Chapter 10: Angel Avenges; Devil Decrees

The sun streams into my eyes, pulling me out of pleasant slumber. Shifting my head where it lies resting against Peeta's chest, I look up to see him gazing down at me with a smile as radiant as the sun. With the golden orb's rays backlighting him, he looks like an angel.

"Hmmmmm... good morning," I purr.

"Morning," and he bends down and kisses me.

"We made love last night," I moan against his lips.

"Yes, we did." I can feel him chuckle.

Giddy at his kiss, I bury my smile into my pillow. Oh, how I love him!

"Katniss," Peeta croons gently. "You don't need to be embarrassed."

"I'm not," I tell him earnestly. "I am so... blessed. Incredulous as to how a Victor like you could love a Seam girl like me."

We kiss again, and it is just getting heated when -

BANG! The door to my room bursts open. I let out a yelp and cover myself with the bedclothes. I hear a roar of fright. It sounds like a man.

"Haymitch! What are you doing here?" Peeta demands.

"To see you, of course! I just didn't expect you to be screwing Prim's sister." The Victor of the 50th Hunger Games winks at me. "Didn't take you to be the going-to-bed type, sweetheart."

I scowl at my lover's mentor, but he ignores me, now pointing at Peeta.

"You: out of bed. Now. And both of you - get dressed. There's something you need to see."

As soon as we have collected ourselves, Peeta and I race downstairs, joining Haymitch by the TV. It is turned to footage of some far-away District burning. And in one shot, I can see a protestor.

Holding up a cardboard cut-out of my sister's face.

My jaw drops. How could any of this be on TV? The Capitol would never allow it. "What is this?"

"Bootlegged news footage. I jiggled the TV onto a remote frequency. It's showing uprisings. And they're happening all over the Districts. All over Panem."

"How many?" Peeta stares.

"Most of them. Hydroelectric dam down in 5. The citizens of 8 have taken over all the textile factories. The people are angry, Peeta. They have started a rebellion..." He turns to me. "...and your sister's death may have sparked it."

It is almost impossible to believe. How could my sweet, innocent little sister have inspired people to rise up against the government for the first time in three-quarters of a century?

Peeta gets a terrified look in his eyes, which now dart down a darkened hallway off to one side of the sitting room. At the end of it is a solitary room with a Capitol telephone. Peeta has to have it, so the Capitol can monitor him. He almost never goes in there.

Haymitch seems to have followed both Peeta's gaze and his line of thinking. The old drunk points between me and him. "Whatever you two have: hide it. I know you're in love, but hide it. If Snow or anyone else in the Capitol gets wind of your little romance, it could be used against Peeta."

With the telephone installed in here, I suddenly wonder if it might be too late to hide anything. What if this entire mansion is bugged? I would not put it past Snow or any of his acolytes.

Haymitch's warning could not be more well-timed. In a matter of days, Peeta will be embarking on his Victory Tour. To protect me, Peeta decides to leave me at home for my own safety, though I can tell he does not want to. He needs me. But it will not do for me to get involved much more than I already am.

After Peeta and Haymitch leave, I try to calm my thoughts by busying myself around the mansion, doing every little chore Peeta won't allow me to do when he's here. When there is nothing left to cook or clean, I take the horse and sleigh out of the stable, then ride into District 12 to visit with my mother. She is very happy in her family's old home and has established a successful apothecary business in addition to her Healing practices. She has enough money to be considered a Merchant.

On most nights, whether with Mother or alone at home, I watch TV coverage of Peeta's Victory Tour. At every stop, the crowds are restless, and I wonder if riots will break out. Sensing the discontent, Peeta tries to use his speeches to desperately placate the Districts, but his words only seem to make them angrier. Not at him, no. At the Capitol. At Snow's regime.

I fear for the love of my life.

Peeta is relieved to return to me after the Tour. Though he does not say anything, I can tell he has deemed the experience a total failure. We distract ourselves by cuddling, kissing, having sex and just being together, as winter melts into spring. Occasionally, Haymitch will come up from town and his own house in Victors' Village. Most often, his visits are just in time for dinner.

So, it is one spring evening, with the three of us gathered around Peeta's kitchen table, when we hear the TV come on of its own accord in the next room. Mandatory programming. Curious, we leave our seats to find out what it could be. We see President Snow on the screen.

"This is the 75th year of the Hunger Games," he is announcing. "As such, we will be honoring our Third Quarter Quell."

The Quarter Quells are a special edition of the Games held every 25 years. I don't know much about the other two except that District 12's very own Haymitch Abernathy won the crown the last time it was held. The event seems rather well-timed at the moment, since several districts are rebelling right now.

President Snow begins to recite the past Quarter Quell themes. "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because it was their choice to initiate violence, each District was made to hold a special election, and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

How awful. Picking the kids who had to go. Being turned over by your own friends and perhaps even family must have been a far greater betrayal than the Reaping Ball plucking you from obscurity.

"A young man from District 8 - Indigo Weaver - won that year," Haymitch tells Peeta and I somberly. "He's a good friend of mine."

Snow now continues: "On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, the districts were required to send twice as many tributes."

I imagine facing a field of 47 instead of 23. A bloodier Cornucopia fight, more gruesome deaths... how did Haymitch get to be the last one alive?

The President now procures a card from a beautifully carved wooden box. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, not even with twice the strength, the tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of Victors. And there will be twice as many tributes as normal."

"ARGGH!" Haymitch throws a bottle of liquor at the TV.

"NOOOOOO!" I wail, burying my face in Peeta's shirtfront. Just when I have found love with him, he will be taken away. I can't lose him the way I lost my sister; I just can't!

But the odds are not in our favor. There have been 74 Victors throughout Hunger Games history. 59 are still alive. And now 48 of them will be thrown back into the arena to punish the district's rising hubris.

Presumably, there will be four Victors from each District. Except District 12 has only ever had three Victors, and Duke Vedaldi has been dead for years. Will there only be 46 Victors? Probably not - I bet two more will be chosen from some more fortunate Career district to make up for the slack on our end. And even then, District 12 will have no female Victor. We've never had one - ever.

Drained of all energy and crestfallen, Haymitch tells Peeta to take me up to bed. We fall asleep that night, holding each other and drowning in our own tears.

A/N: After planning through Chapter 9, I was briefly unsure how to end the story. But then, I got the idea for a reversal in the Quell. How is it a reversal? Stay tuned...