The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22)

boil. She didn’t want to face his fury, not when no one would lift a hand in her defense. The assembled nobles feared the king too, feared what he might do if his back was against the wall. Constance felt cold, wondering - deep inside - if it might be better if the king was... convinced to abdicate in favor of his son. Dater was a dashing young man, so handsome and bursting with energy that no one would dare stand against him. Had he not been the hero of the wars? Had he not taken on a necromantic army and smashed it in an hour of furious combat? Had he not turned down the hand of Lady Emily herself, for the good of the kingdom? Constance’s heart fluttered at the thought. She was too low-born, for all the blue blood in her, to attract the prince... but she could dream.
She glanced up as Councilor Triune ran into the room. He was normally jovial and warm to everyone, even the lowliest maidservants, but now his jowled face was streaked with sweat and his hands were shaking. Constance knew she shouldn’t listen, as he hastily knelt before the king, but she couldn’t help herself. Knowledge was power in the court, particularly if one got it before anyone else. She had long since mastered the art of eavesdropping without making it obvious. She didn’t know why she bothered sometimes. As a young woman from the borderlands, she was rarely considered important enough to matter. The only thing that kept her from being sent home was the favor of the queen.
“Your Majesty!” Councilor Triune sounded as if he wanted to panic. “The sorcerers are dead!”
A rustle ran round the chamber. Constance swallowed, hard. The walls were strong, but the royal court didn’t have enough men to hold them after the Royal Guard had been slaughtered. Or deserted. Or joined the rebels. The stories just kept getting worse and worse. If the rebels turned their attention to the castle, they could get over the walls. The sorcerers were dead. It was only a matter of time before the wards fell.
The king glanced at his queen, then at the barred window looking over the courtyard and the city beyond. The bars weren’t that strong. If the rebels captured a catapult, or one of the new-fangled cannons, they could put a shot right through the window. Constance took no interest in military affairs, but even she knew that walls couldn’t be held forever. And then... she tried not to think about it. The rebels wanted blood. Her blood.
No, she corrected herself. It was unlikely any of the mob knew who she was. They want the king’s blood.
An idea flashed through her mind. She could leave the chamber, perhaps on the pretense of going to the water closet, and swap clothes with a maid. She could pretend to be a maid. No one would know, if she was dressed as a maid... the rebels would ignore her, allowing her to walk out and then... and then what? She didn’t know the city, beyond the inner walls. She couldn’t hope to walk home. She had only the faintest idea of the way!
“We have a plan,” Councilor Triune babbled. “The troops will create a diversion. The rest of us will get into carriages and flee to the army camp. And then...”
“Excellent,” the queen said. “Dater will purge the city with fire and blood.”
The plan didn’t seem a very good idea to Constance, but no one bothered to ask her opinion. It was just taken for granted she’d accompany the queen, along with the remainder of her ladies. Councilor Triune’s men urged them down the stairs, into the rear courtyard, as troops ran forward to rally at the forward gates. They’d always struck Constance as fops, when they hadn’t been trying to court her in their clumsy manner, but... they were going to die in defense of their king. She wished she’d been kinder to the last knight who’d tried to court her. He’d been so dreadfully earnest she’d laughed in his face.
She winced at the noise as they scrambled into the royal carriages. It was hardly her first time in a coach, but... she wished she were on horseback. An eager horse and a clear road... it was all she asked. The littlest princess asked for a horse for herself as she was bundled into another carriage with her nanny, her mother ignoring her cries as the door slammed firmly closed. Constance was tempted to suggest the princess was given a horse, that she was given a horse, but she didn’t dare. Councilor Triune fussed around, snapping orders to the guards as the sound of fighting grew louder. His face was too grim for her to risk speaking her mind. If he got the royal family out, his future would be assured. He was hardly going to alter the plan on her say-so.
“Get in,” the queen snapped. “Now!”
Constance heard someone - Councilor Triune, perhaps - give the command to open the rear gates as she scrambled into the carriage. The regal vehicle lurched as the door was banged closed, then started to move. Constance found a seat and sat down, trying not to look at the queen. The expression on her face promised death and destruction - and social exclusion, perhaps, for the one who disturbed her. Constance tried not to shiver openly. Law and order had broken down everywhere. She didn’t want to think about what might happen if the Crown Prince couldn’t regain control of the city. How many of the dressmakers and jewelers and others she’d patronized were about to die?
“They’ll pay for this,” the queen said, more to herself than the rest of the passengers. It had the air of a blood oath, a promise that could not be broken. “They’ll pay in...”
The shouting grew louder. The carriage lurched again, then crashed to a halt. Constance reached for the window to pull back the blinds,