The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22) by Christopher Nuttall (ebook pc reader .txt) 📕

under the water, even though she knew Kyla couldn’t spend much longer with her. Emily’s eyes narrowed. Why was she even here? It was unlikely in the extreme that she’d been the closest healer. Resolution Castle was a long way from Whitehall. There had to be at least a dozen healers who could have been summoned instead.

The thought nagged at her as she turned off the water and dried herself with a couple of spells. Her scalp still ached... she conceded, ruefully, that Void had had a point when he’d advised her to cut her hair. Perhaps she should have replaced it with a wig. Master Lucknow would have looked a fool if he’d yanked on her hair, only to have the wig come free. She smiled at the thought, then stepped back into the chamber. Her clothes waited for her on the bed. Kyla averted her eyes, again, as Emily dressed. The healer had seen it all before - she looked old enough to have known Void as a child - but she understood the need for privacy.

“Thank you for coming,” Emily said. “Could you take a message for me...?”

“I’m afraid not,” Kyla said. “Healers are required to be neutral.”

Emily grimaced. “I am allowed to write letters...”

“Healers are required to be neutral,” Kyla repeated. “I can inform the staff that you want to send a letter, if you like, but I cannot carry it myself.”

“I see.” Emily gritted her teeth in frustration. She’d known that healers weren’t allowed to take sides, but... there was no point in arguing. Kyla’s magic wouldn’t let her do anything that broke her oaths. “Please let them know.”

Kyla nodded - her face was a mask, suggesting she was concealing her true feelings - and stepped through the door. Emily was morbidly certain that she wouldn’t be able to open the door, let alone leave the room. Not without permission, in any case. She sat on the bed and tried to project an image of despondency, all the while reaching out to touch the wards. They were incredibly complex, layer upon layer of spellwork designed to make it impossible for a magician to escape. She had to admire the design, even though it was keeping her under control. She’d never seen anything quite like it. They definitely weren’t drawing power from the nexus point.

She closed her eyes, studying the wards thoughtfully. It would take hours, perhaps days, to crack them. Someone would notice. There was a wardmaster attached to the wards or she knew nothing about magic. And that meant... she inched her thoughts into the spellware, trying to locate the controlling mind. The wards were so old that she doubted the wardmaster had actually created them. That had probably been a team effort.

Which means there will be cracks in the design, she told herself. It’s just a matter of finding them.

It wasn’t easy to determine if she should be trying to escape or not, but studying the wards was a way to pass the time. Emily didn’t see anything new in the design, yet she had to admit their structure was capable of keeping her trapped unless she threw caution to the winds and pushed everything she had into the effort. And then... she might break the wards only to discover she couldn’t muster the energy to escape. She was vaguely aware that time was ticking past, but... it didn’t matter. Poking threads of her awareness into the wards and trying to gain a sense of who - or what - was nearby...

The door rattled. Emily started, her awareness crashing back into her mind. Her head spun as she struggled to gather herself, feeling as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Whoever was coming had nearly caught her... she sighed, inwardly. It wasn’t as if she’d gotten anywhere, not really. She’d barely managed to extend more than a trace of magic into the wards. Hacking the spellware would take much - much - longer.

She forced herself to sit upright as the door opened, then stared in astonishment as Grandmaster Gordian stepped into the room. He hadn’t changed in the eighteen months or so since she’d last seen him. He was a tall and dignified man, wearing robes that flowed around him. Emily felt a twinge of resentment. Gordian and she had never been friends. He hadn’t wanted her at Whitehall and, eventually, he’d gotten his wish.

“Grandmaster,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

Gordian seemed oddly irresolute. “I’m sorry to see you here,” he said. “If things had been different...”

Emily swallowed her anger with an effort. Gordian could hardly be blamed for not being the previous Grandmaster. Void’s brother had been a born leader. When he’d spoken, everyone had listened. And he’d been powerful - and knowledgeable - enough to enjoy a high degree of autonomy. He’d certainly known where all the bodies were buried. Gordian just wasn’t anything like him. Emily knew, all too well, that he was a weak reed. He simply didn’t have the power and prestige of his predecessor. Master Lucknow had probably steamrolled him into giving the proceedings a faint veneer of legality.

“If things had been different,” Emily repeated. “Why am I here?”

Gordian took a seat and stared down at his hands. “The White Council is deeply divided,” he said. “It may even be on the verge of complete collapse. No one sees any need to keep it, not now the necromancers are gone. They have to do something to reassert their control.”

“Control they never really had,” Emily commented, sardonically. The White Council had never had the power to push the kingdoms, or the magical families, around. It had little in the way of military power... hell, it couldn’t even tax its lands. The council was entirely dependent upon outside funding. and if that dried up… “Is that the point? Have they decided to arrest me in hopes of reasserting their control?”

Gordian looked uncomfortable. “They have to be seen to be doing something,” he