Page 97

Whoever Fern and Lautric had heard screaming for help in the Arboretum that night was unlikely to be still alive. And if Josefa or Vittoria or Emmeline had beenhere, well—Fern could not even bring herself to think about what might have happened to them.

And what if she’d been wrong all along?

What if the Astronomy Tower had nothing to do with the candidates, and by destroying the ward, she’d made some awful mistake?

As she stood paralysed, the seething darkness of the Gateway unfurled slowly, creeping towards her in murky tentacles. Fern stumbled back, transfixed by the Gateway, by the darkness beyond it, the breathtaking endlessness of the unknown.

Then, something appeared from deep within that darkness.

An eye far beyond the door. An enormous, straining eye, which yawned open and moved, searching, finding. Settling on Fern.

A marrow-chilling terror seized her, obliterating all thought. Whatever creature waited beyond that Gateway, it had seen her.

Fern stumbled back, her breath hissing in her throat, her gut in knots, her skin ice. She threw herself down the stairs from which she had come, crashing painfully into the wall in her haste.

The creature had noticed her. No, worse than that. In its unknowable gaze, she sensed recognition, as though it somehowknewher. It filled her with unspeakable terror.

She broke into a run, flying down the stairs. In years of studying Gateways, she had never encountered an entity this powerful. Who knew what it was capable of? She needed to get away, to put as much distance between herself and the malevolence of that odious Gateway.

She reached the door from which she had come, and she sprinted through it, slamming it shut behind her, wishing the ward was still in place.

Why had she destroyed it? Was the knowledge of what was in the Astronomy Tower worth what she had done to get it? All she knew was that she must keep running, get far away, keep herself safe.

The darkness of the passageways seemed to close upon her, as though the innards of Carthane were swallowing her whole. She felt crushed, consumed. Her lungs burned. She had been exhausted before she began to run, now she was beyond exhaustion.

By the time she returned to the Mage Tower, Fern was drenched with sweat, her breath a panicked hiss. She emerged into the corridor to find Léo Lautric leaning in the doorway to his apartment.

Not him, she thought.Please. Not tonight.Not him.

She tried to dart past him, but he moved swiftly, seizing her arm and pulling her through his doorway, closing the door behind them.

“Let go,” Fern commanded hoarsely.

She yanked her arm free, her back bumping against his door. Her dagger pushed against her waist, a solid presence reminding her that although she was alone with Lautric in his apartment, she was not entirely helpless.

A blade might be of no use against a trans-dimensional entity, but against a Lautric, it would be as good as any weapon. And right now, Fern wanted nothing more than to stab away every memory of his kisses, every gentle touch he’d ever laid upon her, every soft word.

Lautric made no attempt to grab hold of her again, but he stood very close, and there was resentment burning in his eyes.

“Did you go to the Astronomy Tower?” Though he kept his voice low, it shook with resentment, too. “I asked you not to go alone, I told you to be careful.”

“I’m no Lautric servant,” she hissed. “You have no power over me; nothing binds me to your will.”

A strange expression crossed Lautric’s face, shifting every feature. A flash of vivid pain, as though she had just landed a blow so painful his entire being flinched.

The hurt pooled in his eyes, but there was no anger to accompany it when he spoke.

“I had no intention of commanding you or binding you to my will. I’m justworriedabout you.“ His voice softened. “What happened to you? Are you alright? I didn’t mean to upset you. You’re just—you seem—Fern, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

He reached a hand towards her face, but Fern lurched back.

She knew exactly what he was doing: lulling her with gentleness to draw information from her. And though part of her longed to give in to the comfort he was offering, she knew better than that now. Lautric wanted to know about the Astronomy Tower, and he could not find a way there without her. That was the only reason he was being this way—the only reason, probably, he helped her and kissed her that night in her bedroom.

She’d been too blind to see it.

“You must think me a fool,” she said now, her voice hoarse, “to imagine that I could trust you for even one moment.”

Lautric shook his head, brushed the hair back from his forehead in a gesture of frustration.