Nada's Escape

20- Madness.

A sprawl of verdant gardens greets me when Finley shuffles off the main path and around the back of Seven's walls. I can barely believe it, how the greenery is thriving in the parched desert sunlight. Towering hedges, bright flowers and healthy grass, like Eden in the midst of hell.

Finley sets a cracking pace and I try not to dither, aching to brush my fingers along the foliage of every plant I see. He grants me a sweet, pleased smile as he ducks under a archway onto a spongey path between two of the towering hedges. I follow along a maze of such paths, my mind struggling to remember the turns instead of savouring the fresh, wet scent of earth as I long to do.

I finally spot our destination, leaping out from behind an archway of vines. I gape at the garden party spread across the meadow before me; it's like it's from another place, another time. Ornate white furniture perch on the carpet of grass. Round backed chairs with lace edged cushions floating on their seats. Little circular tables with wrought patterns that you could drop teaspoons through if you weren't careful. The meadow is filled with faces and each head is a proud balloon suspended by invisible threads from the sun umbrellas.

The scene makes me uncomfortable, the shoulders of my dress itching suddenly. For a start, these are my captors and bloodthirsty warriors by trade. So many of them at once. The other part of my discomfort is I've never been keen on those fancy social gatherings that send worms tittering. I survey the faces with distrust. It's difficult to see them all because the meadow is at least a few hundred metres long, with clusters of adults all long its length.

From one blink of my eye to the next the gender bias reveals itself to my eyes, clear even just at this end of meadow. 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. Even though it's a juxtaposition I see them in my mind's eye, all ripping off their pastel masks to reveal demon faces.

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 meadow. We're at some far edge of the party, thank god.

"And the rebellious Huntsmen you've been secretly 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 a quick escape is possible. I try to stay calm and polite but it's hard. The first person to come and introduce themselves, a Huntsman, looks at me with an obscene amount of interest and anger gnashes her teeth in my belly. Why are you so interested, creep? I want to shout.

The second person is 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 single little bud moves 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 to 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.

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. Ah, of course it doesn't matter to you. You're not really helping me escape, this is all just an elaborate distraction. The burning of anger, frustration and confusion in my belly is just all too much and so without warning I decide to ditch. I duck out through the gap in the hedge behind me.

"Nada," Finley cries softly. His hand snatches after mine and I slow, hesitating. Warmth is melting 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! Can I even 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 must not. This is enthralment! And I will not be enthralled. Not today. I hardly notice my feet pounding the earth. The battlefront in my mind is all consuming.