Page 93

“Are you alright, Miss Sullivan?”

Dr Essouadi’s voice interrupted Fern’s thoughts, and Fern turned with some surprise. “Ah, yes, I’m quite well.”

“You look tired,” said Dr Essouadi. And, with a sigh, “Everybody looks so tired these days.”

Fern thought of Dr Essouadi’s tumour and Srivastav’s absence and knew not what to say.

Vasili Drei, on the other hand, gave a shrug and a bleak smile. “None of us came to Carthane to rest, I suppose.”

“But none of us came to Carthane to suffer,” Baudet interjected from across the table.

He had not raised his voice. Fern opened her mouth but could find no words of comfort. Just as the channelling spell was beginning to fray her insides, leaving her hollowed out and weak, Vittoria’s absence seemed to be having the same effect on Baudet.

Though perhaps Baudet was also practising his spell, and Fern was underestimating him. It was hard to tell who her truest contenders were at this point.

“Ah, but suffering is a magic of its own,” Drei said. “Perhaps it is the first and the last of the Arcane Schools we are being tested on.”

“There’s no magic in pain,” said Baudet.

“We are stronger than Carthane,” Dr Essouadi said, “all of us, and you, Mr Baudet—”

The door slammed open, and Edmund Ferrow walked into the dining room. He wore a suit in deep navy, his skin was pallid, the veins around his eyes marbled blue. He strode to a chair and sat at the table.

He was alone.

Fern sat up, alarmed.

“Mr Ferrow,” she said, “are you alright? Where’s Emmeline?”

Edmund ignored her. He lay a napkin across his lap and poured himself a cup of Earl Grey, doused it in cream and sugar.

“Slept well, Baudet?” he asked without looking at the cleric.

Baudet frowned. “What does that mean?”

Edmund shook his head. “You’re right. We’ve come too far to play games, have we not? All of us?” He looked around the room. Fern met his eyes. They were utterly devoid of expression. Her skin went cold.

“Edmund,” Vasili Drei said. “What’s the matter?”

Edmund ignored him, too. He turned to look back at Baudet, whom he faced.

“Where’s my sister?”

Baudet’s frown deepened. His mouth twisted in a grimace. “Look, Edmund, I don’t—”

Blood exploded out of his mouth.

Fern barely had time to throw up her arms to shield her face. Her sleeves became warm and wet, splattered crimson. Dr Essouadi let out a hoarse gasp, almost falling over her chair in her haste to stand. Vasili Drei sat frozen, his face blank with shock—the first true reaction Fern had ever seen from him.

“Where is my sister?” Edmund repeated.

He sat utterly still; he’d reiterated his question calmly. Baudet’s blood stained Edmund’s face; he wiped it away with his napkin and stood, resting both palms over the blood-streaked table to lean forward.

“Answer the question,” he said. “Or things will getmuchharder for you.”

Fern’s hand had found the dagger at her side, but Edmund did not spare her so much as a glance. Hewatched Baudet, who had lurched up onto his feet and stumbled back, hand clutched on his mouth, blood dribbling between his fingers. His cross was almost black with his blood.

“What—what are you—”