THE PALACE
Jayden is standing in Lark's bedroom for what feels like the thousandth time. Ever since he came back to the Palace he's found himself coming here over and over again, trying to make sense of everything that happened. It's hard, though, and he's starting to wonder if, maybe, he's playing a game too complicated for him. There must be something he's missing.
Why would the President help her escape and run away with her? Has he lost it? He shudders. He'd surely be executed if people could read the thoughts in his mind.
But he was so close. He had the President, he had her. And then he had neither, and no explanation as well. He wants to shout and break things. This isn't a game—not for him, not for the people trying to keep the Palace from collapsing. And while they're trying their best, Mr. Styles is running around the country without a care in the world. It seems like the worst possible moment to be taking a holiday.
He sits on the bed, and frowns when something crinkles under him. He immediately stills, listening to the sounds in the corridor and making sure nobody is about to come. Then, he stands up and pulls up the mattress. There's nothing, and yet he heard something.
He opens the strap and slides a hand under the fabric that covers the mattress. His fingers touch paper. They hook around his little discovery and he pulls it out, slowly, not wanting to break it.
When it's finally in his hands, he sees it's a letter. He opens it, slowly, carefully.
The names on the paper sheet melt on top of each other, he's never heard any of them. It's signed by someone called Amina, though the letter itself tells him that the penmanship belongs to a certain Ellie. The name Elijah appears in it as well, though it's nearly impossible to determine who he might be to the others.
But he's certain that whoever wrote it doesn't belong to the Palace, so the name on top of the page speaks clear.
Al.
There's no doubt in his mind that the nickname belongs to the girl he's come to know as Lark. His lips curve in a smile, but then he's struck by the realisation that there's no joy in it.
He knows this is an important hint. He should give it to Jackson, or tell Brooks to start a new search with that name. But, for some reason, he can't do either.
Instead, he folds it again carefully and hides it in the inner pocket of his black uniform.
The door is pushed open, and he gasps and turns around. Cooper is standing in the doorway, and Jayden can barely keep his relief from showing. Unfortunately, though, it doesn't last long.
"Remember the car they stole from us?" Cooper asks, and Jayden nods.
"How could I forget?" Truthfully, the only thing dimming his embarrassment whenever he thinks about that moment is that the person that screwed them over was none other than Mr. Styles himself.
Cooper gives him a grim glance. "It has just exploded, we're to check it out."
Now Jayden feels sick.
• • •
OLD COUNTRY
Night has set, and the stars are glinting above. The last, dying flames are enveloping the car, rising towards the sky like hands in prayer. The asphalt is cold under Alouette's back, but not uncomfortably so. She takes a deep breath; the air smells of metal and burnt rubber. On one side, in the distance, she can see the lights of the city they were just in—though she doesn't know if what she's seeing are the advertisements or the fire that might be eating it away in this very moment. On the other side, she can see nothing but darkness.
Harry is lying next to her, so close she can feel her heart hammering in her chest. His coat is stained by dirt and ashes, he's propped up on one of his elbows. His hair is in his eyes, dishevelled by the explosion. The moonlight draws a line on his profile as he looks up, and Alouette can see the stars reflected into the depth of his eyes. She's losing her mind—slowly, but surely. It may be that they came so close to dying once again, it may be the thrill of having escaped their odds together, but Alouette she finds herself thinking he's never looked as beautiful as he does now.
He lets out a faint sigh and moves to sit up, running a finger through his hair. "It seems to be the perfect moment to let you know the Palace was notified of our position in the moment the car exploded," he says, somewhat nonchalantly.
"Shit!" Alouette falls back onto the road, and he lets out a chuckle. "How long do we have?"
Harry debates the answer for some long moments. "I'd say it depends on how much they value me."
You're priceless to them, Alouette wants to say. They're done without you. But that would only feed his ego and not help her find a way out of this mess, so she stays quiet instead. She sits up and wraps her arms around her middle, trying to keep some of the warmth from escaping her. She got so used to spending their nights in the car that she didn't even realise how much colder the weather has become over the past few weeks.
Harry shifts, and then sudden warmth envelops her as he puts his coat on her shoulders. She flinches back and he sits back on the asphalt, inches away from her. If she closed her eyes and listened carefully, she could hear him breathing.
She glances at him from the corner of her eye, he looks a little cold. His originally white sweater has dark spots where he hit the ground, though holding her close to his body has saved the most of it. Alouette's cheeks heat up as her mind goes over the sensation of him pulling her into him, over and over again. Each time, she feels a little restless. She wants to feel it again, she realises. She wants to know if it was only the moment, or something more.
She moves closer to him—just barely. It's all she needs to do to be right by his side. He doesn't look at her, though she knows he's all too aware of her presence. He never lets anything go by unnoticed, and knowing that, she feels as nervous as she'd be if he'd met her eyes. She digs her nails into her palms, trying to convince herself to take the next step. In truth, they've already been in each other's arms before. They've kissed, slept on top of each other, he's even pulled her close to him, once.
But she hasn't hugged him ever since that afternoon in the Palace, to reassure him after that Revolution attack. She wonders if Harry ever thinks about it. She wonders what he thinks, now that he knows it was all her fault. She can imagine him being angry, impressed, hurt, even. She wonders if he'll be reminded of it with her next action.
She wraps her arms around his middle and leans her head on his shoulder with the guise of protecting him from the cold. He stills, his back is a straight line between the earth and the stars. She's sure he'll push her away—but he doesn't. She can feel the exact moment in which his fingers close over her shoulder, one by one. Her heart is beating in her throat, now. Her eyes close, and she lets out a little sigh. It feels just as right as she thought it would.
"It's so cold here," she murmurs, trying to cover up her scattered emotions. "Won't you take me back to the city?"
Harry lets out a sound that is between a laugh and a scoff. "I thought you said I'm a deplorable driver?" he asks. His fingers tap on her shoulder, and then he adds, "also, I can't. In case it's escaped from your attention, the car is in flames."
Alouette rolls her eyes. "Don't you have any presidential privileges?" she teases him.
"I did, until you snapped them in half three weeks ago."
"Oh, it's already been three weeks?" Alouette asks. "Time flies when you're having fun."
Harry's hand tightens around her shoulder just so. She holds her breath for some long moments, waiting for him to bite back, but he doesn't. "A car is coming," he only says. His touch disappears from her in the span of a second, and he moves to hide behind the still burning car.
Alouette goes with him, a thousand thoughts in her mind. She's never felt so not present in the moment before, and it makes her want to cling onto Harry until her head stops spinning. Thankfully, though, she isn't nearly spaced out enough to believe it would be a good idea. Nervousness rises inside of her as she approaches the flaming vehicle—part of her fears it'll explode once again. But she doesn't want to seem foolish in front of Harry.
A long minute goes by, and then she discovers Harry was indeed right as a car approaches their burning one. She hides better, her body pressed against Harry's. She'd like to say her thoughts remain focused on the newcomers, but that would be a lie.
The car stops at a safe distance from theirs. Alouette is about to walk out of her hiding spot when Harry grabs her arm and pulls her into him. She shoots him a confused look, but he only brings his pointer finger to his lips, shutting her up.
A second later a man dressed entirely in black steps out. If it wasn't for the headlights of their car and the flames surrounding theirs, it'd be hard to spot him in the darkness of the night. There's a gun at his side, but he doesn't pull it out. He raises a hand towards his own windshield, and two more figures step out, leaving only one more inside their car. The headlights are turned off.
Alouette holds her breath when she recognises what they're wearing. While she can't tell if they're the same people that chased them out of the city, she knows they're certainly associated with them—and considering they stopped instead of driving away, it's also quite certain they know who they are. But her nervousness is quickly drowned by a new, dangerous idea.
The fire of her car is blowing hot on her face, and she's starting to sweat. She slips her arms into the sleeves of Harry's coat and sends him a little smile. "I have an idea," she whispers into his ear.
He glances at her. "How reckless is it?" he asks, low enough for only her to hear. The coolness of his tone lets her know he might have a couple of his own. She'd like to hear them, though she's sure they'd involve quite a lot of people dying.
Alouette shrugs. "On a scale from one to ten? I'd say a nine and three quarters."
Two of the men are right in front of the car, now. The third—the driver—is only some steps behind. She can see the key card in his hand. It'd be way too easy to slip it out of his hand while he's holding it so casually.
Harry chuckles. "I know what you're thinking, then."
"I'll go get the card," Alouette whispers, and Harry nods.
"I'll be quick." He pulls the knife out of the pocket of his trousers and snaps it open. The blade glints in the light of the fire.
Alouette grabs his wrist. "Do not kill him," she tells him, making sure to infuse the seriousness of her order into her voice. She doesn't like how he always ends up leaving a trail of bodies behind himself—nor how unapologetic he is about it all. Briefly, she wonders if he truly isn't touched by all the deaths he's issued, or if they haunt his dreams at night. Maybe that's why he has such a hard time sleeping.
She shakes her head. If he truly regretted killing people half as much as she thinks he should, he wouldn't still be doing it so casually. She should stop projecting her own feelings onto him and looking for a type of humanity that simply doesn't belong to him.
Harry is now on the side of their car. Alouette can't see what he's doing since he's hidden behind the vehicle. Ten seconds go by, and then his head peeks up through the windshield and he gives her a nod.
She slides forward, stopping inches away from the driver's back. The crackle of the flames is covering every other sound, and the night looks darker against their bright light. Her hand inches towards his, and then she takes a deep breath. She has to be fast.
She strikes his leg with the hold of her gun, right behind the knee, hard enough to make him crumble to the ground with a shout. Her other hand slips the key card out of his hold, and then she races towards the car.
By the time the first gunshot rings out she's already climbed onto the driver's seat. Harry throws his unfortunate victim on the road, and even though they look absolutely terrified, they're also unharmed. Alouette can't hide the smile on her face as she presses down onto the gas pedal and speeds down the street.
It was way too easy—they barely had to put in any effort.
The stars seem to shine brighter now; they almost remind her of Northfair. She fiddles with the radio, and after some moments Harry takes the hairpin from her hand and undoes the screws keeping it in place.
"Think we could use it to try to contact the group we stole the car from?" Alouette asks as he studies it in silence, temptation blooming in her. It would be such an easy way to find out more about their plans—but the risk of there being a tracking device inside it is high.
"Hard to tell." He opens the window and throws it out of the car. It crashes on the asphalt behind them. There their opportunities go. Alouette can't even get mad at him, though. Her unwillingness to tie up loose ends has already put them in danger once.
She brushes a messy strand of hair back. They have to get changed and wash the aftermath of the explosion off, but she doesn't dare to enter a city with that car. The last thing she needs is to attract unwanted attention, and they're still too close to the men's area of influence. She doesn't like any of what's going on, but it also isn't so unheard of. The old country is known for being unstable, and every so often a new group emerges, trying to take over. They never last long, though. They usually either die out on their own or are destroyed by the Palace—no one was ever able to reproduce the anonymity that characterises the Revolution. Knowing all this, she shouldn't worry too much. But it's the first time she hears of anyone attacking the citizens of the poorer cities, and she doesn't like it. If they aren't on the citizens' side nor the Palace's, who are they fighting for?
"What are you thinking about?" Harry muses. He's going through their bag; one corner is burnt. He pulls out a tissue and cleans his knife, and she shoots him a deadly glare. "You said not kill, not not harm," he tells her. A moment later, the tissue flies out of the car window.
Alouette takes a long, deep breath. "I'm thinking about those men," she says once she's sure she won't jump at his throat. "I don't like anything about this. I'm thinking they sensed the Palace is weak and are trying to take advantage of it."
"Shouldn't you be happy about it?" Harry asks. "You're the very source of its instability, after all."
"I didn't mean for the citizens to fall prey because of it."
"In times of war, the first to fall are the weakest levels." He leans his head back and gives her a look. There's a mocking edge in it. "Don't tell me you didn't know."
She scoffs. "Don't act like you care."
"No, I don't," he replies. "I have more troublesome issues at the moment. It is quite unfortunate, though. I wonder, will your dear Revolution look after them, since they care about the population oh so much?"
"I'm quite sure they don't know anything about this."
"I doubt it."
Alouette sighs. "I'm just trying to figure out who we're up against," she admits. "They're looking for us, which means that the news of your disappearance must've got out." Her fingers tighten around the wheel. "Which means we'll likely have the entire country after us sooner or later. It looks like you're about to find out your actions have consequences, Harry."
He chuckles. "I'm not too concerned."
"Sure, you're not the one that has to make sure you stay alive."
"Now, I may be a little hopeless from time to time, but I can assure you I have every intention of surviving this little trip of yours, my darling." Harry gives her a devious little smile, and Alouette finds herself upset by the fact that there's no tree in sight she can crash the car against.
"Since when am I your darling?"
"Oh, you've always been."
Alouette sends a look to the sky on the other side of the windshield, silently hoping she'll manage to survive this drive. "Anyway," she says, trying to fall back into some kind of normalcy, "I don't like being chased like this, so we should change route."
Harry's eyes narrow. "You're planning on leaving the old country, then?" There's a smile on his lips now. "After all you went through to get here, you want to go east again?"
East. Towards Dacran. Towards Northfair. Towards Harry's empire. It seems crazy to even think of, but it's exactly what she's planning on doing. Their odds will be better the farther away they are from whatever this emerging group is planning. It doesn't feel right to escape like this, but she can't help—not on her own, at least. But, maybe, if she gets a little closer to the headquarters of the Revolution she'll manage to contact Elijah, or Elodie, or anyone that might actually listen to her. Someone other than Ezra. Someone that will see the potential in the situation just like she does.
"Don't worry about it," she tells Harry. "It's none of your concern."
He sighs. "My deal still stands."
"I don't like your deal."
"You're so stubborn, Alouette."
"I simply can sense when I'm about to be fucked over."
He laughs. "That's endearing."
Alouette briefly considers dropping Harry off in the centre of Dacran and washing her hands of him. The thought is tempting, but unattainable nonetheless. She can't afford giving him up just yet, no matter how infuriating he can be at times—especially because she can tell he's doing it on purpose. Probably that's what makes it so much worse.
She purses her lips and focuses on the empty road ahead. The night is young and she's starting to grow tired, but she forces herself to keep going. She doesn't feel safe, and she has the odd feeling they're being chased. Whether they're actually going after them or simply following the same route she cannot tell, but it doesn't make it any better. She can't afford to stop until she'll be sure they aren't coming after them anymore.
"Tell me something else about you," she says after some long minutes, more to get Harry to talk about something so she won't fall asleep behind the wheel.
"I've already told you there's nothing to know about me."
She gives him a barest nod. "What's your earliest memory, then?" She asks the first thing she thinks about—one of the few questions she's sure everyone has an answer to.
Harry tenses up. "What's yours?"
Alouette frowns, and her gaze drifts to the road again. For a moment, she considers saying the first thing that goes through her mind, just to fill the silence and give out an appearance of honesty. But she's already lied to him so many times before, and it really doesn't feel right to do so once again, so she tries to focus, really focus, on a time before Amina, before Elijah, before the Revolution... and her search comes up empty, because the Revolution has always been there. She almost pulls the brake when the realisation strikes her.
"How could you do this to us?" A voice screams in the other room.
Alouette opens her door just barely and peeks through the sliver of light. Her mother and her father are standing in the kitchen, she can see the glass in her mother's hand a second before it's smashed on the floor. Her father hisses, and Alouette jumps back as well, hiding herself away in the shadows of her room. She almost falls when she trips over the nightstand, but the bed with kittens drawn on the cover catches her.
"Léonie, please," her father says, concern in his voice. "You have to understand—"
"No!" her mother screams. "You lied to me! You said you'd stop with this madness, you said we could start anew here in Dacran—"
"I know what I said," her father interrupts her, "But things have changed. The President will run this country to the ground, and I cannot let that happen. I have the power to do something, I can't stand idle while countless people suffer."
"And what of your own family?!" Léonie shouts. Alouette moves closer to the opening in her door and sees her kneeling on the ground. She's fumbling with the pieces of glass, as if unsure of whether she should pick them up or throw them in her husband's face. "What will become of us when he comes after you, too?" She lets out a cry. "Ettie is only six years old! Do you not care about her at all?"
The nickname rings in Alouette's ears. She's never heard her say her full name, not even once. But she's also always refused to call her Al like her father does, though she isn't sure why. She's always resented him for choosing to call her like a bird, and oddly enough, it's the same reason why Alouette likes her name so much. It makes her feel as if she's ready to take flight.
Her father kneels before her and puts his hands on her wrists. "It's because I care about her that I have to do something. I want to change things, so that one day she may live in a better world."
"You'll only get yourself killed, and you'll take us with you!" Her mother stands up. Alouette can't see the look on her face, but her father pales. "I am tired of your carelessness, of being continuously put in danger by you. This isn't what I want for my family. I've never wanted any of this—couldn't you just let it go?!"
"I can't!" he exclaims. "There's more, Léonie. I promise there's more. Ezra had an idea; we found a perfect building—"
"I don't want to hear any of this! How could you speak of rebellion so carelessly in this apartment? Do you want to get us all killed?"
"For the thousandth time—"
"I hate you!" her mother screams. "I hate you, Daniel! You keep speaking of revolution, of anarchy, but they're only stupid dreams, and they'll get you killed—they'll get us all killed! You do not care about us, that damn group is the only thing you care about!"
Her father opens his mouth, but all of a sudden he looks up, and his eyes meet Alouette's. She gasps and turns into her room, closing the door and sitting in the corner between her nightstand and bed. The voices continue, but they're muffled now, and she can't understand a thing. More things get smashed on the floor, more screams echo. Then, there's silence.
A knock on the door. It opens, and her father glances inside. "Mom needs a moment," he says, apologetically. They're always screaming as of late. Alouette wonders why. "Why don't we go for a walk, Al? I have a special place to show you."
Alouette nods and stands up. Her father takes her out of the apartment and down the lift, and soon enough they're walking in the streets of Dacran. It's the early evening, and the crowd is thick. He takes her hand, so that she won't get lost.
"You know I'm a professor, right?" he asks, and Alouette nods, even though she isn't sure she knows what the word means. He once told her it's like being one of her teachers, but better. It doesn't sound really fun to her. "I've only started working here a week ago, but I found a wonderful spot to eat lunch. You'll see, it's magical."
"Magical?" she asks, looking up at him.
He nods, scratching the scar on his jaw, the one that cuts his beard in two on the side. He once told her he got it while fighting a wild boar. Alouette has the suspicion it might be a lie, but he seems to like it so much that she doesn't want to point it out. "Like a fairy tale."
Alouette likes fairy tales. She also likes the little stories in the book he always carries around, the ones that speak of birds and light. She can never fully grasp them when he reads them to her, but the words sound melodic, as if someone tried to write a song with them. That must be what magic sounds like.
Soon they get to their destination; the words DACRAN UNIVERSITY shine on the wall above their heads as they go in. The building is dark, and nobody is inside. Still, they make for the lifts. Her father has a special key, one that makes it go up, up, up.
When they step out, they're standing on a large balcony. No, it's a roof. Her father takes her towards the railing and picks her up, so that she can see on the other side of the wall.
The city is splayed under them, a multitude of multicoloured lights that reflect the stars above. It's so pretty, and Alouette's head spins.
"What do you think?" he asks.
"It's so pretty!" she exclaims, and smiles. Her parents' argument is nothing but a faraway, half-forgotten thought now. Little does she know she'd find herself thinking about it over and over again, years in the future, wondering when it all went wrong, asking herself if she could've changed anything—maybe if she'd acted a little nicer, been less stubborn... maybe, if she'd tried to understand...
"This is our world, Alouette. It might feel dark and lonely at times, but you must remember it isn't in truth," her father says. "Whenever you feel alone, you can look at all the glinting lights around you and remember that to each and every one of them corresponds a soul just like you or me. Where there's light, there's life, and you'll never be alone." He sighs. "Close your eyes."
Alouette obeys.
"Can you hear all the sounds of the city?"
She nods.
"That's the proof that there's someone worth fighting for, out there." He laughs. "You might not understand what I mean now, but you will, one day."
Alouette clenches her teeth. She's grasping the steering wheel so tightly that her fingers feel stiff. She glances to the side, discovering that Harry is studying her. She doesn't know which emotions he saw painted on her face.
"My first memory?" she says, her voice low to hide the slight tremble in it. "I'm not sure if it's the first, but the clearest is the evening my father brought me to see the lights of the city for the first time." She intentionally leaves out the name, because she doesn't need him discovering more about her than he should. "They were beautiful." She clears her throat. "What about yours?"
Harry tilts his head. "I'm not certain," he says. His voice is so painfully honest that it hurts. "I don't have many memories of my childhood. Most dwindle before I can fully grasp them." He frowns. "My relationship with my family has never been ideal."
Alouette gives him a slow nod. Her words get tangled in her throat, but she remembers the scars on his body, his rage, his self-hatred, a fear so clear when she locked him into a room that she's certain it must stem from somewhere deep inside.
"My memories fade," Harry continues. "The ones that stay, I'd rather not share."
"Not the first, then," she says. "What about a happy one?"
He hums. "There was a box, under my bed," he whispers, "a box of treasures."
Alouette's mind instantly goes to the shoe box she found on the upper floor of the Palace some months ago, the ones full of paper artworks. She smiles a little.
Harry sighs. "I liked them."
She senses there's more, but doesn't ask. She swallows, guilt overcoming her for having hidden the truth from him once again. "I lied," she says suddenly. "That wasn't my first memory."
He turns to look at her, but she doesn't dare to meet his eyes while she speaks. "It was the second. The first is my parents arguing."
"Because of the Revolution?" Harry asks quietly.
"Yes."
"My parents often were on diverging paths as well," he shares. "My father... he wanted to take over the world. He wanted everything, he wanted too much. My mother didn't." A frown curves his eyebrows. "I've never seen her smile, not even once. She hated him. Carina was her way of defying him, in a sense. He would've never let a woman inherit the kingdom he'd created." His short nail traces the length of the car door in the silence. "She's always preferred her. I think the day I was born was the day she lost every hope."
"Carina?"
"My sister."
The silence is heavy after that. Alouette doesn't know what to say—she doesn't even know if there are right words to speak. But if there are, Harry doesn't seem to be interested in hearing them, because he looks away.
She stares ahead as well, and then her gaze is raised to the sky, to the stars, to the lights reflecting up ahead. When she looks at the road again she spots a road sign glinting in the night, and violently hits the brake.
The nine letters on it speak clear.
She's accidentally driving them straight to Northfair.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter x
Miki