Queen

“Well, it’s a bit more luxurious than the cellar, but why the hell not. I’m feeling generous tonight.” He bowed. “Ladies. Benjamin. Enjoy your evening.”

  As soon as he was gone, everyone in the room seemed to exhale with relief. Benjy stood. “I’ll escort you both back to Lila’s room,” he said. “And I’ll make sure the guards undo your shackles, Celia.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and the guards took their places on either side of her. I joined them, and together we trooped upstairs and back to Lila’s suite. True to his word, Benjy instructed the guards to remove Celia’s binds, and as she walked into the room, it suddenly hit me that I would have to spend the next twelve hours convincing her that I was, in fact, her daughter.

  Benjy touched my shoulder, and I looked at him, more scared than I’d been in ages. He didn’t say anything, but he held my stare for a split second and nodded slightly. I could do this. He knew I could do this.

  The problem was, I didn’t want to.

  As soon as the doors closed and the lock clicked into place, trapping Celia and me for the night, she crossed the room and embraced me, her frighteningly skinny arms wrapping around me with what must have been all the strength she could muster. Silently I hugged her back.

  We stood like that for minutes—hours—I couldn’t tell, and it didn’t matter. I would stay like this for the rest of the night if she wanted me to. But eventually she let go and touched my face, gazing into my eyes. Lila’s eyes.

  “When—” Her voice caught in her throat, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She didn’t bother wiping it away. “When did it happen?”

  I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, but it suddenly hit me, and the words retreated. She knew. Of course she knew. “Late December,” I whispered. “It was instantaneous. She felt no pain, and she didn’t know it was coming.”

  Celia took a long, deep breath and released it slowly before capturing me in a hug again. “Good. At least she didn’t suffer.”

  “Not even a little,” I promised. “How did you...?”

  “Lila is my daughter. I know her better than anyone in the world.” Celia ran her fingers through my hair. “As soon as I knew he had you, too, it was obvious he was only going to keep one of you alive. I’ve been watching your appearances. You’re good. You’re very, very good. But you aren’t her.”

  No, I wasn’t. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It isn’t your fault, and you’ve done a wonderful job keeping her alive. But, Kitty...” She paused and took my hand, leading me to the couch, where we sat down beside one another. She wrapped her arms around me again, holding me like I really was her daughter, and she kissed the top of my head. “Don’t lose yourself in this, all right? The Blackcoats are down, but they aren’t defeated. The people are unhappy, and eventually the revolution will happen. When it does, you need to be there to believe in the impossible. That’s the only way change happens—when someone dares to think differently and does whatever they have to in order to make that a reality. You can’t do that if you’ve lost yourself in the meantime.”

  “I’ll try not to,” I said, curling up against her. “We haven’t given up.”

  “Of course you haven’t. You’re a Hart. Not giving up is in our genes.” I could hear the smile in her voice, and I allowed myself to relax. If she could smile right now, then I could, too. “I’m sorry about everything that’s been done to you, Kitty. Truly.”

  “I’m not.” As soon as I said the words, I knew they were true. “You and Knox gave my life meaning and purpose. I won’t lie and say it’s been easy, but nothing worth having ever is, right?”

  “My husband used to say that all the time,” she murmured.

  “Benjy did, too. It’s how he tried to get me to do my homework when we were in school.” I paused. “I’m sorrier for all you’ve been through. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

  Her arms tightened around me. “I could very well say the same about you. You’ll make it through this—you and Greyson both. I’m only sorry I won’t be there to see Victor’s face when he realizes he’s lost.”

  I swallowed thickly. “I’ll make sure he loses everything.”

  She smiled. “Good girl.”

  We sat together on the couch for the rest of the night, neither of us bothering with sleep. She told me her life story, about growing up as a Hart and slowly realizing how wrong and twisted the world really was. About what the real Daxton—my father—had been like, and Jameson, my half brother. She told me stories about the good memories she had with her family, even her mother, Augusta, and she lingered on the memories of Lila. I had already heard a number of her stories when she’d been educating me on her daughter’s life back in October, but this time, she told me personal ones—like what holding Lila for the first time had felt like. Seeing her first steps. Her first words, her first birthday, and the last time she’d seen her. Little moments I hadn’t needed to know when I was pretending to be her, but now that Celia knew she was about to die, I supposed it was cathartic to remember. Or maybe she just wanted to make sure the best moments of her life didn’t die with her.

  “When I was younger, I always thought death was the worst possible thing that could happen to someone,” she murmured as the horizon slowly turned gray. We didn’t have much time left, but she didn’t speak any faster. Instead, she seemed to slow down, her gaze growing distant. “And then my husband was murdered, and they tried to kill my daughter, and I realized death isn’t the worst thing. It’s just the last thing. And endings are hard, that’s all.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I hope every day there’s something more.”

  “More?” I said.

  “Something after this life, in whatever form it takes. And that’s why I’m not scared,” she added. “Because the worst that can happen is nothingness. And while that’s a frightening concept, if there is something more—maybe they’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see my husband and daughter again, and that’s worth the risk any day. It’s something to look forward to.”

  It was a small comfort as she faced her own death. But keeping her alive in a world where her family was long dead—that was the worst kind of cruelty I could think of. No matter how Daxton killed her, it would still be a mercy kill. We would all die one day, and at least she wouldn’t have to live to see another without her husband and daughter.

  When the knock sounded on the door at sunrise, she held me to her once more, close enough for me to feel her steady pulse. “Remember what I said. Don’t forget yourself, Kitty. Don’t forget your bravery. You’re not alone in this fight, and when the time comes, don’t hold back.”

  “I won’t,” I said, my voice breaking. “I promise.”

  She tucked my hair behind my ears and brushed her fingertips against my cuff. “That’s pretty,” she murmured. “You should wear that to my execution.”

  My hand flew to my ear. Did she know what it was? If she did, she gave no more indication of it, and instead she stood and smoothed her dirty clothes. A pair of guards stood at the door with her shackles, and as she crossed the room toward them, I walked with her. My eyes welled as they secured her again, though her expression was strangely calm. I tried to remember what she had told me—that death wasn’t the end to her; it was a possibility for the reunion she’d been waiting for. But a lump formed in my throat anyway.

  “They’ll be there,” I managed, embracing her one last time. “I’m sure of it.”

  Her chains rattled as she hugged me back as best she could. “So am I.”

  The guard cleared his throat, and at last we let each other go. Our eyes locked, and I remained absolutely still as the guards led her away, her neck twisted so she didn’t lose sight of me until the last possible moment. No—not me. Her daughter. Lila.

  Once she was gone, I shut the door and tried to move back to the couch, but my legs gave way underneath me, a
nd I collapsed to the floor, sobbing harder than I had since this whole mess had begun.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, choking on my own tears, but suddenly a pair of familiar arms wrapped around my shoulders, and I leaned against Benjy, clinging to him. He held me, not saying a word as I cried myself out. There was nothing to say anyway. No magic formula of words to make it any better. It was what it was—the end for her. The end of all her possibilities, and despite what she said, it was the end of the Blackcoat Rebellion.

  “Daxton wants you there,” whispered Benjy, rubbing my back. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” I said hoarsely, and he helped me up. I’d known this was coming. The real Daxton had forced Lila to watch her father’s execution; there was simply no way Victor Mercer would let me miss Celia’s.

  I splashed cold water on my face and dressed in all black. Daxton might have considered this a celebration, but no one would mistake me for a reveler. My eyes were still red and puffy, so I found a pair of sunglasses and put them on, too. When I returned, someone had brought me breakfast, and I stared at the ham and eggs like they were made of plastic.

  “You need to eat something,” said Benjy, who sat on the couch waiting for me. “You barely had anything at all last night. The kitchen tried to give you steak, but I made them switch it out for ham.”

  Feeling more like a robot following commands than a real human being, I managed a few mouthfuls of eggs. They tasted like nothing, even though I didn’t doubt they were seasoned to perfection.

  “Good. And a bite of ham. Just one,” encouraged Benjy, and reluctantly I cut off a piece. I stabbed it with the tip of the knife hard enough for the metal to screech against the china, and I winced. They may have traded steak for ham, but they’d left the sharp knife on my plate.

  “There,” I said, once I’d eaten it. “Happy?”

  “Yes. Thank you,” said Benjy, and he offered me his hand. “Let’s go.”

  I started to reach for it, but I was still holding on to the knife. A guard poked his head into the room, and Benjy turned away. He was still on my side—he would always be on my side. But that was the moment I chose to slide the knife into the sleeve of my leather jacket before taking his hand.

  Greyson waited for us in the car, and he too wore all black. He offered me a tiny, watery smile, and I slid in beside him, hugging his arm and resting my head on his shoulder. I didn’t dare say anything, not when I knew the driver could be listening, but there was nothing to say anyway. Though Greyson hadn’t been present at dinner the night before, he must have known what we were doing here, and talking about it wouldn’t make any of this any easier.

  Minutes later, we arrived at the edge of a park near Somerset, and though it was barely dawn, thousands of people had already braved the freezing morning air to gather around and watch the execution. I didn’t know how many were there to celebrate the end of the rebellion and how many were simply chomping at the bit to see Celia die, but whether they were here for entertainment or out of morbid curiosity, I hated them all.

  Camera crews lined the front, blocking most of the audience’s view. Security cleared a path for us to make our way to the stage, where Daxton already waited. It was the same kind of platform Mercer had used in Elsewhere to kill Scotia and her Blackcoat supporters; the same kind of platform I’d stood on while giving my speech to the entire country, revealing my real identity and exposing Daxton’s. D.C. was really no different from Elsewhere, in the end. At least the Mercers had been open about their brutality and the consequences of straying an inch out of line. Here, the people gathered had no idea how little control they had over their own lives.

  “Good morning, Lila,” chirped Daxton. He was dressed in a blue suit and red coat with an American flag pinned to the lapel, but he didn’t comment on my outfit. I couldn’t fathom him expecting anything else. “Ah, Greyson. So pleased to see you could join us.”

  Neither Greyson nor I responded. Instead we stood together, side by side, and waited in the frigid morning as sunlight began to sneak across the park. A chorus of shouts echoed from the edge, and I turned in time to see the guards forcing a path again, this time with Celia between them.

  She’d been cleaned up and dressed in a blue jumpsuit, and she walked with her head held high, not making eye contact with anyone in the crowd. But though they were loud, I didn’t hear any boos—instead, several of them reached for her, trying to touch her as she passed.

  At last she reached the stage, and the guards escorted her up the steps to the center. Though she was only minutes from death, her eyes were bright, and she looked happier than I could ever remember seeing her before.

  “Celia Hart,” called Daxton, and his voice echoed throughout the entire park. “You have been charged with treason against not only your country, but your family. Your mother, your brother, your nephews, your daughter—you have committed grievous and unforgivable acts against us all, and now you will face the consequences of your actions. Do you have any last words?”

  “Yes.” Her voice also echoed across the crowd, and she smiled. “Checkmate.”

  For the briefest moment, confusion flashed across Daxton’s face. He quickly covered it with a smile that might have looked benevolent to the cameras, but to me was full of malice and hatred. “Yes, dear sister. Checkmate.”

  A guard brought him a silver pistol—the same model I’d used to try to kill him. Knowing Daxton, it was probably the exact same gun. He would have found poetry in that, in some sick and twisted way. Once he’d expertly checked the chamber, he pointed the barrel toward Celia’s forehead, and I held my breath, staring at my feet. I couldn’t watch this.

  “Oh. How rude of me,” said Daxton, and he lowered the weapon. I looked at him, wild hope fluttering through me. “Your daughter asked for a merciful killing on your behalf, and I agreed.”

  Holding the gun by the barrel, he offered it to me instead. I stared at him uncomprehendingly.

  “Go on then, Lila,” he said, stretching the gun closer to me. “I will grant you the privilege of giving your mother the painless death you believe she deserves.”

  All the air left my lungs, and I couldn’t breathe.

  He wanted me to kill her.

  He wanted Lila to kill her own mother.

  Daxton leaned in, and I noticed a button he held in his other hand. He lifted his thumb, and the light flickered off. “Lila, dear, your mother is going to die today one way or the other. If you do not do this, I will have her doused in gasoline and burned alive in front of all these people. She will die in one of the most painful ways possible, and you will never get her screams of agony out of your head. Is that what you want for her? For yourself?”

  His voice only passed to me. The button must have controlled the microphones, but I hardly cared. I couldn’t kill her. I couldn’t.

  “This is what you asked for, yes?” said Daxton, and he placed the gun in my hand. “I am offering her a swift, painless death out of the goodness of my heart. Don’t force her last few moments to be in agony.”

  “Lila.” Celia’s voice drifted toward me, and I looked at her, my eyes wide with panic. “It’s okay. None of this is your fault. And I want it to be you.”

  My fingers curled around the handle as a choking sob bubbled up inside me. I could pull the trigger and shoot Daxton now and end this whole damn thing. That was exactly what I should have done, but before I could work up the courage, Daxton leaned in again.

  “If you get the urge to try again, don’t. There are snipers pointing their weapons directly at you and Greyson,” he whispered. “If you so much as think about killing me, you will both be dead.”

  I would have been happy to die if it meant taking Daxton with me, but Greyson had to live. He had to be the one to put the country back together. Daxton must have known that, because he flashed me a wide smile and stepped back. “At
your leisure, my dear.”

  It took every ounce of strength I possessed, but I lifted the gun, holding it the way I’d learned on the ranges in Elsewhere. The way Knox had taught me in Somerset. The way I’d shot Augusta Hart over and over and over again, until there had been no bullets left in the chamber and the white carpet had been soaked with her blood. My finger rested on the trigger, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pull it.

  Celia held my stare for a long moment, and she smiled. “Sometimes you have to sacrifice your queen to capture the king.”

  My lower lip trembled, and I had to grab the gun with my other hand as well to hold it steady, lest it accidentally slip toward Daxton. The crowd was silent, and my heart pounded in my ears.

  “I can’t,” I whispered.

  “Yes, you can,” she said, and her smile grew. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  The sob I’d been holding in finally escaped, and at last I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the trigger.

  XVI

  Checkmate

  The gunshot cracked through the air like a whip, and as I stood there in shock, my eyes shut and my entire body trembling, several things happened in quick succession, faster than my muddled mind could follow.

  A roar rose from the crowd, the sound of it unlike anything I’d ever heard before. Hundreds of voices joined together, enraged and ready for war.

  At the same time, someone cried out in pain, and I opened my eyes to see Celia press her hand to her temple, where a streak of red spilled down her cheek. I stared at her, stunned. I’d put a bullet in her brain. How—

  That was when I noticed the camera behind her. Several reporters had ducked, and the camera was a smoking mess with a shattered lens. Though I’d grazed Celia, I’d missed doing any real damage to her, hitting the camera instead. Around us, the crowd began to riot, and the Shields who had been so focused on the stage now faced outward, pointing their weapons into the audience. Several people screamed and tried to run, but others only climbed over them, getting closer and closer to the platform. Fear seized me. I didn’t know if they were coming for me or Daxton or both of us.