Prologue-

The man raced along a low stone passageway, his long black cloak whipping out behind him. The torches along the walls cast flickering shadows across the man's haggard face. Water dripped down the walls. The smell of mold and decay filled his nostrils. His stringy blonde hair was matted with sweat and grime. And blood.

Sir Haymitch Abernathy was not a man who was often afraid. He knew the horrors of war. Death had always been his closest companion. He had been in more battles than he cared to count and seen men torn to pieces in any number of horrifying ways. There had been the ransacked villages with all the inhabitants murdered no matter what the age. The battlefields stained with blood and bile. He had heard the screams of the dying filling the air with their piteous moans, begging for help or for their girls or for mercy. Only there was never anyone to hear them.

No, Haymitch had seen too much in his twenty-five years to be much afraid of anything anymore.

But he was afraid now. And the echo of his last conversation rang in his ears…

"Oh god, I have failed to protect him. Them. All of them…"

"Take him. Please take him. You must hide him. You have to keep him safe. I have made sure he will forget…"

"Look always for the sun Haymitch. He will remember when the moon joins the sun. They will need each other to survive…"

"He will be the last…"

"It is over."

Haymitch clutched the small unconscious boy in his arms closer to his chest. He stole a glance at his slack face, peaceful in sleep. The boy was a ethereal child. There was simply no other word to describe him. Even in this dark musty passage under the lake, somehow the boy's mop of soft curls still shone as though the sun had taken up permanent residence in his hair. Deep sorrow welled up inside Haymitch as he thought how this child would undoubtedly be made fatherless and brotherless in the coming days, if he hadn't been already. And perhaps motherless too, though she had never acted much like a mother in the first place.

That witch. Now exposed as the traitor she was. A betrayer of all she was supposed to protect. All across Panem, people would now know the evil plot she had set forth with that ice-cold brother of hers. Haymitch had tried to warn the king. God he had tried. But the king, for all his good qualities, was soft to the will of his wife and easily deceived by her honeyed tongue. And now it was too late to stop the avalanche of terror she had wrought. It made him sick to think of what the days and years to come would bring.

Haymitch hurried on.

The passageway began to slant upwards, and Haymitch felt a slight breeze blow across his face. Nearly there, he thought. He increased his pace, desperate to be out of the secret passage that he hoped was leading him from the castle and under the lake to its far side as had been promised. He pounded up a set of stone steps before stepping cautiously out through the tall weeds that concealed the tunnel's low entrance.

The acrid smell of some burning living thing hit his nose with all the subtlety of a rancid pile of manure. Haymitch whipped his head up to look across the lake where he could see the castle burning, illuminating the water with a kind of sickening red glow. Ash floated down lazily onto Haymitch like some demented version of snow sent straight from Hell.

Haymitch gritted his teeth and hauled himself up onto the bank. Once he slipped in the mud and let out a loud curse, almost dropping the boy. Haymitch looked at the child suspiciously for a few moments before he let out a sigh of relief when the boy didn't even slightly stir. The boy was a quiet reserved child as far as Haymitch had seen of him at court, but if Haymitch had to guess, any five year old would cry in the circumstances they now found themselves in. Whatever that potion had been, it had done its job well, and the boy slept on.

He let out another sigh when he saw the horse tied up next to a tree a few yards away. Chaff was a drunk no doubt, but at least he had not failed in this task. Haymitch removed his cloak, wrapped the boy tightly in it, swung himself onto the horse, and took off at a break-neck gallop through the forest. He could only pray that damn cat had done his job as well and alerted Her. It would not be long before Snow, Queen Helen, and the rest of their bastard followers realized one Mellark had escaped.

Haymitch urged the horse to fly through the forest, willing it to be as swift as the mockingjays he could hear singing out to each other overhead. The farther he rode, the more the guilt began to well within him. He had left behind King Richard, the princes Bannock and Rye, the household staff, and his own sworn brothers of the Royal Guard. Knowing Snow, he would not let any one of them live. The man only killed when it suited a purpose, but he would execute every person captured tonight. And the queen, Haymitch suspected.

Haymitch felt his lips curl into a grim sort of smile at the thought of Helen realizing her brother cared for her no more than he cared for anyone else…that is, not at all. Snow only loved power. He would brook no chance of anyone leading a rebellion against him, and that included the sister who had helped him orchestrate this sudden rise to power. Most of the court was probably already in Snow's pocket, and those that weren't would most likely bow down to him out of fear, and the need for survival. He could only imagine how bad it was going to get for the peasants.

A sudden flash of violet light caused Haymitch to pull up short. Haymitch squinted around, trying to peer through the darkness until—

"Hello boy." The soft voice floated up out of the darkness like a whisper on the wind.

"So that ugly ball of fur did find you then eh? Guess he's good for something after all."

A staff with blue flame glittering on its end suddenly lit the clearing, revealing a diminutive older woman clad in a midnight blue gown. Her long white and grey hair was gathered at the back of her head into a bun. Her only other embellishment was a necklace with a moonstone pendant. It glinted in the blue light, seeming to give off an otherworldly light. One second it reflected indigo, the next violet, then turquoise until Haymitch tore his gaze away so he could hop down from the horse.

"Buttercup is always good for something. Take care what you say to him, or he may give you more than just a scratch," the woman said with a laugh in her voice. Haymitch watched as an orange and brown tabby cat padded into the light, and then bounded up onto the saddle Haymitch had just vacated with a leap that no normal cat could have achieved.

Haymitch snorted. He didn't have time for this.

"You will take him then Mags?" he said gruffly. "You and Boggs are the only ones I know who can keep him safe, hidden. Give him the skills he will need to live, and the guidance he will need to grow. He cannot become like his mother."

The laughter in the woman's brown eyes died and suddenly was replaced by a deep sadness. "Nor can he become like his father."

Haymitch opened his mouth to argue, wishing there was an argument to be made. But King Richard had failed to protect his family and his people. And now all their hope would rest in this tiny boy with the sunshine hair. A boy who would not even remember he was a prince come the morning. Instead of an argument, all Haymitch could do was shift the boy into Mag's waiting arms.

"He will not remember who he is. Not until the sun and moon combine or some such bull shit."

Haymitch saw Mag's eyes widen for just a second, like she knew whatever King Richard had actually meant by that garble. Haymitch opened his mouth to ask if she really did know, but before he could get a word in, words came out of her mouth that made him forget his question—

"Buttercup will be going with you. You need him much more than I now, and I foresee a time when another will need him even more than you."

"I don't need no damn mangy cat that I'm obligated to take care of woman. And I especially don't need one that will apparently abandon me at some future unspecified date. Least you could do is tell me when. "

The laughter returned to the old woman's eyes as she assured Haymitch that the damn mangy cat could take care of himself before she asking where next his journey would lead.

"To the Seam. It's the one area of the country no one has ever given a shit about. Lord Everdeen is supposed to be a good man. Perhaps I can persuade him to take me on as a member of his household guard." Haymitch began to laugh. "I'll just get myself some nice peace and quiet until the revolution begins."

Mags eyes again grew serious at his words, this time with concern in her eyes. Haymitch really didn't enjoy seeing it because he could tell it was concern for him. And he could take care of himself just fine.

"The future is muddled. And I only see glimpses of things to come. No true outcomes are determined. The choices of many will determine whether we will see this new evil lifted from the world. But I see a hard road ahead for all of Panem. The darkness of winter descends. The snow has come. And your path will not be an easy one, my dear boy. But take comfort in Buttercup, and in the hope that you have given Panem tonight with your bravery and courage. Do not lose faith that spring can come again."

At her words, the tears sprang unbidden to his eyes, and he turned suddenly away to hide them. Haymitch went to haul himself back in the saddle, noticing that Buttercup was now perched in front of the saddle like he was about to grab the reins and ride away. Actually, Haymitch thought, he probably could.

Haymitch had his foot in the stirrup, about to whisper a mumbled goodbye and speed off, when the impulse suddenly struck him, quick and sharp as a needle. He swung back around to where Mags still stood with the boy in her arms. She gave him a knowing look.

Haymitch strode forward and pushed back the cloak, his cloak, which hid most of the boy's face, and brushed back the flop of curl that fallen onto the boy's forehead. The boy sighed in his sleep, and a small smile formed on his face. He looked like he was having a good dream, Haymitch thought, and hoped it was the true. Good dreams would be hard to come by in this new Panem. He leaned forward and gave the boy a peck on the cheek, whispering to him—

"I loved your father like a brother, and your brothers like they were my sons. I am so sorry I could not protect them, that I failed them. But I will see you again one day. I will look for you. Be strong until that day. Be safe until that day."

Haymitch took one last look at the boy before issuing a quiet murmur of farewell to Mags, not daring to look the old woman in the eyes lest he betray the turmoil and anguish within him.

He spun on his heels, strode to his horse and jumped into the saddle. With a hard kick, he directed the animal eastward to where he knew the Seam road lay. He could not look back. He would not look back. He must not look back. The sharp pain he felt in his chest, his grief over this night, threatened to swallow him whole.

But then Haymitch felt Buttercup settle his warm weight over his lap. The cat gave a soft meow filled with sorrow, Haymitch could feel. But it was one of comfort too. Haymitch sighed. While the pain still remained, at least he knew he was not alone. Perhaps the old witch had been right.

Haymitch allowed a single tear to escape down his cheek as he whispered into the blackness—

"Goodbye little prince."

"Goodbye sunshine boy."

And finally, Haymitch uttered his last farewell as like a whispered prayer. As though uttering the boy's name could act like a shield against the cold emptiness of this bitter night and all the evil to come—

"Goodbye Peeta."

He road on into the night.