Queen

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Every news network had a different view of the same scene: an image of the front gate of Somerset. Lights from emergency vehicles flashed across the brick wall, and a camera zoomed in on a team of Shields climbing over onto the property.

My heart sank. “They raided Somerset after all. Is Daxton...?”

“I don’t know,” said Knox. “If Celia had the chance, she took it. I guarantee you.”

Wide-awake now, I leaned forward and watched the images unfolding on the screens. It was the middle of the night in D.C., too, but light flooded Somerset like it was midday. Gunshots sounded in the distance, and I briefly closed my eyes, trying not to imagine where those bullets might wind up. I may not have known the other Blackcoats well, but we were still on the same side.

Someone knocked on the door, and I jumped. Strand poked his head inside, first glancing at Knox and me, then the televisions. “You’re watching this?”

Knox nodded. “Call a meeting for dawn. However this turns out, we should know by then.”

Thirty seconds after Strand left, one of the feeds cut to a reporter whose face was mostly obscured by a thick scarf. She didn’t seem to care, however, as she excitedly rambled into the microphone. “We are receiving reports now that Prime Minister Daxton Hart’s body has been spotted near the front of the Hart family home. Do we have visu—”

Suddenly an image of Somerset appeared. Normally it was a beautiful sight, and no matter how many times I’d been down the drive heading toward it, I’d always been captivated by the high windows into the atrium, the opulent balconies, the shining white exterior that reflected a shimmer of rainbow in the sunlight. But this time, I had to swallow a gag.

Daxton’s body hung from the front door, held up by a chain wrapped around his neck. A hunting knife was buried to the hilt above his heart, and a big red X glistened across his chest. I doubted it was paint.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, clasping my hand over my mouth. Beside me, Knox remained silent, but out of the corner of my eye, I watched his expression go from painfully neutral to barely suppressed rage.

“That’s it,” he said tightly. “It’s over. We’ve lost the war.”

V The American Dream (#ulink_25d07a56-1dd1-57a5-ab71-234749b202f8)

The camera lingered on Daxton’s body for far longer than anyone decent ever would have looked. I turned away after I inspected the portion of his face I could see for any sign it wasn’t him, but every detail matched. Even his dark eyes, which stared blankly out into the night.

Knox buried his face in his hands and didn’t move for nearly an hour. I didn’t know what to say to him—there was nothing to say, nothing that would make any of this any better. I couldn’t apologize for revealing Daxton’s real identity that morning, but that was the root of it. It was my fault Celia had done this, and it was my fault Daxton was dead. I didn’t mourn him, but I did mourn our chances at a fair fight. Already the news networks were showing highlights from the late Prime Minister’s life—mostly from before Victor Mercer had been Masked, which was almost amusing, considering the real Daxton Hart had died over a year ago. Better late than never, I supposed.

None of them even hinted toward the atrocities Daxton had committed in his lifetime. There wasn’t a single word about the facts I’d laid bare in my speech. Just as Knox had predicted, Daxton was celebrated as a hero and a martyr who had died protecting his family and his country from a violent fringe group bent on terrorizing honest and decent American citizens. Any ground we might have gained that morning had disappeared beneath our feet, and already we’d begun to fall.

“We need to tell the others,” said Knox roughly, once he finally came up for air. It was nearly dawn by now, and through the window I could see a pink stain on the edge of the horizon. “We need to prepare them for—”

He stopped, but he didn’t need to finish. They needed to prepare to either spend the rest of their lives on the run as traitors, or they needed to prepare to be executed. We needed to prepare.

Benjy. Knox. Me. We weren’t just enemies of the state anymore—we were enemies of the entire country. And no speech could change that now.

I stood. “I need to find Benjy.” We needed to figure out what we were going to do, and fast. Benjy would be able to hide in plain sight, but everyone in the country knew my face. I would have to spend the rest of my life underground.

I was halfway to the door when the networks all crackled at once—the same sound I’d heard on the radio the night before. But this time it wasn’t Lila’s voice on the other end.

“I see you have once again tried to murder me, and once again, you have failed.”

I whirled around, my heart in my throat. Seated behind a desk in a room I didn’t recognize was Daxton Hart. “What—?”

Knox leaped to his feet and hushed me, his eyes glued to the screen.

“A knife to the heart and a chain around the neck. Not terribly symbolic, dear sister, but I suppose it gets the job done.” Daxton leered at the camera, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. Like this was a game to him, and he’d just outsmarted us. “Only problem is, it wasn’t me.”

At this, he seemed to sober up. He folded his hands and furrowed his brow in his best impression of someone deeply troubled, but I knew him well enough to see the grin desperate to emerge.

“You and your band of terrorists didn’t kill me, Celia. You killed a father of two who bravely volunteered to serve as my double at Somerset while I took refuge in a safe place far from your guns and threats.” He stared into the camera, and the glint in his eyes never faded. “My son, Greyson, and my dear niece, Lila, are both safe with me, and they will remain so for the duration of this fight. And I promise you, citizens of the United States, I will stop at nothing to see these so-called Blackcoats brought to justice. The entire weight of the United States Army is coming for you, and the people will not protect a bunch of murderous traitors. And I promise you, sister, by the end of this—” He leaned in close enough for me to see a popped vein in his eye. “You will be the one in chains.”

The broadcast cut out, and the stunned reporters and anchors all scrambled for something to say. Rather than listen, however, Knox turned the screens off, and silence permeated the room for several long seconds before he let out a victorious holler.

“That idiot. That egomaniacal fool.” Knox whooped and hit the desk so hard that a paperweight toppled to the floor. “He’d won the war. He had it wrapped in a bow and delivered straight to his doorstep. All he had to do was keep quiet and let his generals do his dirty work, and he would have had us.”

“And now he doesn’t?” I said, confused. Knox turned to me, grinning for the first time since—I couldn’t remember ever seeing him grin like that, actually.

“Because he couldn’t stand giving Celia even the impression of a victory.” Knox punched his fist into the air. “Now the whole country knows doubles of Daxton exist. First they’ll question whether he’s really who he claims to be—if he isn’t a double himself, and the real Daxton’s dangling by his neck on that door.”

“He’s the real Daxton. Or Victor, I guess,” I said quietly. No one could fake that sadistic stare.

“I know,” said Knox. “But they don’t. They’ll question it, and before long, that conversation will lead to them wondering if you were telling the truth after all. He just blew his entire defense. The sympathy, the martyrdom, his legacy—all because of his stupid pride and need to make sure everyone knows he’s still in control.” He shook his head, still beaming. “We have a chance, Kitty. We actually have a chance.”

“We have more than a chance,” I said firmly. “We’re going to win this.”

Knox and I walked into the noisy living room side by side, and instantly everyone fell silent. Several members of the Blackcoats paced, their expressions twisted with anger, while others slumped over with disappointment. No one, not even Benjy, looked happy.

“Why are you smiling?” demanded Strand as we headed to the front of the room. Knox stopped underneath the portrait of Daxton, and I stood beside him, for once not feeling like a burden or a nuisance. I hadn’t done anything, but even if I had, Knox was too happy to care.

“Because we just went from losing this war to having a real chance at winning it,” said Knox. As he launched into an explanation, Benjy joined me, his brow furrowed.

“Where have you been?” he whispered, taking my hand in his.

“I was watching the news with Knox,” I whispered in return.

“All night?”

I nodded and gave him a strange look. “What else would I be doing with him?”

Benjy opened his mouth to say something, but wisely shut it. His grip on my hand tightened, however, and he didn’t let go.

“Though Celia’s plan backfired, it’s also offered us an unparalleled opportunity to gain the country’s support,” said Knox to the other Blackcoats. “We must seize this chance and prove our allegations are true.”

“How? By tying Daxton down and forcing him to admit it?” said Strand. But before Knox could answer, I knew exactly what he was going to say.

“The file.”

Everyone in the room looked at me. I cleared my throat. It wasn’t the first time I’d blurted out something ridiculous, but this time, I was absolutely sure I was right.

“There’s a file full of evidence that Daxton is really Victor Mercer,” I said. “I stole it a few weeks ago. It’s part of the reason Daxton had me arrested and thrown into Elsewhere. I hid it,” I added. “In Somerset.”

“We’ll send word to the D.C. team at once,” said Strand. “We can have it in our possession in minutes and out to the public by noon.”

Knox shook his head. “I’m not trusting anyone else with something this important. There could be spies among us, and this folder is the only chance we have to prove Daxton is Victor Mercer.”

The rest of the room grumbled their discontent, but I understood Knox perfectly. We both knew the real reason for his hesitation was Celia. After the stunt she’d pulled the night before, I didn’t blame him for not trusting her. He couldn’t very well throw Celia’s loyalty and rationality into question in front of her army, however, not when she was the one running the rebellion outside Elsewhere.

“So what are we supposed to do, then? Go get it ourselves?” said Strand.

“Yes,” said Knox. “I’m going to assemble a team of volunteers willing to sneak into Somerset and steal the file back without ever alerting the other Blackcoats to our presence.”

“We’re not at war with ourselves,” said Benjy. “Given the importance of this file, we could use all the help we can get.”

“This is a need-to-know mission only,” said Knox. “It does not leave this room, is that understood?”

The others nodded, though several cast wary looks at Knox. I squeezed Benjy’s hand.

“I’m going with you,” I said. Knox scowled, but I cut him off before he could protest. “I’m the only one who knows where the file is, and even if I tell you how to get there, it’s possible you won’t be able to reach it. Besides, I’m the one who hid it. I should be the one to recover it.”

A deep line formed in his forehead. “If something happens to you, our campaign will never recover.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to make sure it doesn’t,” I said. “I know exactly where to find it. We’ll be in and out, no problem.”

“Don’t jinx it,” muttered Knox, but he nodded stiffly. Beside me, Benjy shifted.

“Kitty—”

“I’m the only one who can get to it,” I said quietly, looking up at him. “It’ll be fine.”

He stared at me, doubt clear in his gaze, but there was no talking me out of this. I didn’t just owe it to Knox and myself—I owed it to the entire country to do this. I was the reason Daxton wasn’t dead in the first place, and countless people would suffer—had already suffered, and would continue to suffer—because of it. This was mine to make right; no one else’s.

“We’ll only have a short time frame before the Shields launch a counterattack,” said Knox. “But if we can get in before sunset, we should be fine.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” said Strand. Knox and I glanced at one another.

“I’m afraid that’s classified,” said Knox. “I’ll need half a dozen volunteers. We’ll take a jet out in exactly one hour.”

What he needed half a dozen other people for, I couldn’t fathom, but I didn’t question it, either. It would only take two of us to get into Somerset—hell, I could do it on my own, but I knew Knox wouldn’t let me go in without him. The more people who came with us, the worse our chances of going undetected were, and ultimately they would only get in our way.

When the meeting disbanded shortly after, I headed upstairs with Benjy at my heels. Neither of us said a word until we reached our bedroom, and he closed the door firmly behind him. “Kitty, you don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” I said, searching for a clean set of clothes. “I know why you don’t want me to go—”

“Do you? Because it doesn’t seem like you do.” He raked his fingers through his short red hair, exasperated. “How many times have we almost lost each other?”

“Benjy...” I paused long enough to study him. His face was stricken, and I softened my tone. “Too many. We’ve nearly lost each other too many times, and if this war keeps going on like this, eventually we will.”

“If you keep taking risks like this—”

“Sometimes the risk is worth it. And some things—some things are more important.”

“More important than what? Protecting the people you love?”

“Isn’t that exactly what we’re doing by fighting this rebellion in the first place?” I dug out a pair of black pants and a black top. Perfect for sneaking around. “I need to take a shower. I’ll be home by dinnertime.”

“Kitty—”

“We’ll talk about this then, okay?” I said, but he grabbed the bathroom door before I could open it.

“No, we’re talking about this now, because there might not be a then.”

I let my hand fall from the knob and stared up at him defiantly. “You’re not talking me out of this.”

“Then we have a problem, because I don’t know how many more times I can do this.”

My mouth went dry. “You don’t have to do this, Benjy. It would be safer for you if you weren’t here anyway.”

“Do you really think being away from you would help? I’d still worry constantly—”

“I don’t want you to worry,” I said, exasperated. “You should be focusing on your own life, not mine. And it feels like the deeper we go into this war, the more I distract you.”

“You’re part of my life, Kitty. The most important part.” He reached out to touch me, but I shifted back, and he dropped his hand. “Yes, I worry about you. I worry about what this is doing to you—being Lila, fighting for people you didn’t even know four months ago. I can tell it’s slowly chipping away at you, one day at a time, and I hate myself for not being able to protect you from all of this.”

“It isn’t your job to protect me.”

“But you’ll let Knox try.”

The ground felt as if it had dropped out from under me, and I opened and shut my mouth in shock. “Is that it, then? Is that what all of this is about? You’re mad I stayed with Knox last night?”

“Well, I’m not exactly happy about it,” he said, with more sarcasm than I’d thought he had in him. “You’re hurt. I wanted to be there for you—to give you a relaxing night where you could rest. Instead, you spent it with him. And sometimes—” He stopped.

“Sometimes what?” I pressed, an edge in my voice. “Whatever it is, let it out, Benjy. Because there might not be a then, remember?”

The moment I said it, guilt washed over me. He’d done nothing to deserve this fight, and I was being a complete jerk about something I knew was quickly becoming a problem for us. Rivers pointing out Knox’s supposed feelings had been bad enough; Benjy bringing it up made me want to claw the walls with frustration and anger. And if he really thought I would ever do anything with Knox when he was waiting for me just a room or two away, then he didn’t know me at all.