Queen

by Aimee Carter

  “Give me that,” he snarled, and he grabbed the gun from me, loading it with another bullet. It must have only had one. “Stupid bitch. Might just shoot you next.”

  “I—” I stood there dumbly, frozen in place, but Celia screamed, an animalistic sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. With inhuman speed, she hurtled toward Daxton, crashing into him before he could close the chamber. They tumbled off the stage and onto the ground, knocking over a pair of Shields in the process.

  I started to move toward the edge of the stage to help her, but Greyson grabbed my elbow. “Come on, we have to get out of here,” he shouted over the noise, and he pulled me toward the staircase instead. I looked over my shoulder, desperate for any sign of Celia, but she was in the middle of a knot of Shields now, all clamoring to break them apart. No doubt they couldn’t risk killing her without killing Daxton, too. And though it would mean losing Celia, I hoped like hell they would try anyway. It was undoubtedly what she wanted.

  Greyson and I pushed our way through the crowd, and a few startled guards from Daxton’s protection detail joined us. Faces blurred together, and I had no idea where we were going. Greyson seemed to know, however, and he led me down a zigzagged path, avoiding the worst of the crush.

  As we neared the cars, a shot rang out from the platform, reverberating through the park and down my spine. I slowed, trying to see who had taken the bullet, but the crowd had swallowed the stage whole.

  “Celia—” I began, but Greyson tugged me along. I stumbled, and a guard scooped me up, narrowly avoiding a collision with a pair of young men brandishing sticks. They were running for the platform, not us. They were after Daxton.

  When we reached the car, Greyson skidded to a stop. “That’s going to be useless,” he said, and I forced myself to focus long enough to see the four shredded tires.

  “We’ll take the Prime Minister’s car,” said a guard, and he ushered us to another black limousine ten yards down the road. The tires on his were still intact, and the guard opened the door, shoving both of us inside. “Wait for the Prime Minister,” he shouted to the driver before slamming the door and running back toward the melee.

  “It must have killed him to protect us instead of Daxton,” said Greyson as we climbed toward the front of the limousine. His coat was rumpled, and his hat was askew, but he was unhurt.

  “Do you think Celia killed him?” I said breathlessly, my brain still trying to process everything.

  Greyson bit his lip. “I hope so,” he finally said, even though the driver was listening. “If there’s any justice in the world.”

  He set his hands over mine, and it was only then that I realized I was trembling. Swallowing hard, I dug my nails into my legs, trying to regain control. Though the fighting continued in the park, with shots ringing out and screams rising above the fray, it was all oddly muffled in the car. “Why are they rioting? The Shields are going to kill them.”

  “Because he tried to make you kill Celia.” He leaned in closer. “You did exactly what you should have done.”

  “I didn’t—” I clenched my jaw. I couldn’t admit that I hadn’t meant to only graze Celia. Even if Greyson wouldn’t have judged me for it, I was judging myself. I should have never pulled the trigger. “He isn’t back yet. Do you think...?”

  Greyson fell silent, and together we stared out the window, waiting. Every muscle in my body felt like a tightened coil, ready to spring at any moment. Celia had been so determined—and if anyone deserved to take out Daxton, it was her.

  At last a knot of Shields three deep pushed through the rioters, and my heart dropped. “They wouldn’t be protecting her like that,” I whispered, hope draining out of me. Greyson squeezed my hands.

  Sure enough, once they reached the street, Daxton emerged from their protective circle and tumbled into the car. Four long scratch marks ran down the side of his face, and he favored his left shoulder, but the worst of it was the blood that had soaked through his suit, turning his white shirt crimson. I shifted to sit next to Greyson and made myself as small as I could while Daxton composed himself, running one bloodstained hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

  “Ah, yes. They told me about the other car.” He settled his hands in his lap, and only then did he seem to notice the blood. He held up his palm and grinned. “Your mother’s. Feisty, wasn’t she?”

  He had killed Celia after all, then. My eyes burned, and I traced the handle of the knife I had slipped inside my coat. One stab to the heart, if he had one. That was all it would take.

  But Greyson wrapped his arms around my shoulders to hold me in place, and I took a deep, shuddering breath. If I attacked now, Daxton would know it was coming, and no doubt he would overpower me. Wherever we were going, there would be a smarter time. I hoped.

  The car sped down the avenue, and I blinked back tears, staring out the window. Something had happened in that park—something huge. But I didn’t understand it yet, and I wondered how Daxton would spin it this time. A bunch of leftover rebels wishing their leader goodbye. A riot incited when I tried to kill him instead. Whatever happened, there had been more cameras there than I could count. It had to have been broadcasted live. The people had to know what Daxton had tried to do, and they had to have seen citizens fighting back. I refused to believe anything different.

  “You’re taking us to Somerset?” said Greyson as we pulled up the long, winding drive and approached the remains of the Hart family home. Scaffolding covered the hole in the residential wing, but it was far too early for the construction workers to be on-site.

  “The rioters are heading toward Creed Manor, and the Prime Minister’s protection detail rerouted us here. Until they can rejoin us, you’re to take cover in the safe room,” said the driver.

  “Fine, fine. Make it quick, before they come here, too,” said Daxton with a trace of nervousness in his voice. The driver parked the car and hopped out to open the door for us. Daxton climbed out first, not seeming to care that he left a trail of blood wherever he moved, and I followed several seconds later, keeping my distance from both him and the blood.

  “Miss Hart,” said the driver, holding out his arm for me to take. I did so, still too unsteady to trust myself to stay balanced. But when I looked up, I caught myself staring into the same blue eyes I saw every day in the mirror, no matter whose face I wore.

  My mouth fell open, and Rivers winked. “Do you need an escort to the safe room?” he said. “A guard is expecting you.”

  “They will not be joining me,” called Daxton, already hurrying through the front doors. As soon as he disappeared into the remains of Somerset, I caught Rivers in a hug, burying my nose in his blond hair.

  “What’s going on?” I said, stunned, as I finally let him go. He cleared his throat, and I glanced over my shoulder. Greyson stood directly behind me, his eyebrows raised.

  “Friend of yours?” he said, and I nodded.

  “Greyson, this is Rivers. Rivers, this is Greyson,” I said. The pair of them shook hands, but as soon as they let go, Rivers ushered us toward the doors.

  “No time to waste. You spoke with Celia?” he said.

  I nodded. “What—”

  “Make sure she didn’t die for nothing,” he said. “Hurry, before Daxton tries to close the door himself.”

  No doubt that was exactly what he would do, and I gave Rivers a quick, grateful smile. “I’ll see you soon, right?”

  He winked again. “Sooner than you think.”

  Taking Greyson’s hand, I hurried into Somerset and headed directly for the nearest staircase. The bombs hadn’t flattened the atrium like they had the residential wing, and to my relief, the steps were still in one piece.

  “Explain that to me,” said Greyson as we raced to the lowest level. “Who’s Rivers?”

  “He’s a lieutenant with the Blackcoats. If he’
s here, something’s going on. Something big.”

  “I gathered as much,” said Greyson. When we reached the basement landing, he stopped, and I pitched forward, barely catching myself on the railing. “Do you realize what we’re about to do?”

  “I—yes,” I said. “We’re about to get in the safe room.”

  “With Victor Mercer. Alone.” He stared at me. “That’s suicide, Kitty.”

  “But—” I paused. “Rivers is planning something. He said to make sure Celia didn’t die for nothing.”

  “She didn’t die for nothing. I—” He tugged off his hat, and his hair stuck up like he hadn’t bothered to brush it that morning. “I can’t let you go in there, Kitty. Not when I know you won’t come out.”

  “Greyson, I have to—”

  “You have to what? To give him exactly the opportunity he needs to kill you? He can say you died in the riot. He can say a stray bullet hit you, and the public will believe him.”

  “Did you see that out there? Did you?” I gestured wildly toward the ceiling. “They don’t believe a word he says. And if we’re going to end this, we have to do it now. It’s the only chance we’ll get.”

  “You don’t know that.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his grip on my hand tightened. “I’m sorry, Kitty. I can’t let you do this. Even if there is a plan, no one bothered to tell us what it is.”

  Suddenly my cuff crackled, and out of nowhere, a familiar voice sounded in my ear. “Tell him Daxton isn’t armed, and the vest he’s wearing isn’t nearly as bulletproof as he thinks it is.”

  The ground seemed to move underneath my feet, and it was all I could do to stay upright. “Kn-Knox?” I whispered, touching my cuff.

  “Knox?” said Greyson, his eyes widening, and I nodded, stunned. He fumbled through his pockets, presumably for his own transmitter.

  “Sorry for the radio silence,” said Knox. “Couldn’t let you in on anything while you were under Daxton’s thumb.”

  “But—you’re not— Elsewhere is gone—”

  “As soon as you were captured, Rivers insisted we use the tunnels to move everyone out of the sections,” he said. “We figured Daxton would try to torture information out of you, and with the supply lines choked off, there was no point staying anyway. By the time the bombs hit, we’d been gone for days.”

  I had no idea what to say to that. Everyone was okay. No one had died in that pile of ash that was now Elsewhere. And Knox was alive.

  “I’m going to kill you,” I said in a choked voice. “All this time, and you were really okay.” I paused as realization hit me. “Wait—that means—you heard everything—”

  “I did. I’m touched, truly.”

  I let out several curses. Greyson leaned in closer, apparently unable to find his transmitter. “What’s he saying?”

  “I’m saying you need to get in that safe room, Kitty,” said Knox. “Just you. We need Greyson alive, and if things don’t go as planned...”

  I swallowed. “Right. I’m the pawn.”

  “You haven’t been a pawn for a very long time.” I heard the smirk in his voice, and for a split second, I couldn’t help but grin. He was alive. He was actually alive.

  I quickly relayed Knox’s message to Greyson, whose frown only deepened. “No. I won’t let her go in there, Knox. He’ll kill her.”

  “He’s unarmed,” I said. “And I have a knife.”

  Greyson shook his head, his grip on my hand almost bruising. “No. No. You’re it. You’re the only family I have left. I’m not letting you go.”

  “Greyson—”

  “Kick him in the shin, and then run like hell toward the safe room,” said Knox. “There’s no time. I’ll explain while you run.”

  I winced. “I’m so sorry,” I said, and before Greyson could move, I did exactly as Knox had instructed and kicked him. Hard.

  Greyson cried out, and his grip loosened enough for me to yank my hand back and make a break for it. I raced down the hallway toward the safe room, gripping the handle of the knife in my sleeve. This time, I wouldn’t fail.

  “Kitty, listen to me,” said Knox in a low voice. “We’ve planted cameras in the safe room. Before you do anything else, you need to get Daxton to confess. Preferably not under duress. As much as you can get out of him—make it happen. But most important, make sure he admits to being Victor Mercer. Can you do that?”

  “Don’t have much of a choice, do I?” But even if I did—even if Greyson could have done it, or Knox, or anyone else, I would have still been running at breakneck speed toward that room. Because Lila was the one with the real power. She was the one the people loved. And that was worth more than control through fear ever would be.

  “The connection will probably break up as soon as the door’s closed,” said Knox. “I’m on my way, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just remember—no matter what else happens, make him confess. The entire country will be watching.”

  “Got it.” I turned a corner and saw a burly guard standing in front of the doors to the safe room. I expected a fight—no doubt Daxton had given him the order not to open the door for anyone—but he immediately punched a code into the keypad and tipped me an enormous wink. Another Blackcoat, then. Suddenly my world seemed to be full of them. “The Prime Minister is waiting for you, Miss Hart.”

  I brushed my wild hair from my eyes. “Thank you,” I said. Taking a deep breath, I threw out a silent, wild hope into the universe that I would make it out of this alive, and finally I stepped inside.

  XVII

  Death by a Thousand Cuts

  The safe room wasn’t very big—the size of a generous living room, maybe, with the walls covered in cabinets and drawers that held enough supplies to keep the entire Hart family alive for months. Several couches stretched across the room, and there was a small private bathroom in the corner. Claustrophobia aside, it wasn’t a terrible place to spend the night, as I’d done during the Blackcoat bombings my first evening in Somerset.

  I searched the walls for any sign of a camera, but I didn’t see so much as a red light. It didn’t matter. I had to trust Knox. I had to believe he was right, and this was the chance we’d been waiting for.

  Daxton stood pacing a circle in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back. When I slipped into the room, he stopped, his face twisting into a snarl. “Who said you could join me?”

  “Your protective detail made me,” I said, lingering near the door as the guard pushed it shut. It was at least two feet thick and made of impenetrable metal—supposedly strong enough to withstand even a nuclear bomb. “Greyson—he refused to come.”

  “He always was smarter than you.” Daxton resumed his pacing. “I should kill you myself. Do you have any idea what you did out there?”

  “I didn’t do anything. The crowd was ready to rip you apart the second you tried to make me kill my own mother. That’s twisted even for you, Victor.”

  He pushed his bloodstained hair back from his eyes, glowering at me. “It’s Daxton.”

  “Who the hell are you kidding down here?” I waved my hand toward the empty room. “It’s just me and you, and we both know exactly who you are.”

  “Yes, we do.” He took a step toward me, his shoulders squared. “I am the Prime Minister of the United States of America. I am the most powerful man in this country. And no matter what my name happened to be two years ago, today it is Prime Minister Daxton Hart.”

  That was as much of a confession as I would probably get out of him, but I had no doubt it wouldn’t be good enough for Knox. The few supporters Daxton had left could spin it, and we would be left at square one.

  “How did she pick you?” I said. “Augusta. Did you two know each other? Did she come to Elsewhere one day and see you there with eyes exactly the same color as her real son’s? I know how you found
Kitty, but how did Augusta find you?”

  He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he stared at me wordlessly. For a moment I wondered if he’d cracked—if he was so deluded into thinking he really was Daxton now that he couldn’t handle any memories of his life before, believing they would negate his new identity.

  But instead a wicked smile twisted across his face, and he took another step toward me. I had nowhere to go in the safe room, which only seemed to grow smaller and smaller as the seconds passed. My fingers tightened around the knife’s handle. Let him try to hurt me. We would see how far that got him.

  “Victor Mercer knew the family intimately,” he murmured. “Daxton was a friend of his, you see. He would stay with Victor and his brother while he visited Elsewhere, and they would help Daxton partake in his particular...proclivities. Augusta didn’t visit as frequently, but she did drop by from time to time, and one day, she approached Victor with a proposition. She liked him, you see. He was resourceful, driven, and he took pride in his work—all qualities she needed in a double for her son.”

  “And you jumped on the chance to seize power for yourself,” I said.

  “Naturally. Victor wasn’t stupid.” He took another step closer to me. He was within arm’s reach now, but he kept his hands at his side, instead towering over me. “Do you want to hear something funny?”

  “Bet it won’t make me laugh.”

  “Mmm, but it will make you think.” He closed the distance between us, his body inches from mine. I could smell the blood on his clothes, and it made my stomach turn. “Victor Mercer was Masked months before the original Daxton Hart died.”

  I stared at him, my heart pounding. “What?”

  He grinned and raised his bloodstained fingers, brushing them against my jaw. It took everything I had not to stab him through the gut right then and there. “Perhaps Augusta knew Celia was targeting Daxton, or perhaps her son was misbehaving, and she wanted him out of the way. Perhaps she wanted a puppet she could control. Or perhaps it was simply a coincidence.”