Queen (The Blackcoat Rebellion #3)(42)

Silence. I could hear Knox breathing on the other end, in and out, in and out, in and out. At last, in a voice hardened into steel, he said, “Good. One less Minister to get in our way.”

I said nothing. As someone who had grown up without real parents, it seemed unfathomable to me that anyone could be so heartless about losing their own. But after what Minister Creed had done to Knox’s brother—and Knox, and Knox’s mother—I couldn’t really blame him for it. Blood didn’t always make a family.

“I’m going dark now,” said Knox. “I have a meeting in the morning, and you two need to get some rest. Do whatever you have to do to stay safe, all right? Don’t take any unnecessary risks, and for God’s sake, Kitty, behave.”

I shook my head, knowing full well he couldn’t see me. The one time I hadn’t followed the rules in this place, I had gotten Lila killed. I wasn’t playing that game anymore. “Tell Benjy I love him.”

“You can tell him yourself when we get you out of there. Good night. And Greyson—” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

The cuff cut to static again, and the other end went dead. I sighed and collapsed back down on my pillows. Hearing Knox’s voice hadn’t solved all my problems, but it had made me feel a little better, knowing he was out there. Knowing I could talk to him now, if I needed to.

Greyson fiddled with something in his ear, and at last he said, “I’m going to take mine off.”

“What?” I squinted at him. “Why?”

“I don’t want to know what the Blackcoats are doing,” he said. “I’ll put it back on if you have to do a speech—I can feed you lines if we need to, so Daxton doesn’t figure out you can’t read—but otherwise, the less I know, thebetter.”

I blinked. Lila and I hadn’t even considered the possibility that I would have to make another speech as her. “But—”

“I’m not a Blackcoat,” he said. “And while I admire and support you, I don’t want to be one, and I have no business listening to you and Knox discuss your plans. I’m right here with you every day anyway,” he added. “If Knox really wants to talk to me, you can let me know.”

“All right,” I finally said, hugging my pillow. “But you’re an important part of this, okay? Maybe you aren’t on the front lines of the war, but you’ll be on the front lines of rebuilding the country once it’s over, and they’re going to need you. We’re all going to need you.”

He pressed his lips together. He’d said over and over again that he had no interest in being Prime Minister, but now I didn’t see how he had much of a choice. We would need him. A Hart who was an ally of the Blackcoats, even if he wasn’t actually a rebel. I couldn’t run the country, after all. It would have to be him.

“Okay,” he said at last. “When the time comes, I’ll be there. Just—in the meantime... I’m not a soldier, and I’m not a battle strategist.”

“Then come up with a way for us to rebuild,” I said, remembering the task Knox had given me after my speech. It was far more suited to someone like Greyson, who had knowledge and experience to draw from. “Figure out how we’re going to transition the country. You’re smart, and you’re inventive—if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“I’ll try,” he said, and he settled back down into bed. “Good night, Kitty.”

“Good night,” I said, and for the first time since I’d arrived in the Stronghold, it was a good night. Or at least as good as it would ever get, with Lila gone and Daxton still alive. Knox was okay. Greyson had something to focus on other than the loss of his best friend. And now we had a direct line of communication to the rebellion. The Blackcoats’ chances of winning the war had never been better, and though my guilt over Lila’s death was a deep,constant ache that I knew would never leave me, as I drifted off to sleep, for the first time I let myself picture what my life could look like when this was all over.

Several weeks passed, and Greyson and I continued to be virtually imprisoned in Lila’s room together. We had a small Christmas celebration that didn’t include much more than a sip of champagne for us both, and we rang in the NewYear by watching the news anchors report on a story about a bombing in New York that Knox assured us hadn’t happened. Daxton continued to avoid us, and by the time mid-January rolled around, I had become certain we wouldn’tsee him until the war was over. The few times I tried to go see him, I was denied by guards I was sure would enjoy shooting me if I gave them an excuse, and no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find a way to get to him inside the Stronghold. He was invulnerable.

But then, one evening, as Greyson and I sat across from one another on the sofa, each sketching the other, a guard burst into the room. I jumped, and my pencil made a dark line across the middle of Greyson’s nose.

“The Prime Minister requests your presence at dinner,” he said gruffly.

“Now?” I said.

“Immediately.”

Together Greyson and I stood, and I pulled on a pair of Lila’s most comfortable shoes. My foot had mostly healed by now—enough for me to walk without painkillers, at least—but I slipped my arm into Greyson’s for extra support aswe followed the guard.

Daxton already sat at the head of the dining room table, sipping a glass of wine. He stood as we entered and performed an exaggerated bow. “Greyson. My dear Lila. How I’ve missed you both.”