Queen (The Blackcoat Rebellion #3)(65)

“When I was younger, I always thought death was the worst possible thing that could happen to someone,” she murmured as the horizon slowly turned gray. We didn’t have much time left, but she didn’t speak any faster. Instead, she seemed to slow down, her gaze growing distant. “And then my husband was murdered, and they tried to kill my daughter, and I realized death isn’t the worst thing. It’s just the last thing. And endings are hard, that’s all.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I hope every day there’s something more.”

“More?” I said.

“Something after this life, in whatever form it takes. And that’s why I’m not scared,” she added. “Because the worst that can happen is nothingness. And while that’s a frightening concept, if there is something more—maybe they’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see my husband and daughter again, and that’s worth the risk any day. It’s something to look forward to.”

It was a small comfort as she faced her own death. But keeping her alive in a world where her family was long dead—that was the worst kind of cruelty I could think of. No matter how Daxton killed her, it would still be a mercykill. We would all die one day, and at least she wouldn’t have to live to see another without her husband and daughter.

When the knock sounded on the door at sunrise, she held me to her once more, close enough for me to feel her steady pulse. “Remember what I said. Don’t forget yourself, Kitty. Don’t forget your bravery. You’re not alone in this fight, and when the time comes, don’t hold back.”

“I won’t,” I said, my voice breaking. “I promise.”

She tucked my hair behind my ears and brushed her fingertips against my cuff. “That’s pretty,” she murmured. “You should wear that to my execution.”

My hand flew to my ear. Did she know what it was? If she did, she gave no more indication of it, and instead she stood and smoothed her dirty clothes. A pair of guards stood at the door with her shackles, and as she crossed the room toward them, I walked with her. My eyes welled as they secured her again, though her expression was strangely calm. I tried to remember what she had told me—that death wasn’t the end to her; it was a possibility for thereunion she’d been waiting for. But a lump formed in my throat anyway.

“They’ll be there,” I managed, embracing her one last time. “I’m sure of it.”

Her chains rattled as she hugged me back as best she could. “So am I.”

The guard cleared his throat, and at last we let each other go. Our eyes locked, and I remained absolutely still as the guards led her away, her neck twisted so she didn’t lose sight of me until the last possible moment. No—not me. Her daughter. Lila.

Once she was gone, I shut the door and tried to move back to the couch, but my legs gave way underneath me, and I collapsed to the floor, sobbing harder than I had since this whole mess had begun.

I don’t know how long I sat there, choking on my own tears, but suddenly a pair of familiar arms wrapped around my shoulders, and I leaned against Benjy, clinging to him. He held me, not saying a word as I cried myself out. There was nothing to say anyway. No magic formula of words to make it any better. It was what it was—the end for her. The end of all her possibilities, and despite what she said, it was the end of the Blackcoat Rebellion.

“Daxton wants you there,” whispered Benjy, rubbing my back. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I said hoarsely, and he helped me up. I’d known this was coming. The real Daxton had forced Lila to watch her father’s execution; there was simply no way Victor Mercer would let me miss Celia’s.

I splashed cold water on my face and dressed in all black. Daxton might have considered this a celebration, but no one would mistake me for a reveler. My eyes were still red and puffy, so I found a pair of sunglasses and put them on, too. When I returned, someone had brought me breakfast, and I stared at the ham and eggs like they were made of plastic.

“You need to eat something,” said Benjy, who sat on the couch waiting for me. “You barely had anything at all last night. The kitchen tried to give you steak, but I made them switch it out for ham.”

Feeling more like a robot following commands than a real human being, I managed a few mouthfuls of eggs. They tasted like nothing, even though I didn’t doubt they were seasoned to perfection.

“Good. And a bite of ham. Just one,” encouraged Benjy, and reluctantly I cut off a piece. I stabbed it with the tip of the knife hard enough for the metal to screech against the china, and I winced. They may have traded steak for ham, but they’d left the sharp knife on my plate.

“There,” I said, once I’d eaten it. “Happy?”

“Yes. Thank you,” said Benjy, and he offered me his hand. “Let’s go.”

I started to reach for it, but I was still holding on to the knife. A guard poked his head into the room, and Benjy turned away. He was still on my side—he would always be on my side. But that was the moment I chose to slide the knife into the sleeve of my leather jacket before taking his hand.

Greyson waited for us in the car, and he too wore all black. He offered me a tiny, watery smile, and I slid in beside him, hugging his arm and resting my head on his shoulder. I didn’t dare say anything, not when I knew the driver could be listening, but there was nothing to say anyway. Though Greyson hadn’t been present at dinner the night before, he must have known what we were doing here, and talking about it wouldn’t make any of this any easier.