Chapter Twelve
They all cheer for Diamond as she returns to her chair on the stage, however as soon as she sits down they fall silent and I can sense their anticipation. Caesar Flickerman announces my brother and I watch as he rises gracefully to his feet, staring not at the famous host but out into the crowd, smiling softly and seeming to gaze at each and every one of them like there is nobody else there.
The upbringing Gloss and I had ensured we developed the ability to conceal our true feelings almost as soon as we learned to walk, but even I struggle to contain my shock at this display of acting ability. If I didn't know that he despises them all then I would be totally convinced that he loves being here simply for the pleasure of their company.
He strolls casually over to a very orange Caesar, looking straight at each camera in turn as if he's done this thousands of times before. As my eyes follow him, I look at his outfit properly for the first time and I realise what Lucretia's done. For the Opening Ceremony she dressed him in a swirling and bejewelled cape so he appeared almost other-worldly, but for the interviews she's done the opposite.
The suit he wears could have been stolen from Falco's wardrobe, and everything, from the subtle sparkle of his rings and the way his tie isn't exactly tied straight, gives the impression that he isn't from the districts at all. He looks like a young man of the Capitol, rich, healthy and without a care in the world, and when I realise that I also realise that I underestimated Lucretia in a way she doesn't deserve. I tear my attention away from Gloss for a brief second to look at his stylist and she's already looking back at me. She nods once and then returns her focus to the stage, confirming to me how calculated this is.
There is nothing the Capitol people love more than themselves, and though they will never completely forget that he isn't one of them, when they look at him as he is now, a lot of them will be reminded of their brothers and their sons, of their unrealistic crushes and the subjects of their idle fantasies. They will want him to live because he's beautiful in a way they can understand, and nobody knows better than I do how that could be the difference between life and death.
"So," says Caesar, "the second de Montfort to grace this stage in as many years, the third if you count your foster sister, Miss Beaufort-"
"I do," interrupts Gloss in an almost harsh tone, and my heart skips a beat as I think he's let the mask fall after only a few seconds at centre stage. "I loved her like a sister and that's what matters, not her name," he continues softly, and I sigh quietly with relief when I see that the crowd are once more hanging onto his every word.
"Very wise words there, Gloss," replies Caesar, smiling indulgently at my brother. "Tell me, how did you feel when you were chosen for the Games? The famous and beautiful Cashmere de Montfort needs no introduction, but are you confident you will be able to emulate your sister?"
"I was pleased to be chosen," he says, looking away from his interviewer to scan the crowd in that strangely un-Gloss-like manner he seems to have perfected in a matter of minutes. "I've always wanted to come here and now I have my wish. I know I can win the Games and I'm looking forward to being able to celebrate my victory with you all."
I have to look away then, though I couldn't say whether it's to stop myself from laughing or crying. Deep down I know what Gloss is truly thinking and I know he hasn't really changed, but I barely recognise the young man sitting in the interviewee's chair. However what makes everything worse is that I can see a lot of the Capitol women in the audience and not a few of the men looking at him like he's a new outfit in a shop window that they want nothing more than to try on for size. I suppose they looked at me the same way, because I know they certainly do now, but it was different for me because I was ignorant of what my fate would be. Gloss knows and yet he still plays his role to perfection and he volunteered to do so because of me. I hate myself for not being able to act as well as he can, for not being able to conceal what was happening to me better so he never even realised something wasn't right.
His interview passes very quickly after that, and Caesar asks him all the usual questions; What's your favourite thing about the Capitol? (Its people), Do you fear your competition? (No more than they fear me), Do you have someone waiting for you back home? (No, I don't). The only time that my brother stops casually flirting with the audience via the cameras is when Caesar asks him about me. Gloss falls silent for so long that I can tell his interviewer is about to prompt him again, and then he finally replies, telling the whole of Panem that he loves me and that he'll keep the promise he made. I can hear the audience buzzing when he refuses to divulge the details of that promise, which I know to be that he'll win and that he won't leave me, but he stubbornly ignores Caesar's persistence until eventually the buzzer sounds. The response he gets from the crowd as he makes his way back to his chair is overwhelming.
People always say that time has a habit of speeding up when you least want it to, and as I sit watching the second repeat of the replay of the interviews, I can confirm that as the truth. I don't know where the last three days have gone, and though I have spent every second possible with my brother, it could never be enough time.
I glance to my right to look at him and find he is already gazing at me. His expression is still more one of concern for me rather than fear for himself, and although nobody knows him better than I do, even I find myself wondering if he is far more worried by the prospect of the arena than he admits. He must be, for it would be virtually impossible for someone to be as indifferent as he would have everyone believe he is.
"We've got a better chance than most districts this year," says Fortune, making himself the first person to speak since the replay began. "Especially if Falco's still talking to prospective sponsors even now."
"We have," I reply once it becomes clear that nobody else is going to, however I say nothing more.
Gloss was given a training score of nine by the Gamemakers, just like I was, and Diamond was given eight, just like Sheen was. I've been trying to ignore the repetition ever since, attempting to focus on the positives, such as that at least the girl from Two didn't emulate Dahlia and score eleven. In fact nobody scored eleven this year. The highest was the ten given to Theodorus, the man from District Two, followed by my brother, Megaera and Pelagia's nines.
The tall, strong and slightly strange-looking male tribute from District Six was given eight, which for someone from a lesser district like him is the equivalent of someone from my district scoring eleven or twelve. I tell Gloss to watch for him but I know by the look on his face that he doesn't see him as a threat and is merely humouring me. I wish he wouldn't, I wish he would think about each and every one of the others in the same way as he views Theodorus and Megaera from Two, but at the same time I know that he won't, not before he gets into the arena. I know that because I remember enough of my Games to know I didn't even think about the vast majority of my fellow tributes at all.
"At least the difficult part's over," whispers Gloss so only I can hear him. "I can't stand the way they all look at us."
"The difficult part?" I retort, not speaking anywhere near as quietly. "The difficult part? You're going into the arena tomorrow and you call the interview the difficult part?"
"Of course. Did you see Caesar Flickerman's hair? Can you imagine how hard it was for me to answer his questions seriously when his hair was so orange that he looked radioactive?"
"Gloss," I hiss sternly even as I attempt to hide how I am trying desperately hard not to laugh despite the situation. He just smirks back at me, telling me that my attempts have failed dismally.
"Right then," says Fortune as he pushes himself out of his armchair and turns the television off. "Early start in the morning for you two so you should go and get some sleep while you can. Good luck, Diamond," he continues, directing his attention to the girl he's supposed to be mentoring for probably the first time this evening.
"Thank you," she replies stiffly, rising to her feet and swiftly leaving the room without a backward glance. Her mentor follows but I clearly see them head off in different directions without exchanging so much as a word.
Once again I can't help feeling sorry for her, but that doesn't last for long when the clock on the mantelpiece strikes twelve for midnight and I realise my brother will be on his way to the arena in only a few short hours. I get up and start to walk towards the door, telling myself that a long and teary goodbye will only make everything worse and that I would be better off doing what Fortune did and simply walking away. I get less than halfway there before I stop, suddenly unable to take another step.
"Cash? Are you leaving?"
I turn around to see Gloss still sitting on the sofa, his knees tucked up to his chest as he hugs them tightly and stares back at me. For a second he doesn't look like the young man who is strong enough and can fight well enough to score a nine in Hunger Games training. For a second he looks like the boy I remember, the boy who used to sit in exactly the same position, gazing up at me with wide brown eyes as I told him tales of who said what to who when I went out shopping to the main square back home. I know then that even though it might be best if I do, I can't walk away and leave him alone to deal with this final night before the Games begin for real.
"No, little brother. I'm not going anywhere."
He smiles and lifts his arm so I can curl up against him, which I do immediately, forcing myself not to cling to him too strongly because I know that if I do then he will know I'm afraid. He doesn't speak but I don't really expect him to. He's always been a man of few words and it will take more than volunteering for the Games to change that.
"Are you awake?" he asks me eventually.
"No," I tell him with a smile as I look up at the clock to see that it's half-past two in the morning.
"Very funny," he retorts, allowing me to pull back enough so I can look up at him.
"Are you scared?" I ask after a few more minutes of silence.
"No," he replies, mimicking my earlier tone of voice exactly.
"You're lying," I say a lot more seriously. "I know you are because I remember how scared I was this time last year. So you can talk to me. You don't have to lie."
He sighs deeply. "Yes, Cashmere, I'm terrified. I'm so scared that if I let myself think about tomorrow then my heart races and my head spins and I can think of nothing else. But I made my choice and I don't regret it. I'm not dead yet so I'll keep fighting. Then they won't be able to hurt you again."
"Falco bought me last night," I whisper. "Did you know that?"
"Yes," he replies instantly. "That's what we were talking about before training. He told me because he knew I'd worked out what the invitation meant and he thought I'd do something stupid if he didn't."
"And would you have?"
"Of course," he replies with a grin. "You're my sister and I love you. I'd kill anyone who laid a hand on you against your will. Well actually, to be honest I'd kill virtually anyone who laid a hand on you regardless of your will because I'm your brother and that's what brothers do, but that isn't the point."
"I love you too," I tell him, not knowing what else to say. "But you must promise me you won't even think about doing anything you shouldn't, no matter what happens."
"If I get through this alive then I can't promise you anything. If I did then what would be the point of becoming a tribute in the first place?"
I open my mouth to argue, to tell him that he can't be so stupid, but the words don't come out. As much as I try not to think about it, I know this could be the last time I see him alive and I don't want to spend the remaining time we have left arguing. There will be time for that when this is all over.
"Where's Falco?" he asks. "He's been gone since before the interviews started."
"Sponsors," I reply, trying not to think about that one too closely either. "He had appointments with a couple of people so he said he'd be late."
"Who?" he asks, and I suddenly realise he wants to know who will think they own a piece of him if he lives.
"I don't know. Honestly. I don't care either, just as long as you stay alive."
"I will. I told you before and I'll promise you again; I will see you again, Cashmere, I promise."
Whether it's his words or his tone of voice, I don't know, but something he does or says makes me snap inside, makes whatever it was that had been holding me together since the day of the reaping shatter into a thousand pieces as my tears begin to fall and I throw myself into his arms.
"But I don't want you to go! I don't want you to leave me. Please, Gloss…please…don't leave me…"
"Shh," he breathes, rubbing my back with a shaking hand as he clings to me. "Don't cry, Cashmere. Don't cry."
I pull him even closer and am shocked to feel the wetness of his tears on my shoulder. "Hypocrite," I tell him teasingly, my breath coming out in ragged gasps as I try to pull myself together.
"Takes one to know one," he retorts just as teasingly, trying to appear strong again. I try to pretend I don't notice the way his eyes flick nervously to the clock as it strikes four.
We don't speak after that, probably because there's nothing left to say that hasn't been said already. There's no going back and we've both known that since the day he won the race to the stage, but I can't help thinking that it's been too late to stop this since that same race was run two years ago, since a dark-haired girl called Sapphire Beaufort won and then lost so soon after. As I lie curled up on the sofa with my brother I wonder if we'd have been happy if none of us had volunteered, if Sapphire and I had allowed my father to marry us off to whoever he chose and then eventually decided to do the same to Gloss. I guess I will never know, but it doesn't seem anything like the horror story it did when I was too naïve to know any better.
We both jump in response to the knock on the door and I instinctively tighten my grip on Gloss's shirt before Lucretia has even walked into the room.
"It's time, Gloss," says his stylist quietly. "I think there's quite a way to go this year so they're starting out early."
He takes a deep breath and stands up, confirming how much training he did before the reaping by taking me with him and effortlessly setting me on my feet beside him. It reassures me slightly, which I'm sure was his intention.
"I'll see you on the other side then, sister mine," he whispers, keeping his voice low so Lucretia doesn't hear as she waits by the door.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak and not to cry. I reach up behind me and unfasten the clasp on my necklace before holding it out to him.
"I know you said you didn't need a district token but I want you to wear this. For me and for Sapphire."
He swallows as if he too is struggling not to cry and then slowly shakes his head. "I can't, Cash. The review board haven't sanctioned it."
"They have. I sent it to them without you knowing. And besides, they've seen it twice before already. They're probably sick of the sight of it."
I hold it up again and this time he takes it, turning around so I can fasten the delicate clasp before facing me again and pulling his shirt collar down to show me. I smile for the first time since Lucretia arrived when I see how out of place the jewel looks against his muscular neck and shoulders.
"I'll bring it back to you," he says, embracing me once again.
"You'd better," I retort, walking with him as he follows Lucretia from the room so he doesn't have to let me go.
"Please, Cashmere," says the Capitolian woman. "We'll be late if we don't go now."
Then I let my brother go, maintaining only my death grip on his hand. "I love you."
"I love you," he echoes, and then he is gone.
The door swings closed behind him and I wait until I can no longer hear his footsteps as he walks down the corridor to the lifts. I sink to my knees and then down further until I lie on the floor with my knees tucked tightly to my chest, shaking with the force of the sobs that rack my entire body.
I don't know how long I lie there for, but the morning light is beginning to shine through the massive window before I hear the soft knock at the door. I ignore it so it sounds again, louder and more persistent this time, and when it swings slowly open and Falco appears, I am sharply reminded of another door that he pushed open to find me in a state something like this. That memory doesn't make me feel any better.
"He's gone, Falco. Lucretia came early and he's gone," I say through my tears.
"I know," he replies in a low voice. "I know."
He walks the short distance over to me and leans down, holding out his hand to me so he can help me stand, but I can't do it. I can't take his hand and pull myself to my feet. I can't watch as my brother fights for his life in an arena I don't even know the first thing about. How can I help him when I can barely help myself?
Falco straightens but doesn't move back, staring thoughtfully down at me, not looking away for even a second. The last thing I expect is for his eyes to narrow as he begins to speak in a tone a lot harsher than the one I usually hear.
"Do you want your brother to die, Cashmere?"
"What?" I stutter in reply. "Of course I don't. How can you even say such a thing?"
His expression softens slightly as I drop my gaze and my tears start yet again, but he remains still.
"Last year I had to watch as someone I love went into the arena. I was a coward and I walked away without saying goodbye. I went to the nearest bar and attempted to drown my sorrows in drink. Then someone found me and told me that what I was doing wasn't the answer, and that if I wanted you to live then I had to fight for you. Now it's your turn. I am that person who has found you and is telling you that you can't lie here on the floor and hope Gloss makes it out alive. You of all people should know that hope isn't always enough in the Games. You of all people should know you have to fight."
He holds out his hand to me again and I stare silently up at him for several seconds, but this time I reach out to him and he pulls me up quickly before wiping my tears from my cheeks.
"Don't let them see you cry, Butterfly," he whispers. "We have a little game to win."
"Have they arrived at the arena yet? Where are we going?" I ask frantically as he takes my hand and we literally run from the room and down the corridor to the lifts.
"Where do you think we're going?" he replies, lifting his other hand so he can look at his watch. "The Control Room will be activated in less than five minutes. Then we will see if my campaigning for sponsors has paid off."
I don't waste time and effort by trying to reply because as soon as he falls silent the bell rings and the doors slide open. He sweeps out of the lift in front of me and we leave the Training Centre, heedless of the reporters and camera crews who are all desperately attempting to catch our attention. As I step out into the bright morning sun to the accompaniment of equally bright camera flashes, I can't help feeling relieved that I managed to remember to let go of Falco's hand just in time.
The Control Room building looks as forbidding as it did on the previous occasions I've been here. Despite the warm summer day, the temperature seems to drop as I get closer to it and it appears almost veiled in shadows even though the sun still shines fiercely down upon our heads.
"Are we late?" I ask Falco as we approach the entrance doors.
"A little," he replies, nodding confidently to the few Peacekeepers who remain stationed between the two glass panels as we keep walking.
I smile slightly when I recognise the young man I saw the night I came here for the first time. His eyes flick to mine but otherwise his expression doesn't change.
"Where does that go?" I ask, hoping that Falco doesn't get fed up of my questions as I stare at the ornately carved gold staircase that leads upwards but not down.
"The Gamemakers have the upstairs and the mentors the ground. Don't even think about going up there or I'll kill you myself."
Something about his tone of voice makes me nod obediently and turn my attention away from the staircase to the second set of doors. We walk into the Control Room and everyone turns to stare at us, a deadly silence suddenly enveloping the room.
I stare back at them, determined not to show fear or whatever else it is they are expecting from the girl who is mentoring her brother in her first year as a victor. A lot of them, mostly those I barely recognise, look away and are unable to meet my gaze, but my eyes soon travel to District Two's part of the room to find Tiberius and Ursala staring right back at me. The old lady from District Four who I recall is called Mags and is the one who mentored Finnick Odair also catches my attention. I swiftly look away from her to the man who sits by her side, mentally sighing with relief when I see he isn't the boy who murdered my sister.
"So you're here to watch your brother die then, de Montfort?" calls Tiberius from across the room. "I was starting to think you didn't have the courage."
Falco starts to step in his direction but I reach out and grasp his wrist to stop him, letting go as soon as I can and hoping that everyone is too distracted by Tiberius to notice.
"If he dies then it won't be at the hands of your tribute, Silvestri," I snarl back, subconsciously using his surname like Dahlia used to when she spoke to Corvinus. However I soon realise it's also how she used to address him if his expression is anything to go by, and it's a struggle to stop myself from looking away. "I'll be very surprised if he has the intelligence to figure out how to leave his podium when the starting gong sounds."
Haymitch Abernathy, the perpetually drunk winner of the second Quarter Quell and District Twelve's sole surviving victor laughs loudly and for far too long, but everyone else in the room remains silent. Most of the other mentors are looking at their monitoring screens rather than at Tiberius or I, and their body language gives me the impression that they are used to such behaviour from the infamous 'Career Districts'.
I watch as Ursala hits her fellow mentor with what looks like bruising force even though he barely reacts and then head in the direction of my own computer, grateful when the low buzz of several different conversations happening at the same time restarts and I am no longer the centre of attention.
Just as Falco and I sit down and I reach towards the control panel in front of me, I'm hit by a wall of sound when a claxon goes off at the same time as all of the screens light up and the lights start flashing. I fly back in my chair and only Falco's grip on the arm stops me from propelling myself across the room. The walls seem to close in on me and the sounds of the place that has haunted my nightmares for over a year fill my thoughts, convincing me that I'm back There and that there's an audience waiting for the next cannon to fire.
"Cashmere, stop. Cashmere, the arena's gone. You'll never have to go back there again. It's over. Cashmere, breathe. Please stop."
Eventually Falco's quiet words sink in and I become aware of my surroundings enough to see him leaning on the arm of my chair he had been holding. I stare into his eyes and don't look away when I realise how focussing on him seems to make the memories of last year fade.
Once I notice that the lights have stopped flashing and the room is virtually silent once more, my breathing returns to normal. My heart sinks when I see that the majority of the other mentors are staring at me. They have a range of expressions on their faces, from amusement to pity, and it's those who appear to feel sorry for me that I resent the most. It's not supposed to be like this. My brother will soon be fighting for his life and I have to help him. How can I do that if I'm having panic attacks again?
I turn back to Falco and he smiles slightly, not needing to speak to ask me if I'm okay. I manage to nod in response before my attention is taken by Fortune's laughter.
"A bit of an overreaction, don't you think? They were only testing the lights."
"What's it to you?" I snap back, relieved to hear something like my familiar scorn in my voice.
"It doesn't exactly give the right impression, does it?"
"Perhaps not, but I think you'll find you're the disgrace to our district not me. I hope you feel guilty when Diamond dies, because you've done precious little to help her."
He stares resolutely at his computer screen in response to that, saying nothing in reply, so I don't push it further and return to my own screen. Gloss has a lot of money pledged to him, and though I'm glad to see it because he might need it to survive in the arena, part of me can't help wanting to know who has provided it and what they will want in return.
"Most are people I know and trust," whispers Falco, seeming to read my mind. "Narissa helped a little," he adds, his tone of voice giving me every impression that it was a bit more than a little.
"Why?" I retort, snarling even though I keep my voice low. He laughs, which only makes me scowl more. "I mean it. Why?"
"Because I asked her to. And because she didn't want you to lose your brother."
"Why?" I repeat.
"You know why," he replies cryptically, making me stop to think.
Narissa's involved in what I can only call 'The Rebellion', as is Falco, and they want me to assist them, I know that. However I'm not vain enough to think I'm important enough to someone like Narissa for her to attempt to keep Gloss alive because of me, so there must be another reason. I think for a minute before an idea suddenly occurs to me. A rebellion cannot totally succeed if it exists in the Capitol alone. For their plan to work, they need support in the districts, and who is better placed in District One than my family? Nothing is going to happen overnight and I told Falco about how Gloss and I were getting on slightly better with Satin. My father isn't going to live forever and if my elder sister is able to maintain her position in our district's society then she will be a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps this isn't about Gloss and I at all but about Gloss and Satin instead.
"I think I do," I whisper eventually, and he smiles even as he gives me the 'don't talk about it here' look. I glare at him to tell him he needn't bother and his smile only gets wider.
I pull my chair forwards again and place my hand back on the control panel. The screen springs to life instantly and I see that the graphs showing the sponsorship money has changed again. Gloss has even more than before and he has a lot more than Diamond. As for the other tributes, I can't begin to guess as I can't see the other districts' screens, but the fact Gloss and Theodorus are joint favourites in the betting tells me enough of what I need to know that I get the general idea.
"Now what?"
"We wait."
The next hour or so passes slowly, with everyone speaking only in hushed voices, usually to speculate about what horrors the Gamemakers have planned for this year. Not that those words are used, as nobody would be that stupid in a place like this, but we all know what everyone else is thinking. I look at my watch for what must be the thousandth time, partly wanting time to slow down and partly wanting it to speed up so it's all over.
Then the whole room goes dark as every one of the television screens blacks out and the lights all go off.
"What's happening?" I whisper, grasping Falco's wrist tightly in panic as all of the lights on the control panels start to flash rapidly.
"This is it," he replies. "It's time."
The lights switch back on first, filling the entire Control Room with a strange, dim glow that does nothing to settle my nerves. After a few seconds the screens change from black to white, and I turn to Falco in absolute horror as the camera gradually focuses on the shining golden Cornucopia. This is the arena. A vast expanse of bleak and snow-covered wasteland. I shiver even though it's a little bit too warm in here.
"He's always cold," I breathe, talking to myself as much as to Falco. I can tell by his grim expression that he heard me even though he says nothing.
I watch with a growing sense of dread as the thick snow that had still been falling abruptly clears and the metal podiums rise up to bring the tributes into the arena.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games begin!"
I barely hear Claudius Templesmith begin the sixty second countdown to the start of the inevitable bloodbath, because at that moment the camera zooms in on my brother's face so he seems to gaze at me from all sides and corners of the room. At first glance he looks calm and emotionless, and I have no doubt that is how the other mentors and the watching Capitol audience will see him, but I don't need to look at the little heart monitor that's attached to the bottom of the screen in front of me to know that he's scared. I can tell from the look in his eyes as he takes in his surroundings.
I stare unblinkingly at the sapphire pendant at his throat until the camera moves away from him and shows us Diamond, who is trembling slightly on her podium. Whether that's from fear or because of the cold, I couldn't possibly say.
I cry out when the starting gong sounds, loudly enough to make Fortune, Tiberius, Ursala and Beetee from District Three turn to look at me before they rapidly return their attention to the arena. I sense Falco is about to say something but then he changes his mind. I'm not surprised. What could there possibly be to say now?
The majority of the tributes stumble off their podiums into the thick snow, and I immediately see how much it's hampering their movements. It's enough to make them look awkward but not enough to stop them from fighting and giving the audience a show. How typical of the Capitol.
Gloss fares better than most because he's tall and strong enough for it to not impede him too much but also light enough not to be dragged down like a couple of the larger tributes seem to be. He quickly reaches the Cornucopia and pulls a sword from a small pile by the golden horn's entrance. I breathe a small sigh of relief, but it doesn't last long and my heart is soon racing again.
There's always so much happening in the first battle of the Games that the cameras never stay in one place for long, and the snow makes it even harder to follow what's going on. I see the male tributes from Two and Four, Theodorus and Nicon, cutting down everyone in their path, I see many others struggling to collect what they can of what had been scattered around the Cornucopia, and then I see the man from District Six fight his way to the pile of weapons and grab a spear before throwing a pack onto his shoulder and fleeing the carnage. The one person I don't see is my brother. Where are you, Gloss? Where are you?
I focus my attention on the small computer screen in front of me instead of the nearest massive wall-mounted television in the hope that the one I know is always meant to be following my brother will show me what's happening to him. However I am disappointed to see the same picture that everyone's seeing. It seems not even the Capitol can separate one tribute from another in the chaos they have engineered.
Then I see him, just for a few seconds, and he's fighting a tribute I don't recognise, blocking his access to the supplies in the Cornucopia but never dealing the final killing strike. I find myself wishing Gloss would just kill his opponent, just sink his blade into his heart so it's over and there's no chance of him fighting back. That's when I truly realise I don't care what my brother does in the arena as long as he comes back to me.
"It looks like my girl's doing your brother's work for him," calls Ursala a short time later as Megaera races past the front of the golden horn, throwing a spear at the boy Gloss is fighting as she goes.
I hear her but I can't seem to open my mouth to reply, and I continue to stare at the screen as the battle finally begins to subside. I look around at Falco when he clears his throat and pointedly gestures to my hands. It's only then that I notice the death grip I have on the front of the control panel, and it takes me several attempts to make myself release it.
The background noise of the other mentors' conversations starts up again as the fighting stops and the allies from the three districts who train their tributes begin to sort through the supplies. I lean back in my chair and watch the massive wall-mounted screen in front of me, which seems to focus on the goings on at the Cornucopia while smaller screens show the other tributes who escaped the bloodbath as they continue to flee for their lives. It's over. He's alive.
The snow has started again, and the sight of how the wind blows the flakes makes me shiver even though I'm safe in the warm Control Room. It is plain to see how inadequate the coats the Gamemakers have put the tributes in are and how much Gloss is shivering as he stands as if in shock, staring around at the ground in front of the golden horn where the dead still lie.
"It looks like Little Brother doesn't have your killer instinct, District One," taunts Tiberius, once again ignoring Ursala's quietly violent attempts to silence him. "He won't last long in there."
"I look forward to the day he proves you wrong and the trumpets sound to tell the whole of Panem he is victorious," I call back, looking straight at him and hoping the doubts I desperately wish I didn't feel don't show in my voice or expression.
He says nothing, which tells me he suspects nothing, but I know Falco will see right through me and he doesn't disappoint me.
"He'll be himself again in a minute," he says quietly. "He's in shock."
"I'd be more worried about him if he wasn't," I reply, the sight of the pools of blood staining the snow-covered ground making me remember the first day of my Games. "He shouldn't be there, Falco. Tiberius is right."
"He'll fight to get back to you."
I stare into his dark eyes without saying anything, knowing that he speaks the truth. Gloss hates fighting, he always has, but he will fight anyway because it's the only way he will be able to keep the promise he made to me, it's the only way he will be able to win. When I finally tear my eyes away from Falco's it's only to look into my brother's as he stares out at me through the screen. He will fight to get home, that is true, but at what cost to himself? I know better than anyone how the arena changes everything. I know better than anyone how nothing is ever the same after you have been reaped for the Hunger Games, not even if you survive. I only hope the cost to Gloss isn't more than he can bear.
Sorry I haven't had time for many review replies this time around - 'real-life' kind of took over ;) Don't let that stop you from leaving me a comment though, whether you've never left me a review before or are one of the fabulous people who have been following this since the beginning. I think by now you will be able to see where I'm going with Gloss's Games...