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Your time is running short.

Fail us and you will face the consequences.

Fern’s heartbeat stuttered. At the bottom of the card were three black images: a raven, a fleur-de-lis, a crown. The raven for knowledge, the fleur-de-lis for nobility, the crown for power.

Savoir et Souveraineté.The symbols of House Lautric.

There was the click of a lock being opened and the quiet crack of shattering glass. Fern looked up sharply. The door was opening.

There was no time to think. Fern shoved both drawers shut—she had neither the time nor the energy left to lock them with magic. Someone had already broken into Sarlet’s office; she could only hope the suspect would be blamed for her own crime here.

Card still in hand, she darted back behind the painting, pausing to glance back at the accordion folder on top of the desk. The titleMaking and Unmaking Gatewayscalled to her. Should she risk taking it?

The office door yawned open. The tall figure of a Sentinel stood in the darkness of the corridor. Icy spikes of fear pierced Fern. She pulled the painting towards her, listening out for the quiet click of the painting sliding shut. And then she ran.

She ran with herheart in her mouth, her blood an electric current through her veins. Sarlet had told the truth—a Sentinel had easily detected Fern’s hermetic spell. She had been needlessly reckless. If one Sentinel had sensed her magic, others would, too. Sarlet herself might already know; she was probably on high alert since her office was broken into. Fern needed to get back to the Mage Tower.Now.

She pocketed the card from Saffyn’s drawer and opened her handmade map. Spots of light danced in front of her eyes, and a wave of nausea washed over her. The residual effect of her spell—it would trouble her until she rested and waited for the energy within her to replenish.

But there was no time to rest now. Forcing her mouth open, Fern took a sharp gulp of air. Her mad escape had led her up to the third floor, on the southernmost side of the Keystone. She needed to cross the building to get to the western side and gain access to the secret passageways there. They would lead her back to the Mage Tower.

Her map told her she was close to the Gallery. Housemistress Sarlet had said it was closed for refurbishments, so it stood to reason that there wouldn’t be too many Sentinels there. Besides, what choice had she?

Fern followed one of the passageways down to a narrow entrance. She touched the panel there, feeling it with her palms. Another painting. She pushed. The panel opened in complete silence.

She peered through. She was at the dead-end of a corridor. The gas lamps here had been dimmed, and a row of portraits hung amongst closed doors. Fern glanceddown. According to her map, this corridor must run parallel to the Gallery. If she followed it down, crossed past the Gallery and went up the identical corridor on the other side, she’d find a mirroring entrance to the next network of passageways.

She couldn’t risk bumping into another Sentinel. She’d already come too close to getting caught once. Picking up speed, she broke into a run.

And turned the corner to go crashing into a pair of arms.

Chapter twenty-nine

The Arboretum

Before Fern could uttera sound, arms closed around her waist, pulling her against a hard body. She was swept up and back where she came from, then all but hurled through a door. She cried out, but a gloved hand closed over her mouth.

Trapped between the door and her captor’s body, she could barely breathe. She tried to focus her mind, to reach for her dagger where it was strapped to her waist. She was tired and afraid, her hands weak with tremors. She tried to speak, but the hand tightened on her mouth.

“Fern,” a voice murmured in her ear, “be quiet. Please. Sentinel nearby.”

She instantly recognised the voice. Her eyes widened, her vision slowly adjusting to the darkened room.

Lautric’s pale face emerged from the darkness, his tired eyes sunken in shadows. He was far stronger than he appeared; he looked so exhausted all the time, she had not expected him to be so robust.

Now that he was so close, and that she sensed the strength of his body—and with the awareness of thecard bearing his house symbols burning in her pocket—a fresh wave of fear washed over her.

She placed her palms against his chest and pushed. He moved away without protest, gently removing his hand from her mouth.

She breathed, air hissing through her throat as her panic receded. The smell of frost, mud and blood filled her lungs, then the underlying sweetness. She opened her mouth to speak but a wave of vertigo sent her vision spinning.

She slumped forward; Lautric rushed forward to catch her.

She squeezed her eyes closed, waiting for the spinning to stop. His arms held her steady, his body was disarmingly warm. She was tempted for one blind moment to rest against him, but she fought the urge. Leaning on him when she was vulnerable was much like sinking into an abyss to catch one’s breath. She pushed him off her once again. He let her go slowly, almost reluctantly.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a hush.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” she asked, her voice too hoarse to carry past the room.