Nada's Escape

31- Amends.

I wake to the sound of footsteps above. The ambient light tells me it must be daytime. Maybe the steps are the wrong rhythm, or too light upon the floorboards because I know it's not Finley. The fire of fear lashes through me and I become hyperaware of my awkward curl in this small hole. Vulnerable.

The footsteps stop and the rug is scraped aside. I scramble upright as just as the trap door is heaved open, squinting at the figure towering above me.

"I knew Finley'd hide you here, I just knew it." Darcell. The dreaded wasps from last night awaken in my gut as I groan.

"I'm alone. You can come on up," he says and a hand descends towards me. He knows where I'm hiding but if he's the only one... I grab his forearm, finding sparse purchase on the rough dirt wall with my feet as he heaves from above. As soon as I crest the lip, in that moment of shifting forces and balancing acts I tug harshly on that arm. Then I swing my other up into his neck.

Darcell groans, ripping his arm from my grasp and stumbling out of reach of my knee. Here he finds his balance, shaking his head in dismay.

"You're not my enemy," he huffs, holding his open palms upright in readiness to parry. Only because you don't think you can best me. The thought flashes through my mind and probably shows upon my face. Because he leaps for me suddenly. I catch his darting blow on my forearm but I miss the hit to my ankle that sends me onto one knee. He's smart. I use the momentum of my fall to ram my head forward into all that is soft.

He flails backwards and falls, flesh hitting the floor with a sound that would make any worm wince. I am on top of him in seconds, pinning his arms and sitting on his chest.

He opens his fingers in surrender. "What are you going to do? Kill me?" If I had a knife in my hands then I might have stabbed him, merely to give him the same pain that accusation caused me. I'm not a killer.

I must have said those words aloud because his face relaxes. "Of course not," he replies with a wry smile implying that I'm not a warrior like the Huntsmen are: merciless.

"And even if you were," he continues, "You don't have to kill me because I don't plan on giving you up. Unlike your 'hero' boyfriend I haven't sworn an oath of honesty to the council either. So really I'm your best friend."

I hiss at his words but any words of my own are caught up by the wasps of guilt and dread in my stomach. The shadow of last night's breakdown clouds my thoughts. Still, there's nothing I can do with him except bang his head on the floor until he passes out. Strange as it might seem, I am sick of bloodshed so I roll off him instead.

I cross my legs and watch him pick himself up. He twists his neck like he's trying to snap it off for me, with associated cracking, and then mimics my pose. His chest fills to maximum like a balloon and on the exhale he places his palms flat to the floor. Weapon-less and defenceless. When he begins speaking again it's in a voice shaking with anguish.

"I am so sorry. I had no idea about Tobias. I never would have... Not if I'd known. Never. I just want you to know that." He ceases talking for a brief moment, taking in my impassive face, shocked more than anything. Every playful, predatory angle of his face has slipped away. Only the scars of guilt remain, a startling contrast to his image in my mind. I may have to re-evaluate his personality.

Then he begins again, just as fast, like a tape picking up where it left off. "If you need to... if you need anything, I will help you. I know the council wants blood but this is all my fault. I understand that."

I had blamed him for the monster's presence and I'd been right to do so. It was his fault all my plans had turned to water in my hands. But I remain speechless, confused by his remorse. Had he really not known? What had he been up to then?

"Here," he rolls a plastic tube over to me. What looks like capsules of white powder roll within it. "These are experimental, hopefully they'll help. If you're caught they'll disguise you."

Darcell's voices wanes and I roll the tube back and forth despondently. I don't know what to think. I don't really care. The pillars of my life don't involve this one day haughty the next apologetic Huntsmen. My pillars are avoiding capture and seeing the other girls safely out of Seven. All we need are those ribbons.

The silence must be clawing at Darcell because he begins again, "I know it isn't much." He can't hide the disappointment in his voice. This surely isn't the fighter he'd watched through the grate in Seven. Well, right now, he surely isn't the swaggering Huntsmen whom I had disliked so much.

I should ask why. But the words ferment, yet unstructured, in my mind. I'm still hollow from crying, I guess. From one breath to the next Darcell's demeanour changes.

"Why won't you even look at me?" He explodes in exasperation. He jumps to his feet and starts pacing, a violent quality to his stride. "Don't you care that I could tell the Council your exact location?" This does get my attention, and my hackles rise. So I do look at him, from under eyebrows like storm clouds. His face is twisted with annoyance and the back of his head that hides the ugly expression as he turns is his only redeeming feature.

"Then. Why. Don't. You?" The wasps of guilt release my words one by one.

"I should," he seems to expand with each stride, "the Mage knows what they'd do to me of all people if they found out I knew!"

I clasp the vial of pills in my hand and stand slowly, holding the power of my muscles in with every movement. He turns on a pin and zeroes in on my smouldering gaze. He stalks forward and I recklessly meet his gaze. His eyes don't flicker to enthral me nor turn away from me. Then we're nose to nose and the heat of his body warms my skin. His expression cools to near kindness.

"No. That's not what I'm here for." He whispers. Suspicious.

I cock my head sideways and lift an eyebrow, "Really? What else could a Huntsmen possibly want from a fighter like me?" I look briefly upwards as if looking for an answer to my rhetorical question. "Why did you put Tobias in Seven?"

Darcell grimaces and shakes his head. "I was an idiot." I take a step away from him levelling one of my best no nonsense glares. Why?

"Useless information," he sighs, giving in to my questions. "I wanted intel." I place a hand on my hip, rolling my shoulders back. On?

Darcell's face crumples with shame and he avoids looking at me. "On you, I guess."

I huff all the air from my lungs. Shit. I should probably just leave it but my mouth is falling open of its own accord. "Why?"

He frowns at me, not comprehending my question. "Why? Don't you understand? You..." He shakes his head in a gesture amused even as it is amazed. "Finley's devotion would be evidence enough if I hadn't seen you myself."

His lithe mouth lengthens into a possessive smile. "You almost make me believe in the Warrior Mage herself."

It might be fear he reads on my lips then. It's that obsession for human fighters that the Huntsmen have. Horrible. Gut churning. But also fascinating. Does it make sense that his fascination is fascinating? No, I remind myself, ripping my eyes away to prove that I'm not being enthralled.

No. I'm not, but he's closing the distance between us, trying to reach for my hands. I pull my fingers from his even as he begs. "So, believe me, I'll help you."