Chapter 1

I see the first dandelion of the spring on the day I realize our mother is dying. She'd caught a mild influenza from a patient but it transformed into something far worse. The patient died and now my mother exhibits the same lethal symptoms.

I'm twenty. Part of each day I spend hunting, the rest of the time I prepare animal skins for sale. I'm lucky the Peacekeepers like their coats, gloves, and bedcovers lined with fur because they are the main customers for my illegal wares.

My sister Prim is sixteen, blonde, blue-eyed, and rosy-cheeked. She's already attracting attention from both Merchant and Seam boys alike. In just a few years, once she is done with school, she'll likely have her choice of suitors.

"What are we going to do?" Prim cries that spring evening after feeding our mother some broth that she promptly vomits back up. "I read about this tea made with wild garlic. But if she can't even hold down broth…"

"Let's not worry about it little duck," I interrupt, reverting to Prim's childhood nickname. But I'm very worried, terrified in fact.

The loss of our mother will change everything. Once she stops breathing, the Justice Department will be within their legal rights to kick Prim and I out of our childhood home. In Panem houses are only assigned to married couples. The temporary ownership ends when both partners are deceased.

Adult children, like myself, are turned out to fend for themselves, either to board with another family, or to marry and be assigned a house of their own.

Minor children without married kin, like my sister, are sent to the Community Home – the source of all of the children reaped in the districts for as long as I can remember. The Capitol negotiated that compromise years ago to prevent a revolution. It is easier for the districts to stomach sending children to The Hunger Games if they don't have any familial ties.

A loud knock on the door brings Prim and I out of our private terror. I set down the dishcloth and Prim sets aside the dried plate.

"Not another sick person," I groan. Prim has been standing in for my mother for weeks now. How is she going to stay awake in school if she spends the evenings tending to patients?

I open the door to find Mr. Mellark, the baker, and his youngest son Peeta. Someone must be very ill if they walked to the Seam after dark.

Prim appears by my side. "Do you need something? I'm helping my mother now."

The baker shakes his head. "I want to talk with you two. Might we come in?"

Baffled, I open the door further and point to the sagging sofa. The men sit while Prim and I drag chairs from the dining table to set across from them.

Mr. Mellark clears his throat. "I've heard a rumor that your mother is quite sick and may be near death. Is it true?"

My stomach drops. Clearly people are talking if the baker who lives in Town knows my mother is dying. I had hoped Prim and I could keep it secret for as long as possible.

From the expression on both our faces, he deduces its truth.

"I have a proposition that I think can help the both of you."

"What is it?" my sister asks. She leans forward in her seat.

The baker looks directly at Prim. "If Katniss will marry my son Peeta, they will be assigned a house. You can move in with them and avoid the Community Home."

My mouth opens in surprise. I turn to Peeta. Even in the dim light, I see the nervousness in his eyes.

"No." I halt the conversation before it can go further. I have no desire to marry. And certainly not to someone I hardly know. I have to wonder why Peeta would agree to this?

But the baker reminds me that we will lose our house at my mother's death.

I am blunt. "Why do you care?" We have no connection to the baker and his family. Although I sell him squirrels on a regular basis, we aren't even customers. We can't afford his prices.

Mr. Mellark appears embarrassed. "I am an old friend of your mother's from long ago."

My eyes narrow. "From school?"

"Yes, and after, too."

He is insistent. "There is no other choice. Otherwise Prim will end up in the Community Home. She has a good chance of getting reaped."

He's right about Prim's odds. She is a pretty girl who could be made up to look like a great beauty for the cameras in that rigged contest.

But still I question his offer. It makes no sense because he gets nothing in return. Besides, my mother has never mentioned the baker even once in all her talk over the years.

The baker continues. "You may not know, but my two older sons have married into families with established businesses. Phyl, my oldest, married the grocer's daughter. Rye, my middle son is training to become a shoemaker. Peeta will take over the bakery and he needs a wife who is a hard worker. My late brother's wife, Rooba, speaks very highly of you."

Rooba, the butcher, would well know about my hard work. I've sold her some of my largest kills. But there are other hardworking Merchant daughters that will gladly marry Peeta Mellark. He is handsome and will inherit a profitable business.

"Why me?" I persist. "There are plenty of Merchant girls."

I keep my eyes on the baker because I am embarrassed to discuss Peeta as if he were a piece of meat to haggle over.

The baker shifts uncomfortably on the sofa. He begins to speak, but Peeta interrupts him.

"Because I want you Katniss." His voice is low, but determined.

I am astounded. The only real interaction I've had with Peeta was years ago as a child of eleven. He threw me some burnt bread when my family was starving. I'd often wondered why he did it, especially when I later realized he was struck because of it.

My face grows warm as I consider Peeta's words. But I don't believe them. I shake my head dismissively.

However Peeta continues speaking. "You could help me."

How could I help Peeta Mellark?

Mr. Mellark gives his son an angry glance as if he's said too much. Peeta exchanges an equally furious look in response.

Father and son are silent for a few moments, glaring at each other.

Finally the baker clears his throat. "We've been approached by the Dressers about using Peeta."

The Dressers run the tailor's shop in District 12. I know them well because I sell them animal skins. In their early forties and childless, they are in danger of having their home and business confiscated and reassigned if they don't produce an heir soon. The Justice Department requires all Merchants to have children to ensure a trade's continuity.

For years rumors have circulated that desperate Merchant couples sometimes brought in a third person, a young, unattached man, to impregnate the wife. I guess the rumors are true.

"I don't want Peeta getting involved in this dirty business," the baker says. "It's not good to have your flesh and blood residing with other families."

His eyes flit to Prim for a moment.

Peeta face flushes at his father's words.

"You could refuse the Dressers," I tell Mr. Mellark. Why would he feel obligated to even consider such an offer?

"You're right," he agrees, "but there is a great deal of money at stake and my wife, well, she's not one to pass it up."

Beside me Prim gasps at his frank admission of his wife's greed.

While it makes me sick to think that nasty witch would sell her own son, Peeta Mellark's problems are not my responsibility.

But now I understand why he is willing to go along with his father's scheme. He wants a wife to avoid doing business with the Dressers. While there are lewd jokes aplenty about the young men who service the barren women of Twelve, there would be no pleasure involved in that act. Mrs. Dresser is middle-aged and not attractive.

Mr. Mellark looks uncomfortable. Peeta stares at a knothole in the wood floor.

"We'll talk it over and get back to you," Prim says, sensing the conversation has hit a wall.

As soon as the Mellarks leave Prim claps her hands. "Well, I didn't expect that. But it could be the solution to our problem." She sounds relieved.

I give her an icy stare. "Did you forget the part where I marry someone I hardly know?"

Prim laughs. "Peeta is nice, Katniss. He would be good to you. Besides you'll have to get married sometime, otherwise you'll have no place to live."

She is right about Peeta. But I never planned to marry. I expected our mother to live far longer, long enough at least to marry Prim off. Then in the far distant future when our mother breathed her last, I would move out to the woods to live by myself.

I sigh in frustration. I will do anything to keep my sister out of the Community Home. But I'm not sure about this.

While Prim sleeps, I am awake, restless. I get up to check on our mother. She is warm. I cover her forehead with a cool compress.

A couple of days pass. My mother remains the same. Prim wakes up screaming twice from dreams that she has been reaped. My heart clenches because time is running out.

On Gale's day off from the mines, we go hunting. I want to tell him about the baker's scheme and get his opinion on the matter. But I don't because things have changed between us over the past year. Gale has distanced himself from me and I have no idea why.

For a short time I foolishly suspected he was interested in me romantically. He would lean in close and casually touch me for no reason. However, one day it stopped. He began to treat me like I was his sister. A short time later, he began to see Leevy. They have plans to marry soon.

I bring two squirrels to the bakery that afternoon to sell. Peeta answers the door. "I'll get my father." He barely looks at me, before rushing off. I wonder if he is embarrassed because of our meeting the other evening.

The baker arrives a few moments later with a loaf of raisin and nut bread. "Have you given any further thought to our conversation," he whispers.

It is all I have thought about. "I'll do it when my mother…."

I can't make myself say it, but the baker gives me a sympathetic nod.

"Good. I'll send Peeta around to see you tonight."

"All right." I leave in a hurry and head back to the Seam, wondering what I'm supposed to say to Peeta.

Later, after we eat, and Prim has fed our mother, even managing to get her to take in the garlic tea concoction, there is a timid knock on the door.

"I'll get it. It's probably Peeta."

Prim smiles and goes to our mother's room to give us privacy.

I open the door. Peeta stands there holding a small bag. He hands it to me as he enters. I look inside. Two frosted cookies. "For you and Prim."

"Thanks."

He sits down on our lumpy sofa. I sit down next to him and place the bag between us. Neither of us speaks.

"How is your mother?" he finally asks.

"The same. It shouldn't be long now."

"Look I'm sorry about all this. I'll never force you to do anything you don't want to do." The words tumble out in a rush.

My cheeks grow warm. "I want to do it," I say. "Um, marry you."

"Do you really?" He looks skeptical.

His response makes me uncomfortable. His father devised this scheme and presented it to my sister and me, surely Peeta should, at the very least, play along. He even said he wants me. Well, he'll get me. But does he expect it to be real, too? That's asking too much.

"You're a terrible liar Katniss."

I scowl. We are getting off on a bad footing.

"How is this going to work?" I change the subject. "I'm from the Seam and you're from Town. No one will believe…"

Peeta reaches out to tuck a loose tendril of my hair behind my ear, and I freeze. His calloused fingers gently brush the corner of my ear and I nearly jump off the couch from his touch. I never experienced that sensation with Gale.

He smiles sadly at me. "Isn't it strange that you would agree to marry me, but I don't even know what your favorite color is?"

Favorite color? Why would he want to know that?

He stares at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"Green." I pause for a moment before asking stiffly, "what's yours?"

"Orange."

Orange is a distorted, clownish color, something citizens of the Capitol might favor. He must see the doubt on my face.

"Muted orange, like the sunset," he explains.

We sit in silence for a few minutes.

"I should go," Peeta says, standing up. He walks to the door and I follow him. He opens it and turns to face me. "It will be all right Katniss. Everything will work out for good." He lays a palm on one cheek and bends his head and kisses the other cheek.

He catches my eye, gives me a reassuring smile, and leaves.

Dumbstruck, I stare after him. I will not fall for Peeta Mellark.

When I lock the door, I go into our mother's room. Her eyes are closed, and Prim sits by her bedside reading silently. My sister lifts her head from the book.

"Peeta didn't stay very long. What did you talk about?"

"Our favorite colors."

Prim laughs as I roll my eyes.

"He wants to get to know me," I explain. "I think he wants us to be real."

"Of course he does Katniss. You're lives will be forever intertwined. Did you think you could marry him and not even become friends?"

Her words hit me hard. I've only thought of Peeta as a solution to our current problem. I haven't given any consideration to him as a person who has feelings too.

Prim's words echo in my head for days. Peeta stops by every evening after dinner. Prim excuses herself to dose our mother with garlic tea. During Peeta's visits, we slowly get to know each other. We talk about simple things - how we spend our day, whether it will be a hot summer, our favorite foods.

Every evening he kisses me goodbye on my cheek. Slowly, without wanting to, I find myself warming up to Peeta Mellark.

One evening, about a week after he begins his nightly visits, he arrives later than usual, sporting a bruise on his cheek. I wonder at its origin. It wasn't uncommon for one of the Mellark brothers to come to school with bruises.

Once I'd overheard some classmates whispering, saying the baker's wife had a nasty temper and beat her sons. I'd always wondered at the truth of it. They were three brothers who competed in wrestling; surely they got into scuffles with each other. I couldn't believe any mother could be so cruel.

But now that I know Peeta's mother planned to contract him to the Dressers, I'm think my classmates might have been right.

As we sit on the sofa, my hand ghosts over his cheek. "What happened?"

"It's nothing. I walked into a door."

"No Peeta, tell me the truth."

He looks away and stares at the floor. "My mother has finalized plans with the Dressers," he mumbles. She'll be most fertile in two weeks."

My stomach rises into my throat. I think I might vomit.

"No. I won't let you."

"She's already taken money from them."

"Well she'll have to give it back because my husband is not going to be with that woman."

Peeta's eyes widen at my words. I had agreed to marry at my mother's demise and she still lingers on, teetering between life and death. However, his mother's actions push our wedding forward.

Standing up, I go to the kitchen. I cut two slices of bread from the loaf on the counter and put them on a plate. I carry it back to the living room.

"You don't have to do this Katniss," he says. "Your mother isn't…." he pauses considering his words, "she may still recover."

I shake my head. "It's not likely." I open the small stove in the corner of the room and toss some coal into the waning fire.

"We'll need witnesses then," Peeta says, understanding that I am serious.

"You're right. I'll get Prim."

"We need someone besides a relative." He goes to the door and walks out in to the dark night.

At this late hour, I don't know whom he will find wandering through the Seam. I go into my mother's room. Prim is asleep in the upholstered chair near to my mother's bed.

I shake her awake. "We need you to witness something," I tell Prim.

"What?"

"Peeta and I are going to have a toasting."

"Now?" Prim chokes out. She rubs her eyes as if she's trying to wake from a dream.

"Yes. His mother has taken money from the Dressers. I need to stop it."

"Are you certain Katniss? I think you should give Mom a few more days."

This matter has consumed my thoughts ever since the baker appeared on our doorstep with his plan.

"It's the solution to all of our problems." I remind her. But truly I do it to help Prim and Peeta.

"You should change your clothes," Prim says suddenly.

My toasting attire consists of a faded blouse and old pants. I consider putting on something else, but I own nothing fancy. Besides Peeta is not dressed up. I would feel foolish.

I start to answer Prim when I hear Peeta talking to someone in the other room. I leave my mother's room with Prim at my heels.

Peeta has led Haymitch Abernathy, District Twelve's only living victor of The Hunger Games into our living room. The man holds a half-full bottle of white liquor. He puts it to his lips and takes a swig.

"What's this about a toasting?" the man slurs.

I roll my eyes at Peeta.

"It's late and he was walking right by," Peeta explains sheepishly.

"He's drunk," I point out. "Will he even remember it tomorrow?"

A panicked look crosses Peeta's face.

Haymitch guffaws. "I'm not that drunk. Now who's getting hitched?"

"Peeta and I." I hold up the plate of bread.

"Of course. He couldn't very well marry his sister." He points to Prim.

"That's my sister." I say.

"Right." He takes another swig. "Okay get on with it."

I have only been to one toasting in my life when I was young. I'm not exactly sure how it goes.

Peeta seems as confused as I am. "I think we toast the bread and feed it to each other," he says. "I've never paid attention because I'm usually setting up the cake."

Weddings in town are big celebrations. There is food afterwards for the guests who witness the event and even a big cake. Even toastings in the Seam are special with the couple dressing up, and the serving of refreshments. But Haymitch already has his refreshment and Prim is ready for bed. This wedding is the simplest of them all.

Peeta stabs each slice of bread with a fork and hands me one. He opens the door of the stove and we take turns toasting the bread over the coals.

Once both pieces are browned we hold out our forks to each other. I am the first to take a bite. The bread is too hot and burns my mouth. I let out a tiny yelp of pain.

"Are you all right?" Peeta asks.

I shrug.

He blows on the piece I'm holding and then takes a mouthful, chewing it thoughtfully.

Within two minutes both of us have finished our slices of bread.

Prim claps her hands. "You're married now."

Haymitch asks about cake.

"There's no cake," I tell him.

"You married the son of a baker and there's no cake?"

I'm surprised that he knows Peeta is related to the baker, but maybe the victor frequents the bakery.

"It was sudden," Peeta says.

"A toasting to get into her pants?" Haymitch asks.

Peeta blushes.

Haymitch looks at me. "If you really mean it, be sure to file paperwork at the Justice Department or it's not legal."

We both nod. Of course we'll file. Prim and I will need someplace new to live soon.

The victor gets up and leaves.

"I'll sleep on the sofa tonight," Prim says.

"No," Peeta says. "I should go." I wonder if he's still thinking about Haymitch's accusation about the hurried toasting.

Prim yawns and goes back to our mother's room.

"Thank you for saving me," Peeta says when she is gone.

"You saved us too." A thought occurs. "Do you want me to be with you when you tell your mother."

Peeta shakes his head vehemently.

"Will she strike you?"

He doesn't answer and I don't push. She's now my mother-in-law. I will need to learn to deal with her.

"You should get some sleep," Peeta says.

We are standing in the center of the room. Peeta bends down to kiss my cheek, but at the last second I turn my head and his lips are on my mouth. I let out a tiny sigh. My lips part and Peeta takes advantage of the opening.

His hands are on my shoulders and then on the back of my hair as he pulls me closer. I am stunned by the intense sensations coursing through me. He breaks free of me all too soon, though, and buries his face into my neck.

"I should go now," he murmurs. But the sensation of his hot breath on my neck sends shivers down my spine. I don't want him to go, not yet.

"Come upstairs with me. For just a while."

He pulls away from me and catches my eyes. I see something in his, something I don't recognize.

"Just stay a bit longer," I plead. "Then you can go."

He agrees and I take his hand and lead him upstairs to the bedroom Prim and I share. It used to belong to my parents because it is the largest. But after my father died, my mother insisted that Prim and I take it, and she moved to the tiny bedroom we had shared downstairs.

I have no plans for Peeta in my bedroom, but I find myself not wanting to let him go. Now that he is mine, I want to put him somewhere safe where no one can hurt him again.

Peeta shuts the door behind us. In the moonlit room I pull him onto the bed, the springs groaning loudly beneath us. In the recesses of my mind I know that Prim heard that noise, but I am beyond caring because Peeta's lips are on mine again. I sigh and give into this pleasure.

We kiss for what seems forever and I feel a fire growing within me. Peeta's hands roam freely and I find myself instinctively pushing my lower body into his for some relief.

He pulls away, leaving me discomforted. "I really should go," he groans.

"Stay with me until I fall asleep," I say.

"All right." His voice is husky. We reposition our bodies. I face the window and he curls up behind me and throws an arm over me.

Our breathing slows and I find comfort in his embrace. Eventually I drift off to sleep.

It is dawn when I wake. I am lying on my back. I reach out to my side. No one is there. Peeta has gone and I am alone.