AN: Man, it's been a while (I've spent a lot of time working on Burn With Us, my rebellion story, lately), but Fearless is back with a vengeance!

"It's hard to think of myself as lucky, but the feeling is there."

Chapter Seven

Thunk! The blade of my axe buries itself deep in the shoulder of the vaguely human-shaped target in front of me. Granted, I was aiming for its chest, but since I don't have much more time to train, I deem my axe-wielding skills acceptable for now.

I've been spending more time at the weapons stations lately, and it seems like a lot of my fellow tributes have the same idea. The axe station is a lot more crowded than usual, likely because the others have realized that axes are considerably easier to wield than swords or throwing knives. If I wanted to visit a less occupied station, I could always try maces again, but there's something about the thought of brutally bludgeoning another human to death with a club that takes away the medieval charm of a flail or a morningstar.

Along with improving my axe-fighting technique, I've also been working on my skills with smaller handheld weapons, notably daggers and scythes. According to Paice, close-range weapons are the best way to up your agility in a fight, as long as you don't mind the increased risk of getting your hand chopped off. I'm not noticeably better at one of these weapons than another, as far as I can see. Ideally, I'd have balanced out my weapons training completely in these last couple of days, in case I can't get my hands on my weapon of choice. But, as things turned out, I managed to prepare myself to use a few of the most common weapons the Capitol equips us with in the arena, according to Xanthe.

Halfway to the knife station, we're dismissed for lunch, and I head to the cafeteria to meet up with Xanthe. True to our word, we've been staying clear of each other today, trying to get as much out of our training as possible and spread our little alliance to all areas of knowledge. And, of course, gathering as much information as possible about the budding Career pack.

Lunchtime. The day before, my new ally and I agreed to sit at a table with other tributes during the break, to avoid isolating ourselves and giving rise to suspicion. So naturally, the most hopeless looking tributes are the best choice of tablemates. In the line, I scan the room for her familiar ponytail.

When I have my food, I finally spot her, sitting at a table with the petite girl from Nine and the freckled boy from Ten. Neither of them are talking to her, although Nine is weeping quietly, the way she has since training began two days ago. Ten, staring blankly at his food with eyes ringed with black, doesn't eat, pushing rice around his plate with his fork.

Good choice, I think automatically, and then hate myself a little for it. It's not hard to imagine how slim Nine and Ten's chances of survival are once they hit the arena, but it's also a bit unfair to think about them that way when not long ago, my chances were roughly the same. Xanthe and I, neither one of our districts has a victor to guide us. But it's strange, the way having an ally makes you feel. Like we've combined our strengths into one super-tribute. Although if that was the case, what would that make the Career pack?

"Eleven," Xanthe greets me as I sit. The boy from Ten looks up briefly, but his gaze returns to his plate as soon as we make eye contact.

"Xanthe," I say, "With an X."

"Good memory," she remarks dryly. "Noted."

I take a bite of my food. "Make any progress?" I ask. There's some sort of seasoning on my rice, but no matter how hard I rack my brains, I can't name the spice. Some plant identifier I am. I can't help but think that Dahlia would probably know it.

"I spent some time studying swordplay, if that's what you mean."

"You know what I mean," I press. The corner of her mouth turns up.

"Swordplay's a popular station with the volunteers," she tells me casually. "I even talked to a few of them."

"You what?"

"They're people, Arbor. They love to talk. They just usually do it with each other, not their…prey."

I almost visibly shudder. "Not prey, I don't like the sound of that."

"What do you want me to say? Targets?"

"Other tributes would work fine."

"Alright, well they don't usually bother talking to the other tributes, unless it's part of an intimidation strategy. Which it was, I'm sure."

"Who did you talk to?"

"Mainly the girl from One. Divine, I think her name was. Except it might have a different spelling because I remember the others teasing her about it a little." Xanthe closes her eyes, trying to remember.

"Doesn't matter." I shake my head. "What did she say?"

"She told she's always been awful at swordplay," said Xanthe, sipping from her water bottle.

"Seems a little personal for a Career." I picture the curly-haired girl from One in my head, always all smiles. Would she be careless enough to admit something like that to her competition?

"No, it made sense," Xanthe assures me. "Afterward, she said she preferred a scythe or a machete. Simpler to use, all you have to do is just keep whacking—"

I grimace at her and push my plate away, a fresh wave of nausea rolling in. I wasn't that hungry, anyway.

"So she likes easy weapons." I noted, trying to distract myself from the imagery.

"Untraditional," corrects Xanthe, twirling her fork.

"The girl from Four is the opposite," I add, hoping to contribute something. "I don't think she's left the sword station since the beginning of training."

"Good." Xanthe nods. "This is good. Did you get anything else from where you were?"

I have to think about it. "I got some names. Gwylan and Merrick—"

"Who are they?"

"The Fours," I tell her, and point toward the Career tables. "Merrick's that one, with the longish hair. The one who looks like he's hitting on the girl who hates swordplay."

"Divine," Xanthe corrects me, and then blinks. "No, Devine!"

"Devine?" It sounds the same to me.

"Yeah, that's definitely it. But whatever. District One is ridiculous, they can do what they want. Who else?"

"That was it," I admit. I tear my gaze from the Careers when I hear a familiar voice from another table, and pick out Glace sitting with two other girls, including the one with the dead eye from the knife station. Maybe I'm not the only tribute from my district with a new alliance.

"I thought I had some for a while," says Xanthe. "But they were nicknames."

"What kind of nicknames?" I ask, looking back at her.

"They call the redheaded boy kid sometimes, like he's younger than the others. Then the boy from Two, the albino one, he's Romeo. Although maybe that one should go to Merrick, since he seems awfully comfortable around the female Careers."

I almost snort. "This is starting to sound like schoolyard gossip."

"I like the distraction," admits Xanthe. "You're right, though. Let's think about this. Who do we go out of our way to avoid?"

"Ideally, all of them." I say. "But based on what I've seen of their fighting skills, I really don't like the look of the Fours."

"They don't seem all that bright," remarks Xanthe.

"I don't think you have to be bright to kill."

"Good point. What about weak links?" she asks. "I'd say the boy from One, based on how many knives he threw off-target today, and possibly the girls from One and Two."

"Okay, there we have it."

"Think that's enough?" asks Xanthe.

"It's never enough," I say, "But I was thinking, maybe we should take the last day to focus on ourselves."

"Fair plan." She nods, and then looks over to the gym as we're called back into training. "I guess I'll see you around, Eleven."

Then Xanthe gets up to dump her tray, but I stay in my seat, fiddling with my fork. Things are going very well for us, for two tributes without mentors. The thought makes me look back to our two tablemates, who haven't said a word throughout our entire conversation. Nine, wiping at her face with her sleeve, is getting up to leave, but Ten is staring at me hollowly, looking more tired than ever.

It's hard to think of myself as lucky, but the feeling is there.