Time passes in a soft, slow haze. Days are filled with visits to Katniss and Haymitch and trying not to think about the storm that must follow this calm. My mother still wants me nowhere near the bakery, so I've begun baking from the house. I bring cheese buns to Katniss, rye bread to Haymitch, rolls and pastries to Hazelle for the kids, and hearty loaves to families in the Seam. I paint and help Katniss with the record book, teach Prim to sketch and fill my own book with drawings of the increasingly horrifying dreams that visit me every time I sleep.
One sunny but cold afternoon in Haymitch's kitchen Hazelle thanks me for the nutty, fruit-filled rolls and cinnamon loaf I bring for Rory, his special favorite.
"He'll be so pleased," she smiles, but her eyes are worried. "I hate to return a favor with ill news," she says reluctantly.
My heart skips, but she doesn't look panicked, just sad. "Don't worry about me," I smile. "Honestly, I think I've already had the worst news I'm ever going to get," I wink at her.
She gives a small half-smile and squeezes my hand. "Fair point," she says. "It's just that there's a required viewing tonight. The rumor is they're going to show the wedding dress photos."
I feel the familiar hollowness in my stomach, but I know she has more worries than me if that's the case. "I'm really sorry," I say softly. "He knows we're going to find a way around it, right?" I ask.
She blushes fierily and shakes her head. "You shouldn't be worrying about that," she tells me sternly. "You have enough to keep you up at night without thinking about those kinds of things."
"Don't get me wrong," I grin. "It would be totally okay with me if he decided Shaya Flist is the way he wanted to go after all."
Hazelle laughs and groans out loud. "What will it take for her leave him alone?" she exclaims. Shaya, the eldest daughter of a wealthy import merchant, has made it hilariously obvious to everyone in town how interested she is in Gale. Last week she met him after his shift with a flower covered wagon and full picnic dinner. Her father is still able to get many goods even the wealthiest citizens are unable to find and she seems to think she can buy Gale as well, if she can just find his price. His increasingly blatant excuses to get away from her are repeated and laughed about all through town. Smiling, Hazelle bundles up her belongings and heads for home, and since Haymitch isn't around, I do the same.
After dinner I settle down in front of the television with a cup of tea. I considered going over to Haymitch's to watch with him, but his house is dark and the drapes have been pulled all day. I wonder if he's found a stash of liquor somewhere. As I'm trying to think back to the last time I saw Ripper in the stocks, the television buzzes to life and the seal fills the screen while the anthem swells through my living room. Caesar Flickerman, smiling like a madman, struts in front of a capacity crowd outside the Training Center. All these sensory memories make me grimace and I shudder uneasily. Caesar is discussing the upcoming wedding and the throng is frantic for it. They shriek and cheer and he plays them like a well-tuned fiddle. Cinna is introduced to near hysteria, he has become a star of epic proportion, and the two chat back and forth for a few minutes before the giant screen behind them comes to life.
Cinna has designed what must be two dozen gowns, they flit by behind him, and the citizens have voted down to the six that Katniss modeled at her photo shoot yesterday. The audience hollers, screams and boos as each picture looms on the screen. They have voted, and likely wagered, and are having a fantastic time feeling involved in what is being billed as the wedding of the century. For myself, I watch breathlessly. Silent and rapt, I stare as visions of Katniss fill the screen. She is stunning. Draped in laces, silks and satins, diamonds and pearls, silver and gold. Her dark, shining hair and storm gray eyes are set off by the glimmering white and she is the very vision of a beautiful bride. My throat tightens and I clench my teeth. A slow pain rises through my chest as I stare at the embodiment of everything I have ever wanted, and know I will never have.
"Let's get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style!" Caesar shrieks to the bellowing crowd. The manic bliss on his face snaps me out of my reverie. It underscores the deception of the image of the bridal gowns. This is not a choice Katniss and I have made, it is a manipulation of the Capitol and neither of us want anything to do with it. I draw a deep, shaky breath and stand to switch off the television, but Caesar raises his hands to quiet the crowd. Apparently there's more to come.
"That's right," he leers joyously. "This year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"
Puzzled, I do a quick check in my head. The Games aren't for months yet, what could they need to talk about this early? They must be trotting out some token that the Capitol is still in charge. Amidst the unrest in the districts, it wouldn't hurt Snow to wave a reminder that your children are still at the mercy of the reaping. A little old fashioned fear to follow the spectacle of Katniss as a decadent member of the Capitol. Not a bad strategy, I think begrudgingly.
Snow, followed by small boy dressed in white, takes the stage as the anthem plays. As the music fades, he tells the story of how, following the Dark Days, the Games were born. He continues to relate how the laws of the Games included, every twenty-five years, a marking of the anniversary, the Quarter Quell. A time to stoke the memory of all those lives lost when the districts rebelled.
"On the twenty-fifth anniversary," he intones, "as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."
I feel sick. How would it be possible to select someone's son or daughter to be sent to their likely death? I shake my head violently to clear it of the vision of some boy or girl finding out they'd been chosen by their own neighbors.
Snow continues sonorously, "On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."
That was the year Haymitch was victor, I think with a queasy feeling. Forty-seven people out to kill you so they aren't killed themselves. Forty-seven children died that year.
"And now we honor the third Quarter Quell," the President's voice echoes through the crowd's hushed stillness. The little boy presents the plain, wooden box he's been holding. Inside are rows and rows of small envelopes. Centuries of plans for Hunger Games. Snow carefully selects the envelope marked with a large 75 and eases his finger under the seal to open it. His voice is decorous, but I think to see a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he reads out the inscription on the card.
"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."
My mind reels as I struggle to grasp what he just said. The words slide around in my head, not connecting and making no sense. A tremor begins in my hands, jittering the cup I still hold, and spreads to my whole body until, shuddering violently, the cup drops with a smash and I collapse onto the couch. Gripping my arms, I stare blankly at the screen while my mind battles against the realization of what I've heard. A million reactions flit through my spinning brain, one after the other, none finding purchase. Fury, terror, flight, anguish, desperation, grief, rage. The room whirls around me until, with a jarring crash, everything shrieks into focus. Katniss.
I'm outside before I fully realize I'm going. Across the green and through his door without so much as a knock. Haymitch sits at the kitchen table, a bottle in front of him and the smashed television sputtering and sparking in the living room behind him. When he sees me, he barks a mirthless laugh and shakes his head dolefully. "I could have made so much money betting on you," he says regretfully. "If only I'd known."
"Haymitch," I begin.
"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, cracking the seal on the bottle and tipping it back, taking a long swig. Thumping the bottle onto the table, he stares at me balefully. "How can I?" he demands angrily. I blink at him, confused, and he glares back. "How can I let you go back in there?" he growls. "The very fact that you'd throw yourself back in proves you're the one who deserves not to go. Only one of us is going to be around after this," his voice fades to a cracked whisper. "I don't want it to be me. Not like this." He presses his fingers against his eyes and grabs at the liquor again.
"Wrong," I tell him firmly. "Two of us are going to be around." I snatch the bottle from his hand and press my palm against his chest, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Last time you left me to die." He winces and starts to respond but I cut him off ruthlessly. "No, Haymitch. You owe me. This is what I get to repay that debt. You give me the chance to go with her, and you do everything you can on this end to get her back out. That's the price you owe."
I release him and step back, but hold his gray eyes fast to mine. Finally, he drops his gaze and nods slowly. "All right," he says despondently. "All right."
The tension drains out of me and I feel my knees weaken. I nod shortly and spin on my heel, striding out before my legs betray me. Halfway across the green I slow, then pause and turn toward the forest, a distant silhouette against the dark night sky. The urge to run, to disappear into the quiet, welcoming trees is a buzzing itch in my stomach and legs. My breath comes in short, sharp bursts and I grip my hands together behind my neck. I tip my head back and stare up at the glitter of a thousand stars, cold and distant, uncaring as they shine down over the misery below them. My hands drop to my sides and I turn my head toward Katniss' house. A sense of calm inevitability washes over me. I promised I would never let her down again, and I mean to keep that promise. I'm going back into the arena.