Queen (The Blackcoat Rebellion #3)(79)

“Of course you were,” said the Shield. He rotated his finger, a clear sign he wanted me to turn around. Benjy dropped his hand, and panic spread through me, white-hot and urging me to run.

But if I took off, he might blame Benjy, and all I could hope for now was that my stupid decision didn’t affect him, too. Benjy had a month to go before he turned seventeen, and until then, he wouldn’t be held responsible for his actions. Until that morning, I hadn’t been, either.

At last I turned and pulled my dirty blond hair away from the nape of my neck. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t hide the mark or the angry red blotch surrounding it, still painful from the needle that had etched my rank into myskin.

Benjy stiffened at the sight of my III. I stared straight ahead, my face burning with shame. I’d let him down. I’d let both of us down. And now everything was going to change.

The man brushed his fingertips against the mark, feeling the three ridges underneath that proved it wasn’t altered. Satisfied, he dropped his hand. “Is she telling the truth?” he said, and Benjy nodded, not missing a beat.

“Yes, sir. We were on our way to the stall now.” Benjy twisted around to give him a glimpse of his bare neck. “We’re only here to look around.”

The Shield grunted, and he tossed the orange in the air and caught it. I scowled. Was he going to let me go or force me to my knees and shoot me? Less than five feet away, browned blood from another thief still stained the ground. I looked away. Maybe he’d send me Elsewhere instead, but I doubted it. The bastard looked trigger-happy.

“I see.” He leaned in, and I wrinkled my nose at his sour breath. “Did you know your eyes are the same shade as Lila Hart’s?”

I clenched my jaw. Lila Hart, the niece of the prime minister, was so wildly popular that hardly a week went by when someone didn’t mention that the bizarre blue shade of my eyes matched hers.

“No,” I said through gritted teeth. “Never heard that before in my life.”

The Shield straightened. “What’s your name?”

“Kitty Doe.”

“Doe?” He eyed us both. “You’re Extras?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to keep the snarl out of my voice. No one with an ounce of self-preservation talked to a Shield like that, but after what had happened that morning, I didn’t have it in me to kiss anyone’s ass.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Benjy frown, and I could almost hear his silent question. What do you think you’re doing?

Stupidly risking my life, that’s what.

The Shield stroked his pistol. “Stay put. Move, and I’ll kill you, got it?”

I nodded mutely. But as soon as he turned away, Benjy touched my elbow, and our eyes met.

Without hesitating, we bolted.

Benjy and I pushed past the crowds, through the gates, and into the damp street. We sprinted between the aging buildings and ducked down alleyways, and as we passed a faded mural of Prime Minister Hart smiling down on us benevolently, I resisted the urge to spit on it.

We ran through a maze of side streets until we reached the border of the Heights, the easternmost suburb of the District of Columbia. And the poorest. I searched for any signs of the IIs that populated the area, anyone who might be willing to snitch on us for a fresh loaf of bread, but during the day, while everyone was working at the docks or in the factories, the street was deserted.

After the workday ended, adults and children spilled into the overcrowded streets, begging for food. I usually had to elbow my way down the sidewalks and weave between men and women who couldn’t be more than twenty years olderthan me, but already their hair had grayed and their skin turned to leather—the results of decades of hard labor and struggling to make ends meet. My life wouldn’t be much better. As a IV, I could have counted on reaching sixty. Now, as a III, I would be lucky to hit forty. If I wasn’t careful, I would also be out on the streets begging for more than the government had decided I was worth.

As we dashed around a corner, I spotted a sewer entrance a few feet away and sighed with relief. We were safe.

I shimmied through the opening on the edge of the sidewalk, and a minute later, Benjy climbed down from a manhole nearby. The sewer was dark and smelled like rust and rot, but it was the only place our conversation would be private. Even the empty streets didn’t offer that guarantee. Shields were everywhere, waiting for their chance to pounce the moment they heard a word against the Harts or the Ministers of the Union. According to Nina, the matronof our group home, they got bonuses for each arrest they made, and they had families to feed, too. Didn’t mean I hated them any less, though.

That morning, before I’d left, she’d said we all had our roles to play. It just so happened that some were better than others. We couldn’t all be VIs and VIIs, and all any of us could hope for was food in our bellies and a place to call our own. I would have a roof over my head; the government made sure of that. But now, with my III, I would be outrageously lucky if it didn’t leak.

In the speeches we watched from first grade on, Prime Minister Daxton Hart promised us that as privileged American citizens, we would be taken care of all our lives, so long as we gave back to the society that needed us. If weworked hard and gave it our all, we would get what we deserved. We were masters of our own fate.

Up until today, I’d believed him.

“What were you doing back there?” said Benjy. “You could’ve been killed.”