Page 12 of The Deadliest Candidate (The Last Grand Archivist #1)

Chapter twelve

The Historian

Fern had barely the time to compose herself and open her notebook before Professor Farouk made her way to the podium.

“I will now be announcing your first assignment. As mentioned yesterday, each assignment will be based on one of the Great Schools of Magic.

“Your first assignment will be based on the School of Alchemy. You will have five hours to illustrate and name the one hundred most powerful alchemical symbols. You will be expected to identify the key and ability of each symbol, and you will also have to justify your choice of most powerful symbols with sound research and arguments.”

She paused, and in the silence that followed, the only thing that could be heard was the furious scribbling of pens on papers. After a moment, Farouk continued.

“Marks will be awarded for the accuracy and intricacy of your illustrations, the information you provide about each symbol, and the quality of the research supporting your choice of symbols. You will have one week to prepare. This particular assignment will be assessed by myself, Professor Incera and Lady Covington, and we will award you all a mark out of a hundred.”

She stopped and looked around at the candidates.

“Any questions?”

There were no questions. Even the Ferrows, usually so loquacious, sat quietly. Luck, it would seem, was on their side—the advantage they would have over the others for this assignment was astronomical.

Professor Farouk gave a curt nod.

“Very well. You have seven days. Use your time wisely. The assignment will be held in the Grand Study Hall and will begin at exactly ten o’clock in the morning. I bid you all good luck. And remember: finis coronat opus .”

And with that, she gathered the papers from the podium and briskly left, the rest of the Grand Archivists following her out.

Voices rose as soon as the door closed behind the Grand Archivists, mingled excitement and trepidation. Fern was silent, already furiously scrawling notes, her mind racing.

One hundred of the most powerful alchemical symbols. Powerful was such a contentious word, its definition changeable and complicated.

The first ideas that came to her mind were the key foundations of Alchemy. Sublimation , she wrote, purgation, multiplication . Lesser Iosis and Final Iosis . Then there were the Divine Transmutations, though arguably some of the Lesser Transmutations were more powerful in their application. Fern wrote both down. Modern Alchemy and Archaic Alchemy would both need to be considered, but Fern’s knowledge of them was significantly rusty.

Fern’s knowledge of Alchemy was rudimentary at best, especially when compared to the arsenal of knowledge the Ferrows and the historian Josefa Novak would wield. Though Fern was well read and boasted a broad base of knowledge on which she had built her own expertise, there was no denying she would have to work hard to excel in this assignment.

So much for spending time on her own research. No matter how important it was, it would have to wait. She snapped her notebook shut and shot to her feet, checking her watch.

It was still early, and she had plenty of work to do. Further along in the front row of seats, the Ferrows and Orsini were already discussing strategy, Lautric nodding along.

He was listening closely, but barely spoke. She cast him a look of distaste. How much would he actually contribute to their strategy? He was lucky to find himself in this alliance, but how much did he plan on contributing to it?

She didn’t think she had heard him utter a word.

As she headed for the door, Fern’s eyes alighted upon Josefa Novak. She, too, had stood, packing away her books and notebook into a silk bag. But when she tried to leave, Edmund Ferrow, who had risen from his chair, quickly bounded over to her, blocking her way out of her row of seats.

“Miss Novak.” His tone was silken. “Why don’t you join us in our studies? My sister and I would be pleased to get to know you better. ”

The Ferrows must think highly of Josefa, Fern thought, if they were inviting her into their alliance. They had come from the Poison Tower of Santa Velia, where alchemists were all but genetically engineered.

But Josefa seemed far from flattered by this invitation. She stared at Edmund for a moment, an expression of surprise on her face. Then she shook her head.

“Thank you, but I prefer to work alone.”

Fern was about to leave the auditorium, but she paused with her hand on the door handle when she saw Edmund Ferrow draw closer to Josefa, too close. Close enough to make the young woman retreat slightly, cringing in his shadow. Fern’s eyes narrowed.

“Dearest Josefa, you would refuse me so coldly?” The softness of Edmund’s voice, that polished veneer of intimacy, reminded Fern of poison concealed in a rich wine. “Your work in Archaic Alchemy is peerless and my sister and I specialise in poisons and transmutation. Surely cooperation between us would prove mutually beneficial?”

“Thank you,” Josefa repeated, more firmly this time. “No.”

Edmund reached abruptly forward, gripping her hand in his, and opened his mouth to speak, but several things happened all at once.

“ Edmund .”

Fern had removed her hand from the door handle, stepping back towards the stairs. Simultaneously, Srivastav, the pyromancer, had risen from his seat, surging up with such speed that several of the surrounding candidates jumped .

But it was Lautric who had spoken Edmund’s name, low and sharp as glass.

Edmund turned sharply to look at him.

“Miss Novak wishes to work alone,” Lautric said.

His tone was firm but gentle, without reproach. Edmund raised both hands.

“Of course. My apologies, Miss Novak. My intellectual curiosity must have gotten the better of me.”

He retreated, standing aside to give Josefa room to pass. She did so stiffly, head held high, but her cheeks were flushed a dull pink once more. When she reached the door, Fern could see that the young woman’s chest was rising and falling rapidly.

Pulling the door open, Fern let Josefa through and followed her out. She cast a quick look back before closing the door: Srivastav had sat back down and all conversations had resumed, but Lautric’s eyes were still fixed upon Edmund, a strange expression replacing his customary impassivity.

Fern closed the door with a firm click and turned around. Instead of walking away, Josefa stood still for a moment, breathing slowly. Then she tucked her short dark hair behind her ears and looked up at Fern.

“Thank you for waiting.”

“No need to thank me,” Fern said. She hesitated. “Are you alright?”

Josefa nodded slowly, then sighed. “I hate Santa Velia alchemists.”

Fern herself had never met Santa Velia alchemists before—she imagined their peculiar upbringing in the isolated city-state must make for peculiar people. But the Ferrow twins were something more than strange. There was an intensity to them, despite the airy, laughing veneer of careless beauty they seemed to project.

“What’s the saying?” she said to Josefa. “Fear the child that was raised with poison in its milk?”

Josefa gave a wry smile.

“It’s not the alchemists within Santa Velia the world should be afraid of,” she said. “But the alchemists Santa Velia chooses to send out .”

The Alchemy Wing was located in the eastern wing of the central building, spreading out from the left of the great hallway. Two floors of bookshelves, the higher floor overlooking the centre of the room like an expansive balcony.

In the centre, rows of leather-top desks with red banker’s lamps spanned the length of the space, which tapered towards an enormous tomb-shaped window. The bluish light of early morning fell through the warped glass, making the interior appear almost underwater.

Fern selected a desk at the far end of the wing, near the window. She liked the light, and being able to see the ocean move like a distant heartbeat when she turned her head. Above all, she preferred being far from the doors and the interruptions of passing archivists or candidates.

Josefa followed her, sitting at a desk nearby. Close enough that they could converse but far enough that they would not be cramping one another.

Opening her notebook, Fern glanced at Josefa. The historian’s dark head was bent over, her hair falling like a drawn curtain over her face as she pulled out the contents of her silk bag, laying them out on the desk.

Fern would have loved to discuss the assignment with Josefa, but the historian’s expertise in the matter stopped her from doing so. She had no wish to appear like the Ferrows, who had tried so shamelessly to gain some advantage from her.

But the historian caught her glance before she looked away, and she gave a small smile.

“Are you as overwhelmed by the task ahead as I am?” she asked.

“If you are overwhelmed,” Fern said, “then there is surely no hope for the rest of us.”

“Trust me, Miss Sullivan. Knowing about Alchemy means only knowing how much there is left to learn.”

Fern had often thought the very same thing about Sumbra, but she did not say so out loud. Instead, she said, “Will you be focusing on Archaic Alchemy?”

“That is my area of expertise, but I will have to stray much further from what I know.” Josefa’s eyes drifted towards the window, a thoughtful expression softening her features. “When I came here, I planned on focusing only on myself, but now I realise that I cannot simply ignore my fellow candidates. Dr Essouadi will have extensive knowledge of medicinal and surgical alchemy. The general will be well-versed in transmutations, both Divine and common—most military experts are. As for the Santa Velia alchemists… deadly as it is, the Poison Tower blazes the trails of alchemy. The Ferrows will know things most of us won’t learn until the next decade. ”

Josefa trailed into silence, and Fern could not help the swirling inrush of anxiety caused by her words. Fern, too, had thought she could only focus on herself, but Josefa was right—it would not be so simple as that.

“As for you, Miss Sullivan,” Josefa said finally, as though shaking herself out of her thoughts, “I’m sure you’ve learned much from the Sumbral entities you have worked with.”

“Hardly.”

Fern had visited many Gateways and interacted with many of their entities. Most people believed that those entities could simply be wheedled into sharing incantations and tomes of arcane knowledge.

But this was not the case. Communicating with those entities was like communicating with a splinter of the cosmos. Timeless, unfathomable beings, their goals and desires as nebulous as the abyss they inhabited.

Learning from them was difficult, unless one offered a hefty price.

And the heftiest price was one Fern had never been willing to pay. Others might—but the Sumbral Laws existed for a reason.

“Whatever I have learned,” Fern added with a small smile, “it won’t be nearly enough.”

“What will you do?” Josefa hesitated and then added tentatively, “I’ll help if I can.”

“No need,” said Fern. “Thank you. But I will simply do what I do best. Read.”