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

- and extremely unlikely - coincidence. Unless there were two sets of assassins running around... it was possible. The bombers could have blown up the marketplace, giving the mystery sorcerer a chance to enchant a helpless victim and point her at Emily. And yet...

“Be on your guard,” Hedrick said. “Rebels cannot be trusted.”

“They don’t trust you either,” Emily said, tartly. She stood, brushing down her dress. “And why should they?”

She glanced up as she heard a knock on the door. Silent went to open it. Emily closed her eyes, linking into the wards to scan the newcomer. The wards they’d created were nowhere near as capable as those protecting a school of magic, but it was easy enough to be sure the newcomer - Aiden - didn’t have any magic on her, apart from her tiny glamor. Emily frowned as she headed to the lobby herself. Aiden wasn’t a magician. Where had she obtained the glamor?

“Emily,” Aiden said. She wore black clothes, the color of mourning. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Emily said. She flushed as she remembered Althorn carrying her back up the stairs. “Did you see to Fran?”

“She’s on her way out of the city, along with her uncle,” Aiden said. “Your mentor saw to her wounds. The mob” - she frowned - “the mob ripped her stall to shreds. Fortunately, she lives outside the city. We managed to deter the locals from chasing her family off the farm before it was too late.”

Emily made a face. The assassin had picked his victim well. If the mob turned on farmers, the farmers would stop sending food to the city... and there wasn’t enough food anyway. It was just a matter of time until Dater started raiding the farms, trying to starve the city without risking a siege. He wouldn’t want a victory that would leave his forces in ruins. The kingdom might be better off if he lost.

She met Aiden’s eyes. “And the bastards who tortured her?”

“That’s still being debated,” Aiden said. “The council is split on the issue.”

Emily grimaced. “And there I was thinking you’d banned torture.”

Aiden had the grace to look embarrassed. “We had every reason to think she was guilty,” she pointed out. “And we had to know - we have to know - if there are any other royalists in the city.”

Except she wasn’t acting of her own free will, Emily thought, sourly. The whole affair left a bad taste in her mouth. And even if she had been, she probably wouldn’t have been told anything more than she needed to know.

Aiden turned. “Come on,” she said. “We reserved a seat for you.”

Emily hesitated, unsure if she should actually attend. The monarchy had authorized torture as a matter of course, unless the suspect was of noble blood. The rebels had banned torture, only to resort to it the moment they felt they needed it. She wasn’t too surprised - most reformers found themselves grappling with the realities of power, including the need to make hard decisions, sooner or later - but it annoyed her. She’d hoped the rebels could forge a new society. She was starting to fear the worst.

She followed Aiden, keeping her eyes open. There were more spies on the street, making their presence painfully obvious. There were fewer civilians on the streets beyond, and only a handful of them were unescorted women. They glanced from side to side, their hands on the pommels of their swords... swords Emily was fairly certain they didn’t know how to use. A couple of men even wore their swords on their backs! That only worked if the blades and scabbards were carefully charmed.

Her eyes narrowed as they walked towards the city square. There were more soldiers on the streets, wearing their mismatched uniforms and omnipresent cloth caps. Emily couldn’t help thinking there were too many soldiers on the streets for effective security. It would be easy enough for someone to don a uniform, complete with cap, and make their way through the defenses completely unchallenged. She’d heard plenty of stories of men who’d done just that during brushfire wars. The rebels would have to be very careful to keep infiltrators from sneaking into their ranks.

“In days of yore, the king’s heralds would read out his decrees here,” Aiden said, as they circumvented the square. It was heaving with people, almost all men. “They didn’t have the force of law until they were presented to the public, although” - she chuckled humorlessly - “it would be a fool who’d rely on such a defense in court. Now, we’ve been using it for public debate. Everyone who thinks he has a bright idea is welcome to come and tell everyone who can be bothered to listen.”

She grinned. “Someone wanted to set up a rotting fruit stall,” she added. “He got lynched.”

Emily scowled as they approached the stage. She didn’t approve of lynch mobs, but she didn’t approve of the heckler’s veto either. Shouting someone down didn’t prove them wrong. It only proved you could shout louder. And treating someone like that tended to make enemies. No one in their right mind would trust a heckler, even if they claimed to be on their side. Anyone prepared to be a jerk for you was equally prepared to be a jerk to you. It was practically a law of nature.

She took her seat and studied the crowd. They looked restive, ready to burst into action. She saw a handful of salesmen working the rear, proffering everything from pamphlets and broadsheets to food and drink. There were probably a bunch of pickpockets, too, she thought, although it would be a brave man who tried to rob someone here. Too many people were carrying weapons, clearly prepared to use them. The scene could easily turn into a bloodbath if someone coughed and someone else took it as a sign to start something violent.

“There were a handful of incidents last night,” Aiden muttered. “A bunch of men were mugged. A mob tore apart