Queen (The Blackcoat Rebellion #3)(66)
Minutes later, we arrived at the edge of a park near Somerset, and though it was barely dawn, thousands of people had already braved the freezing morning air to gather around and watch the execution. I didn’t know how many were there to celebrate the end of the rebellion and how many were simply chomping at the bit to see Celia die, but whether they were here for entertainment or out of morbid curiosity, I hated them all.
Camera crews lined the front, blocking most of the audience’s view. Security cleared a path for us to make our way to the stage, where Daxton already waited. It was the same kind of platform Mercer had used in Elsewhere to kill Scotia and her Blackcoat supporters; the same kind of platform I’d stood on while giving my speech to the entire country, revealing my real identity and exposing Daxton’s. D.C. was really no different from Elsewhere, in the end. At least the Mercers had been open about their brutality and the consequences of straying an inch out of line. Here, the people gathered had no idea how little control they had over their own lives.
“Good morning, Lila,” chirped Daxton. He was dressed in a blue suit and red coat with an American flag pinned to the lapel, but he didn’t comment on my outfit. I couldn’t fathom him expecting anything else. “Ah, Greyson. So pleased to see you could join us.”
Neither Greyson nor I responded. Instead we stood together, side by side, and waited in the frigid morning as sunlight began to sneak across the park. A chorus of shouts echoed from the edge, and I turned in time to see the guards forcing a path again, this time with Celia between them.
She’d been cleaned up and dressed in a blue jumpsuit, and she walked with her head held high, not making eye contact with anyone in the crowd. But though they were loud, I didn’t hear any boos—instead, several of them reached for her, trying to touch her as she passed.
At last she reached the stage, and the guards escorted her up the steps to the center. Though she was only minutes from death, her eyes were bright, and she looked happier than I could ever remember seeing her before.
“Celia Hart,” called Daxton, and his voice echoed throughout the entire park. “You have been charged with treason against not only your country, but your family. Your mother, your brother, your nephews, your daughter—you have committed grievous and unforgivable acts against us all, and now you will face the consequences of your actions. Do you have any last words?”
“Yes.” Her voice also echoed across the crowd, and she smiled. “Checkmate.”
For the briefest moment, confusion flashed across Daxton’s face. He quickly covered it with a smile that might have looked benevolent to the cameras, but to me was full of malice and hatred. “Yes, dear sister. Checkmate.”
A guard brought him a silver pistol—the same model I’d used to try to kill him. Knowing Daxton, it was probably the exact same gun. He would have found poetry in that, in some sick and twisted way. Once he’d expertly checked the chamber, he pointed the barrel toward Celia’s forehead, and I held my breath, staring at my feet. I couldn’t watch this.
“Oh. How rude of me,” said Daxton, and he lowered the weapon. I looked at him, wild hope fluttering through me. “Your daughter asked for a merciful killing on your behalf, and I agreed.”
Holding the gun by the barrel, he offered it to me instead. I stared at him uncomprehendingly.
“Go on then, Lila,” he said, stretching the gun closer to me. “I will grant you the privilege of giving your mother the painless death you believe she deserves.”
All the air left my lungs, and I couldn’t breathe.
He wanted me to kill her.
He wanted Lila to kill her own mother.
Daxton leaned in, and I noticed a button he held in his other hand. He lifted his thumb, and the light flickered off. “Lila, dear, your mother is going to die today one way or the other. If you do not do this, I will have her doused in gasoline and burned alive in front of all these people. She will die in one of the most painful ways possible, and you will never get her screams of agony out of your head. Is that what you want for her? For yourself?”
His voice only passed to me. The button must have controlled the microphones, but I hardly cared. I couldn’t kill her. I couldn’t.
“This is what you asked for, yes?” said Daxton, and he placed the gun in my hand. “I am offering her a swift, painless death out of the goodness of my heart. Don’t force her last few moments to be in agony.”
“Lila.” Celia’s voice drifted toward me, and I looked at her, my eyes wide with panic. “It’s okay. None of this is your fault. And I want it to be you.”
My fingers curled around the handle as a choking sob bubbled up inside me. I could pull the trigger and shoot Daxton now and end this whole damn thing. That was exactly what I should have done, but before I could work up the courage, Daxton leaned in again.
“If you get the urge to try again, don’t. There are snipers pointing their weapons directly at you and Greyson,” he whispered. “If you so much as think about killing me, you will both be dead.”
I would have been happy to die if it meant taking Daxton with me, but Greyson had to live. He had to be the one to put the country back together. Daxton must have known that, because he flashed me a wide smile and stepped back. “At your leisure, my dear.”
It took every ounce of strength I possessed, but I lifted the gun, holding it the way I’d learned on the ranges in Elsewhere. The way Knox had taught me in Somerset. The way I’d shot Augusta Hart over and over and over again, until there had been no bullets left in the chamber and the white carpet had been soaked with her blood. My finger rested on the trigger, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pull it.