The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22), Christopher Nuttall [books to read romance TXT] 📗

hold of the spellware and pulled it free, as hard as she could. The girl screamed, then started to cry. Emily stepped back and patted her hands awkwardly. The spell hadn’t spared the victim anything, not even the knowledge of what she’d been made to do.

“My name is Emily,” she said, quietly, as the girl stared at her through tearstained eyes. “I need to touch your mind, just to know what happened. And then we’ll get you out of here.”

She took a breath. “What’s your name?”

“Fran,” the girl said. “I... I was named for the queen, but... my mum wasn’t allowed to use the full name.”

That probably didn’t do you any favors, Emily thought. The rebels probably saw it as a confession of guilt.

“Fran,” she said. “Can I touch your mind?”

The girl looked terrified, but nodded. Emily braced herself, trying to think of a way to calm Fran down. Nothing came to mind. The poor girl had been enchanted, then turned into an assassin, then locked in a cell and beaten half to death... she wondered, suddenly, what had happened to Fran’s family. The mob might have already dragged them out of their home and torn them to shreds. She tried to push the thought out of her head as she touched the girl, reaching out with her mind. Fran might be able to look into her head, too. It would be utterly disastrous if she saw that thought in Emily’s mind.

She concentrated as a maelstrom of thoughts, memories and feelings enveloped her. Fran wasn’t trying to fight or hide something from her, as far as Emily could tell, but she was in enough pain to constantly disrupt her thoughts. Flashes of memory darted in front of her - a pair of smiling parents, work on the farm, a young man she’d liked - all of which lingered just long enough to make Emily feel uncomfortably like a voyeur. The thought was enough to bring up more memories... Emily wanted to look away, but she had to follow the threads all the way to the enchantment. It was waiting for her...

... A burst of pain flared through her as she plunged into the memory. Fran had been working at a stall. That much was clear. She’d been charged with selling the family’s produce... memories yanked at Emily’s awareness, trying to send her spinning helplessly through the poor girl’s mind. A man had approached her, wearing a cloak and carrying a wand. Fran hadn’t sensed the danger until he’d jabbed the wand at her, then started to cast a compulsion spell. It was oddly complex for a spell cast with a wand. And anyone capable of casting such a spell wouldn’t need a wand.

Her mind focused as she stared at the figure. He’d been enveloped in a glamor so strong Fran had never seen his face. Male, definitely, but... what else? Everything he’d shown Fran could be an illusion. He could have used a spell to conceal everything, then a glamor to confuse her... the memories blurred together as Emily let go. She had a vision of her face, of a trigger being pulled and then... pain and pain and pain and...

She yanked herself free, almost collapsing under the weight of Fran’s memories. King Randor had hired a bunch of sadists to handle his interrogations, men who’d taken sick delight in hurting their victims as much as possible. Alassa had ordered them fired, when she’d taken the throne. The rebels... the rebels had sadists of their own. She was astonished they hadn’t accidentally killed Fran. They probably would have, if they hadn’t wanted to behead her.

“I’ll get you out of here,” she promised, her voice shaky. She didn’t have the magic to heal the poor girl, but she could get her out. “I’ll be back.”

Aiden looked pale as they stumbled back into the corridor. Althorn was standing outside, waiting for them. He looked surprisingly pleased with himself, although Emily had no idea why. He would have sent an innocent girl to the block - and her family to the mob - if she hadn’t thought to check her mind.

“Emily,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’re on your feet...”

Emily cut him off. “That girl is innocent,” she said, shortly. “Release her, do what you can for her...”

“There are thousands of witnesses who saw her shoot you,” Althorn said. “She is not innocent.”

“She was under a spell,” Emily said. She forced herself to calm down and think. “Someone set off the bomb, then enchanted her into trying to kill me. She didn’t act of her own free will.”

Althorn’s eyes bored into hers. “And you are sure of this?”

“I read her mind,” Emily said. “She was enchanted.”

She shuddered, stumbling helplessly. The spell had been brutally powerful. Fran was going to have a lot of problems recovering, even if she was released at once. The torture wouldn’t have helped either. She shook her head in bitter grief. Someone had set out to kill her and... and what? What had been the point?

“The royalists have sorcerers,” Althorn said. “They could have slipped someone into the city.”

“Perhaps,” Emily said. “Or...”

“There was a story Dater was going to marry you, once upon a time,” Althorn said. “Is there any truth to it whatsoever?”

“He asked me to marry him,” Emily said, as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I said no.”

“That’s funny,” Althorn said. “His version of the story is that he turned you down.”

Emily snorted, then stared at the stairs in dismay. There was no way she could get up them, not without a rest and something to eat. She hated to ask for help, but... Althorn picked her up almost effortlessly and carried her up the stairs. Emily flushed, torn between embarrassment, fear and something she didn’t want to look at too closely. It was... helplessness, but a good kind of helplessness. She gritted her teeth in irritation. Althorn wasn’t the first strong man who’d held her in his arms, but... The feeling was new