A/N: Warnings for mind control and coerced suicide.
Do not meddle with the fey.
Day Four
Morgan was used to ice. She had never seen it in a human quite the way it was in Anne.
Like a glacier about to break into pieces.
"We need a way to either cut through a branch or break it," Anne said, dumping an armful of datapads and phones for sponsors at Morgan's table. "Ideally, we need two, but we'll probably end up having to settle for one and hoping one of the boys helps the other."
Morgan leaned back. "My sponsorship numbers are better than yours," she pointed out. "The majority of the money will come from my funds."
She left the implication dangling.
Anne didn't flinch. "Let's get the funds first."
"Argue the logistics later," Morgan agreed. "I'll call my contacts."
Ella didn't know how far she'd wandered in the search for food. She'd been walking since yesterday.
There was still no food. The trees had changed from lush to dying. Food was probably not going to be forthcoming.
She tripped over a tree root. She sat for a moment, glaring at her too small feet.
"If one has to have a drop of faerie blood, one would think it would be good for something," she mumbled, before pushing herself back up.
She kept walking. Mandy always said there was no use pouting over a broken glass.
Thinking of Mandy was a mistake. Thinking of Mandy made her think of Mandy's cooking - fresh baked bread with a hint of butter, stew simmering over the stove, small cakes as a very special treat . . .
Ella's stomach growled.
"Good morning," a high voice said from behind her.
Ella spun. Emma stood behind her, smiling like Sir Peter was always telling Ella to. Her knives were nowhere near as harmless as Mandy's.
"Good morning," Ella answered carefully. Slowly, slowly, she stepped away and prayed her feet wouldn't fail her now.
"You found a polite one," another voice - Leesha, that one was called Leesha - said from behind her. Her voice was an amused purr. "The boys will be sorry they missed all the fun."
She had been ordered not to run. She would not be able to run.
Not for long.
She took a few fast, jerking steps to the left. Every cell in her body screamed for her to stop. Her legs burned with the need. Her body tore at her, legs pulling away from her frantically beating heart -
"Oh, stop," Leesha said from behind her. She sounded amused. She and Emma weren't even running yet.
Ella stopped.
"Huh. Didn't think that would actually work." Leesha walked forward. One hand held a knife. The other was twisting something in the air that Ella could barely see.
Magic?
Emma was tenser. Both hands were ready on her knives.
Ella snatched a branch from the ground and held it in front of her. "Stay back." She tried to make her voice firm. A warning.
Leesha squinted at her. "You've got a spell on you. A binding." A light dawned in her eyes. "Put the branch down, Ella."
Ella's arms trembled. The branch shook.
Emma frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. She's not going to - "
The branch dropped.
Leesha let out a delighted laugh. "I don't even need a compulsion on you. Aren't you fun? Like a little wind-up toy. You're even more helpless than most Anaweir."
Emma stiffened at that. Ella thought frantically. She didn't know what an Anaweir was, but if there was a division between them, maybe -
"Get on with it," Emma said tightly. "The boys will be wondering where we are. If you won't finish it, I will."
"I am not an it to be finished," Ella hissed out through her dry mouth.
Leesha sighed. "You take all the fun out of everything." She paused, as if considering something. Then the smile came back. "Don't kill me, Ella. Don't hurt me either."
Ella was hardly in a position to do either.
"Take my knife, Ella."
Ella spat at her, dry mouth or no.
Leesha just kept smiling. "Take it now." She held it out.
Ella's hand snatched out and grabbed it.
"Leesha . . . " Emma's voice was uncomfortable.
"Kill yourself, Ella."
Ella raised the knife. Her hands shook with the effort to keep it away from her chest.
She didn't have to do this. She could break the curse. She was stronger than the curse. She had to be stronger than the curse.
The knife inched closer.
Her arms burned with the effort. It felt like her wrists would rip themselves off her arms with the strain.
She gritted her teeth and refused to beg.
The cannon boomed.
Myrtle stared at the screen.
She had told Ella not to run. She had ordered her not to run.
Addie wouldn't have made a stupid mistake like that. Addie would have figured it out.
But Addie wasn't here.
Hastings was a hard man. He had to be.
But another sadistic wizard was the last thing their district needed. Any residual guilt for choosing his son over his tribute was gone.
" . . . And she's hated me ever since," Gilbert concluded. it was the first time he'd ever had to explain his relationship with Anne to anyone. Hatred might not be quite the right word for it at this point, but the Capital really didn't need to know that. "Tell me your mentor likes you better."
"I don't know about 'likes,'" Terence said thoughtfully. "She's questioned my sanity more than once. I'm friends with her favorite nephew though, and I outrank her by several degrees, so she feels a bit of an obligation."
"Outrank?" Gilbert tried to shift around. The net just shook a bit around him.
"Hmm." Terence was silent for a minute before he asked, almost playfully, "Do you believe in faeries?"
Anne's stories flashed through his mind. The constant dryness in his mouth suddenly got worse. He gave up on trying to swallow and asked, "Does believing in faeries get me out of here?"
"It might help you get on Morgan's good side." Terence sounded amused. "She gets offended when people don't, which isn't quite fair. She's not even a half-faerie."
"Then for Miss Morgan's sake, yes. I believe in faeries. And magic. And anything else she pleases. And I believe wholeheartedly in every last one of your stories, Anne."
"Stories?" Terence sounded interested. His voice didn't have the same dry crack to it that Gilbert's did.
The air burned his mouth when he opened it. "Maybe you should be the one to talk for a while."
Terence seemed to understand immediately. "Since he's not here to kill me for it, allow me to tell you about the first time Gawain met my sister."
Puck knew what his rulers (parents) would say about fighting fate. They would not have approved this course of action.
But he had decided to try and change things a long time ago, and he'd never been one for following orders.
He knew what would happen, but not where. For that, he'd have to track a very old scent.
Puck spun on his heel and turned into a faerie hound.
Day Five
The money was barely enough, but it would cover a weighted iron cauldron, the heaviest thing in the catalog of things mentors could buy. It was cheaper than most things due to its relative uselessness. No tribute could lug the thing around for long.
The projections suggested it would break either of the branches holding the boys up. They just had to hope that it wouldn't break the boy's back as well. Morgan did not want to have to explain that to Ganscotter.
Morgan leaned forward and smiled at the tech. "I'd appreciate it if you could set this down very precisely."
The tech gulped.
McGee had been working on a wire trap for days now. It was finally complete. He stepped back to admire his good work.
Kate examined it doubtfully. "Are you sure about this, McGee? It doesn't look like it could hold anything up."
"Positive," he insisted. "If anyone gets too close to our camp, they'll get picked up by their ankle and hung by the tree."
"If anyone steps in precisely the right spot, you mean," Kate corrected.
McGee's eyebrows scrunched together. "Well . . . I'll work on that."
Kate sighed. "Come on, McGeek."
"Don't call me that!"
He followed her anyway. He didn't have much choice. Besides, he was thirsty, and she was headed toward that stream they'd found.
Still, he let himself trail behind a bit, and he kicked the grass petulantly. The trap was a good idea. Just because Kate didn't like it didn't mean it was a bad idea. No one ever liked his ideas, but they always worked. Well, almost always.
He couldn't see Kate through the trees anymore, but he could hear her stomping forward. He stopped pouting and tried to make his face look mature in case there were cameras watching and sponsors were trying to decide between them.
He wasn't useless. He knew Kate thought he was, but he really wasn't. He could do things. He had a real shot at winning these Games.
Something rustled a few yards away. McGee froze.
He could run. He could run and catch up to Kate.
But. But he could do things. Hadn't he just been saying that? If he could just prove himself -
He pulled out the knife Kate had given him and crept forward. He winced at the faint sounds of his footfalls. Life in the districts had not prepared him for a mountainous forest.
There. Beneath one of the trees. There were a few branches that were still falling into place like someone had just passed through them.
And there on the ground was the boy from Twelve. Sleeping. Something faintly purple trickled out of his mouth. His sword lay a few feet away from him.
What was that purple stuff?
Whoever had left could be back any minute. McGee crept closer. He carefully kicked the sword away. His toes stung from the effort.
"McGee!" Kate's voice was distant, but panic made it sharp.
The boy's eyes shot open. He flung his hand out for his sword.
McGee panicked. He flung himself at the boy like Kate had done in her fight and stabbed the knife down.
The blade connected. Purple smoke sprayed out of the wound and into McGee's eyes.
The boy was moving. Hitting. Striking. McGee kept stabbing down.
There was more, he knew, more happening, but - The smoke. The smoke felt heavy and sweet around him. It was hard to think clearly around it.
A cannon boomed. The fog started to clear a bit.
"McGee?" Kate's voice was closer now.
The bushes rustled. The girl from Twelve burst onto the scene. An arrow was ready on her bow.
McGee pushed himself to his feet. Something hot and sticky covered his hands. The knife felt weightless in his hands.
"Caspian!"
The purple fog was coming from the girl too. McGee swayed as he stepped forward.
Kate's footsteps were audible now. They came to an abrupt stop. The girl released the arrow.
McGee fell.
"McGee!"
He stared hazily down at the arrow in his chest. What had it hit . . . ?
Kate's footsteps didn't run towards him. They ran away. The girl from Twelve bolted after her.
The cannon boomed.
Abby let out a muffled sob. Gibbs closed his eyes.
Tony's eyes were wet, but they stayed locked on the screen. "That's right, Kate," he whispered. "Keep running. There's nothing you could have done for him. Just keep running."
Faeries were hardier than humans, but even Terence was finding it hard to talk now. Gilbert hadn't talked all day. He would have worried that the other boy had died if he hadn't been certain he would have heard the cannon.
Something glinted, even through the veil of the net. Terence tilted his head up to look at it, ignoring the barbs that tore lines into his face.
The largest silver parachute he had ever seen glided down. Something huge and black tugged it down faster than any gift had fallen before.
Terence's eyes widened. It was getting closer - closer -
It crashed to the forest floor two feet from Terence.
It was a cauldron.
Terence stared at it for a long moment. A slightly hysterical laugh tore out of his throat.
"Gilbert?" he called weakly. "Does a cast iron cauldron mean anything to you?"
Puck had caught the scent. He ran through the forest like he was leading a hunt as he had in the old days.
Stronger. The scent was getting stronger.
Just not strong enough.
Day Six
It had taken Morgan a while to track down the tech again. It seemed he had been avoiding her.
"Hello, there." She smiled at him again. It was not the same smile she had used yesterday.
The tech backed away. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but President Snow said - "
She kept smiling. "Do you know what I am?"
"A - A victor?"
"And do you know why I'm a victor?"
The tech had run out of room to back up. "Because you're a very good fighter?" he squeaked.
"Because I'm an enchantress," she corrected. "Because I'm an undecided enchantress who has not chosen either of the courts to follow. Do you know what that means?"
"N-no." The tech shook like a leaf in a hurricane.
She leaned very, very close. "It means I'll avenge Terence, and that I'm allowed to use an Unseelie curse."
Indy knew he should go back and check his traps. He knew that was the whole point of them.
But he'd caught some rabbits in one close by, so he wasn't hurting for food, and going back to places he'd clearly marked with his presence made him nervous.
He kept moving.
"Gilbert?" The words were quiet. Barely more than a garbled croak.
Dried blood coated what felt like every inch of him. If there was a drop of moisture left in his throat, Terence couldn't feel it. The stream rushed mockingly past him, just out of reach.
Gilbert didn't answer. The sun baked down on both of them. He tried again.
"Gilbert!"
This time, a cannon answered.
Terence's head slumped. The barbs dug deeper into his parched skin.
Puck was racing over the ground now. He was close. He was so close -
He heard the cannon boom. He moved faster.
He leaped over the waiting nets, past the trees, over the brambles -
There. Two nets, hanging in the trees. One, made of vines, was being lifted by a claw.
The other still hung. Terence hung inside, barely recognizable.
Puck growled.
He spun again, and it was in his usual form that he moved forward. "Terence?"
The figure inside the net lifted his head. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
Puck scrambled up the tree until he got to the branch holding the net. He turned his fingers to claws and began sawing through the branch. "His royal highness to the rescue," he said with forced levity. "If you could please wait momentarily."
The branch fell. The net hit the ground with a sick thump.
Puck sprang after it. He tore the net open, ignoring the welts it tore into his hands.
The net jerked sickeningly as the barbs tore out of Terence. The other boy's mouth drifted open again, but there wasn't even a whisper of sound, and the movement was too slow. His eyes were sunken into his head.
Puck stumbled to the stream and filled his hands with water. He poured it desperately into Terence's mouth.
"I'm breaking the rules," he said frantically. "Come on, Terence, come on - "
Terence gagged the second the water hit his mouth. His body flailed weakly.
Too far. Too far gone. Puck knew that look. He'd seen it in travelers lost in the woods too many times not to know that look. There was only one thing short of Capital medicine that could save Terence now.
He needed to go home. To the Other World.
He didn't have time to shift shapes again. He grabbed the other boy by the armpits and dragged him into the stream. He refused to wince at the sound of the barbs tearing loose of his skin.
Normally, pathways to the Other World were available only at certain places, at certain times, normally in waterways.
Puck was a Seelie prince. He could open a pathway where he chose, as long as no other power prevented it.
"Open!" he shouted.
The water started to swirl together. He could feel the Capital's stolen magic pressing against it, but it wasn't as strong as it was in the district. Something had worn it away.
"Open!" he shouted again. Terence shuddered in the water behind him.
A hint of a portal started to break open.
A shimmer of purple magic sealed it close.
"No! Open, now!" Puck raged against the Unseelie magic. He was changing things. He could change fate, change the way the coming war ended, he could do this -
The cannon boomed.
The prince of all Seelie screamed. The water of the stream shook with the power of it.
Terence, the Duke of Avalon, was dead.
Puck dragged him back out of the water. The Capital would want to take him. They would send his body back eventually, but not until they had drained every last bit of his blood. There were all sorts of things you could do with a faerie's blood.
Most people wouldn't think you could burn a corpse still dripping water while lacking accelerants or even a match.
Puck was of the Summer Court. He knew all about fire.
Terence burned. Puck waited beside him until the pyre was done, caring nothing for the pillar of smoke. Let them come. It was not his fate to die here, and fate would be only reluctantly defied.
When Terence was nothing but bones, he let the fire die and spun again until he was once more a hound.
There was a third scent along these banks. A mortal who had dared to kill a fey.
The Seelie Court was infinitely kinder than the Unseelie Court. Infinitely more merciful.
But then, compared to the Unseelie Court, burning at the stake was kind.
Anne shattered and wept.
The realms of faerie trembled.
(The Games are always full of fey. They do not always win. Meddle carefully, and only when you must.)
