by Aimee Carter
“My foot—my foot’s broken. I can’t walk.”
“Won’t need to,” he said, and I felt the sharp stab of a needle in the back of my neck, right over the scarred X. My vision blurred, and as my knees gave out, the world went black.
VII
Déjà Vu
Beep. Beep. Beep.
In the hazy edge of consciousness, I was sure I was still dreaming. I heard those beeps sometimes—on quiet mornings where, for a split second, I forgot who I was now. They were the same beeps I’d woken up to in the Stronghold four months ago, when I’d discovered Daxton had Masked me into Lila Hart. Those were the last things I’d heard before everything had changed, and they were almost comforting, in a way. A reminder of who I used to be.
“Kitty?”
A familiar voice drifted toward me. I didn’t want to move. Everything felt heavy and sluggish, and I would have given anything to fall back asleep and never have to worry about anything ever again.
“Kitty—come on, wake up. I know you can hear me.”
Annoyed, I cracked open my eyes. White walls and crown molding. The smell of antiseptic. Sunlight streaming in through a window behind me as I lay in a bed that was far too comfortable to ever be in a hospital.
The Stronghold.
This was the exact same room I’d woken up in before.
Everything that had happened at Somerset rushed into my mind, as if it had all been waiting for me to come crashing back to reality. So the soldiers had kept me alive after all. And now I was here, in the Stronghold, the most fiercely protected safe house the Harts had. It was somewhere in the Rocky Mountains, surrounded on all sides by snowy peaks. I knew because I’d tried to leave once, and I’d discovered the only way out of here was by air. There was no way the Blackcoats could launch an attack here and win, not when the Stronghold was so well fortified.
“There you are. Kitty, it’s me—it’s Greyson.”
At last I turned my head. Greyson Hart, only living son of Daxton Hart, lingered at my bedside. His blond hair fell into his face, and he raked it back, offering me a small smile.
“Hey. How do you feel?”
“Like shit, probably,” said another voice—Lila. I raised my head. She stood nearby, her arms crossed and her expression sour. “That’s what happens when you take the drugs away.”
“I cut off your sedatives and painkillers,” he said apologetically, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. “I can start them again, if you want.”
I shook my head. Now that he’d mentioned it, my foot was beginning to throb, but it was hardly noticeable. “What’s going on?” I croaked. My throat was raw. “Why am I not dead?”
“You might as well be,” said Lila sharply. “Welcome to hell.”
She had no idea what hell really was, but I held my tongue. They were the only two allies I would find here, and I couldn’t afford to alienate them.
Greyson glared at her. “We don’t know what he plans to do with her yet. He wouldn’t have let the doctors near her if he only planned on killing her once she woke up.”
“You have met this asshole, right?” said Lila. “Dark hair, roughly six feet tall, twisted lump of coal where his humanity ought to be?”
“Now, Lila. Is that any way to talk about your only uncle?”
I closed my eyes again in the futile hope that if I couldn’t see him, he would disappear. It was pointless, however, and I could hear his footsteps on the carpet as he moved closer to my bed.
“You’re not my uncle,” she snarled. “My uncle’s dead.”
Daxton made a noncommittal sound. “And yet here we are, with nearly the whole country on my side. Good morning, Kitty.”
With effort, I forced myself to sit up. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I reassured myself that it was likely due to whatever they’d used to knock me out rather than any serious head injury. My foot ached, and my vision blurred at the edges, but other than that, I was fine. It was a far cry from the last time I’d woken up in that bed, when I’d discovered they’d put me through countless surgeries to make me look exactly like Lila. “Why did you keep me alive?”
“Are you complaining?” He raised an eyebrow, and I shook my head minutely. “I kept you alive out of the goodness of my heart.”
“You don’t have a heart,” said Lila. “You kept her alive because if you’d killed her, you would have turned her into a martyr.”
So it was the same reason why Knox hadn’t wanted Celia to kill Victor. It was staggering, the thought that my death could have had that level of impact—might still, if the bleak future I pictured panned out. But, selfishly, I preferred staying alive.
“I could still kill her.” Daxton stared at me, his dark eyes running up and down my body. I glared back. “No one would ever have to know.”
“We would,” said Lila. “And the next time you put me on air, I would tell the entire country.”
“And see Greyson die in front of you? My dear, don’t be silly.” Daxton smiled and tore his stare from me, and I felt as if a fist had loosened around my insides. That was how he was doing it, then. That’s how he had bought Lila’s cooperation. And I didn’t doubt for a second that he was mad enough to really kill Greyson just to prove a point to Lila.
“We have the file,” I blurted, hoping I wasn’t wrong. “The Blackcoats will trade us for it. Lila, Greyson, me—if you release us, you’ll never have to worry about the contents being made public.”
Daxton considered me for a long moment, his gaze once again locking on mine. A single look from him was enough to make my skin crawl; his leering stare made me feel like I needed to shower for the rest of my life, however long or short it may be.
“Well, you certainly have the upper hand, don’t you?” He grinned, but there was nothing good or humorous in it. “Let them release the file. Their campaign has already failed. My team can easily disprove their lies and slander, and the only public outcry they’ll gain is from malcontents already on the fringes of society. Everyone else is rather happy with their places in all this, and I daresay they value a full belly over your particular brand of righteousness.”
I gaped at him, dumbfounded. He had been willing to do anything—anything to stop that file from becoming public knowledge only a few weeks ago. Something must have changed. Something big.
“I’ll leave you three to it, then,” he said. “Lunch should be served shortly. Do yourself a favor and eat, Kitty. You look far too thin.”
He waltzed out the door, leaving Lila, Greyson, and me to stare at one another. The Blackcoats’ ace in the hole—the thing Knox and I had been so willing to die to protect—couldn’t possibly be worthless.
“He’s bluffing,” I said. “There’s something else going on.”
“I don’t think there is,” said Greyson quietly, and he perched on the bed beside me. “He’s three steps ahead of us at all times. I don’t know how, but no matter what we try, he’s always there.”
“We’ll figure something out,” I said, swallowing hard. My mouth was dry, and all the water in the world couldn’t help it. “Do you know—do you know if they captured Knox, too?”
Lila shook her head and gestured toward the muted television playing in the background. A reel of footage from inside Somerset played as Shields shot down Blackcoats, and for a brief second, I thought I saw my blond hair hanging limply over one soldier’s shoulder. “It’s just you. Mom escaped, too. There’s a list of dead they’ve been reading on the news—Blackcoats. More than twenty of them. They’re trying to shame the families into compliance in case any of them are sympathetic, too.”
“Shame doesn’t cause sympathy. They’re just fanning the flames and turning more people against them.” So would the contents of the file. “Whatever Daxton says, don’t believe him. He’s losing support. The media—they’re just spou
ting the lies he wants you to hear. They’re unreliable.”
“We know,” said Greyson. “The problem is, most of the country doesn’t.”
“They’ll figure it out,” I said. “The more the Blackcoats reveal, the more they’ll have to listen.”
“The ones who want to hear it, anyway,” muttered Lila.
“People need hope,” I said. “More than you think.”
“Don’t lecture me on hope. I’m the one who gave up years of my life to deliver speeches—”
“Lila.” Greyson’s sharp voice cut through hers, and she stopped. Instead of reaming her out, however, he nodded to the television, where a burst of static had interrupted the anchor. “Turn it up.”
She turned on the volume just in time for Knox’s face to appear. Someone had stitched up the cut underneath his eye, and he looked exhausted, but judging by the background, he had made it back to his office in Elsewhere. He was safe.
“As I’m sure you’ve heard by now,” he began, “yesterday morning, Celia Hart, one of the few living members left of the Hart family, reclaimed her familial home at Somerset from the impostor, Victor Mercer.”
“He’s wooden,” said Lila immediately. “He always has been. Can’t give a speech to save his life.”
“Quiet,” said Greyson, and she huffed.
“We expected the government to fight back,” continued Knox. Lila was right. He was wooden, and he continued to drone on as if he’d never felt a single emotion in his life. “Instead, they chose to bomb the residential sections of Somerset and invade with an order to kill everyone on sight, knowing full well there were innocent civilians inside, including members of the staff who were never given a choice to leave or surrender. The media has released a list of the Blackcoats who died in the fight. But we can now confirm there is a list twice as long of the servants and staff members who were also killed. I will read them now.”
As he read off the names, several of which I recognized from my stay in Somerset, Lila looked at me. “They’re screwed without us.”
“Benjy can give a speech,” I said, my fingers laced tightly together. “I don’t know why he isn’t the one on camera.”
“Because the people know Knox’s face,” said Greyson.
“What good does that do if a dead body emotes more?” said Lila, shaking her head. “He’s killing us.”
“He’s telling the truth,” I said. “He doesn’t need to embellish it to get the point across. Every single name he’s reading—he’s made rebels of their families now. Families that probably would have never gone against the Harts otherwise. Daxton killed twenty rebels, sure, but he just created a hundred more.”
Lila fell silent, for once, and the three of us turned back to the television. Once Knox finished reading the list, he said quietly, “To the friends and families of the ones lost in the Battle of Somerset—I’m truly sorry. Their sacrifice will not be forgotten, and their names will not be lost to time. They will be remembered.”
He cleared his throat and averted his eyes for a split second before raising them toward the camera once more. “I’m also deeply sorry to say that, in the midst of the fight, a key member of the Blackcoat Rebellion, Kitty Doe, disappeared. We have not yet received word on whether her body was recovered or if she has been taken by the opposition, but we will do everything humanly possible to find her.”
Knox paused and stared into the camera, and despite the fact that he had no way of knowing I was watching, it felt as if he was looking directly at me. Something inside me twisted, and I took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.
“Her sacrifice and the sacrifices of those lost in the battle weren’t for nothing,” said Knox, and he straightened again, regaining the little composure he’d lost. “The Blackcoats now have in our possession proof of the impostor Victor Mercer’s identity, including medical records, photographs, and interview transcripts from the selection process, which was ordered by Augusta Hart. Unfortunately,” he added, “we have learned that every doctor who helped perform the Masking procedure on Victor died within three months after the surgeries, including the head of his team, renowned medical expert Patrick Hastings. Victor’s secret did not die with them, however, and I will now present as many pieces of evidence as this time allows.”
The three of us sat glued to our seats as Knox went through each piece of evidence, starting with the picture of Victor Mercer I had found. There was no smoking gun—no pictures of Victor immediately post-surgery, no official certificate of any sort. But there was a mountain of smaller pieces of evidence that added up to an undeniable truth. Victor Mercer had replaced Daxton Hart almost a year and a half ago, and he had been running the country ever since.
The broadcast ended abruptly in another burst of static. As soon as the news anchor returned, Lila turned the television off, and we sat in silence for the better part of a minute.
“This is my fault,” said Greyson at last. “Grandmother would have never bothered to Mask a replacement if I’d been willing to be Prime Minister.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” said Lila. “Grandmother did whatever she wanted, the rest of us be damned.”
“But if I’d just cooperated—”
“Then what?” I said wearily, because for once, I agreed with Lila. “Would the country have been a better place?”
Greyson blinked. “I could have made things better.”
“Would you have introduced democracy?” I said. “Gotten rid of the test? Given everyone equal rights and an equal say?”
“I—” Greyson swallowed hard. “I want to say yes, but I don’t know.”
“I do.” I gave him a small smile. “Augusta would have had you under her thumb for so long that by the time she finally died, you wouldn’t have known better anymore. This is the way it had to happen. It was put into motion long before Victor Mercer was Masked as Daxton. If you were running the country instead of him, you would have been the one with a target on your back.”
Lila’s mouth fell open. “The Blackcoats would have never hurt Greyson—”
“You would have gone after Augusta,” I agreed. “And I’m sure Greyson would have been much more willing to compromise. But there’s a reason we can’t just assassinate Daxton and be done with it. The army, the Shields, the Ministers of the Union—the key components of the country as it stands would still exist without him, and that is the problem.”
“So how are we supposed to win this war?” she spat, and I shrugged.
“By turning the rebellion into a revolution. And we can do that with the people on our side. But we have to come up with a plan. I know Daxton is using Greyson against you, so we need to find a way around that. We need to get Greyson to safety, or—”
“I’m not leaving Lila,” he said firmly. “And I’m not leaving you, either. You’re my sister.”
His words brought me up short. This, I realized, was the first time we’d been face-to-face since I’d discovered the real Daxton Hart had been my biological father. Greyson must have heard my speech. I searched his expression for any sign of disgust or sarcasm, but I found only fierce determination. He believed me. Just like that, without any real proof, other than the color of my eyes, he trusted me enough to accept me as his own flesh and blood.
“Then we’ll all find a way out of here together,” I said, a smile flickering across my face. It was brief, but it was genuine. “There are three of us and only one of him, and he isn’t half as smart as he thinks he is. There must be something we aren’t thinking of.”
“When the hell did you become the brains of this operation?” said Lila, eyeing me warily.
“The day you gave up,” I said without malice. I should have been offended, but it was a legitimate question. Greyson was a genius who invented things I couldn’t even dream of, and Lila was the one with the silver tongue and the zinger for every situati
on. I couldn’t even read. My only worthwhile quality was the fact that my eyes matched hers.
Her expression soured, but before she could retaliate, the bedroom door opened, and a pair of guards entered. “You need to come with us,” one of them announced.
“Where are we going?” said Greyson as he stood and reached for a pair of crutches in the corner. I carefully swung my legs around. Someone had dressed me in flannel pajamas, and my foot was in a brace.
“The Ministers of the Union have called a meeting, and they would like for the three of you to be present for it,” said the second guard. I took the crutches from Greyson and stood, wobbling as I leaned on them. I’d used them before for an ankle sprain, but that had been years ago.
“What’s the meeting about?” I said as the three of us traipsed toward the door. Greyson remained at my side, his arm held out as if he intended to catch me if I fell. Some long-buried part of me swelled with an emotion I couldn’t name. Pride? Relief? Gratitude? Acceptance? Despite our differences, and despite all I’d done to work against his family, he still welcomed me as his sister, unconditionally. I didn’t deserve him. None of us did. He was too damn good for the world he’d been born into.
“Follow us,” said the first guard, leaving my question unanswered. I hobbled as fast as I could down the long hallway that led through the heart of the Stronghold, stopping only when we reached the elevator that could take us up to the open sky.
Instead of hitting the top button, however, the guard hit a lower floor, and the elevator glided downward. As I struggled to keep my balance on my crutches, I caught sight of myself in the mirrored walls. Daxton hadn’t just let the doctors treat my foot—I was cleaned up, too, with all traces of my stay in Elsewhere completely gone. The cuts and bruises I’d accumulated, the freckles that had appeared under the cold sunlight—someone had even dyed my roots to match. I glanced at my nails. My manicure was back.
