Page 15 of The Deadliest Candidate (The Last Grand Archivist #1)

Chapter fifteen

The Gateway

Two nights before the assignment, Fern was heading back to the Alchemy Wing after a brief visit to another section, a pile of notebooks and academic journals teetering in her arms, when a horrible sensation seized her: a dizzying sense of inversion, as if the world had just tipped upside down or turned inside out around her.

A wave of nausea washed over her, and she stumbled, throwing out her arm to right herself. Her armful of books went flying, but she barely noticed.

Her skin crawled sharply, pierced by invisible quills. Around her, everything looked the same, the grandeur of Carthane undisturbed. Marble pillars, gilded portraits, lanterns dangling on their golden chains. Nothing had changed, but Fern immediately recognised the sensation.

Somewhere in Carthane, a Gateway was exercising its influence, the entity beyond it calling to itself. Perhaps it was her it called, or perhaps every person in Carthane.

Fern had felt the presence of Gateways since arriving at Carthane, but never like this. This was a powerful Gateway, its entity exercising heavy strength and intent to call it itself.

Perhaps something else had happened—something might even have passed through. Some Gateways served as exactly that: entrances to other places, black unknowns from which anything might escape. By Sumbral Law, nothing was allowed to pass through, not from either side.

Another wave of nausea hit Fern, and she clapped her hand over her mouth in the sudden terror that she would throw up. A hand fell over her shoulder, and she turned with a start.

General Srivastav stood by her side. As usual, he wore beautiful clothing, his long hair wrapped in a bun. Rings glittered on his fingers and he bore the satchel of colourful leather in which he always carried his work.

“Are you alright, Miss Sullivan?” An expression of concern was on his face, a slight frown on his customarily smiling countenance.

She nodded, swallowing back her nausea. “Yes, thank you. Did you feel that?”

“Yes,” he said gravely, his expression darkening. “I felt the black portal working its evil.”

“Do you think something might have come through?”

Fern asked more in panic than anything; she was probably more qualified to answer than Srivastav. The pyromancer shook his head.

“Do not be worried, Miss Sullivan. Even if anything should pass through the portal, the Sentinels will gather to it. We shall not come to harm.”

She smiled at him, comforted by his words, the certainty in them. He returned her smile warmly and bent to help her gather her fallen notebooks and journals. He glanced down and hesitated before handing her the pile.

“Would you like some assistance carrying your things in?”

“No, you’re very kind, but I’m alright. Thank you.”

He gave a slight bow. “In this case, I’ll take my leave. Goodnight, Miss Sullivan. Be safe.”

“Goodnight, Mr Srivastav. You too.”

He disappeared down the corridor, swallowed by the darkness gathering amongst the pillars. His perfume lingered pleasantly after him, jasmine and cardamom. Out of all the candidates, he was Fern’s favourite after Josefa: an amiable, courteous man, who always behaved with the highest level of professionalism.

Despite Srivastav’s certainty that the Sentinels would see to the Gateway, Fern was too shaken to stay in the Alchemy Wing, which was now deserted. The midnight bell would soon ring, and doubtless all the candidates would be making their way back to the Mage Tower.

Taking her journals with her, Fern followed suit, leaving the deserted wing behind. She hastened back to the Mage Tower, her steps quicker than usual, and noticed many of the alcoves where Sentinels usually stood were now empty.

Somehow, it only made Fern quicken her steps.

She pushed past the doors to the Mage Tower to a storm of voices coming from the common room. She stopped to listen, and as she did, her eyes fell upon the chessboard tiles of the atrium, where crimson droplets of blood formed a messy trail towards the stairs.

Fern ran up the tower, taking the steps two at a time. The common room, which was normally a peaceful, airy solarium, was crowded and noisy, voices overlapping. In the centre of the room, Dr Essouadi knelt by one of the velvet couches, bent over the body that lay draped upon it.

Fern drew closer. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp.

Vittoria Orsini lay on the couch, her eyes closed, her head lolling back against the golden embroidery of a cushion. She wore a gown of sea-foam green, and the front of it was drenched crimson with blood.

“What happened?” said Fern, but nobody heard her question.

All around, voices rose in fear and agitation. Only Rapha?l Baudet stood in eerie silence, his pallid lips and fixed gaze betraying the shock that gripped them all.

Dr Essouadi, ignoring everyone’s questions, was murmuring an incantation that was so long and complex Fern could barely make out its parts. The doctor moved her hands over Vittoria’s face, neck and torso, and Fern noticed that her hands trembled with the effort of the spell she was working.

Then the incantation ended, and a faint light pulsed from within Vittoria’s chest, and her eyes fluttered open.

“Yes,” murmured Dr Essouadi. “Good.”

Vittoria’s eyes rolled in her head in pure disorientation for a moment, as though she were emerging from a drugged torpor.

“Miss Orsini, do you know who I am?” asked Dr Essouadi.

“Of—of course,” Vittoria stammered faintly. “You’re Anoush Essouadi. You’re the famous surgeon. You made Princess Genevria’s porcelain arm.”

“One of my prosthetics, yes, you’re quite right.” Dr Essouadi smiled, brushing Vittoria’s sweat-drenched curls from her face. “Do you know where you are right now?”

Vittoria’s expression changed, her mouth drooping at the corners.

“Yes,” she said. Then, “Carthane, the black library.” And then she closed her eyes, and her lips trembled. “I should never have come here. They made me. It was the only way.”

“Can’t you see that she’s hurt?” Rapha?l bit out, stepping towards Dr Essouadi with shocking ferocity. “ Help her. ”

Dr Essouadi ignored him utterly, not even deigning to throw a glance his way.

“You’ve been wounded, Miss Orsini,” she said calmly. “Can you tell me what hurt you?”

“A monster. A monster .“ Now Vittoria’s entire body trembled. “I thought I was in a nightmare. It came out of nowhere.”

“Where did you see it?” Edmund asked, drawing closer. “Where did it come from?”

“It came from a Gateway, of course,” interjected Josefa. “But—”

“How could it get past the Sentinels?” said Emmeline. “The Sentinels guard the Gateways—Sarlet said so, so how—”

Fern stepped forward to speak, but—

“ Be quiet .”

Vasili Drei spoke in a tone so sharp and biting, the room fell into silence as though everyone’s voices had been cut clean off between his teeth. He moved through the room like a shadow, his long hair a black veil over his shoulders, and stood over Vittoria.

“What did it say?” he asked in a low hiss. “Was it holding anything?”

Vittoria blinked uncomprehendingly. Fern herself was shocked into silence. Drei was the most reserved of them all, and Fern had not forgotten his quick lie, their first night in Carthane.

She would still never have expected the questions he asked now. She had studied Sumbra long enough to know that monsters—lesser creatures from the realms beyond some of the gates—indeed got out sometimes. That was not necessarily a rare occurrence.

However, in her own encounters and in the annals of history, never had it been known for such a creature to converse . Unlike the cosmic entities guarding the Gateways, the creatures that slipped through were by and large akin to beasts, possessing sub-human intelligence, and they certainly lacked the ability for speech.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Vittoria muttered now, her mouth drooping. “The Sentinels arrived, and Sarlet. She had them take the creature, she told me to go back to the Mage Tower.”

“Sarlet,” said Vasili Drei, as though to himself. And then, his gaze fixed upon Dr Essouadi, his voice a chilling directive, “Do not suture the wound. There’ll be poison within, it needs to come out. Bloodletting will work best.“ He waved his fingers in the direction of the twins without even looking at them. “These two will know what to do—poisoners excel in Blood Alchemy.”

His words must have stung the unshakable siblings because Emmeline arched an eyebrow, and Edmund’s hand tightened around her waist, which he held protectively.

“You don’t know the first and last thing about what my sister and I excel in,” Edmund sneered.

Vasili Drei threw Edmund a look like the careless wave of a dark ocean. It washed over Edmund as if it barely sensed his existence, and without so much as another word, Drei swept out of the room.

As he did, his shoulder collided with Léo Lautric, who had just walked in. Lautric did not acknowledge Drei—hardly seemed to even notice the man had just barged into him. Instead, his eyes widened in shock as he noticed Vittoria on the couch.

Fern observed him closely, remembering the quiet exchange she had witnessed, how she had first thought she might be witnessing a meeting between lovers.

But before Lautric could speak so much as a word, before anyone could even draw breath, Baudet had sprung across the room. He hit Lautric in a slap that cracked like thunder, making Emmeline gasp and Fern start.

“It was your fault she was there and your fault she got hurt,” Baudet snarled. His features were twisted with anger, his body trembled beneath his ornate garments. He ripped forward, seizing Lautric by his collar, and the Abyssal cross he wore across his chest seemed to burn as it caught the light. “You vile, manipulative wretch . The Almighty abhors liars, but I’ll send you to hell myself if she dies. ”

And with that promise, he threw Lautric away from him.

Lautric stumbled but righted himself, the angry red print of Baudet’s hand bruising even as everyone watched, waiting for his response. But Lautric merely bowed his head in silent acquiescence, as if to say, Yes, send me to hell if she dies .

Without another word, Baudet turned from him and strode back to the couch, gathering Vittoria into his arms with the care of one holding a statue of glass.

“She’s not going to die,” Dr Essouadi said, rising with Baudet. “Bring her to my apartment, please. I have some of my equipment there. Miss Ferrow, will you lend us your aid with the poison?”

Emmeline glanced at her brother, who gave an infinitesimal nod.

“Of course,” Emmeline said.

The four of them left, Baudet carrying Vittoria, Dr Essouadi and Emmeline following. Edmund hesitated, stopping by Lautric to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you alright? What was that all about?”

Lautric gave a wan, tired smile. “It’s nothing, Edmund. Go, help Emmeline and the doctor. I’ll be fine.”

Edmund patted Lautric’s arm and hastened after the others. Lautric straightened himself, turning slowly. His eyes caught Fern’s as he did. His hand, as if of its own volition, rose to his bruised cheek, fingertips brushing over it. And then his hand fell away, then his eyes, and he turned, and was gone.