Nada's Escape: Fighters' lies

26.1 Triumph.

"Nada, wake up. It's our chance!"

I struggle out of the webs of sleep only to groan as my body screams at me that I've been run over by a truck. My head feels like a jar of bees, made worse by Amy's shaking. Through the writhing mass of her locks I ascertain that I'm in my room in the Warrior Circle, not lying by the side of some highway.

"Whaddyawant?" I mumble, making a feeble attempt to push her aside. She jumps back and bounces on the mattress.

"We can sneak away. From the gala tomorrow night." She whispers in a voice too well acquainted with subterfuge. I rub my aching face. When did the sunlight turn into daggers?

"What's a gala?" I yawn. "Actually don't tell me. I need water." I sit up and take in the tangle of blankets strewn across the foot of the bed. Had I been tossing in my sleep? That would explain why my arms and legs feel like lead weights. My back creaks as I stumble upright.

"What time is it?" I croak. Red and blue spots dance through my eyelids from the sunlight. I shuffle like a blind girl to the bedroom door, arms outstretched.

"Almost midday. Were you going to sleep all day?" The bed springs protest as Amy jumps from the bed. Adjusting to the daylight, I make my way to the kitchen cupboards with slightly more enthusiasm. Water rushes into my glass, already warm from the day. Still I skull it, exorcising the funk of sleep from my tongue.

"You said something about a...?" I ask, turning to Amy. She's dressed gaily in a sky-blue blouse and loose yellow capris.

"Gala. The party of the decade, they say. And a parade." Her eyes flash as she saunters up to the table. She places her fingertips on the tabletop, wrist poised archly behind. "But that's not the best bit."

I yawn, letting a stretch crackle up from one hip to the tips of my fingers, still stupidly holding the glass. I place the glass down with a jarring tap, "I'm listening."

"Everyone will be there, and it runs all night. All the Huntsmen will be drinking and celebrating. So we sneak out early..." Amy trails off with excessive innuendo. If her eyebrows weren't invisibly light I'd see them waggling suggestively. I wish I'd held off tapping my glass down until now.

"Really? Tonight?" My gaping jaw pulls the skin of my cheeks into a shocked expression, eyes widening. Amy smiles so brightly her teeth almost sparkle.

"It's exciting isn't it? It's tomorrow. Parade starts at six. Everyone's in it." Amy bobs on the spot, clapping her hands with butterfly quickness. I pat down my clothes looking for pockets, lists. So much to plan. So much to do before tomorrow. There's even Penny and Liza to recruit.

"Seriously, are you okay?" Amy snaps me out of my chaotic, sluggish thoughts with a frown. "The circles under your eyes are dark enough to hide in."

I blink more sleep from them, "I'm good enough. I will be fine." I refill the glass and drain it, shaking away more ghosts from the night. I still feel worn out. The best remedy will be getting going, though. We're really going to escape!

I sweep the bungalow for eavesdroppers, locking the windows and doors. Then I fill a bowl with bran flakes and tip the notes out of the false bottom of the cereal box. I point Amy into the seat across from me.

"Right. Let's start with the essentials."

~~~~~~~~~~~

They cluster in groups in the main room of my bungalow. The three musketeers lean against the kitchen bench, one of them with an eye on the window, another pacing to the door and back every few minutes. The fencers sit clustered together on the big couch, avoiding the hollow gazes of the two weepers on the other chairs. I'm not even sure why the weepers are here, but what's done is done. Macie sits at the kitchen table like a queen, Finley to her left, Amy to her right. I hover over the other end of the table, unable to sit, despite the chair half pulled out for me.