Queen (The Blackcoat Rebellion #3)(72)

“Lila, move,” he ordered, and I jumped out of the way, giving him a clear shot at Daxton. It occurred to me half a second too late that I had also given Daxton a clear shot at Knox.

Another shot rang out, reverberating through the safe room, and Knox swore. He dropped his gun and clutched his shoulder, and Daxton dived for the loaded weapon. Panic and adrenaline surged through me, and I scrambled toward it as well, grabbing it an instant before he could and pointing the barrel directly at his head. This time I wouldn’t miss.

He laughed, a crazed, unhinged sound that turned my insides to ice. “You got me,” he said as he slowly stood, wincing as even more blood gushed from his belly. “You’ve won, Lila. Congratulations.”

“Can’t win while you’re still alive,” I said, finger on the trigger. “Now tell everyone what you did to Kitty.”

“What I—” He chuckled again. “Who cares? She was a nobody.”

“I care,” said Knox, stepping toward him with his hand still pressed against his wounded shoulder. “She may have been nobody to you, but the country loved her. So tell them what you did to her.”

“I—” Daxton sighed. He was ghostly pale now, but other than a slight tremor in his hands, there was no other sign he was injured. “I told her I would let her go. And I did.”

“And then what?” I growled.

“And then...and then I may or may not have had her helicopter blown to bits.” He shrugged. “Couldn’t say for sure.”

I swallowed hard. I could have told him it was Lila, and maybe I should have. The country had a right to know she was gone. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Lila deserved better than to die in the mountains, her body buried by snow and never recovered. She deserved this legacy. After all she had been through, she deserved to be remembered as one of the greats, too. Not me. I would have been nobody without her. But she was the reason behind allthis. She was the reason the Blackcoats would now celebrate a hard-won victory, and she was the reason half a billion people would now have the freedom to live the lives they chose. Not the lives the government gave them.

I couldn’t take that from her. I didn’t need the glory. I didn’t want the glory. All I wanted was for this to be over.

“Victor Mercer.” I could barely speak. My voice was broken and hoarse, and every word felt like I was swallowing glass, but I forced them out. “You have been found guilty of treason, conspiracy to commit treason, and the murders of Kitty Doe, Celia Hart, Minister Creed, Minister Ferras, and Minister Bradley, among countless others. You are hereby sentenced to death. Do you have any last words?”

He considered me for a long moment. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

And faster than I would have ever thought he could move, faster than I could react, he leaped toward Knox and pressed the knife against his throat.

“You will pardon me. You will get me medical treatment. And you will release me, or I will kill your fiancé.”

Knox fought back, but Victor dug his finger into the bullet wound in his shoulder, and Knox cried out in pain.

“It’s your choice, Lila. If I die, Knox dies with me. There will be no second chances this time.” Victor shifted, his chest shielded by Knox’s shoulder. There was no way I could kill him without shooting Knox, too.

I stood frozen in place as my heart pounded and my vision grew blurry. “Even if I let you go, you have no way to know for sure that I’ll stick to my word.”

“But the country is watching, remember?” He inched the knife across Knox’s throat, and pearls of blood formed at the blade. “Surely you wouldn’t lie to them.”

“They want you punished for your crimes. No one would blame me for having you arrested, no matter what promises I make.”

He sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I guess that means I’ll just have to kill him after all, won’t I?”

His hand holding the knife twitched, and I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe. I did exactly what he’d urged me to do less than an hour before, standing on that platform in front of thousands of people, with Celia kneeling in front of me, ready to die.

I pulled the trigger.





XVIII

Scars

The bullet hit Knox in the spot where his shoulder met his chest, half an inch below where Daxton’s shot had landed.

The force of it pushed him backward, and the knife went flying as Victor slammed against the wall. Together they lay in a crumpled heap, and I hurried over, my heart pounding.

“Knox?” His name came out choked, and I dropped to my knees beside him. “Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead—”

“I’m not dead,” he managed, wincing. “I think Victor might be, though.”

Knox sat up, revealing Daxton underneath him. His dark eyes were wide, his mouth slack, and fresh blood blossomed from the bullet that had traveled through Knox’s shoulder into his chest. He wasn’t moving.

“Looks like the bastard had a heart after all,” said Knox, and I held out my hand, helping him to his feet. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and I stared at Daxton’s body, trying to absorb what had just happened.

He was dead.

Finally, at last, Daxton Hart—Victor Mercer—was dead.

“I should—I shouldn’t have killed him,” I whispered. “I should have shot him in the knee.”