Nada's Escape: Fighters' lies

6.3 Madness

A simple dirt path curves away from Seven to the right. Finley steps straight off the path, though, and leads me to the left, around the back of Seven's orange sandstone wall. As we round the wall's curve, greenery splashes into view, impossibly bright in the parched sunlight.

I gape at the verdant sprawl of gardens, hundreds of plants thriving in every direction. From the smallest blade of grass to the towering hedges, they form a maze around us, like Eden in the midst of hell.

Finley barely glances at it and I try to keep up but my fingers ache to brush against every piece of foliage. It's all real, right down to the scent of wet earth and fresh grass. Finley grants me a sweet, pleased smile as he ducks through an arch carved into a towering hedge wall. I follow along a maze of such paths, too distracted by the feel of freedom to memorise the turns.

Is this how the fey lure you off your path? I wonder absently.

One final turn brings us to an archway of vines and I gape at our destination. Beyond the arch, the hedges hollow out to reveal a meadow, a Huntsmen garden party spread across its lawn. It's like it's from another place, another time.

Ornate white furniture perch on the carpet of grass. Lace-edged cushions float upon their seats and the circular tables are littered with wrought patterns that you could drop teaspoons through. Pastel-clad Huntsmen glide through the set like sharks and the bubble of chatter sets my teeth on edge. Every head is held high with pride, like balloons suspended from the sun umbrellas.

My fingers twist in the linen oath bond around my wrist, instantly uncomfortable with the scene. These white-clad men are my captors, each a bloodthirsty, supernatural warrior. So many of them at once. My heart clenches.

But its more than that. It's everything else too: the clothes, the chatter, the inane gathering of so many people. I don't think I've ever been keen on these fancy social gatherings that send worms tittering. Too many eyes, too many expectations. Even without the contradictions I'm predisposed to distrust.

From one blink of my eye to the next the gender bias reveals itself to my eyes. So few women, all too young. They don't have to be wearing ribbons for me to know they are pledged. There's a wan cast to their smiles, a bored tilt to their heads that whispers beaten but not out. And then there's the Huntsmen, laying fluttering, relaxed hands on their worms.

Finley must sense my discomfort because he pauses beside me under the trellis gate to let me take it all in.

"This is where I said we'd be. All we have to do is pick a spot to stand in and be polite when people come over to talk." He runs over the plan again. Most of the party's activity seems to be centred over by a large umbrella in the centre of the meadow. We're at some far edge of the party, thank god.

"And the rebels you've been meeting with will come and size me up," I continue, pulling at the now uncomfortable fit of my dress around my shoulders. I pick a spot right by a near-invisible break in the hedgerow, so that I can make a quick escape if necessary. I try to stay calm but its hard with the bubbling mass of Huntsmen so close.

I recognise Macie's sponsor Percival and behind him- My heart thumps. A ghost from Seven's past. But I blink and the monster's gone, disappeared into the crowd. Keep calm, I tell myself, focus on the problem in front of you. There's Huntsmen at a Huntsmen party. Get over it.

A different Huntsmen is already walking over to us. His narrow, Indian features are unfamiliar to me but he shows an obscene amount of interest in me. Anger gnashes her teeth in my belly. What are you looking at, creep? I want to shout.

Thankfully he retreats after exchanging a few niceties with Finley. He's lucky I'm trying to be polite today...

The second person who approaches is completely disinterested, not even deigning to glance at me after Finley's introduction. Anger does more than gnash this time, she takes a chunk of my lungs. My fingers get halfway into a fist before I stop them. It's only been five minutes, I remind myself, surely I have the self-control to last this long.

The third person is a woman, dark hair giving off a purplish sheen in the sunlight and she looks at me with pity. I almost bite off my tongue. Anger is everywhere now, coursing through my chest, taking control of my arms and legs and cutting off all thoughts in my brain. I get through it only by forcing myself to be deadly still, only jerking my head in a nod when spoken to.

The woman leaves and I turn my eyes to the sky in hopelessness. This is too hard. I can't pretend to be a worm, not even close.

"Nada," Finley says softly, distracting me from my rage. "Look." he points to the hedge behind us. I've barely glanced at it except to find the escape route through it. But I now notice the dozens of tiny white buds dotting the greenery. They're shivering, like bees warming their wings before flight, every bud moving preternaturally fast. I lean in to peer closer at their stems.

The buds explode open to the light and I jump back. Finley chuckles and I can't help but smile a little too. Killer flower buds indeed.

It turns out the explosion was only the first movement in a slower symphony because the petals, white as sunshine, are still stretching out. I am transfixed as they unfurl, dozens of petals on each flower, carefully flashing their turquoise centres. One by one the flowers finish extending their petals and shiver one last time. A cascade of shivering white and palest blue engulfs the section hedge before me, and then entire hedgerow.

The movement flees from me and I reach out for the closest, the most delectable flower I have ever seen. I know the scent, breathing deep: subtle frangipani. All the tension of the past few minutes drains away as I admire the magic.

"Best not pick any," Finley says, "They don't enjoy it." I start. I almost forgot he was there, almost forgot about the entire freaking legion of Huntsmen at my back. I whirl. I must be mad. But nobody is creeping up behind me or paying me the least bit of attention. Many are even admiring the newly bloomed hedgerows. And despite a half second of panic my anger has dissipated.