a hefty but calculated sacrifice to spend the first full day of her assignment preparation period on this search.

In an attempt to make up for it, Fern left a list of instructions in Lautric’s tray. Since she was trapped in a partnership with him, this would be his opportunity to prove that he was capable of more than just throwing out wild accusations about her personal life.

Her mentor’s office was located on the second floor, near the archives of erroneous incantation scrolls, so she spent the first night mapping the passageways up to the second floor, and the following day cross-checking the passageways locations by exploring the library proper and finding Saffyn’s office door, marking it on her map.

By the second night, she was sleep-deprived but triumphant, with a map that should lead her directly to her destination. She was all too aware of the break-in ofSarlet’s office, but it heightened her determination rather than weakened it. Whatever reason they had, it had been an act of rebellion, in its way, something proactive done to achieve a goal. It was precisely what Fern herself was doing now.

Nobody in Carthane was willing to give her answers; she would seek them out herself.