Page 47 of The Deadliest Candidate (The Last Grand Archivist #1)
Chapter forty-seven
The Eye
In the old days, back when Gateways were created in barbaric rituals, there had been no laws to govern Sumbra. Many, seeking power and knowledge, had entered into dark bargains with the Gateway’s cosmic entities, offering up living sacrifices. In exchange, the entities gave humans arcane knowledge, incantations and spells powerful beyond what people at the time thought possible.
Now, the act of offering a human sacrifice to a trans-dimensional creature was strictly forbidden. It was an act more grievous than murder: a betrayal against humankind.
But it was clear what had happened here. Fern stared in horror at the Gateway and the blood, revulsion crawling at her skin. Something abhorrent, unthinkable had happened here, more than once, judging by the amount of blood she could see.
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 been here, 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 somehow knew her. 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 just worried about 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.
“I’m not asking you to trust me. I know you don’t, you’ve made that abundantly clear. I’m only…” He paused with a sharp sigh. “I’m asking you to avoid throwing yourself into danger.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Keeping away from you is exactly how I’m keeping out of danger.”
Lautric’s mouth twisted, the muscles in his jaws jumped. He stepped forward, closing the space between them. Fern caught her breath.
“You would keep away from me to stay safe,” he said, low and, for the first time, a little rough, “and yet keep venturing into Carthane at night, alone and defenceless?”
Fern drew her dagger from its sheath and thrust the point under Lautric’s chin.
“Defenceless? I wouldn’t be so sure.”
He frowned. Even though the point of the blade had pierced the skin, he did not move back. He seemed no longer angry, but gazed down at Fern with the expression of curiosity he often gave her.
“You’re angry at me.” He sounded surprised, almost disappointed.
“No, Mr Lautric.” Fern felt a surge of satisfaction. Finally, the veil of courtesy and dissimulation between them seemed to be falling away. “You’re not worthy of my anger. Now step back and get out of my way.”
A droplet of blood slid like a tear-shaped garnet down the length of his neck, but Fern kept her blade exactly where it was, forcing him back .
If he was in pain, he did not show it. Instead, he asked, “Did you find Vittoria?”
“No.”
She thought of the overheard exchange in the Alchemy Wing, the books he’d borrowed from Vittoria, how she’d first wondered if she was witnessing a tryst and how, the night of Vittoria’s attack, Baudet had slapped Lautric, and how Lautric had let him.
Did he truly wish to know what had happened to Vittoria, or did he already know and was merely trying to ascertain how much Fern knew?
She backed away from him, extending her arm to keep him at the tip of her blade.
He did not follow her, but his eyes were intent upon hers. “You did not find her… but you saw something. What did you see? I’ve never seen you so shaken up.”
Fern paused, facing Lautric.
“You and I have nothing more to say to one another. Let me clarify this for you: you and I are professional rivals, nothing more. Our partnership ended when the second assignment did. Once you fail to get past the third assignment, you and I will never see each other again.”
It felt good to say it, at last. She’d needed to hear it out loud as much as he did—perhaps more so.
“For now, stay away from me, and I’ll stay away from you. You may have all the power of your house behind you, but believe me when I say this, Mr Lautric. You do not want me for an enemy.”
“It’s not an enemy I want you for, Fern.”
His eyes were wide, his petal lips had fallen open in his surprise. His mouth moved as though he were about to say something else, something delicate and soft and terrible and utterly manipulative.
Before he could speak another word, Fern whipped around and wrenched his door open. She ran out of his room, slamming the door shut behind her.
Back in her apartment, she collapsed face-down onto her bed, and lay motionless and awake for a long time, feeling completely and irreversibly empty. A weight settled on the low of her back, followed by a warm, vibrating sensation. Inkwell. It was not like him to stick quite so close, and the surprise was perhaps what allowed Fern to finally sink into the darkness of sleep.
The eye in the tower awaited her in that darkness, and watched her through her dreams.