Queen (The Blackcoat Rebellion #3)(9)

“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” said the woman. “Let’s walk out into the wilderness in the dead of winter with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”

I gritted my teeth. She had a point. It was hard enough walking away from the life you knew when you had the ease of doing so without risking your life. “I’m trying my best. We’re all trying our best,” I said.

“How about a little incentive?” said the first man, and he grabbed my hair and shoved me to my knees. I yelped, and a heavy boot connected with my stomach, forcing the air from my lungs.

“Let go of her immediately,” demanded a deep, familiar voice, and the former prisoner hesitated.

“Make me.”

I tightened my abdominal muscles, preparing myself for another blow, but it never came. Instead I heard the click of a gun, and my attacker went still.

“Fine,” he growled, releasing me. “Worthless bitch.”

I fell to my hands and knees, wheezing as my hair fell into my face, forming a curtain around me. If I’d had the breath to reply, I would have, but instead they all slunk away without another word, their boots crunching against the frozen ground. It was probably for the best. I didn’t want anyone else to die because of me.

“You’re never going to be one of them, you know.” A gloved hand appeared in front of me, and I took it, letting my defender help me up.

“It’s not my fault my biological father was a Hart,” I muttered, wincing as I touched my ribs. Rivers, one of the former prisoners who had been lucky enough to be picked as a low-level guard, touched my chin and inspected my face. His blue eyes were the same shade as mine, and I stared back. I’d been beaten up enough in the past month that another set of bruised ribs wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it was the way they were talking, the thingsthey were saying—that was what made a hollow form in the pit of my stomach. Was this what they all believed?

“It’s not your fault you’re a product of Daxton Hart, but it is your fault you’re up there instead of down here,” he said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you to the doctor before they come back with friends.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” I muttered. “I need something to do.”

“You mean getting yourself beaten to a pulp isn’t enough?” said Rivers.

“I’ve been doing that for weeks. I want to help.”

“You just did this morning.” Instead of leading me back up the hill, he guided me into the maze of narrow alleyways behind the buildings, away from the main streets.

“That wasn’t helping. That was just—talking.”

“It did more to help than anything the Blackcoats have done since the battle,” said Rivers, and I huffed.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Had it been almost anyone else, I would have turned right around and returned to the relative safety of the main road. But Rivers had protected me time and time again, and if he was going to kill me, he would have done it agesago. Besides, though we’d never voiced it aloud, we both suspected the unique color of our eyes wasn’t by chance. If Daxton Hart had fathered me with a prisoner in Elsewhere, then it was possible he’d had other affairs. If I couldn’t trust my potential half brother, then I couldn’t trust anyone, and I wasn’t that far gone yet.

We passed a few lone citizens in the darker alleyways, and though they all stared, none bothered to approach us or offer help. It was clear Rivers was right. I wasn’t one of them, and I never would be.

But I wasn’t a Hart, either, and I was barely a member of the Blackcoats as it was. I didn’t belong down here, but I also didn’t belong in the manor. And that was far scarier than anything Daxton could throw at me—the realization that no matter what rank I’d earned or whose face I wore, I had no idea where I really belonged.





III

Crack

We wound through the alleyways in the heart of Elsewhere until, at last, Rivers opened a door and gestured for me to enter. It led into a building I’d never been inside before, and the smell of stale chemicals burned my nostrils.

“Do I even want to know what this place is?” I said, scowling as Rivers led me into a dank storage room filled with what looked like old towels.

“Better if you don’t. Then you might have a chance of sleeping tonight,” he said as he tugged on a rusted metal shelf. With a loud creak of protest, it swung aside as if it were on a pair of hinges, revealing a door. “I found this when I was still doing a work order here as a prisoner. It’s an entrance into a network of tunnels.”

I blinked in surprise. I’d thought the tunnel under Mercer Manor—the same that had protected any number of citizens during the Battle of Elsewhere—had been the only one. A last resort for the Mercers, if the prisoners ever started an uprising the guards couldn’t handle. Hannah had shown it to me when she’d discovered that her husband planned to kill me on sight, and she’d insisted it let out somewhere safe beyond his reach. It had never occurred tome that there could be others. Mercer Manor had been protected—no citizen could have accidentally stumbled upon the entrance to the tunnel in their cellar. But this was right here, staring me in the face, where anyone could’vefound it. Where Rivers had found it.