Nada's Escape: Fighters' lies

18.2 Ribbons

I help him bring in the rest of my stuff, dumping it in a heap in the lounge room. Finley holds aloft a brown leather suitcase.

"I got the ribbons. Wanna test them out?"

I nod vigorously, knowing Macie will be thrilled to hear I've tested them myself. Finley lays the suitcase on the table and snaps open the latches. He swivels it towards me and I see wads of ribbons of every colour and shape held down with buckles, next to loops of twine and thin rope. Nestled around the edges are tiny brown bottles and an old table top lighter. The whole array is meticulously organised, as if taken straight from a craft store catalogue.

Finley presses down on the silver buckle holding down a wad of thin green ribbons, "These are the new ones. We have fifteen, more than enough for the ceremony." I nod, suppressing a shiver at the Huntsmen's version of shackles.

"Is there just green? What if Percival wants to use the red ones?" I ask.

Finley's lips curve into a smile. "He's not in charge tomorrow. I am."

My mouth drops open. "You're in charge of the ceremony?"

His smile widens into a grin, "Yep. My father made me responsible." He undoes the buckle over the green ribbons and extracts one, running it through his hand. A silvery shimmer races along behind his hand.

"And it's a good thing too." He whispers. "Something feels off about these... If another binder got a hold of them..."

"Shit," I whisper back. "Percival's not a binder is he?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. He's a healer."

I wrinkle my nose at the thought of Percival anywhere near a hospital wing.

"Right... So how can we test them?" I say, turning back to the subject at hand.

"Make an inconsequential promise, one we can easily test, and we'll see if you can break it." He casts his gaze about pensively. My nails tap on the table top as I lean over it to snatch the ribbon from Finley.

"Fine," I huff, my face screwing up with distaste for the task ahead. The cushions stacked up beside the couch give me an idea, "I promise I won't punch that pillow."

"Good," Finley nods, "But you should be a little more specific. Try saying you won't punch any of the pillows in the house."

I nod, considering it. "Seems a little inconvenient if it sticks but..." I fist my hand, palm up, on the ribbon and copy Finley's suggestion.

"I promise I won't punch any of the pillows in this house."

Finley circles my wrist with the ribbon's ends, taking great care not to brush my skin. He ties a perfect loose bow. It seems too pretty to hold a present closed, let alone a pledge meant to last forever. Then he selects a square bottle from the brown case. Its patterned surface might be as much for grip as for aesthetics.

Finley shakes three gleaming amber drops exactly onto the knot and as I glare as they sink into the fabric, with no outward sign of the magic at work.

"That's it?" I ask as Finley returns the bottle of amber liquid to the case.

"That's it," he confirms, "It's simple magic. A little intention, a little ritual, a lit-"

"A little blood." I interrupt, dead pan. There's three bottles in the case, little potions to seal the pledge. And I now I know what they put in their potions. Finley softly closes the lid, cutting off my sight.

"Diluted." He says carefully, but my eyes are still on the case. "I don't need it to bind the pledges, but its part of the ritual, a sort of fail-safe. "

"Cos you're a binder?" I ask, rolling the unfamiliar word around in my mouth. Finley nods, retreating behind the couch. He sinks into it, puckering the dust cover over the back. I frown, trying to put together all the tiny pieces I've picked up over the years.

"I thought your Talent was enthralment?" I slide my thumb over the ribbon in my hands.

He shrugs. "Secondary."

I feel a little flare of vindication at the confirmation. That I had guessed right, but also that I'd survived all the little enthralments over the years. Any Huntsmen could enthral a human, with a little time and clear line of sight. But for the good ones, the powerful ones it was easy.

And oh so hard to resist.

Finley lazes back on the couch, reaching over the arm and launches a pillow at me. Immediately, I spread my feet and meet the cushion's centre with my fist. The ribbon slides all over the place around my arm and by the time the pillow hits the ground the ribbon is limp seaweed hanging from my fist. I blink.

"Too easy." I whisper and make a run for the stack of pillows, pummelling every last one of them until I see feathers flying.

I still then, huffing, the room awash with Finley's peals of laughter. I feel myself grinning as I turn to survey the dust and pillow strewn room. The ribbon lies stretched out on the floor below me, gloriously unknotted. I pick up the lank strand.

"And we stop this-" I shake the dangling ribbon, "- from happening by gluing the ribbons after right?" I ask, putting the last pieces of the plan together. I catch a sweet smile on Finley's lips before I turn sharply, reminding myself not to get too comfortable. The threat of enthralment isn't over.