“No, no, no,” she snapped, yanking my hair. “She named her cat Missy, not Misty, and her favorite color’s chartreuse, not green.” She let out a frustrated groan and turned to Knox, who sat on the couch watching the whole production. “She’s going to fail, and it’ll be our asses on the line.”
Knox stood and crossed the room. He took my hair from her and nudged her aside, his gentle fingers expertly finishing the intricate hairstyle. How many times had he done this for Lila?
“All you can do is your best,” said Knox patiently to me while Celia collapsed in a huff on the sofa. “If you aren’t there yet, we’ll keep at it until you have it down.
No one can expect you to learn how to be a completely different person in less than two weeks.”
Apparently Augusta did, and her opinion was the only one that mattered. “What’s she going to ask me?” I said, using my loose dialect instead of stumbling over Lila’s prim and proper accent. If anything screwed me up, it’d be that.
“I don’t know,” he said, tying off a twisted braid. “Just remember what we’ve taught you, and you’ll do fine.”
“Whatever you do, don’t mention the speeches,” added Celia, and Knox shot her a look. She returned it. “She needs to know she can’t talk about them, else Mother will have all our heads.”
So the speeches they’d shown me hadn’t been on Augusta’s approved teaching list after all. Somehow that didn’t surprise me. “I won’t,” I said, glancing at Knox in the mirror. “Don’t worry about it.”
“That’s not the only thing we have to worry about,” he muttered. He finished up my hair quickly, and to my surprise, it looked good on Lila. On me.
He offered me his hand, but I ignored it and took one last look at my new face. This would have to be enough for tonight. “Let’s get this over with.”
Knox and Celia led the way to the dining room. Everything I’d been taught seemed to drain from my mind as we made our way down the hallway, leaving me feel- ing empty. My hands shook, and I could barely remember my own name, let alone Lila’s.
I took a deep breath, and another, and another, trying to calm my nerves, but nothing worked. My heart raced, and no amount of silently reassuring myself helped. I was screwed. I might have looked like Lila, but I wasn’t her.
And no amount of training would ever change that.
Halfway there, Knox set his hand on my shoulder and offered me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You can fake anything as long as you have Lila’s attitude. Hold your head high and act like you’re pretending nothing bothers you when everything does, and you’ll be golden.”
“You say that like it’s the easiest thing in the world,”
I said.
“For Lila, it was.” Knox offered me his arm. I thought about not taking it, but my dress was made of silk, and I would never have forgiven myself if I’d fallen and ripped something so exquisite. I slid my arm into his and straightened. Lila wouldn’t have been caught dead slouching.
“How did we meet?” I said, using Lila’s accent. It sounded fake to my ears, but Celia didn’t comment, so it couldn’t have been too bad.
“Has your memory gone now, as well?” he said, eyebrow raised. “Or were you more drugged than I thought?”
I glared at him. “I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about Lila. How did you two meet?”
“We’ve known each other since we were kids, and we’ve been engaged since she turned seventeen. My father’s the minister of ranking, so my family’s close with the VIIs. It was pretty much a done deal as soon as she was born.”
“So you’re not a VII?” I said. “I mean, I know only Harts have VIIs, but since you’re going to marry her—”
Marry me. I cringed. “I thought they might have given one to you, too.”
Knox turned down his collar so I could see his tattoo.
A black VI stood out against his skin, and I bit my lip to stop myself from grinning. I outranked Lennox Creed.
“No one who wasn’t born and raised a Hart has a VII.
Except for you, of course.” He smirked. “Lucky you.”
“Lucky me.” If Knox wasn’t going to have a VII even after he married Lila—married me—did that mean Augusta was a VI, as well? It almost seemed too good to be true. “You must be smarter than you look.”
“How do you mean?” he said.
“Your test,” I said. “To get a VI.”
“Oh, you mean the aptitude exam,” said Knox. “I didn’t take it. Wouldn’t do for the next minister of ranking to have a IV or a V, would it?”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “You didn’t take it?” I said, stunned. “But—that’s not fair!”
Knox tugged me forward, but when I dug my heels into the marble floor, Celia stepped up beside me and took my other elbow. “All Ministry positions are inher- ited,” she said. “All of the Harts are given VIIs, and all the children of ministers are given VIs.”
Together they dragged me down the hall, and I gave in, too horrified to fight. “So what, the whole line about everyone having an equal chance is really a bunch of bull?” I spat.
“Yes,” said Celia. “I’m surprised anyone still believes that.”
Everyone still believed it. What else did we have to justify our miserable lives? And for the kids who hadn’t taken it yet, they still had hope they could make something of themselves. It was the same hope I’d lost the day I’d been marked a III.
“What if there’s someone out there better qualified?”
I said. “What if you’re really a II and suddenly you run the entire country?”
Knox smiled grimly. “I’m not a II, and I’ve trained my whole life for that job. When my father turns sixty, no one will be better prepared for it than me.”
“It’s still not fair,” I said, and he shrugged.
“Most things aren’t. That’s just the way the world works. If you don’t like it, then do something about it.”
I gritted my teeth. There wasn’t anything I could do; that was the problem. I might have had a VII, but that gave me no power or privilege that Daxton hadn’t already approved. If I opened my mouth, I’d be risking more than my new rank, and no matter how mad I got,
I couldn’t forget that my only job right now was to convince the world I was Lila.