Interlude [h.s]

fifty

Alouette knows she can't let Harry affect her like that. She knows the only reason why he kissed her was to prove he could, that he only wanted to make her hate herself more than she already does. And yet, the way his lips felt on hers seems to be the only thing in her mind for the next hour. She tries to hide it, but fears Harry can read the truth in her eyes. He's always been too good at seeing more than he should.

"Say we do get to Pans," he says suddenly, "what then? Grab the first revolutionary you land your eyes on and get him to call his leader?" He chuckles. "Should I remind you they believe I abducted you? What do you think will happen when they find out you're a little traitor?"

"You're asking way too many questions," Alouette grumbles, refusing to give him the attention he wants.

"Do you want to run away forever?" He turns his head towards her, and the look he gives her makes her feel exposed. "What about the people waiting for your return?"

"How's that any of your business?" she hisses. She won't let him in. She refuses to.

"You have a sister in the Revolution, don't you?"

Alouette's head snaps in his direction. She sees white. "Shut the hell up right now if you don't want to—"

Harry pulls out the knife he took from her. "You told me yourself in your first weeks at the Palace," he tells her, his voice eerily calm. He takes her hand and makes her wrap her fingers around the handle. "You keep threatening to kill me—" He grabs her wrist and brings the blade of the knife to rest against the pale skin of his neck. "Do it, then."

Alouette gasps. Her eyes are wide, her palms sweaty. "What?"

His gaze is so sharp that it makes her feel sick. "Kill me," he says. "Kill me now. You won't have an opportunity like this again." He clenches his teeth when she doesn't make a move. "What are you waiting for?" He lets go of her wrist.

She doesn't make a move. Her eyes are fixed on the shiny piece of metal in her hand.

"What's the name of your sister?"

Alouette bristles and automatically presses the blade harder against his throat. "Like hell I'm telling you my sister's name."

A shocked gasp leaves Harry's lips, as if he hadn't expected her to actually hurt him. "How old is she?" he asks, his breath rushed. Alouette tells herself she can see well-masked panic in his eyes. She doesn't know if it terrifies or satisfies her.

"She's five," she replies, her caution swept away by the feeling of powerfulness that comes over her. It feels good to be the feared one for once.

"I had a sister too," Harry breathes out fast.

His fingers touch her wrist again, this time to convince her to free him. She presses down harder, staying completely still. One wrong move, and she'll kill him.

"She was older than me, though," he continues. "Four years older."

Alouette pauses. She knows she shouldn't care. She knows she should ignore every word that leaves his mouth because she can never tell whether he's saying something just to say something or to try to get to her. And yet, she can't. She's been in the top floor, there's a story there she's yet to know. "Where is she now?" she asks.

Something flashes through Harry's eyes, too quick for her to understand what it is. He lets out a cough, and she realises only now that she's been pressing too hard. She releases the pressure enough to let him speak freely.

"Not here," he says.

Alouette bites the inside of her cheek. There's a void inside his eyes, so deep she fears it could swallow her whole. She doesn't want to ask—she doesn't need to. She can hear the truth in Harry's voice. "You used to live on the top floor of the Palace, didn't you?" she asks instead. "Did you grow up there?"