Queen

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.