Her eyes narrowed. She sensed... magic? Magic was in the air. She looked around, wishing her head felt clearer. It was hard to focus properly. She heard Aiden say something, but she didn’t hear it. Something was in the air... she saw a young girl walking towards her, wearing a little cloth cap and peasant’s dress a size too big for her. Her face was bland... no, blank. Emily started, too late, as the girl lifted her hand to reveal a flintlock pistol...
... And, before Emily could react, she pulled the trigger.
Chapter Twenty-Two
SHE HURT. BADLY.
Emily took a shuddering breath, despite the pain in her chest. Her memories were a blur, an endless jumble of lights and sounds that couldn’t be assembled into a coherent whole. There’d been a girl... she was sure there’d been a girl... and... she wasn’t quite sure what had happened after that, apart from the fact it had hurt. The memories refused to come into focus. Someone - Lady Barb, perhaps - had once told her the mind often declined to remember pain. Emily had the feeling she’d been right.
“I think she’s coming around,” a voice said. “Step back, please.”
Emily opened her eyes and instantly regretted it. Light stabbed needles into her brain. She closed her eyes again, trying to move her head to shield herself. Her hand felt... weird, as if it were partly disconnected from the rest of her body. Panic shot through her as she tried to move, even though she wasn’t sure where she was. Who’d spoken? It was hard to be sure through the roaring in her ears.
“It’s alright,” the voice said. It sounded like Lady Barb. “I’ve lowered the light.”
Emily gritted her teeth as she opened her eyes again. It was still too bright. She was lying on her back on a bed, a handful of faces looking down at her. Lady Barb, Aiden, Silent... someone she didn’t recognize. Her head swam as she tried to sit up, her body refusing to obey until she forced it. A stab of pain in her chest nearly sent her falling back to the bed again. Lady Barb touched her forehead lightly, muttering a spell. The pain receded, but didn’t fade completely.
She found her voice. “What... what happened?”
“You were shot in the chest,” Lady Barb said. The cold anger in her voice nearly made Emily flinch. “The ball lodged itself in your lung. Your wards reduced the impact, but not enough. It was sheer luck it didn’t kill you before I slapped a stasis spell on your body, then carefully mended the damage. That person...”
Emily remembered. “I sensed magic,” she said. “I... where is she?”
“In a cell,” Aiden said. “They’re going to behead her.”
“Not yet,” Emily said. “I have to know why.”
“She was a royalist,” Aiden said. “And she tried to kill you.”
Emily rubbed her eyes as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. It didn’t make sense. The royalists would risk everything if they tried to assassinate her. The White Council wouldn’t be very pleased if its designated representative was murdered, although - she acknowledged sourly - Master Lucknow would probably raise a glass in their honor. It would certainly be hard to provide any further support to the royalists. And besides, she doubted Dater would sign off on an assassination. It would set a dangerous precedent.
Although someone could have done it without permission, to shield him from blame, she thought, tiredly. Her legs felt wobbly, as if they were made of jelly. And they’d take the blame themselves if it exploded in their face.
“You should stay in bed,” Lady Barb said. “I’m sure the assassin will keep...”
Emily shook her head. Althorn and the remainder of the council would want to behead the assassin before the mob decided to take the law into their own hands. Even if they didn’t... she remembered what Councilor Triune had done to the supposed poisoner and shuddered. The assassin was in a cell, hopelessly vulnerable. Someone might kill her to cover their tracks. She had to see the girl before it was too late. If she hadn’t pulled the trigger of her own free will...
“Be careful,” Lady Barb said. “Don’t let anyone push you too far.”
“I’ll be fine,” Emily said. “I just have to know.”
She glanced down at herself. The skin beside her right breast looked oddly pale. Lady Barb had mended the damage, then regenerated the missing skin. Someone had cut off her clothes and dressed her in a gauzy nightgown. Her fingers refused to cooperate properly, but she managed to get out of the gown and into a proper dress. Lady Barb looked completely astonished, her eyes narrowing in concern. Emily didn’t get it, then winced inwardly as it dawned on her she’d probably given Aiden’s secret away. She wouldn’t normally have undressed in front of a man. It wasn’t as if she’d been dating Aiden.
Aiden caught her eye. “Are you sure...?”
“I’m fine,” Emily repeated. “Let’s go.”
She regretted it as she made her way down the stairs and onto the streets. Her arms and legs felt as if they were on the verge of shattering, leaving her on the ground. And yet, she forced herself to keep going. Her magic sparked around her, helping her to remain upright. She would have flown, if she could concentrate long enough to muster the spell. Aiden walked beside her, ready to grab her arm. It didn’t take a mind-reader to know Aiden was dreadfully worried.
I wasn’t targeted at random, Emily thought, as she made her way into the palace. A pair of guards spoke quickly to Aiden, then sent a messenger to the council chamber. That assassin was sent to kill me. She knew me by sight.
Her mind churned. Who could it be? She didn’t think there were many people in the city who’d recognize her on sight. She’d looked a little different the last time she’d visited, seven years ago. Someone who’d seen her in Dragon’s Den? Or someone who’d been primed by someone who did know her? Someone who...
“She’s being held in the lower cell block,” Aiden said. “Do you need help getting down the stairs?”
“Probably,” Emily admitted. She would be fine, if she had a nap and gave her body some time to recover. Lady Barb had done an excellent job, but it would still be hours before she recovered from the trauma. It was hard not to be frustrated, yet... she told herself not to be selfish. Over forty people had died in the blast alone. “I’m... I’m sorry.”
She forced herself to inch down the stairs, leaning on Aiden as they moved further and further underground. Aiden muttered quietly to herself. Emily thought she was cursing, until she realized Aiden was planning a broadsheet article. The cynic in her wondered if it would ever be published. The rebels would be delighted to blame everything on the royalists, even if they weren’t actually at fault. They’d be a great deal less eager to print a suggestion that the royalists were innocent.
“Take a moment to catch your breath,” Aiden advised, as they reached the bottom of the stairs. The guards looked at them, their eyes going wide with surprise. “We have time.”
“Thanks.” Emily took a long breath, drawing on her magic. She was going to pay for that soon - she’d have to get back to bed before the spell exhausted her - but it would keep her upright for the moment. “Which cell?”
Aiden nodded to the guard, who opened an unmarked door. The stench of blood - and fear - wafted out. Emily braced herself and stepped inside. The girl was bound to an iron chair, completely naked. Her skin was bruised and battered, burn marks clearly visible on her breasts and thighs. Emily felt sick - behind her, she heard Aiden curse - as the door closed behind them. She’d seen torture, but... her chest heaved and she retched helplessly. She would have thrown up, if she’d had anything in her stomach. It had been a long time since she’d eaten anything.
“She deserves it,” Aiden said. She sounded as though she was trying to convince herself. “She deserves it.”
The girl looked up, then cringed away as her eyes lit on Emily. Emily saw panic and fear and helpless resignation in the girl’s eyes, not the hatred she’d expected. She reached out gingerly with her senses, all too aware the assassin might be playing dead. It was hard to believe anyone would let themselves
be brutalized, if they had the ability to fight back and escape, but she couldn’t afford to ignore the possibility. She was all too aware that magic could do all sorts of things, some of them beyond her imagination.
She frowned. A faint haze of magic surrounded the girl. It wasn’t hers... Emily cursed under her breath. The girl had been compelled, practically enslaved. It was a surprisingly brutal spell, but perhaps the caster hadn’t had time to be subtle. Bind the girl with magic, give her a gun, point her at the target and make it impossible for her to say anything afterwards. No wonder she’d been tortured so savagely. The interrogators had probably thought she was defying them intentionally.
“Listen,” she said, quietly. “What’s your name?”
The girl turned her head, but said nothing. She couldn’t talk. Emily reached forward and touched her forehead, trying to dismantle the compulsion spell. It had been put together in a tearing hurry, as she’d thought. The real assassin hadn’t had anywhere near enough time to hide his handiwork, or ensure the girl went to the block... Emily pushed out with her mind, looking for traps. Removing a compulsion spell wasn’t easy. The effects could linger for days or weeks afterwards.
“Emily,” Aiden said. “Be careful...”
The girl twitched, violently. Her hands pulled at her chains. Emily ignored her struggles as she took 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 and dangerous. She didn’t like it, and yet she did.
Aiden followed, her expression an unreadable mask. Emily wondered what she was thinking. She’d helped arrest Fran, ensuring she was marched straight to the cells, chained up and brutally tortured... perhaps worse. There was no way to undo what she’d done, even though it had been a reasonable thing to do at the time. There was no way the guards could be punished, either. They’d all known Fran had pulled the trigger. They just hadn’t realized she hadn’t been in her right mind.
“The council has been arguing for hours,” Althorn said, as they reached the top of the stairs. He lowered her to the ground, holding her upright until she found her footing. “They’re arguing for the queen’s immediate execution.”
“She’s in a cell,” Aiden pointed out. “If she could cast those sort of spells, she wouldn’t have been taken prisoner so easily.”
“She was found guilty of using love potions and enchantments on the king,” Althorn countered. “You cast one of the guilty votes.”
Emily gathered herself. “I need to get back home and sleep,” she said. There were hundreds of unused rooms in the palace, but she wanted to be inside her wards. “Please, will you take care of Fran?”
“I can try,” Althorn said. He sounded reluctant. “The council already sentenced her to death.”
“Then tell the world the council sentencing someone to death is almost as good as actually executing them,” Emily said. She doubted that piece of insane troll logic would fly, but she was too tired to think straight. “Or that I killed her personally. I’m sure that will go down well.”
“I’ll do my best,” Althorn said. “But the people want blood.”
“Then find the person responsible for the enchantment,” Emily said. She remembered the bombing and shuddered. Terrorism was relatively new on the Nameless World, but she had a feeling it was about to become depressingly common. “And quickly, before he strikes again.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“MY BROTHER WOULD NOT HAVE ORDERED YOUR death,” Prince Hedrick said. His lips twisted with disgust as he ate his breakfast. “He was besotted with you.”
Emily was inclined to agree, although for different reasons. Dater was smart enough to know that turning her into a martyr would rebound badly. He’d incur the wrath of much of the Allied Lands as well as the rebels and her friends. But it wasn’t impossible, she reminded herself, that one of his subordinates had ordered the assassination attempt. Dater wouldn’t be pleased - technically, he could be held accountable for his subordinates even if they weren’t under his direct control - but it wouldn’t matter. She’d be dead no matter who pulled the trigger.
The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22) Page 22