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

given how much she’d done for the cause, but he’d probably be alone. The mob had bayed for Triune’s head on a pike. It wouldn’t hesitate to demand his daughter’s head too.

They know he has a daughter, Emily thought. But they might not connect her with a man.

“Find the sorcerer,” Emily mused. “And make him talk.”

Her mind churned. It wasn’t Jair. It wasn’t Aiden. Storm was a sorcerer... she frowned at the thought. Was he the sorcerer, hiding in the guise of openly being a sorcerer? Or... she didn't like the idea of it being Oskar or Althorn himself. She’d read a book, once, where the criminal and rebellious underground was directly controlled by the state. If someone was influencing the rebels, why not start at the very top? And yet... she didn’t want to believe it. She liked Althorn.

Her cheeks heated. It was... embarrassing. “Damn it.”

Lady Barb glanced at her. “Damn what?”

Emily didn’t answer for a long moment as she checked her mental defenses, carefully. Very carefully. There were plenty of charms designed to influence a person, from basic attraction cantrips to outright lust and slave spells. The more subtle ones could be difficult to spot, particularly if one wasn’t the target. Humans were good at rationalizing things, at convincing themselves there was nothing wrong with their feelings. Her eyes narrowed. She’d known plenty of girls who’d had crushes on terrible guys. She’d always thought herself above it.

A popular or powerful person can get away with anything, she thought. Prince Hedrick was an excellent example. Hell, King Randor had had an entire string of royal mistresses, at least one of whom hadn’t been entirely willing. And...

She sighed. “Why do I like him?”

“Like who?” Lady Barb gave her an odd look. “I think you need to get some sleep.”

Emily flushed. “I like Althorn,” she said. “And I thought... he might be using a glamor. But he’s not.”

“Interesting,” Lady Barb said, tartly. Her voice dripped disapproval. “I do trust you haven’t forgotten what Jan did for you?”

“I haven’t,” Emily said, a little too quickly. “I just... I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Lady Barb eyed her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Althorn is a handsome and accomplished young man who practically reeks of charisma,” she said, finally. “It’s not surprising that so many people are drawn to him. He is real in a sense that so many others, particularly our regal friends, are not. He believes in his cause, to the point he’s devoted himself to it. But that doesn’t make him infallible. He’s wrestling with the realities of power now.”

And he can’t do anything to me, Emily thought, slowly. She’d always feared the popular kids at school because they could get away with anything. But here... she could defend herself if things went badly. Perhaps it’s safe...

She shook her head, angrily. She had a relationship. Jan had risked everything for her. And even if she hadn’t been in a relationship, she certainly shouldn’t be allowing herself to be attracted to Althorn. She was meant to get the royalists and the rebels to the negotiating table, not take sides. And yet, she knew - deep inside - that she’d already chosen a side. She wanted the revolution to lead to a better world.

“Get some sleep,” Lady Barb advised. “They’ll be here to pick you up shortly.”

Emily nodded and climbed up the stairs to her bedroom. She didn’t bother to undress after she closed the door, just lay down in bed and went to sleep. It felt like only moments between closing her eyes and hearing a banging on the door. She jerked up, half-convinced she was caught in a nightmare. It took her several moments to gather her thoughts before she could cast a spell to open the door.

Silent peered into the room. “My Lady, the coach is here.”

Emily nodded and stood upright. “I’ll be down in a moment,” she said. The timing was awkward, to say the least. She wasn’t that experienced, but even she knew that high-level meetings weren’t arranged at the drop of a hat. Dater wouldn’t have been that eager to go along with a rebel suggestion, even if it was perfectly reasonable. They’d normally spend days arguing over minor details such as the shape of the conference table and who got to enter the room first. Whoever gave in first would have set an awkward precedent.

Which begs the question, she thought, as she splashed water on her face and changed into something a little less comfortable. Why did he agree to the meeting so quickly?

She took a long breath as she checked her appearance in the mirror, then walked down the stairs. Prince Hedrick stood at the bottom, his face a mask; Silent stood beside him, holding the door open. Emily glanced at her, then walked onto the street. The coach was waiting. It looked like something taken from the palace. She was mildly surprised it hadn’t been chopped up for firewood. Someone had removed the coats of arms from the doors, leaving bare wood where they’d been.

Althorn beckoned to her. “Emily,” he said. His smile was infectious. “Come join us.”

Emily clambered into the coach. It was bigger on the inside than she’d realized, easily large enough to hold a dozen adult men. Storm sat on the far side, his magic blurring into the wards protecting the coach itself. Emily studied his spells for a long moment, noting how strangely imprecise they were. He wasn’t a graduate of Whitehall, she was sure. She rather suspected he hadn’t attended a proper school at all.

The door closed. Althorn sat facing her as the coach rattled into motion. Emily sat back and studied him, more coldly this time. He was handsome - and not in the too-perfect way she’d seen at Whitehall or King Randor’s court - but she had the sense he was nervous about something. She reached out gingerly, trying to make sure Storm - or Althorn himself - didn’t sense it. Althorn didn’t have a glamor.