Chapter Twelve
When I reach the Control Room I race through the doors when they've barely had time to open. I catch my arm on one of them but if it hurts then I don't pause to notice. I don't have time to think about it.
The room suddenly seems to be full of people despite how I'd thought it virtually empty before. Every one of them is staring at Gloss, their faces a mixture of shock, fear and what looks to me like relief that they won't have to deal with him.
He's standing in front of the main screen closest to our station, his chair lying on its side at his feet amidst the shattered remains of what used to be on the top of our desk. There's blood on his shirt, and when I step closer I can clearly see him shaking. His hands are clenched in tight fists at his sides like he wants to destroy something else but he isn't sure what.
"Haven't you all got something else to do?" I shout, scanning everyone in the room and wishing I could simultaneously glare viciously at them all at the same time.
A couple of the Capitol escorts and the mentors who no longer have a tribute in the Games get up and leave, their expressions making me unsure if it's me they fear or Gloss. Those who remain immediately turn away and pretend to look busy. Only Vikus Cortez holds my gaze, his cold eyes full of amusement more than anything else. I scowl at him and turn away. You wouldn't think that Clove had just died.
"Gloss?" I whisper, my voice almost drowned out by the sound of broken glass cracking underneath my feet as I walk slowly closer.
I repeat his name over and over but his eyes don't leave the screen. He doesn't so much as blink, and when I eventually realise he isn't going to look at me, I turn to see what's holding his attention. After Glimmer's death, I didn't think anything could happen in the arena that could make him react this way, but it seems I was wrong. Or maybe this has been building up and building up for days, months or even years. Maybe it was always going to happen and I just didn't see it.
When I look at the screen I see District Twelve in their cave. Peeta is staring infatuatedly down at an unconscious Katniss, and her hand still bears the syringe she must have brought back for him from the feast. She got to save him. The Capitol let her save him in a way Gloss couldn't save Glimmer, in a way that neither of us could save Sapphire. Now I'm not surprised he has finally been pushed over the edge.
"Gloss, come away. Let's go. Please."
"I want to go home, Cash. Can we go home?" he asks, speaking in a barely audible whisper after what feels like all eternity. He still doesn't look away from the screen.
I roughly wipe the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand and take a deep breath. I have to be the strong one now. I have to be strong for him.
"Yes, Gloss. Come with me and we can go home," I tell him, reaching out and taking his hand.
I hate lying to him but I don't know what else to do. All I know is that we can't stay here so I try to pull him towards me. For a second he resists, but then his hand tightens around mine and he begins to follow me. He still doesn't say a word. I wish more than anything that I could take him to the station and put him on a train home.
As soon as I get through one set of glass doors with Gloss trailing behind me, I see that the usual crowd of Capitolians has swelled to at least twice the size it was when I left the room to speak to Tiberius. The second set of doors slides open and then I can hear them as well. The noise is almost deafening and they're virtually all talking about Katniss and Peeta. It looks like they want their star-crossed lovers back now that Clove is dead, and that all of their thoughts are for the usually forgotten coal district. I don't know why I'm still shocked, but I'm disgusted by how fickle they are.
Gloss jerks his hand from mine as soon as he hears them, retreating back inside the entranceway so quickly that I don't see him move. He stands in the corner furthest from the exit, his shaking arms crossed tightly across his chest like a shield. When I move quickly over to stand directly in front of him, he wraps his arms around me as well. His instinct is still to protect me even when he's as far gone as this, and that makes my tears start to fall all over again.
"Gloss, you want to get out of here, don't you?" I ask him when I've let him hold me for a couple of minutes. "I know you do so you have to listen to me. You have to let me go and we have to walk back to the Training Centre."
He still doesn't speak. The noise from the massive television on the wall next to us fills my ears as the commentator almost passing out with excitement when he describes Cato sprinting tirelessly into the grass fields. He's speculating about where the man from District Two's newfound energy is coming from and I'm shocked all over again. Surely it doesn't take more than one brain cell to see that he's out for revenge on Thresh because of Clove?
"Gloss, come on," I whisper, deciding I'm going to have to keep trying because it's only a matter of time before some of the Gamemakers decide to take a trip downstairs. If they do then they'll walk right into us and then they're sure to start asking questions. "We have to go now, Gloss. Come back to the Training Centre with me and we can call Satin. You can speak to Victory."
He says nothing but I feel his grip slacken ever so slightly at the mention of our sister and niece. It allows me enough space to pull away and look up at him, but when I see his glazed eyes and blank expression I begin to wish I hadn't.
"Satin's the mayor," I continue, sensing that talking about home is helping. "Even though she always said she didn't want to be. If we go back to Level One then you can ask her why she changed her mind."
"Victory was supposed to read the Treaty of Treason in front of everyone at her school," he whispers eventually. "She was telling me it's because she's the best at reading and she wanted me to go and watch. It'll be too late now."
"She's as modest as her mother," I reply, taking advantage of how his thoughts are distracting him and twisting away enough to be able to take his hand again and try to move back to the door. "Wait until she's fourteen or fifteen. Then she'll be a real nightmare. She'll be just like we were."
He almost smiles at that, but then he sees what I'm doing and stops following me.
"Gloss, look at me," I command, and this time he does. "We are going to walk out of here and down the path to the Training Centre. The reporters are going to shout questions at you and the cameras are going to flash but you're going to ignore them. Do you understand? Gloss, do you understand?"
He nods and I quickly realise that's as good as I'm going to get. I pull his hand again and this time he's a lot faster to follow me. The doors slide open and the buzz of the hundred conversations going on outside reaches us instantly. He links his arm through mine and strides forwards.
"I'm going to ignore them, Cash," he says quietly. "Pretend I'm home and not in the Capitol."
Something about the total hopelessness in his voice and the way it contradicts the seemingly positive way in which he strides out through the doors makes me cry yet again. The way I'm going it will be me the reporters will say is losing it instead of Gloss. When I glance up at him, his face is as set in stone as I've ever seen it. There is no emotion there at all and I suddenly find myself wishing we were back in the Control Room. I'd rather have anger and destruction than this empty nothingness.
As I thought he would be, Gloss was true to his word and kept his control all the way back to the Training Centre. I knew he'd do it. Broken though he is, I still doubt there are many people in Panem with as much willpower and self-control as my brother when he really puts his mind to it.
However the illusion drops as soon as we're inside and he comes to a sudden stop, seemingly unable to continue thinking clearly enough to keep following me. The entranceway isn't overly crowded but there are still people there, and virtually all of them are staring openly at us, their eyes full of almost morbid curiosity as they whisper to each other behind their hands as if they think that will stop me from noticing.
"We need to go upstairs," I say to him, turning my back on the onlookers and hoping they'll get bored.
I all but push him into the lift and sigh with relief when the doors finally slide closed behind us.
"Just sit down and rest for a minute," I say as I walk into the dining room on Level One and hope he follows me.
He does, and as he sits down he smiles slightly. For the first time since I saw him as he was in the Control Room, I truly start to believe I might be able to snap him out of it like I have in the past. Every time this has happened has been gradually worse, and I can't help thinking it's only a matter of time before he can't come back. However it seems that that time isn't now, and my heart lifts slightly at the thought as I flop down onto the sofa beside him. Then I hear the knock on the door.
"Ignore it," I say instantly, leaning into Gloss so he hopefully can't get up even if he wants to.
The knocking comes again, more insistent this time. I don't move. Neither does Gloss. The only person I'd want to see is Falco and he'd just walk straight in. Nobody else I know through the almost-rebellion would be stupid enough to come here, especially not in broad daylight when anyone could see them.
The knocking doesn't come again so I start to relax a little, turning to look up at Gloss and smiling when I see his eyes are slightly less glazed over than they were before. That's when I hear footsteps coming down the corridor.
The door opens at the same time as I jump to my feet and instinctively stand in front of Gloss, sensing that something isn't right. I immediately see my reflection in the mirror opposite and am startled to see the face of the girl I've been forced to watch on the Games replays so many times over the years staring back at me. This is the face of the Cashmere who went into the arena to fight for her life, the Cashmere I'd started to think was left behind for good.
Only Capitolians with real authority would walk in here uninvited and without maintaining the carefully preserved façade of politeness and respect that forms the basis for most meetings the people of the big city have with the Victors. Once again I can't fight the feeling that something isn't right and an uncontrollable fear suddenly fills me so completely that I can't think of anything else.
"Can I help you?" I ask the man who now stands in the doorway, hoping my voice doesn't shake too much.
He looks me up and down with an unreadable expression on his obviously surgically corrected and enhanced features. I do the same to him and recoil at both the sight of his spotless white coat and the appearance of at least two others behind him.
"It has come to my attention that your brother isn't feeling too well at the moment," he replies evenly as he peers around me to look at Gloss. I step to the side to block his view, wishing I was bigger so I could hide my brother entirely. "It is the president's own wish that we come here and escort him downstairs to the hospital so we can ensure there is nothing serious to worry about."
Downstairs? To the place where they bring the newly-crowned Victors when they leave the arena? What are they going to do to him there? Nothing good, of that I'm certain. It isn't something that's talked openly about, but in the seventy-four years of the Hunger Games there have been more than a couple of Victors who have been driven mad by the arena and what follows it. They were taken away by people like these, drugged and manipulated by them until they stay neatly where the Capitol wants them because little to nothing of their true self remains. I'll die before I let that happen to Gloss.
"That won't be necessary," I say, trying to keep my tone respectful. "As you can see, there is nothing wrong with Gloss at all. Is there, Gloss?" I continue, twisting around so I can look at him without relinquishing my position between him and the Capitolian.
My brother shakes his head but he doesn't speak, and I know it won't be nearly enough to convince this doctor or whatever he is to leave us alone.
"See," I say desperately, clinging on to the futile hope that he'll fall for it. "We wouldn't want to waste your time so we won't keep you any longer."
I can tell it hasn't worked when he takes a step closer so his companions can also join us in the dining room.
"I don't think that's your decision to make, Miss de Montfort," says the second man carefully, his words implying that they intend to remove Gloss to the hospital floor by force if there is no other way.
"He's my brother," I snap, abandoning all pretence of civility as they continue to move closer. I can now see the third Capitolian is a woman and that she has a syringe in her hand. "And if you want him then you're going to have to get through me first."
Gloss gets up when I say that but I push him back behind me, my fear making me feel stronger than I've felt since I was in the arena. It had been my fear that had given me strength back then as well, but this is much, much worse. This is Gloss, the brother who has been the other half of me for longer than I can remember, and nobody on Earth is going to take him from me. I curl my hand up to pull the thin piece of leather that straps my dagger to my arm, only vaguely thinking of the consequences and not having the slightest hint of a plan, when a movement I see out of the corner of my eye stops me.
"Cashmere, it would be my absolute pleasure. I've been hinting at it for years but you've always turned me down," purrs a very familiar voice from the doorway. "But that is not something the likes of you can hope to aspire to," she continues, her voice suddenly razor-sharp as she turns her attention to the three Capitolians.
I've never been as pleased to see Narissa Redsparrow as I am now, but the White Coats' expressions whizz from recognition to nervousness to outright fear in a split second. It makes me wonder why I've never thought to find out much about what she does when she's not planning a revolution or sleeping with my brother. There must be a reason why all three of them reacted that way.
"We are carrying out the instructions of our noble president," says the man who led them into the room earlier. He seems to be the bravest of the group. "All we wish to do is escort Mr de Montfort to the hospital."
"Then I quite understand why Miss de Montfort is so eager to voice her objections," she continues, matching his officious tone perfectly while her expression tells him she's mocking him. "Please leave," she adds lightly, stepping forward to pluck the syringe from the white-coated woman's hand.
"Have you any idea how valuable that is?" she stammers in response.
Narissa laughs. "Have you any idea how valuable I am?" she scoffs, once again proving her talent for mimicry. "See my personal assistant to claim the money back if you dare."
She turns to look at me for a second and then changes her focus to Gloss. Her eyes linger on him for a lot longer, but finally she walks towards us, brushing past me closely enough for me to smell her jasmine-scented perfume before stopping by my brother's side.
"Is there any reason for you to go to the hospital, Gloss?" she asks, her smile not extending to her deadly serious eyes.
"Not that I can see," says Gloss, echoing the formality in her voice perfectly. "Tell the president I thank him for his concern but also that there is nothing to worry about. I'm quite happy to stay here."
I have to force myself not to spin around so I can see him when I hear him say that. I find it almost impossible to believe the words were spoken by the same Gloss I had to gradually coax out of the Control Room less than an hour earlier. I scowl at the thought that he could do that for Narissa and not for me, but then I stop myself. It's easier for him to play his role with Narissa. She doesn't know who he really is so it's easier for him to maintain the act.
"See," crows Narissa triumphantly. "There's your answer. So please leave."
The White Coats don't have to be told twice, and they soon disappear as quickly as they arrived without saying another word. But I'm far too suspicious and know far too much about the Capitol to think we've heard the last of this.
"Don't glare so, Cashmere," says Narissa, reaching up to touch my forehead as if she's brushing my frown away. "One day you'll stick like it."
I instinctively jump away as if she'd scalded me with boiling water but then I smile slightly to apologise. She didn't have to help us then but she did, and I might not like her a lot of the time, but that doesn't mean I can't be grateful.
"Thank you," I whisper, speaking to her even as I turn to look at Gloss. "Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me. I did it for perfectly selfish reasons," she says as she smirks at Gloss before falling gracefully backwards onto the sofa and tapping the seat beside her.
He shakes his head at her and doesn't move. My eyes find his instantly.
"I'm sorry, Cash. I couldn't control it. It was like I was looking down on myself reacting like that and there was nothing I could do to stop it," he says, but when he continues his voice grows serious rather than apologetic. "But I saw you reach for your dagger. What were you going to do? You should never do that for me."
"Shut up, Gloss," I reply flatly, half serious and half playful and teasing. "You're my brother and I'd do the same all over again. I'll never let anyone take you from me."
He smiles almost sadly and sits down, pulling me with him so I'm on his one side and Narissa's on the other. The Capitolian woman shuffles around to lean back against the arm of the sofa, folding her legs neatly underneath her.
"Don't you remember what I told you?" she asks Gloss, uncurling a leg and nudging the outside of his thigh with the toe of a very pointed black boot. "This is the Capitol. You're only allowed to fall apart on the inside. At least pretend like you were listening or you'll hurt my ego terribly."
"I'm sure it's more than big enough to bear the pain," I reply, unable to resist.
She just laughs but then abruptly falls silent at the sound of footsteps as someone races down the corridor towards us. Seconds later the door flies open, slamming back against the wall with a deafening crash. Then Falco sees the three of us and he stops dead, his expression as close as he ever gets to visible confusion.
"I thought…"
"I got here first," says Narissa before he can finish, sounding far too smug for my liking. "And it's just as well I did, or your Butterfly would be in The Vault on a murder charge. Or worse."
"Don't call me Butterfly."
"A what? What are you talking about?"
Both Falco and I speak at exactly the same time, much to Narissa's amusement. She looks first at him and then at me, but her expression is considerably more serious when she finally looks back at him.
"They came to take Gloss away because of what happened in the Control Room," I say, speaking before she can. I know he'll know about what happened so I don't waste my time explaining. "I wasn't exactly going to stand here and let them."
He stares down at me, giving me the distinct impression that he'd be angry if he wasn't so worried.
"And have they dropped it now?"
"Of course," answers Narissa, her eyes following him as he sits down on the arm of the sofa next to me. "The whole Capitol's terrified of little old me."
Gloss rolls his eyes in response, and once again I'm shocked by how relaxed he is in her presence. Whether it's that which makes me feel more at ease, or if it's just Falco and the knowledge I'll soon be allowed to go home, I'm not sure, but something loosens my tongue enough to make my curiosity get the better of me.
"Are you two friends again?" I ask, knowing that the only person my meaning will be lost on is my brother.
"We're starting to get along," replies Falco, giving up on the arm of the sofa and pulling one of the other chairs across. "Maybe we can work together after all."
"Only if you admit you were wrong," says Narissa cryptically.
"I'm still not convinced I am wrong."
"You shouldn't believe everything people tell you."
"'Rissa," he growls warningly. "I think you know me well enough to know I don't do that."
"What are you talking about?" interrupts Gloss suddenly, starting to return to being the brother I know and love now he's away from the eyes and ears of the Capitol and the images of the arena. I'm just surprised he's remained silent and let them talk for as long as he has.
"Nothing," replies Narissa airily. "Falco and I had a bit of a disagreement, that's all. And now I have to go."
"Go where?"
"That's for me to know and you not to," she tells him teasingly before she springs lightly to her feet and almost dances from the room.
"I'd hate her but she really helped us then," I say to Falco before turning to Gloss. "What do you want to do now?"
"Stay here," he replies. "I know I should face them all so they know I haven't lost the plot entirely, but I don't want to."
"You'll have to soon," says Falco. "Both of you. You know the way the game works."
"Not right now," I say. "Maybe this evening or tomorrow. Gloss, you should go and get some sleep. You'll feel better if you do."
Surprisingly he nods and does as I say, and it's only when he's left the room that I realise he's probably only gone so Falco and I can have a couple of minutes alone. There's no way his seemingly ceaseless nightmares will let him sleep so that must be the reason.
"Did you really…resolve your difference of opinion with Narissa?"
"With her but not with what she thinks. She won't change her mind and neither will those who agree with her."
"But it's so stupid," I tell him, really struggling not to say anything that might reveal what we're actually talking about just in case there is someone listening in. "I told you before, fighting amongst yourselves gets you nowhere."
"When neither side will yield, there is little alternative," he replies, reaching across to take one of my hands in both of his. "But we'll get there in the end. I promised you that years ago and I meant it."
I sigh deeply. "I believed you then and I believe you now, but sometimes it's hard to see how it will ever happen."
"It will. I promise. I don't know how or when, but it will."
I say nothing in response, choosing instead to sit there and stare at our linked hands as they rest on the arm of my chair. We're still in the same position when Gloss reappears some time later, and neither of us move when he curls up next to me because his nightmares haunt him too much for him to sleep alone.
Just as Falco predicted, we're left in peace for less than a day before the message arrives, politely suggesting to Gloss that he should consider doing an interview so the people of the Capitol can see for themselves that he is well. It's stamped with the president's seal and neither of us even consider ignoring it. It isn't worth it when we were expecting it anyway.
Narissa arrives to reinforce the message about an hour later but she vanishes soon after, leaving Gloss and I alone once more. He looks anxious and exhausted as he shakes his head and tells me he doesn't want to keep doing this, but when he returns in clean clothes with his hair slightly damp from his shower, he has that determined look in his eyes that I love so much back. He walks over and kisses the top of my head before leaving as quickly as Narissa did. This is the Capitol, so there's nothing I can do but sit here and watch him go.
District One might be out of the Games this year, but we are still one of the most popular districts so Gloss's interview is broadcast to the entire nation on one of the main television channels. When I watch him I'm sitting on the edge of my seat, my hands clenched in tight fists as I will him to get through it and wish I could be there in his place.
I can tell just by looking at him that there's something wrong, but he's a son of District One and that means he's been acting all his life. He answers some questions and neatly deflects others, staring directly into the camera the whole time. I might see the signs of his nervousness, how he rubs his left forefinger and thumb together and taps his right heel against the step behind where he's standing, but I sincerely doubt many others will. To everyone else he will look calm and in control and that is all that matters.
They don't see him race back to the Level One dining room and throw himself into my arms. They don't see how tightly I cling to him as I attempt to stop his whole body from shaking.
I'm terrified by the time Falco brings the morning newspapers, imagining all sorts of increasingly terrifying scenarios, but when I see the headlines I quickly realise Gloss did enough. There are no reporters eager to tell their readers that Gloss de Montfort had a breakdown in the Control Room or that he still didn't look well when he gave an interview. In fact they are all far too preoccupied by the Girl on Fire and her Lover Boy to mention my brother at all. For the first time ever I'm almost grateful to the pair of not-so-star-crossed lovers for causing such a distraction.
"Butterfly, you really should go out," says Falco, speaking quietly so Gloss won't hear. "You could go and see Felix."
"Does Felix want to see me?" I ask, smiling at the thought of how successful the man I still think of as my stylist has become over the years. "Am I worthy of an audience with the Great One?"
Falco laughs and I can't help laughing with him. "He said to tell you he'd have come here if he wasn't so busy with his work. He asked me to ask you if you'd help him promote his new collection but I think he only said that because he wants to see you."
I smile at the thought of seeing Felix and my former prep team again but at the same time I know I can't. Not until the Games is over and we've taken Glimmer and Marvel back home. It wouldn't be right. And besides, I don't want to leave Gloss for any longer than I have to.
The following day Narissa appears again, something that has become such a frequent occurrence that I almost get the impression she's trying to hide from something. If I thought for one second that she'd tell me what then I'd ask her, but I know I'd be wasting my time so instead I tell Gloss to ask her and decide I can interrogate him later. Then I immediately take it back when I realise it could be something to do with the rebellion and decide to ask Falco instead.
"I'm going out," I announce, not feeling quite up to verbal sparring with Narissa this morning.
"Where?" asks Gloss, looking so concerned that I almost change my mind and sit back down.
"For a walk," I reply, teasing him by repeating the response he usually gives me when I ask him that question. "I want some fresh air and I have to face the vultures at some point," I continue, also borrowing his incredibly unflattering but rather appropriate nickname for the Capitolian reporters. "I might as well do both at the same time."
"Be careful."
"I'll be fine," I tell him with a smile that broadens when he immediately returns it in a way that makes me believe today might be one of his good days.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," says Narissa as she takes one of the mugs from the sideboard and puts it by the coffee machine.
"I think I'll be safer if I stick to 'Don't do anything you would do," I retort, and her laughter follows me all the way down the corridor.
I had no real idea where I was going to go once I'd spoken as briefly as I could to the reporters gathered at the Training Centre entrance, but I soon find myself heading towards the Control Room building and I don't stop myself. I need to know when the Games end because when they do, Gloss and I can go home. And besides, Cato has been pursuing Thresh through the grass fields in search of vengeance since the day Clove died. Part of me wants to see what happens when they finally meet, and not for the first time, my curiosity gets the better of me.
"What are you doing back here, de Montfort?" calls Augustus as soon as I set foot inside the main Control Room. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"
"Apparently not," I reply as I cross the room and sit down in the chair that had been Falco's when we'd all been here still fighting.
Augustus quickly turns his attention back to the two tributes who are continuing to battle with both each other and the rain, so I look in the opposite direction and my eyes fall on a very tired-looking Marcus Arrowsmith. That's when I remember that his Lysandra, the girl who Katniss Everdeen aptly calls Foxface, the girl who is now famous across all of Panem for walking through the minefield, is still alive.
"Have you left this room since the starting gong rang?" I ask him, not unkindly.
"Only when I have to," he replies. "If this carries on then they'll end up killing each other. Then maybe she's got a chance."
"Maybe she has," I say, surprised to find I agree with him.
Lysandra Newton didn't look like she'd survive the first day of the Games when she was reaped and she looks even worse now, but she has such intelligence that it makes up for her physical weakness. Her mentor saw something in her right from the beginning and it seems now that he was right to. Especially if Thresh and Cato do actually fight to the death of them both and the only remaining tributes left for her to outwit are Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. Other than Lysandra herself, the true brains of the arena this year died with Clove. If Thresh and Cato die then she really has got every chance.
I look back up at the big screen then, watching the two tributes driving each other backwards and forwards through the mud and rain. Thresh is strong and is almost holding his own despite his lack of skill and training. My first thought is that Glimmer would be impressed if she could see him now, but I quickly push it away to the back of my mind, especially when I realise I don't think he's going to win. He never will. Not against Cato.
The man from District Two fights like he's possessed. Since the day of the feast he has been a man possessed. A man possessed by all-consuming grief that appears to be the only thing he seems neither able nor willing to fight.
The battle rages on and on but I can only see one possible outcome. Imagining the time when Thresh finally falls makes me think of Glimmer again. I picture her reaction and the pain she'd surely have felt at his death and I have to look away from the screen.
"I thought I'd find you here," says a soft voice behind me, and I turn to see Falco there, staring down at me with that very familiar concerned look in his eyes.
"I had nowhere else to go," I whisper. "Can you stay?" I continue, speaking even more quietly this time.
"You're in my chair," he says flatly.
"Use mine," I reply, smiling despite everything when he does.
"I told you three days ago that you would regret killing her. Are you sorry yet, District 11?" roars Cato, his voice suddenly filling the room as he shouts above the noise of the rain.
"This is the Hunger Games, Career. You of all people should know the rules," retorts Thresh, his spirit clearly no more broken than his body. For perhaps the first time I see why Glimmer was drawn to him.
"There can only be one end to this," growls Cato as he charges forwards once more, sending his opponent reeling back.
"All of this is for Clove," I say, again speaking quietly so Vikus and Augustus can't hear.
"Of course it is. Because he loved her," Falco replies, his eyes never leaving the two tributes on the screen.
I gasp when Cato slips in the mud and loses his balance, his sword flying out of his hand. Thresh brings his own sword flying up towards his opponent's throat and suddenly the room is so silent it's like everyone has even stopped breathing. At that moment I don't know who I want to live and who I want to die. Perhaps it's because I want them both to live, despite how I suspect one of them would most likely choose to die if the circumstances were different, if he had not promised his girl that he would win.
Somehow Cato manages to move out of reach and Thresh's blade catches on the fabric of his shirt instead of sinking into his skin. I feel a lump form in my throat and my breath catches when the camera zooms in on the token around his neck that bears Clove's name, but Augustus only cries out for Cato to pick up his sword and start fighting again. Vikus remains silent and still, his face giving away no hint of what he's feeling inside. If indeed he feels anything, which is something I find more difficult to believe than I would with virtually anyone else.
Then the next second it's over. Three long days of almost ceaseless battle is over when Cato takes advantage of how Thresh is momentarily distracted by the idea of the victory he obviously thought was his by pulling a knife from his belt and driving it into the other man's heart. Just like I did to Dahlia.
I try to get up but I suddenly can't breathe. The walls of the room seem to turn grey and close in on me. When I shut my eyes I can almost hear the water trickling slowly and noisily down them. I push back on my chair but something pulls me back. Falco.
"Open your eyes, Cashmere," he commands firmly. "Look at me."
I do as he says and when I look up at his face I begin to calm down. A short time later I've pulled myself together enough to look around the room, hoping that people won't be staring at me. Thresh deserves more than that. He deserves a death that people acknowledge and mourn, even if it is only for a short time and only from the Control Room.
"I almost lost you again," whispers Falco, his voice totally different to how it had been only seconds before.
"He killed him like I killed Dahlia."
"I know. I don't know what to say to you but I know."
"He didn't deserve to die," I whisper, and though my voice is barely audible, Falco hushes me immediately.
"Don't say things like that," he hisses. "Especially not in here."
"It's true," I reply.
He doesn't say anything and gets up, pushing his chair neatly under the desk before striding towards the glass doors. I follow him without hesitation, not wanting to witness Chaff and Seeder's grief and disappointment or Vikus's arrogant satisfaction. Ursala said once that District Two's most famous Victor should watch his back if Cato ever wears the Hunger Games crown, and when I see the smug look in his eyes, I find myself hoping the blue-eyed man wins and that my friend was right. I don't know Vikus, but I've seen and heard enough to know that he'd deserve whatever fate was awaiting him.
"Falco, are you mad at me?" I ask when I finally catch up with him on the pathway that leads back to the Training Centre.
"I'm not mad at you, I'm scared for you. You shouldn't speak like that where people can hear you, you know that."
"It isn't fair," I reply, hating how child-like I sound. "I want to go home."
"I know you do, and you can. The Games will be over very soon."
"I'm sorry. I just…"
"I know," he replies, speaking for me when I can't find words. "But you have to be so careful."
"And so do you. Where are you going?"
"How do you know I'm going anywhere?"
"You've got that 'going to a meeting' expression," I reply flatly at the same time as trying to stop myself from laughing. Not for the first time I wonder what it is about being here that makes my emotions so changeable.
"I have that what?"
"You heard," I reply. "And I was hoping you wouldn't have to go."
He simply looks at me, his raised eyebrows telling me all I need to know about what he's thinking.
"I didn't mean it like that," I say, speaking as loudly as I dare when we're standing mere metres away from the City Circle.
"That's a pity," he replies.
"Does that mean you're not mad at me?"
"No," he says with a smirk, already turning to walk away. "I can think what I was thinking and still be mad at you."
I try to scowl at him but it doesn't work because I end up laughing at the same time, so I swiftly head back towards the Training Centre. Someone might see us so it doesn't do to look too relaxed. My only problem is that it constantly seems to be getting harder and harder to remember that sometimes.
"I'm sure you're not supposed to be here," I observe when I walk into the dining room to find Narissa on one of the armchairs, curled up like a highly over-pampered house cat.
"There's no law that says I can't be," she replies lazily, lifting her arms above her head and stretching in a way that only enhances the previous comparison I made.
"Don't you have a party to go to? Some politicians to manipulate? Business people to cheat? You must have at least one of your usual pastimes to keep you occupied…"
She laughs. "You missed a pastime off your list," she says lightly, looking over my shoulder at the same time as I sense Gloss appear in the doorway behind me. "I chose that one."
I hiss in disgust and glare at her before turning back to look at Gloss.
"You went to the Control Room, didn't you?" he says, phrasing his words like a question even though I can tell he already knows the answer.
"Thresh is dead."
"I know. He died when he smashed that rock against the girl's head. Just like Marvel died when he stuck that little District Eleven."
I nod when he says that, temporarily forgetting Narissa's presence. The amount of tributes seeking revenge in this arena is one of the things that makes it unusual, however in many ways it is like all those which came before it.
The Hunger Games is always cruel, barbaric and painful to watch, but that's part of what has kept the majority of the Capitol's population entranced for so many years. No matter what happens they always want to see what will happen next, and even those in the districts aren't immune to that feeling. I know because I feel it too. I don't want to look but at the same time I can't look away, and that is why I'm still watching the television screen nearly two days later as Cato edges ever closer to death.
I had to leave the room when the Gamemakers' muttations dragged him into the Cornucopia as something told me they wouldn't give him the mercy of a quick end, and that was many hours ago. Now I've returned, all I can hear is the faint echo of his pain-filled cries as they refuse to let his torment end.
When the girl from District Twelve finally leans down over the edge of the Cornucopia to end Cato's suffering, I suspect he's long since lost his mind and doesn't even see her. His last word before she fires her arrow is an uncharacteristic and barely audible 'please', but the name that was his penultimate word wasn't Katniss. It was Clove.
And when that final cannon fires, it leaves the pair from District Twelve as the last two tributes standing. The Victors, if the rule change is to be believed, but as they slowly slide down the side of the Cornucopia and struggle towards the lake without the trumpets sounding for the end of the Games, I can tell something isn't right.
Peeta Mellark can hardly move, and he's losing so much blood that I don't think he'll last much longer despite his district partner's clumsy but not altogether unsuccessful attempts to help him. A couple of people have speculated that he deliberately poisoned Lysandra by leaving out the nightlock berries for her to find, but I think that's rubbish. She'd never have been that stupid and he'd never have been that intelligent. If I hadn't seen the look in Marcus Arrowsmith's eyes when his tribute girl died then I'd have thought no more about it, but what I saw told me there was more to what happened than first met the eye. However I said nothing and I never will. If the girl chose the only freedom she was ever likely to get then I'd never be the one to make those she loved suffer for it.
They get to the lake eventually and the hovercraft arrives to take Cato away. I can't bear to watch the blood running along the thin metal chain of Clove's district token as it hangs down below him, still around his neck despite everything the muttations did.
When I look back at Katniss I can tell by the look in her eyes that she thinks that's it, that she thinks moving away from the Cornucopia was all they had to do to end this. However I've known the ways of the Capitol for a lot longer than she has, so I'm almost expecting Claudius Templesmith's announcement when it comes. It's no surprise to me that they're going back on their word and have now decided there can only be one winner after all.
I look at each of the others in turn, seeing shock on Narissa's face for the first time in my memory and something that looks like acceptance on Falco's. He wasn't surprised by the announcement either. When I look at Gloss he's looking back at me, torn between confusion and what could almost be relief.
"They don't deserve a rule change just for them," he says as we both turn back to the screen to see Katniss and Peeta arguing over who is going to live and who is going to die.
When I see that they both want to be the one who dies, I feel a sympathy for them I haven't felt since Katniss volunteered to take her sister's place. Everything Katniss did in the arena, she did to save her own life. I can't blame her for that, and besides, I know how angry I'd be if I were to be watching Cato and Clove in the same position instead. I'd have wanted the both of them to live, and Katniss and Peeta are as much victims of the Capitol as us all. Maybe they both deserve to live too.
"They don't deserve to die either, Gloss," I whisper. "Not really."
"If they don't do something soon then the Gamemakers will force them to," says Falco, his expression still fixed in that way he has which tells me he's trying to stop his emotions from showing.
"What is she doing?" asks Narissa suddenly, pointing a perfectly-manicured finger at Katniss's image as the girl takes something from her belt.
"Trust me," she whispers to Peeta, pouring something from the pouch in her hand out onto his. "On the count of three," she continues as she does the same for herself.
"The count of three," he replies, kissing her softly. For once their feelings look genuine rather than forced.
Then they turn around to stand back to back, making all four of us lean closer to the screen.
"Hold them out. I want everyone to see," says Peeta, and then I realise what they're doing.
"Nightlock," I gasp as they begin their countdown. When Gloss grips my hand I know he's worked it out as well.
They put the berries in their mouths, but just as they do the trumpets sound and Claudius desperately calls for them to stop. He announces them as the joint Victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games as the whole country looks on in shock. None of us seems to be capable of saying a word until Narissa finally breaks the silence.
"Now that's probably the most interesting thing anyone from District Twelve has ever done."
My confidence levels are a little shaky this week so I'm not sure what I think about this one, but I guess you're the judges...
Let me know what you think and if you could give me your opinion on the following question as well then that would be fabulous: Do you think the mentors of the tributes who didn't win go home as soon as the Games finish or do you think they have to wait for the Victory Ceremony to finish? Thank you :)