Page 39 of The Deadliest Candidate (The Last Grand Archivist #1)
Chapter thirty-nine
The Token
Baudet was the last candidate to complete the second assignment. He returned to the narrow antechamber outside the Grand Mage Hall, where the other candidates waited in silence. He was alone; Vittoria had not reappeared. And Fern, who had found the way into the Astronomy Tower without being able to pass through it, was no longer even sure she was still on the young woman’s tracks.
Fern wasn’t sure of anything anymore, and the uncertainty of everything all made her stomach churn.
“Are you alright, Rapha?l?”
It was Lautric who spoke from where he sat at Fern’s side, his elbows resting on his knees, his long fingers interlaced.
“Spare me your pity, Lautric,” Baudet snapped.
The easy charisma of his first night in Carthane was gone, whittled to a sharp point like a bone stripped of flesh. Fern could not blame him.
Although she was still determined to find a way into the Astronomy Tower, Baudet could not know that she was indirectly looking for Vittoria. To him, it must appear as though nobody cared about Vittoria’s disappearance.
Fern had felt the same way about Josefa.
Before Lautric could say anything else, the door into the Grand Mage Hall opened, and the candidates were all summoned within. Fern exchanged a glance with Lautric, but neither spoke. The twins were first to stand and go through, Edmund handing Emmeline his elbow with a flourish, Emmeline taking it with a small, satisfied smile.
Once the candidates were gathered in front of the Grand Archivists, Dr Auden stood, his expression grave.
“Thank you all for your hard work during this assignment—your results will be posted to you shortly. In the meantime, we find ourselves forced to make another announcement. It is with great regret that we inform you that Miss Orsini’s candidacy for the post of Grand Archivist has been terminated.”
No murmur of surprise followed this announcement. The room was oppressively quiet. Fern turned her head: Baudet was staring fixedly at the Grand Archivists, motionless and unblinking. His Abyssal cross was clutched in his right fist, the intricate chain dangling like a rivulet of gold blood towards the floor.
“With two of our candidates gone and a number of worrying incidents unfolding recently, including some criminal matters, my colleagues and I have reflected long and hard on what must be done. We invited you all in the great hope that we would add to our numbers, choosing from some of the most promising selection of candidates we’ve had in over a hundred years. We all knew the risks involved in bringing so many of you here, and now we begin to fear we may have been too reckless with our decision. Carthane remains, and shall forever remain, our priority. It’s not the most important thing to us—to us, Carthane is the only important thing. Some of you already realise this.”
Dr Auden did not fix any candidate in particular with his eyes. On the contrary, his gaze was stony and unfocused, as though he were staring at nobody in particular, addressing nobody in particular. But Fern could not help but think of Edmund’s words, which had sounded so ugly to her ears.
We cannot all succeed. Let those of us who cannot withstand Carthane leave it.
Dr Auden continued.
“So it is with heavy but determined hearts that we have come to the decision to amend the terms of your candidacy.”
Fern’s heart faltered at his words.
“From now on, we will only seek to appoint one new Grand Archivist. When Carthane is threatened, we close ranks and stand firm. We have done so before and always shall. We need new Grand Archivists—Carthane must never be allowed to stagnate—but we have learned this must be a slow, careful process.” He raised a hand. “Rest assured, this decision will not affect you as candidates, and our decision-making process remains unchanged. We will proceed with the assignments as a way of short-listing our finalists, who will then prepare and present their thesis. In the end, only one will be selected. ”
His grey eyes swept over the candidates like the indifferent wave of a northern sea, his icy austerity discouraging questions.
“The third assignment, based on the Arcane School of Elemency, will be announced soon. On behalf of all my fellow Grand Archivists, I wish to remind you all that you came to Carthane without the intention of leaving. I urge you all to carefully consider why you came here, and why it matters. Only eight of you remain—one of you will succeed, all else will fail. Consider all your decisions carefully. Thank you all. You may go.”
For a moment, nobody moved. Dr Essouadi looked careworn, her fierce black eyes dulled with tiredness; Srivastav appeared solemn but unsurprised. Baudet’s fist had relaxed around his Abyssal cross, which now dangled from his fingers, swaying like something shaking its head. Vasili Drei, with his long black hair gathered back—his version of formality—seemed supremely unconcerned, almost amused.
The twins were as ice, utterly expressionless, but they held one another’s hands, fingers interlaced, and their knuckles were pale with the force of their grip.
They had come here to claim both roles, and now, only one of them could succeed. Fern could not begin to fathom what that might mean to the siblings, what poisonous storm might be brewing in the small glass phials of their strange hearts. Fern could hardly bear to think on it.
Finally, her gaze swept over Lautric. He was staring straight at her.
His expression reflected her own feelings back to her: sadness, concern and determination.
This time, there was no party to celebrate the completion of the second assignment, no gathering, no sense of relief or brief companionship. Despite the Grand Archivists’ attempt to foster cooperation amongst the candidates, recent events had the opposite effect. The candidates seemed more divided than ever.
Dinner in the Mage Tower was a sober, subdued affair. General Srivastav made no toast this time, and nobody attempted to do so in his stead. Fern forced herself to eat, but she had no appetite. Her stomach was in knots. She took several sips of wine, hoping it would help her relax.
But there was no wine strong enough to wash away the emptiness in Baudet’s gaze, or the quiet, terrible despair with which the twins held each other’s hands even as Edmund tried to encourage his sister to eat.
Even the formidable Dr Essouadi, whose exhaustion and illness seemed to be catching up with her in the wake of whatever spell she’d performed for the second assignment, seemed diminished, almost frail.
As soon as dinner was done, Fern stood to leave. She wanted to be alone, she needed to be away from the other candidates. She was certain she’d feel calmer alone, less affected, less raw.
But as she made her way back up towards her apartment door, quiet footsteps caught up with her. She smelled sugar and almonds before she could turn. She stopped in front of her door to find her key, opening her mouth to firmly bid Lautric goodnight.
He spoke before she could.
“Fern.”
She turned her head. He stood close enough to touch her, though he made no attempt to do so. If she wished to, she could begin to count the freckles on his cheeks, nose and forehead. She could trace the lush, rounded bow of his upper lip with her fingertips, or feel the feather softness of his long eyelashes.
She did none of those things; she was not so tired and reckless yet.
“Would you like to come back to my apartment with me?” Lautric said.
Her heartbeat faltered, a flit and flicker, like the wings of a frightened bird. She faced him almost in a start of surprise, her mouth falling open. He drew closer, close enough that the warmth of his skin was an invisible, trembling veil between them.
Fern was certain she must be overreacting, misinterpreting his question, like misreading a line in a book. She steadied her voice. “The assignment is over—whatever for?”
“Whatever you want.”
His voice was a murmur, and as always, his gaze was bold and unashamed. There was naked want on his face. Fern’s insides, like sugar in fire, seemed to melt and burn all at once, trickling down, pooling low in her stomach, aching. Lautric’s quiet mannerism belied the audacity of which he was capable—still, Fern would have never expected him to be quite so direct.
“I… don’t think I should,” she said.
Lautric’s lips curled into a smile that was melancholy, otherworldly, almost elfin. He stepped closer, trapping Fern between her door and his body. “You don’t think you should, or you do not want to?”
It was certainly not a question Fern intended to answer to herself, let alone to him. Lautric seemed to take her silence for an answer of some kind: he took Fern’s wrist gently in one hand, turning it as he reached into his pocket with his other hand.
In her upturned palm, he placed a small, cold object.
“In case you change your mind,” he murmured. “And if you don’t, keep it still. Whatever you might ever want—or need—come find me. My invitation is permanent.”
He tilted his head and brushed his lips against Fern’s burning cheek. The sweetness of his smell was a heady perfume, the warmth of his body lulling hers closer. She turned her head a little, just as she had done the previous night when she’d caught his kiss on her lips, and stood very still, almost nervous, though Fern was rarely ever nervous.
Lautric gave a low, feathery laugh, amusement tinged with melancholy, desire softened into longing. Then he kissed her mouth with tantalising lightness, the touch more a whisper than a kiss.
“It was a pleasure having you for my partner,” he said. And, “Goodnight, Fern.”
He released her hand, turned, and withdrew. Fern stood long in the empty corridor, gazing down at the small golden key in her hand, her heart hammering.
It was the key to his apartment door .
A small, plain object, and yet she saw it for what it was. Not just an entreaty, but something else. A token, a symbol of trust, given freely, with nothing being offered in exchange.
Fern finally opened her door, withdrawing to her apartment, and when she shut it, she hoped her heart and all of its thorny tangle of emotions would stay firmly on the other side.