Insurgence [h.s]

six

Alouette jolts back, gaze shifting from Kiara to Harry. "What's going on?"

Kiara raises her hands in defence. "I'm here to help. Think of me as a buffer of sorts, so that you won't end up killing each other."

"Useless," Harry mutters under his breath. He's acting oddly, Alouette notices—as he would around someone he's familiar with, like a friend, not an employee. She sizes Kiara up. She can't tell what the deal is with her; why she was in Dacran instead of the Palace, how she knows Harry, what she's doing here, with them. Alouette didn't think he'd have a thing such as friends. He gives off the impression of being the type of person that leaves nothing but burnt bridges in his trail.

The wine stain is spreading on the white, pricey tablecloth; it looks like blood. Harry's fingers are back around the stem of his glass, and he's turning and turning and turning it. The lights of Northfair glint periodically on the crystal, glaring in Alouette's vision at intervals.

"She was going to throw wine at your face when I came in," Kiara says with a shrug.

"She wasn't."

Kiara sends Harry a side glance. "Lying doesn't suit you." She takes the wine bottle and makes a face. "This is way too expensive." She pours it in her own glass anyway.

"Don't drink it if it bothers you," he bites back, and she gives him a withering look.

Then, she turns to Alouette. "I heard you're going to hand over the last leader of the Revolution to the Palace," she says, giving her an evaluative stare. There's something unsettling in her deep blue eyes—like she's seen more than Alouette has and knows more than she lets on. "Doesn't that bother you? You're an Ivenhart, after all."

"I'm handing over Ezra, not the Revolution." The reply is out faster than she expects, and she realises how true it is. Ezra isn't the same kind of person Alouette's father was—he isn't the person he would've wanted the Revolution to be ruled by. She unintentionally betrayed him in the end, but he betrayed her first.

Kiara chuckles. "So cold-hearted. Your father must've been so proud of you."

Alouette narrows her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry taps his nail on the crystal of his glass, and sudden silence falls in the dining room. She hates that she's still so quick to follow his commands, after everything he's done. "We don't have any leads on your sister's whereabouts yet," he tells Alouette, and the tension the previous conversation elicited dwindles. "If you know anything that might be of use..."

Alouette glares between them. "Why don't you ask Elodie? Amina left with—" She pauses, widening her eyes. "I-is she...? She's not...? Right...?"

"She doesn't want to talk." She doesn't know if Harry chose his words to reassure her or if it's simply a lucky combination, but relief washes through her nonetheless.

"She's here?!"

He tilts his head to the side just barely, an action she would've missed if she hadn't been looking at him so intently. "I suppose."

Alouette shoots up. "Take me to her now."

He gives her a slightly annoyed look. "It's late."

"I don't care."

He pinches the bridge of his nose and opens his mouth to say something that would undoubtedly get Alouette to empty the contents of his glass on top of his head, but Kiara stands up and says, "You know what, that's actually a great idea. The sooner we get her to talk, the better."

Alouette stares at her though narrowed eyes. She can't figure out what her objective is, and it makes her uneasy. Harry has taught her time and time again that trusting people carelessly is her biggest flaw, and now she won't risk it ever again. Her ill-placed trust has brought to death and destruction. The worst part is that she doesn't know if she should hate him or herself for it.