Queen (The Blackcoat Rebellion #3)(35)

“You too,” he said, all traces of humor evaporating. “If he lets you leave, this way you’ll be able to tell Knox where to find you. You’ll be able to rejoin them.”

A second chance with the Blackcoats. It seemed almost too good to be true. I nudged his arm. “Don’t jinx it. Daxton could decide not to let any of us go.”

“It’s possible,” he allowed, and for a moment, a shadow passed over his face. “A lot of things are possible. But you and Lila both made very good points. He might have won a few battles, but he’ll figure out soon enough that he’s losing the war. If he backs out, we’ll renegotiate in the near future. Either way, we’re all smarter than him individually, and he knows it. He’d be an idiot to keep all three of us here indefinitely and give us a chance to work together.”

“He is an idiot,” I said. “One who thinks he’s a genius. They’re the most dangerous kind.”

“No, the most dangerous kind are the ones with power,” he said.

“And Daxton now single-handedly rules over the entire country.”

Greyson covered my hand with his and squeezed. The weight of the amendment’s implications settled on my shoulders, and I took a deep, calming breath. The crazier and more desperate Daxton grew, the more enemies he would make. The situation seemed impossible right now, but he was slowly digging his own grave. We just had to be patient.

“Was the real Daxton anything like this?” I said. All my life, I’d been fed the public image of Daxton Hart—an upstanding family man who cared about the people and wanted us all to succeed. It was nothing more than propaganda,of course, but after meeting Victor Mercer’s version of Daxton, curiosity snaked through me, leaving me with more questions than would likely ever have answers.

“He was—smarter,” said Greyson after a moment. “He was still ruthless, and up until now, I think he would have mostly done the same things. But he was much cleverer about achieving his goals. You wouldn’t even know he’d entrapped you until it was over, and he had his metaphorical hands around your neck.”

That was something I could picture all too easily. “Was he violent?”

“He used violence as a tool. That’s what Victor does wrong,” said Greyson. “He uses violence for pleasure. It’s not the same. It’s never been the same, and Grandmother must have known. I think that’s why she kept such a tight leash on him.”

I exhaled. Victor’s Daxton seemed to have an endless thirst for blood and sadism, but I thought I could live with being the real Daxton’s daughter as long as I knew that piece of him wasn’t real. “We’ll get him. Or he’ll get himself. One way or the other, he won’t last much longer.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said with a flicker of a smile, and I wrapped my fingers around his.

“I’ll make sure I am.”

At dinner, Daxton went on and on about how pleased he was by the public’s reception of the news that he had dissolved the Ministers of the Union. It was true that the Ministers had taken the brunt of public disapproval for thevarious laws they had passed, but they were laws that, if Daxton hadn’t come up with himself, he had certainly supported. I listened silently, letting him ramble. It would have been easy to mention the fact that he controlled the media, and therefore anything they reported was biased in his favor, but I didn’t want to do or say anything to upset his good mood.

At last, once dinner was over, we moved down a level to what must have been his office. It was guarded by two soldiers and an electronic lock, and behind the double doors sat an exact replica of his office in Somerset. Bookcases lined the walls, a large mahogany desk stretched across the back of the room—there were even fountains at the entrance and the Hart family portrait hanging on the back wall. The only difference I could see was the fact thatthere was no air vent in the corner that would grant me access. As far as I’d been able to determine, the vents in the Stronghold were too narrow for even a small child to fit through, let alone an adult.

A small camera crew waited for us, and I took my seat on a short couch in front of a bookcase. While a woman did my makeup and hair, Daxton read the short speech aloud for me twice, and he made me repeat it again and again to make sure I had it memorized. I’d never been able to read, but it wasn’t until I’d been Masked as Lila that it had become a real problem.

“Good luck,” said Greyson, and Lila flashed me what she must have thought was a supportive smile. Instead she looked like she’d taken a sip of vinegar.

“Thanks,” I said. The speech was simple: tell the world who I was. Prove it by flashing the X on the back of my neck that was hidden beneath my hair. And say in no uncertain terms that my earlier accusations about Daxton’s identity were false. Daxton had written the speech himself, and it was only forty-five seconds long at most.

Easy.

But when the lights came on and the producer counted down, I glanced at Lila and Greyson standing in the corner together, and part of me—the stupid part that was responsible for every mess I’d made in the past four months—screamed at me not to listen to Daxton. To say anything that would help the rebellion. To do something to prove I was worthy of being a Blackcoat.

The red light came on, and I held my breath. For the second time that week, I had the entire country’s attention. I could have been brave. I could have said anything. I could have given the Blackcoats the push they needed to win this.