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

were waiting. They came for us. They hit us, beat us, defiled my ladies-in-waiting, put me in this cell... Triune betrayed us. He must have done.”

“Perhaps,” Emily said. She’d wondered how the rebels had taken out the king’s magicians before storming the castle. If they’d had someone on the inside, someone above suspicion, they could easily have poisoned the magicians before they could tighten the wards. And yet... she frowned. There was something about the whole story that didn’t quite make sense. “Do you think he betrayed you?”

“My husband was never a strong man,” the queen insisted. “He was always listening to his advisors, instead of ruling with a rod of iron. He... would listen to you and agree with you, then change his mind as soon as the next person caught his ear. Triune could have talked him into anything. He convinced the king to run, to come out from behind the walls and straight into a trap. And where is he?”

“Good question,” Emily agreed. The rebels had told her that Triune had fled the city. But it was equally possible he’d simply been murdered to conceal the truth. “I don’t know.”

Her mind raced. It was hard to believe a king’s advisor would be openly disloyal. He’d have been for the high jump if he’d been caught before it was too late. No, worse than the high jump. There hadn’t been anyone who would speak for Triune, if he were sentenced to a long and lingering death. Triune would have had to gamble on a rebel victory, then assume... she frowned. Had someone been pulling his strings? Or was he a shameless opportunist?

Or he could simply have gambled on getting the king out before the walls fell, she told herself, severely. Castles had once been practically invulnerable. Gunpowder weapons had turned them into death traps. He might have been loyal all along.

The queen caught her hand. “Help me, please.”

Emily cast a pair of healing spells, wishing she could do more. The rebels wouldn’t let her take the queen out, not without a fight. She didn’t think they had any first-rank sorcerers in their forces, but she knew she could be wrong. And if she did... it would completely destroy any chance of convincing the royalists and the rebels to come to terms. And... she sighed, inwardly. The queen had been a fairly typical aristocrat. She might not be guilty of all the horrific charges thrown at her, but she’d abused her servants and generally treated everyone below her like crap. And...

“I have to speak to the Crown Prince,” she said, slowly. “Do you want me to take him and Hedrick a message?”

“Tell him to come quickly,” Queen Francoise said. “His father needs him.”

His father is dead, Emily thought. The queen’s grasp on reality was slipping. Emily understood all too well. Her world had turned upside down. She was stuck in a prison cell, trapped at the mercy of people she despised. The rebels had no reason to love her. The queen was the living embodiment of everything they hated. And there’s nothing else I can do for her.

“We’ll put the rebels down and rule like we should,” the queen said. “And none will ever dare raise their hand to us again.”

Emily stood, brushing down her dress. She was tempted to point out that the aristocracy had brought the rebellion on themselves, but... she knew the queen wouldn’t listen. Even Alassa had trouble remembering she only ruled by the people’s consent. The Levellers had helped put her on the throne and... Emily turned away. There was nothing else she could do for the queen, nothing at all. And yet, it hurt to leave her behind.

She rapped on the door, which opened. Althorn stood outside, his face an expressionless mask. He closed the door again as soon as she was outside, then turned away. Emily followed him back up the stairs, her mind churning with thoughts and feelings she didn’t know how to put into words. The rebels were abusing the queen and yet... she sighed, inwardly. She knew she shouldn’t really blame them, except she did.

“You don’t have to keep her in such filth,” she said, softly. “There are nicer places to put her.”

Althorn stopped and turned to look at her. “Have you seen the cells in the Final Prison?”

“No,” Emily said. The Final Prison had sounded like the Tower of Alexis. “Why...?”

“There are three layers to the complex,” Althorn said. “The very lowest layer is an oubliette. But not just any oubliette. It’s designed to allow the guards to piss and shit into the dungeon. Prisoners thrown in there drown in a lake of human waste. They even drop food into the mess to ensure the prisoners don’t starve before they drown. That’s where they sent people who dared ask the king for reform. Many of the early Levellers wound up there.”

His face darkened. “And when we took the prison and searched it, we discovered that most of our people were already dead. The survivors were completely insane. There was nothing we could do for them. Compared to the Final Prison, the royal whore is being held in the lap of luxury. Why should we move her somewhere better? She and the king didn’t show that sort of consideration to us.”

Emily winced as they resumed their walk. She wanted to believe the story wasn’t true, but... it was too awful not to be. Monarchs had never been kind to those who questioned their right to rule. King Randor had certainly put her in a terrible cell... a cell carefully designed to deny her everything from free movement to suicide. She had to admit Althorn had a point and yet... she didn’t want to leave the queen in the cell. It wouldn’t make talking to the royalists any easier.

Althorn stopped as they reached the ground floor. “You’ll be leaving this afternoon?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Emily said. She wanted time to discuss matters with Lady Barb and Prince Hedrick. She was fairly sure