Nada's Escape

18- Christmas.

My eyes flutter open from a reverie of escape plans and I press a hand to my head. Finley again. Here to distract me from my last hope plan. I follow the wardens robotically, attempting to keep my thoughts on track.

After the incident with Darcell the wardens had given the three musketeers and I leave to patch up Amy, who was savage as a hellcat when injured. So gathered, we had assessed our options. Our only plausible plan had been agreed miserable: kidnapping the Huntsmen leader. Its only advantage to me was revenge on Penny's likely poisoner. Having been fixated on this plot all afternoon I review it again as I cross under the grate.

If we hold something sharp to any important Huntsman's throat long enough we might just bargain what we need from them. The tatters of my pre-Seven self balk at threatening to kill someone, even our captors. It is my desperation at this stage, nine days away from termination, that allows me to rip past my conscience so mercilessly. Amy and the three musketeers have assured me they'll do whatever I decide, as long as it means salvation. In the wake of these macabre plans I'm maybe a little relieved for Finley's distraction.

Mildrith at my back, the frosted glass doors to the waiting room slide open to show an absence of Finley. The room isn't empty though, a fencer and her sponsor sit at a table, talking carefully. I walk down the tiny aisle anyway, catching a quick glance back at Mildrith in confusion. Her earthy skin is unlined and unalarmed so I continue.

My heartbeat picks up as I survey the unguarded entrance to the compound before me. I press my hand down on the handle and the door springs open. I waltz out before someone can stop me, hearing the swish of the sliding door closing in front of Mildrith.

The freshly baked air meets my lungs and I drink in the open sky, unmonitored for a moment. I hear scritch, crunch and snap my foot down to intercept a small rock that is skittering towards me. Swivelling my head to its source, I see a hand withdraw around the side of the building, away from the gate.

I approach the corner, shaking my head. Where is Finley learning his new tricks? I find him on his belly in the dirt under the window to the warden's room. In the blind spot.

"Get down," he hisses. I plant my feet. The warden room is empty and I prefer to keep the standing advantage.

"What are you here for?" I sigh, resting my hands on my hips.

"To organise the plan. And to apologise for the delay caused by my associates' cautious natures."

I scoff, "Yeah that plan that definitely exists."

"I'm serious." He says, looking up at me from the dirt, his eyes widening in supplication. Luckily it's easier to avoid the dangerous magic of those eyes when towering above him. A door half opens in the warden room and I instinctively drop to the dirt, out of sight. I guess I'm not ready to get caught yet.

Closer now, Finley's gaze is harder to avoid. There's no way to properly assess his expression without looking at his eyes, so I remain impassive as I rest a steadying hand on the dirt before me.

"I don't know how to convince you to trust me," he continues, voice deeper and rougher now. Still peering at me, he lifts himself onto his knees and I tense. I flick the end of his nose with as little contact as possible and he flinches away. His eyes are diverted from meeting mine.

"I'm not going to trust you," I rebuke. "Even if you were telling the truth about this escape I wouldn't trust you." Blunt honesty falls easily from my lips. He shuffles backwards into a sitting position, hugging his knees.

"Fine," he whispers, only allowing himself minuscule glances at me. "I'll just have to try harder. I have to ask a favour first, though." He deliberately pulls down his sock to show me a tiny tan string tied about his ankle. I ignore it, just some other detail to tease my interest and distract me. Typical Finley.

I roll my eyes, "I don't believe you really have a plan, so I'm not gunna do you any favours. I don't need you or-"

"No?" Finley interrupts, placing a closed fist on the dirt and I am shocked enough to let him continue. Has he ever interrupted me before? His tone is warm but his words are harsh. "Nada, you've been here three years and when have you ever not been trying to escape?"

I open my mouth but he talks over me, trying to solicit my understanding, "The defences of Seven have been tested for forty years or more. The wardens know your tricks by now and your ferocity won't help you against any large number of Huntsmen."

Said ferocity grows inside me. "You have no idea what I'm capable of," I retort. He flicks his hair aside to hide his irritation.

"Will you at least hear the favour?" He sighs, impatience veiled behind a lighter tone. I make an indolent gesture for him to continue, pressing my back against the wall so I only have to half face him.

"My associates want to keep the plan a secret, even from you and the girls. But I know you and I know that it will fail if you are not prepared. So, I've organised for you to meet them tomorrow, in a way that will allow them to remain anonymous and assess that you can cooperate non-violently."

As he explains, Finley grows more optimistic, convincing himself that this is a good idea.

"You just have to attend a garden event tomorrow and pretend to be respectful to a few Huntsmen. That's it. Then I'll be released to tell you everything." By the time Finley finishes speaking, a smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He plucks again at the string around his ankle, making an annoying head bobble towards it and I finally realise it significance. He wants me to assume it binds his oath of silence about this matter, just another version of the ribbons that the Liza and Penny swore on at the ceremony.

I narrow my eyes at Seven's wall a hundred paces away, mulling over his words. Associates or allies it doesn't matter. They're still Huntsmen, and I know they can't be trusted. My eyes wander back to that anklet as I think for a way to turn this to my advantage anyway. What would Macie do?

"Your plan is bogus. But if I do his favour, what's in it for me?" I reply, feigning disinterest.

Finley's smile broadens in my next minute glance and he replies with satisfaction, "Once our errand is complete I'll show you around the village and gardens beyond the wall. Whatever you want to see."

"What about exit routes, the weapons store and the garages?" I test, sure of his kind denial. He rocks forward onto the balls of his feet, bringing his face closer.

"Like I said. Whatever you want." I don't have to look to know the exact smile sitting there. Warm and knowing, the way a parent watches their child, ripping through wrapping paper to find just what they've wished for. Without warning he presses something into my hand, holding it there as I refuse to take it. I feel beads rolling between our hands.

"I know what you're thinking," he starts, "But this isn't a gift. It's a loan." He presses my hand once more and then he pulls back, leaving a strand of pearls in my palm. I curse my slow hands.

"There's a Huntsmen tradition where you lend something to someone else, with a promise attached to be enacted upon its return. For example, if you send this necklace back to me I'll know that you seriously need my help. The wardens and other Huntsmen will honour that sort of promise and convey the item back to me as fast as they can. It's an emergency message."

I examine the necklace, running my fingers over the subtle imperfections on the surface of each pearl. I push them along with the little give necklace band has, rubbing a finger over the mottled, greying clasp. It's a small strand of pearls, dainty. Definitely suited for a worm.

"It's all very well to say it's not a gift," I argue, dropping the rest of the necklace as I hold it out towards him between pinched fingers. "But when are you planning on wearing it?"

His mouth twitches at my words but he doesn't reach to take back the pearls. "It was my mother's," he replies softly, in a delicate tone just asking to be crushed underfoot.

"It was one of the only things she was able to keep from her human life." My arguments dry upon my tongue and I remain silent for a long, awkward moment.

I swing the strand between us, but it feels too cruel, like a cat playing with its food. So I slip it into my pocket instead, nodding begrudgingly.

"Fine, I'll come tomorrow."