Nada's Escape: Fighters' lies

6.4 Hands

The procession of Huntsmen continues and though I feel more trapped than ever, I'm ready for each new wave of anger. I wrestle it down and distract myself with plots on how to take down each of them. But as the procession drags on my anger fades into frustration with Finley. This meet and greet is going on too long. He can't possibly have this many allies.

"Most of these people aren't here for you," Finley whispers when we're finally alone for a few seconds. "They're just trying to curry favour with my father."

I glare at the milling Huntsmen, at their boring conversation and their silly costumes. "Won't they tell the wardens I was out?" I ask.

Finley just shrugs and I reply with a derisive shake of my head. Of course it doesn't matter to you. You're not the one they'll throw in-

"Nada I- didn't expect to see you here." A woman's voice breaks my train of thought. I squint at the mild featured woman before me. Not so old... then I realise. It's the previous Macie. She'd pledged out of Seven almost two years ago. But damn, I'd forgotten that I might know some of the worms at the party.

"Shannon!" A man calls out and she turns, eyes glazing at the sight of him. Enthralment. That's new. She'd just been a regular traitor in Seven, no enthralment needed to be a pain in my butt.

The man jogs up with a grin too big for his face. He's new too. Hadn't she pledged to an older guy?

"Wow, so this is your girl, huh?" The man asks Finley. He's adult-looking, maybe mid-twenties. Still too old for Shannon.

"Crazy work on that ladder hun." He says to me, slapping my arm like we're old mates, "Mad respect."

My fingers curl into talons on his arm. I try to dig my nails in deeper, but cold shoots up my fingers, paralysing them. I yank him closer, spikes of cold shooting through my legs too as I try to launch my knee at him. I stagger, try to regain the balance after the sudden loss of momentum. It's that stupid pledge, I realise.

I thought I'd been so clever adding in that provocation clause, without thinking too hard about what the Huntsmen definition of provocation would be. That is how pledges work isn't it?

"Don't touch me," I hiss but the threat feels flat as my muscles lock up with cold. The pledge doesn't steal my anger like enthralment though. No, that still simmers beneath the skin. Trapped, impotent.

I shake the arm in my grip, like an over-enthusiastic greeting. Apparently the pledge doesn't consider that violence. I glare daggers at the man to make up for my impotence. He laughs and pulls his arm from my grip, oblivious to my loathing.

"Jeez, she is a feisty one. I see why you keep her in there." He leans closer like it's a secret. "What are you going to do with her when they close it?"

Finley shuffles a closer to me, and a little in front. To anyone else he might look like he's just shifting his weight but I see his hand close into a fist behind him.

His voice is still friendly as he replies, "I'm sure we'll work something out."

Shannon nods vaguely. "Everyone's talking about it."

She stares past her Huntsmen's head, as if something is hanging in the sky there. Then she frowns, tipping her gaze back onto her Huntsmen.

"I thought the council had to approve all the pledges?"

He smiles obligingly, placing a hand on her elbow. "Of course they do."

He begins to lead the way back to the rest of party. Finally. "But its not like Finley's father's going to turn him down."

I feel as if someone is shaking me, marbles rattling around inside my head. It's the anger, the nonchalant words and the fingers of cold still crawling through my muscles. Little reminders of my stupid pledge.

Is that what this is about? I slide my gaze to Finley, his fingers loosening from their fist. You're going to convince your father to let me pledge? That's not what you said- I break off my thoughts and turn from the party to hide the wave of emotions making their way cross my face.

I berate myself, the hedge and the gap I'd been planning on slipping through. Of course that's not what he said. He lied, you idiot. To get you out here, to get that band round your wrist.

I pull at the band again, futilely. The raw edges won't even fray under my fingers. It's unnatural.

Finley steps up beside me. "Are you alright?"

That pulls the stopper on my anger. I whirl on him. He's not speaking, just standing there, pointing his toes towards me.

"This is all a con isn't it? You're trying to distract me from actually escaping this time." I whisper the accusation under the thrum of the party conversation.

He cocks his head to the side, a blur of concerned features that I keep in my peripheral vision. He leans forward just a few centimetres.

"You don't think that," he whispers, "Or you wouldn't be asking."

Another swirl of anger rattles through me. I nod to myself. Why am I asking? For that matter, why am I still at this fricking party? I didn't pledge to stand here like a paper doll. I let the churning emotions swivel me around and I find the gap in the hedge, my escape.

"Nada," Finley says softly just as I plunge into the gap. His hand snatches after mine and I slow, hesitating. Warmth melts up my arm from his touch. A heatwave that bleeds my frustration and resolve like a warm summer day. I glance back at our hands briefly clasped, glowing gold amidst the dappled shade. Don't let go. That lazy, heartfelt thought seizes my mind.

But Finley's fingers are apologetically loose, my arm stretched out behind me like soft toffee. The toffee snaps as my movement breaks our connection. Out of range. Cold water sluices through my mind, scattering the foreign, golden thoughts.

For a moment I'd hated to let our hands part. Why? There had been some Huntsmen sorcery in that touch - a sweet poison to blank my thoughts and enthral me. But I hadn't looked him in eye! You can't be enthralled without eye contact!

"Are you okay?" Finley asks as my hands quiver and my mind wavers. Spider webs of that golden feeling struggle to placate the war general of my sanity.

The general screams down all my errant thoughts with streams of threats and denials. You will not turn to look at him, you stupid, stupid girl. You must not. This is enthralment! And I will not be enthralled. Not today. Never again. I hardly notice my feet pounding the earth. The battlefront in my mind is all consuming.