The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22) by Christopher Nuttall (top ebook reader txt) 📗

But it would help Red Rose, she mused. And any other faction that wants to cause trouble.

She hesitated, torn between the grim awareness she needed to know and an uneasy sense she was about to cross a line. There were things she couldn’t do, not if she wanted to remain herself. There were just too many horror stories about people who talked themselves into compromising their values, then did it again and again until they lost all sense that what they were doing was wrong. The rebels might already be falling down the slippery slope. They’d pledged to restore freedoms, yet...

Her fingertips touched Jair’s forehead. Her magic slipped into his mind. A volley of images assailed around her, from old memories to erotic dreams. She gritted her teeth, trying not to let the images hurl her out of his mind. They weren’t real. And yet, they were more than a little disturbing. An unconscious mind could be a terrible place.

She pressed on, following the threads of memory. Jair had been a scribe... she recoiled at the sense of boredom that pervaded his lessons. He’d been forced to memorize thousands upon thousands of characters, each with a number of different meanings. He wouldn’t even have tried to become a scribe, she realized, if his parents hadn’t insisted. He’d been grateful beyond words when the New Learning arrived, taking advantage of the opportunities as his fellows fought to stem the tide. They’d called him a traitor. It was funny how little that had hurt.

The memories slapped her mind. Men broke into the store... her store. She - he - tried to fight, only to be tied up and whipped... the memories were so intense she had trouble disentangling her thoughts from his mind. They’d flogged her... her back ached, even though she knew it was purely psychosomatic. And they’d done it in front of her apprentices... his apprentices. How could they respect him, after they’d seen him whipped like a serf? They’d robbed him of his dignity in a handful of seconds...

She felt tears in her eyes as she tasted his shame and humiliation. She’d never been humiliated so badly, not even when... she shook her head as she tried to disengage. The memories were just too strong. He burnt with a helpless desire for revenge, a desire that had only grown stronger as he’d drifted further and further into the revolutionary underground. He’d helped set up rebel cells, fearing all the while that they wouldn’t be enough. And then the revolution had come. He’d forced his way onto the council to ensure the rebels didn’t give up, not when they could win.

Emily stumbled back, head spinning. Jair was loyal. He might be making a mistake in pushing for total war, but he was loyal. How could he ever forgive the aristocracy? They’d broken him. Of course he’d want revenge. And... she shuddered, feeling the insane urge to retch. If someone had done that to her...

I’m sorry, she thought, turning away. She’d made a dreadful mistake and violated a man’s mind for... for what? She didn’t even have the satisfaction of exposing the truth. She’d thought Jair was... she shook her head. Whatever he was, he wasn’t working for an outside power. And she couldn’t blame him for wanting revenge. I’m sorry.

She twisted the spell and erased all traces of her presence, then turned and made her way past the frozen guard. The spell on him would wear off shortly, his memories blurred to the point he’d think he’d simply fallen asleep on duty. He wouldn’t mention it to his superior, Emily was sure. Sergeant Harkin had described an endless series of gruesome punishments meted out to guards who fell asleep when they were meant to be on watch. They were extreme enough - sometimes - to make a royal torturer blanch. She gritted her teeth as she slipped down the stairs, then stopped. She could hear voices. Two people were whispering in the stairwell, far too close to her for comfort.

“... Don’t like this at all,” the first voice said. Young, male... perhaps in his late teens. “Aren’t we supposed to tell the truth?”

“And if you send that article to His Nibs, you’ll be fired,” the second voice said. She sounded young too, although there was a hard edge to her voice. “You should be writing about Donna Trapp.”

“Word on the streets is that she was lying,” the first voice said. “Her entire story is a load of bullshit.”

“His Nibs wants you to write about it,” the second voice said. “And if you don’t, you’ll be fired out of a cannon.”

Into a volcano, Emily thought. The dispute was growing heated. What are they talking about?

A third voice broke in. “Why haven’t you two got back to work?”

Emily smiled as she heard the sound of all three people going through a door and slamming it closed behind them, then hurried back down the stairs before someone else could appear. An open office sat in front of her, a pair of older men arguing loudly as they waved pieces of paper at each other. Emily moved past, trusting in the charm to conceal her presence. They didn’t even look up. The argument was just too important. Emily reached the bottom of the stairs, headed onto the alleyway and vanished into the surrounding streets. They were almost completely empty.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, centering herself, then drifted into the air and headed back across the river. She’d wasted her time. Worse, she’d crossed a line and... guilt gnawed at her, only slightly tempered by the awareness she’d needed to know. But... she scowled as she lowered herself back to the rooftop. Jair might not be working for someone else, not openly, but his demand for war was still going to work in their favor. Perhaps...

And we don’t really know what’s going on, Emily thought. Her thoughts churned in circles, time and time again.