“Lila!” Daxton clapped his hands on the other side of the room, where he stood examining a roast pig. “How lovely it is to have you join us.”
“Is it somebody’s birthday and I missed the memo?” I said warily. Benjy left me at the foot of the table while he took a seat toward the center, between Daxton and me.
“Oh, no, but we do have a special guest.” He gestured, and another door opened.
Her wrists were shackled to her ankles, her clothes were dirty, and her tangled black hair hung in her face, but as she entered the dining room, she looked up, and our eyes met.
Celia.
XV
Gilded Cage
“Mom?” I croaked. It had been a long time since I’d had to pretend Celia was my mother, but now even she had no idea I wasn’t her daughter.
Her expression crumpled, and for a second, I thought she was going to cry. “Lila,” she said in a choked voice. “You’re okay. I’ve missed you, honey.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” I said. I wanted to go to her, to hug her and tell her everything was okay, but I could feel Daxton’s beady eyes on me, and I didn’t dare show an ounce of weakness.
“Family reunions always make me so happy,” he said. “Please, everyone, sit—this feast won’t eat itself.”
Between the horrors I’d witnessed that afternoon and seeing Celia in such awful shape, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be hungry again, but any insubordination on my part would only make things worse for her. Obediently I sat and let the servers fill my plate with a variety of foods, but none of it looked appetizing. Instead I stared at the woman who had helped me impersonate her dead daughter from the beginning. She had been through more than any of the rest of us, first losing her husband to the brutality of her family, and then not only losing her daughter, but being forced to train her replacement only days later. In the middle of it all, she had formed a rebel group to fight her family, and never, not once, had I seen her wallow in her grief at the expense of what needed to be done. That kind of strength and bravery couldn’t be learned. It was something innate inside her, something irreplaceable. She was the reason I had survived this long. Together, she and Knox had made sure I’d been as safe as possible, and now there was nothing I could do to return the favor.
“So.” Her voice was hoarse, and her hands shook as she picked up a fork with fingers that didn’t bend properly. A chill ran through me as I pictured the things they must have done to her, but despite her condition, she wore a mask of indifference. “How long will you play with your food before putting me out of my misery, Victor?”
“It’s Daxton. One would think you would recognize your own brother,” he said with a wave of his knife.
“One would think,” said Celia mildly. He sniffed.
“I’ve already made plans to have you executed in the morning. It should be a good show.”
“I thought the war was over,” I said hollowly, stabbing a piece of lettuce. “Won’t another execution stir up discontent all over again?”
“Hardly,” he said. “The people deserve closure, and Celia is the missing link. Once her body is burned and there’s nothing left of her, then and only then can we have peace.”
My insides seized, and despite her hard shell, even Celia paled at that. “Burning at the stake? Isn’t that a bit medieval?”
“Rather suitable for a witch, wouldn’t you say?” he said. “Or would you rather be drawn and quartered?”
“I would have thought family would show each other mercy,” she countered.
“You’ve made it painfully clear, dear sister, in your multiple attempts to kill me, that you have never had any intention of showing me mercy,” he said. “Why should I return the favor?”
“Because it would make you look benevolent in front of the entire country,” I said with as much strength as I dared. “You don’t want the people to see you as sadistic, especially when Celia has never been pinned as directly responsible for any specific murders.”
“She’s responsible for the whole damn rebellion.” Daxton slammed his fist into the table. “I will not show mercy when she deserves none.”
“Then you’re going to make half a billion people sympathize with her and hate you,” I said, refusing to be rattled by his outburst. “Either way, she’s going to die. You don’t want to make yourself look like the monster you really are in the meantime.”
The dining room fell deathly silent. Daxton sat at the head of the table, shaking with rage and turning a strange shade of purple. I could only hope he gave himself a stroke, or better yet, a heart attack; instead, as the seconds passed, he began to calm down, and his face returned to a normal color.
“You’re right, Lila,” he said all too calmly. “You’re absolutely right. Very well. A merciful execution it is. A hanging, or death by firing squad—I’ll let you know in the morning, Celia.”