Queen (The Blackcoat Rebellion #3)(68)

Sure enough, once they reached the street, Daxton emerged from their protective circle and tumbled into the car. Four long scratch marks ran down the side of his face, and he favored his left shoulder, but the worst of it was the blood that had soaked through his suit, turning his white shirt crimson. I shifted to sit next to Greyson and made myself as small as I could while Daxton composed himself, running one bloodstained hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“Ah, yes. They told me about the other car.” He settled his hands in his lap, and only then did he seem to notice the blood. He held up his palm and grinned. “Your mother’s. Feisty, wasn’t she?”

He had killed Celia after all, then. My eyes burned, and I traced the handle of the knife I had slipped inside my coat. One stab to the heart, if he had one. That was all it would take.

But Greyson wrapped his arms around my shoulders to hold me in place, and I took a deep, shuddering breath. If I attacked now, Daxton would know it was coming, and no doubt he would overpower me. Wherever we were going, there would be a smarter time. I hoped.

The car sped down the avenue, and I blinked back tears, staring out the window. Something had happened in that park—something huge. But I didn’t understand it yet, and I wondered how Daxton would spin it this time. A bunch of leftover rebels wishing their leader goodbye. A riot incited when I tried to kill him instead. Whatever happened, there had been more cameras there than I could count. It had to have been broadcasted live. The people had to know what Daxton had tried to do, and they had to have seen citizens fighting back. I refused to believe anything different.

“You’re taking us to Somerset?” said Greyson as we pulled up the long, winding drive and approached the remains of the Hart family home. Scaffolding covered the hole in the residential wing, but it was far too early for the construction workers to be on-site.

“The rioters are heading toward Creed Manor, and the Prime Minister’s protection detail rerouted us here. Until they can rejoin us, you’re to take cover in the safe room,” said the driver.

“Fine, fine. Make it quick, before they come here, too,” said Daxton with a trace of nervousness in his voice. The driver parked the car and hopped out to open the door for us. Daxton climbed out first, not seeming to care that he left a trail of blood wherever he moved, and I followed several seconds later, keeping my distance from both him and the blood.

“Miss Hart,” said the driver, holding out his arm for me to take. I did so, still too unsteady to trust myself to stay balanced. But when I looked up, I caught myself staring into the same blue eyes I saw every day in the mirror, no matter whose face I wore.

My mouth fell open, and Rivers winked. “Do you need an escort to the safe room?” he said. “A guard is expecting you.”

“They will not be joining me,” called Daxton, already hurrying through the front doors. As soon as he disappeared into the remains of Somerset, I caught Rivers in a hug, burying my nose in his blond hair.

“What’s going on?” I said, stunned, as I finally let him go. He cleared his throat, and I glanced over my shoulder. Greyson stood directly behind me, his eyebrows raised.

“Friend of yours?” he said, and I nodded.

“Greyson, this is Rivers. Rivers, this is Greyson,” I said. The pair of them shook hands, but as soon as they let go, Rivers ushered us toward the doors.

“No time to waste. You spoke with Celia?” he said.

I nodded. “What—”

“Make sure she didn’t die for nothing,” he said. “Hurry, before Daxton tries to close the door himself.”

No doubt that was exactly what he would do, and I gave Rivers a quick, grateful smile. “I’ll see you soon, right?”

He winked again. “Sooner than you think.”

Taking Greyson’s hand, I hurried into Somerset and headed directly for the nearest staircase. The bombs hadn’t flattened the atrium like they had the residential wing, and to my relief, the steps were still in one piece.

“Explain that to me,” said Greyson as we raced to the lowest level. “Who’s Rivers?”

“He’s a lieutenant with the Blackcoats. If he’s here, something’s going on. Something big.”

“I gathered as much,” said Greyson. When we reached the basement landing, he stopped, and I pitched forward, barely catching myself on the railing. “Do you realize what we’re about to do?”

“I—yes,” I said. “We’re about to get in the safe room.”

“With Victor Mercer. Alone.” He stared at me. “That’s suicide, Kitty.”

“But—” I paused. “Rivers is planning something. He said to make sure Celia didn’t die for nothing.”

“She didn’t die for nothing. I—” He tugged off his hat, and his hair stuck up like he hadn’t bothered to brush it that morning. “I can’t let you go in there, Kitty. Not when I know you won’t come out.”

“Greyson, I have to—”

“You have to what? To give him exactly the opportunity he needs to kill you? He can say you died in the riot. He can say a stray bullet hit you, and the public will believe him.”

“Did you see that out there? Did you?” I gestured wildly toward the ceiling. “They don’t believe a word he says. And if we’re going to end this, we have to do it now. It’s the only chance we’ll get.”