Before I let you get on with the story I'd like to say thank you to reviewers old and new for leaving me the most reviews I've ever had for a single chapter in a one week - thank you, you're all fabulous and I hope you let me know what you think of this one too... :)
On with the arena then... I'm sure you'll all know where this fits in with canon when you've read this one ;)
Chapter Thirteen
It's quiet in here now the first battle is over. A lot of those whose tributes fell have left, perhaps because they feel unable to bear continuing to watch, or else simply because there's nothing more they can do and they know it. It's late now, well past dusk, and as I look around the massive room I notice that even some of the mentors whose tributes still live have gone.
The majority of them seem to work in shifts and watch both tributes in the absence of their partner, but I wouldn't dream of trusting Fortune with Gloss's life, not even for a second. Not that my fellow mentor is here for me to trust even if I wanted to. He disappeared almost as soon as the last tribute fled the Cornucopia and he didn't say when he'd return. Falco's gone as well. He left about an hour ago to attend a meeting, leaving me alone at the District One station. I wish he'd hurry up and come back.
I refocus my gaze onto the screen in front of me and realise this is how Gloss must be feeling too. Alone and cold and utterly bewildered by what he just lived through. I should know, because this time last year it was me who was next to the Cornucopia and I recall feeling all of those things.
The so-called 'Careers' are still by the golden horn, and Megaera and Nicon are still arguing over the division of the supplies, which is exactly what they've been doing for at least the past three hours. Theodorus paces around and around through the snow, pausing only to continue taunting Gloss, who seems to care nothing for his cruel and mocking words and actually gives no indication at all that he even hears him. My brother also ignores Pelagia, who sits a short distance away from him beside the small fire she managed to start by breaking up one of the crates she took from inside the Cornucopia and somehow setting it alight. She lets him share what little warmth it provides without comment.
Gloss stares unseeingly into the flames, his face totally expressionless, and I feel like I could cry just from looking at him. He's never been outgoing or loud, but he's always been so full of life in his own quiet way, and to look at him now…he looks dead inside. Without thinking I reach towards the screen, brushing the back of my hand across his cheek, which is flushed pink with the cold. I jump back when I feel the smooth, flat glass of the computer and then shake my head at myself in disgust at my reaction.
"Are you still with us, District One?" taunts Theodorus, making me jump again and jerk my head up so I can see him on the main wall-mounted screen. "If the sight of blood does this to you then maybe you don't have a place with us. I think you should kill the next one we find. That's if you're not too pathetic. You need to prove yourself to me, District One, or I'll have to add your name to my kill list a bit earlier than I thought."
I hiss at the screen in impotent fury, gripping the control panel so hard that my hand starts shaking, but Gloss still doesn't react. He doesn't even blink, he just sits there shivering. This can't carry on. I'm his mentor, I have to do something. I wish that I could talk to him, that I could say something to make him snap out of whatever nightmare is holding him in it's grasp so he can come back to himself and fight for his life, but I know it's impossible and it would never be allowed. There must be something I can do.
I reach for the screen again just as the glass doors slide open and Falco strides across the room towards me. By the time he sits down in Fortune's chair as if it's his own, I'm frantically pushing buttons on the computer and hoping I remember how to do this properly.
"What are you doing?"
"Seeing if Miss Capitol Beauty's given my brother enough money for me to send him a decent coat."
He raises his eyebrows disapprovingly at my mocking nickname for his friend but he says nothing and reaches across me to push a few more buttons on the screen. I watch his movements closely, trying to memorise exactly what he did.
"If you're going to get him one then I'd do it now. Before the prices go up too much."
I nod grimly. "I have to do something. He looks like he's given up."
I sigh deeply and search through the list of available gifts, selecting the best coat I can realistically afford and then dragging the picture of it across the screen so it rests over Gloss's photo. The cost is deducted from our total instantly, and seconds later I hear Pelagia shout as she sees the parachute. Not for the first time I find myself wishing I understood how the Gamemakers make everything happen so quickly.
The parcel lands very precisely onto Gloss's lap and immediately tumbles to the floor when he doesn't respond.
"Please, Gloss," I whisper, leaning forwards to get closer to the screen even though the logical part of my mind knows he will never hear me. "Open it. You have to open it."
I can see the other tributes staring at the silver parachute and exchanging glances, and it takes Theodorus stepping towards it to make my brother reach down and grab it before ripping off the packaging. He unfolds the coat and puts it on straight away, staring down at it for several minutes as if struggling to accept that he has it.
"Thanks, Cash," he says, somehow managing to look directly into a camera. He smiles slightly for the first time since the Games started.
"You're welcome, little brother," I reply quietly, speaking just as the cannons start to fire.
They fired ten cannons following the first battle of the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games, and despite the needless deaths, in a way I was and still am relieved. Ten will be seen as neither too many nor too few by the Capitol audience, and therefore the Gamemakers will be unlikely to interfere. Gloss is suffering enough without them introducing yet another form of torment.
"Are you going to stay there for the entire duration of the Games?" asks a quiet voice, interrupting my sleep-deprived and increasingly jumbled thoughts.
"What's it to you?" I snap back without really looking to see who was speaking. When I see it's Beetee from District Three who stands there, staring down at me with his usual kind expression, I smile as much as I can and shrug my shoulders. "He needs me."
"He's doing well enough on his own. I'm sure he'd want you to get some rest."
I shrug my shoulders again and keep staring at the big wall-mounted screen in front of me. Gloss and his allies are sat around the fire they have only moved away from for their brief hunting expeditions, which have led to the firing of two cannons so far. Nearly three days have passed since the Games started and my brother's kill list is still empty.
"I won't leave him on his own," I tell Beetee firmly, watching as Theodorus and Nicon continue to snipe and jibe at Gloss, something they do all the more because he continues to ignore them completely.
"Is your brother deaf?" asks Mags, calling across the room. "You're not very alike, are you? Both of those boys would be dead if they spoke to you like that."
"They're not worth it and he knows that. He won't kill unless he has to."
"He'll have to soon," she replies ominously, her confident and knowing words a complete contrast to her age-withered appearance.
I say nothing and turn away, knowing deep down that she's right. It's only a matter of time.
"Cashmere?"
"What's happened? Where's Gloss?" I reply, sitting up instantly and frantically scanning the television screens that surround me. "How long have I been asleep?"
"It's okay," says Falco soothingly. "Nothing's happened. He's asleep. Look," he adds, pointing to my computer.
"I shouldn't have gone to sleep."
"You've barely left this room for three days. Even you have to sleep. Why don't you go? I'll stay here for a few hours. I'll tell you if anything happens."
"I'm not leaving," I reply immediately.
"Get some sleep, Cashmere. Please. You'll make yourself ill."
"I'm not leaving. Not while he's in that place."
"Then sleep there," he tells me resignedly, passing me his jacket after folding it up like a pillow.
I nod but I'm looking at the screen not at him, and he soon follows the direction of my concerned gaze.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't like that," I reply. "She's too close to him."
Even as I watch, Pelagia from District Four turns over in her sleep and shifts closer to Gloss under their shared blanket. They're so close that her tightly curled dark hair blows in the wind to cover his hand, but though he twitches in response, he doesn't wake and neither does she.
"I didn't like you and Rossetti but you knew what you were doing and I'm sure your brother knows too. But send him another blanket if it bothers you that much. He's a smart man, he'll work it out."
"It bothers me," I say flatly, reaching for the screen and pushing buttons.
Seconds later the parachute bearing the blanket lands on Gloss's head and he's on his feet instantly with fear in his eyes and his sword raised. I feel guilty for startling him like that but it doesn't last long because at the same time as he realises what woke him he also sees Pelagia. She wakes when he wraps the rest of his old blanket tightly around her before taking the new one and moving a short distance away, and for a brief second I can see the disappointment she feels written all over her face. When I look across at the District Four station I see that Mags looks disappointed too and that she isn't trying to hide it like her tribute is.
"My brother isn't Corvinus Rossetti, Mags. That plan won't work."
"You can't blame me," replies the old woman, shaking her head slightly. "It was worth a try, wasn't it?"
"I suppose it was," I say, somehow unable to speak to Pelagia's mentor with anything like my usual acidity.
"How many times will I have to say it, Cashmere? Go to sleep."
I turn back to Falco in response to his voice, thinking once again how odd it sounds to hear him call me by my proper name when he isn't annoyed at me. It's usually 'Butterfly' or nothing and I still can't get used to 'Cashmere'.
"I'll go and get you something to eat."
"If you leave and there's nobody watching Gloss then I'll never forgive you."
He holds up his hands in surrender. "Fine, I won't go anywhere. I'm sure Mags will be happy to keep an eye on me and make sure I keep my word while you sleep," he says, smiling in her direction.
I look from him to the woman from the fishing district, getting the impression that they aren't complete strangers to each other like I previously thought they were. Mags stares back at me, her hazel eyes twinkling with amusement, and when I return my attention to Falco, he smirks and turns to face the computer, refusing to say anything further.
When I wake up, stretching and reaching behind myself to rub my aching neck and shoulders, I see that my computer screen is focused on Gloss as he sits in front of the fire eating a packet of crackers.
"Where did he get the crackers from?" I ask Falco sleepily as I stretch again and wish we weren't in the middle of the Control Room so I didn't have to either sleep against a desk bent double in a chair or massage my own shoulders.
"I sent them," he replies, not turning to look at me. "He looked hungry."
I follow the direction of his gaze without saying anything in reply and quickly find that every single wall-mounted screen in the room is fixed upon a single tribute, who seems to be sheltering in a cave, clinging to his spear and muttering to himself in a voice so low that not even the Capitol technology can pick up his words properly.
Something about his cramped posture as he crouches on the floor and the way his eyes move rapidly but unseeingly from side to side tells me that he isn't quite sane. He reminds me a little of the girl from District Eleven who went mad when I was There and was eventually killed by the muttations, only this man isn't a weak and frightened little girl, he is a grown man who holds that spear in a way that makes him look like he knows how to use it. I shudder as his head jerks up as if he heard a cannon fire and he scans the cave entrance, his eyes wide. There was no sound, at least not anywhere but in his mind.
"Is that District Six?" I ask quietly and Falco nods in response.
I look anxiously at him and he looks back at me, neither of us speaking even though I know he's thinking the same thing. We know next to nothing about the boy. His reaping was unremarkable, he said very little in his interview and his mentor certainly isn't going to say a lot about him. He probably knows less than I do, which is a thought that's very easy to believe when I look across the room to see him slumped in his chair, his eyes half-closed and his face blank.
Morphling, that's what the gossips say, and I can believe it's the truth. Many victors turn to alcohol and drugs as a means of escape. It isn't talked about but it isn't unusual. Panem knows I thought about it myself, not because of the Games but because of what happened after. During the days that immediately followed that night I came to the city slightly more than two months ago I would have done anything to forget, so I can understand why that man whose name I can't even remember would seek out oblivion.
The cameras continue to divide their focus between the man from District Six and my brother and his allies, however nothing happens as the hours pass by. I'm grateful that it's the middle of the night because that means most of the Capitolians will either be asleep or out partying and therefore not sparing much of a thought for the Games. I somehow don't think District Six's ceaseless ramblings or Theodorus's continued attempts to provoke a reaction out of my brother would have kept the mob amused for long if it had been midday, and everyone knows what that would mean.
"What's your tribute got against my brother?" I snarl at Tiberius when he passes my desk on his way out of the room after swapping shifts with a very tired-looking Ursala.
"Does he need a reason?" he replies harshly, not pausing once.
"Theodorus has always been a bully, Cashmere," says Ursala quietly as soon as the doors slide shut behind her counterpart. "He keeps tormenting your brother because it drives him mad that he doesn't react."
"But why Gloss?" I ask, suspecting that I already know the answer to my own question.
"Nicon supports him so he isn't the victim himself. Theodorus knows that and likes it because it makes him feel powerful. He's grown up with Meg, so he knows better than to antagonise her. With Tiberius as his mentor, I'm sure it didn't take long for him to pick up his resentment of you and yours, so… But I have to admit that Tiberius has a point, District One," she continues in a very different tone of voice. "This is the Hunger Games. Does he need a reason?"
I shake my head and smile wryly, conceding that she's right at the same time as deciding that if it was me in that arena then either my cannon or Theodorus's would have fired by now. But my brother isn't like me. He doesn't react instinctively and immediately. He will take it and take it until he finally snaps, and I know it's only a matter of time before the man from Two finds that out. I just hope he's unprepared when it happens, because he is to Gloss what Dahlia was to me, and that means I wouldn't fancy my brother's chances in a fair fight.
There are no windows in this place, at least not ones that would let in genuine sunlight, so the only way I know the time is by looking at the clock above the door. As I look up, I see the young man from District Four whose name I can't remember striding across the room before attempting to order Mags to bed. Despite his increasingly forceful attempts, it's perfectly obvious who is in charge and I smile at the sight of them. Earlier on I'd asked the old woman why she didn't let her partner be the one to stay up all night after I'd heard him offer to on at least ten occasions. She'd grinned back at me and asked me what the point of that would be when she can never sleep at night anyway.
Then I turn away from the District Four station and back to Falco, and we talk in whispers about where we might go from here, about what Gloss's strategy should be and if it would be possible to communicate with him when we are here and he is in his version of There. All the time I'm conscious of what is happening around me, of who might be listening in and what they would overhear if they were. I'm careful to never say too much or be too obvious and Falco is the same.
That means I soon notice when the atmosphere in the room changes, and when I look up I immediately see why. The big screen in front of me and the vast majority of the others show that the man from District Six has left the shelter of his cave. He's clearly tracking someone through the snow, and judging by the way the cameras seems to flash to the small boy from District Nine with increasing frequency, I assume he must be the target.
It doesn't take long for the young man who can't possibly still be called a boy to catch up with the small tribute he's following, but he doesn't reveal his presence straight away like I thought he would. He simply sits there, crouched behind a massive pile of snow-covered rocks as the boy leans against another, shivering in the freezing evening air.
As I watch the man from District Six watching his oblivious prey, I initially think he's holding back because he doesn't want to kill, remembering how it felt to be a tribute and understanding all too well what he's going through. But then the camera zooms in on his face and I see the look in his eyes. He has the same expression he's had since the bloodbath, that expression which makes me think he's looking at things only he can see. He is still muttering to himself as he tightens his grip on the spear and stands upright, his eyes unblinking and suddenly never leaving the defenceless boy from District Nine.
The boy doesn't have time to plead for his life before his cannon fires, and even though I could see what was happening on the screen in front of me, I still jump at the sound. My eyes snap to my computer and I see the shock I feel reflected on Gloss's face. All of his allies look the same too, even Theodorus. They aren't used to this. They aren't expecting others to trigger cannon fire like that when they've grown up thinking that's their job.
"Is it me or did doing that seem worryingly easy for him?" asks Ursala, breaking the deafening silence that settled over the Control Room following the latest death.
"It isn't just you," I reply, "but it would be different if his opponent was able to fight back," I continue, trying to convince myself as much as my fellow victor.
"It's not like we'll get any information out of his mentor," says Falco darkly, and I follow his gaze until my eyes come to rest on the man rumoured to be addicted to morphling. As usual, his appearance does nothing to contradict the gossip.
Then the silence abruptly returns when everyone simultaneously turns in the direction of the District Nine station in response to the whimper that comes from the middle-aged woman who sits there. She doesn't seem to notice us as she can't take her eyes from the screen, and when I look up I see why. Instead of leaving the boy's body for the hovercraft to collect, the man from District Six begins to drag him along, back in the direction of his cave shelter. He quickly changes his mind and lifts the dead boy up, slinging him over his shoulder like a rag doll as he continues his journey. Nobody in the Control Room utters a sound.
"We'll be safe here," he says to the boy he places very carefully at the back of the cave. His voice is quiet but it somehow fills the entire room, and not for the first time I consider how the Gamemakers probably watch us mentors and our reactions almost as closely as they watch the tributes. "They won't be able to get us here."
"He's insane," I whisper, half-turning to Falco when he covers my hand with his own but remaining unable to tear my eyes from the horror playing before me.
"He didn't look totally stable before the Games started," he whispers back. "He certainly isn't now."
"Can't they send the hovercraft in?" asks the little boy's helpless mentor as District Six proceeds to remove everything from the pack his victim has been carrying and arrange it neatly before slowly returning it.
"They will," calls Falco when he realises he's the closest Capitolian and therefore the person her question was directed to. "I'm sure they will."
"If he'll let them," I say, staring in horror as Gloss's previously discounted rival attacks the metal claw which currently extends into the cave from the hovercraft, reaching for the fallen tribute.
This carries on for several minutes before the claw finally knocks the man from District Six to the ground and quickly removes the body of the boy he killed. Even as it leaves, he somehow drags himself to his feet and chases after it, flinging his spear with lethal accuracy so it bounces back off the hovercraft's protective force field and then skids along the floor back to him. I shudder as I imagine the effect that throw would have had if his target had been another tribute.
"He's strong but Gloss is stronger. You know that," says Falco, doing his usual trick of seeming to read my mind.
I look into his eyes but say nothing, abruptly remembering the girl from my district who won the Games ten years ago and knowing from what happened to her that his words aren't necessarily true.
I've seen a lot of pictures of Magnificence Goldsmith before, and the memory I have from my childhood of her pretty face underneath the Victor's crown has never left me, but that isn't the only thing I remember of her. I also remember peering over the garden wall of her house in the Victor's Village a couple of days after she returned from her Victory Tour and seeing a group of Peacekeepers carry out the bodies of their fallen colleagues before finally bringing out that of the girl who killed them.
There are very few people who know the truth about what happened that day, as obviously the Capitol covered it up to avoid a scandal, but I know because I was there, because I was eight years old and my father sent me to spy for him, thinking I would blend into the background and nobody would notice me. The official report said she died of a mysterious illness, however I don't believe that. I heard the officials who were there say that she went mad and took two Capitol-born people hostage before taking out at least six of the Peacekeepers who broke the door down and then killing herself. They said she was never right after returning from her tour, and knowing what I know now, I'm sure I can imagine why.
I had only been very young, but I remember that day and I remember that Maggie had been no bigger or stronger than I am now. She shouldn't have been able to kill six fully-trained Peacekeepers, but she did. Her madness made her ruthless and reckless and that made her strong, and now I worry that it will have the same effect on this tribute. My brother's natural instinct isn't to kill, and all I can do is desperately hope the man from Six won't get the better of him because of it if they meet.
Falco squeezes my hand under the table, but we both remain silent as we watch District Six race across the arena, looking almost as though he imagines himself chasing the hovercraft which has long since vanished. He doesn't stop until he almost trips over the girl from District Seven, and though she tries to flee, she stands no more of a chance than District Nine did. Her cannon fires and the entire Control Room stares wordlessly as he slings her body over his shoulder and the whole process begins again.
I look up at the far wall, the one which has massive illuminated photos of the surviving tributes and blacked out ones of those who have fallen, and after lingering on Gloss for a few seconds, my eyes find the image of the man from District Six. I can't fight the feeling that this previously unknown and unthought-of competitor will prove to be my brother's biggest threat, that this killer who is overlooked from the Control Room no longer should be the one they all fear. I stare at his photograph and the name below it, hoping that the man whose name is Titus appears on Gloss's kill list rather than the other way around.
"Only ten left," I say, mostly because it's the only thing I can think of to break the silence and breaking the silence is the only thing I can think of to stop myself from thinking about Titus.
"Nine more cannons and then Gloss can come home," replies Falco.
I can tell he's trying to make me feel better by telling me what I want to hear. He seems to have been doing that a lot lately. The more tired and stressed I get, the more he lies to me. He thinks I don't know what he's doing but I do.
I nod when I can't find the words to reply and scan the room for what must be the tenth time since the sun rose in the arena, which is no more than half an hour ago. Before the starting gong sounded seven days ago, this place was full of people and noise as all twenty-three mentors waited and hoped their tributes would survive the bloodbath, but now it's virtually empty.
Tiberius sits alone at his district's station, uncharacteristically subdued as he twists his former district token which he still wears around and around in his hands. I know staring at him is asking for trouble but I can't help it, and he looks up just as my eyes widen when I see there are two metal tags hanging from the thin silver chain around his neck rather than the usual one. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the onslaught of rage that is sure to hit me any second, but it doesn't come. He shakes his head and refocuses on the computer in front of him without speaking.
"Look," calls the man from District Four, interrupting my thoughts as he stands up and crosses the room to stand closer to the main screen.
I get up and follow him, quickly noticing that Wiress, Beetee's female counterpart from District Three, has done the same. When I see what attracted the attention of the man from the fishing district I immediately understand why. Wiress's tribute girl is currently racing through the deep snow as fast as she can, and behind her is my brother and all five of his allies.
"Faster," growls Theodorus, his voice seeming to travel through the speakers to fill the entire room. "Don't let her get away."
As I watch the District Three girl desperately running for her life, I already know what's going to happen. They will catch her and she will die. It is almost inevitable and all I seem to feel is surprise she's lasted this long. I can't help thinking that Dahlia would have put a knife in her by now if this had been last year's Games.
Forcing myself not to lean against Falco for support when he moves to stand beside me, I watch as Megaera surges ahead of the others, tackles their target and then crashes to the ground with her. I see the girl from District Two reach for the handle of the dagger that protrudes from her coat pocket but she doesn't get chance to use it before Theodorus lifts the girl up and away.
He pushes her to Nicon, who grasps her arms and pins them behind her back so she can't move. My heart sinks because I realise what's coming next before the man from District Two says anything.
"Go on then, District One," he snarls viciously. "Prove your worth. Kill her."
Gloss's eyes narrow as he looks at the struggling girl, and he stares at her for what feels like all eternity. She doesn't stop fighting to escape Nicon's grip, and because of that she suddenly reminds me sharply of Elsah, despite how much older, taller and resigned to her fate she seems.
"I don't have to prove myself to you, District Two," replies my brother, speaking with that annoyingly calm tone he always uses with me when I'm angry at him.
"I think you do," says Theodorus. "So kill her. Or I will," he continues, dragging the tip of his sword down the side of the girl's face. Her screams are deafeningly loud in the desolate arena.
Gloss draws his sword and I feel a silent tear slide down my cheek at the same time as I see how much his hand is shaking. The girl screams again as Theodorus repeats his action on her other side and out of the corner of my eye I see Wiress grasp the nearest desk to stop herself from falling down. I don't take my eyes from Gloss after that, honestly not knowing if his next move will be to kill the girl or to take his chances and try to take Theodorus down. Knowing my brother as I do, I would bet everything I own on the latter.
Then something flashes across the screen and the girl falls to the ground at the same time as Nicon cries out in pain and a cannon fires.
"What does it matter who kills her as long as she dies?" says Pelagia as she steps into view and drags her spear from the body of the dead girl. It takes her a couple of attempts, and I realise that's because she threw it so hard that the same spear is also what wounded her district partner when it passed straight through her original target.
"Are you starting something, Pela?" asks Nicon, half reaching for his sword as he confirms what I thought I saw.
"Not yet," she replies with a smirk, tossing her head so her dark-brown curls fly back over her shoulders. "Let's go. I'm not going to freeze to death out here arguing over who makes a kill. If you want to be that stupid then carry on, but don't expect me to join you."
She turns and walks away and I breathe a sigh of relief when Gloss follows her, walking slightly ahead of Nicon, who for once chooses his district partner over Theodorus. When Megaera and Diamond also leave him behind without a backward glance, even the man from Two's arrogance crumbles and he trails along a short distance after them.
"Allies?" whispers Pelagia to Gloss, leaning close to him so the others can't hear her words.
I desperately will him to say yes and to not try and go out on his own just yet. It's too early, especially with District Six being as he is.
"When it suits us both," replies Gloss immediately, making me have to work hard to conceal my relief from the other mentors.
"As long as he's alive, I think it suits," says Pelagia, so obviously talking about Theodorus that she doesn't have to look back.
"Good," I say, talking to Falco and not looking where I'm going as I start to walk back to our desk.
The person I walk into doesn't say a word even though I almost knock her down, and as soon as my eyes meet hers, I wish I'd just concentrated on avoiding her. Then I wouldn't have to think of something to say.
"I'm sorry," I whisper to Wiress.
"It's fine. It was always…"
"…going to happen," finishes Beetee sadly as he walks towards us.
I expect him to say something further, but all he does is put his arm around Wiress and lead her away in silence.
Almost as soon as the girl from District Three's cannon fires, my brother and his allies return to their fire, which is just about still burning despite the thick snow. I sit and watch them even though it's hard to make them out because of the swirling flakes that obscure the cameras. This won't last for long though. I know that because if I can't see what's going on then the Capitol audience won't be able to either, and that will never do. The complaints are probably flooding in already and the Gamemakers won't be able to ignore them for long.
They aren't doing very much but I watch them anyway, marvelling that there are so few left alive in the arena and every tribute in the traditional One, Two and Four alliance is still alive. It is so commonplace for someone from one of those districts to win that it's almost expected, however it is almost unheard of for them to get this far without the alliance breaking down and at least one or two of them losing their lives because of it. However despite that, they aren't like last year's Careers. There are no alliances like the one Corvinus and I had, or even any obvious loyalties between district partners like there was with Marcia and Octavian. The only reason they are still together is the freezing cold arena, which has so far stopped anyone from either challenging the others or going out alone.
"We've been here for over seven days now," says Pelagia shakily, her teeth chattering in a way that makes her words hard to hear. "There are only nine of us left."
"There'll be a victor soon, and I'm so looking forward to wearing that crown," replies Nicon, and not for the first time, I am undecided if his arrogance is genuine or deliberately put on.
"That's not going to happen," retorts Theodorus. I have no doubt about his arrogance. "It'll be me living the good life in the Capitol. It'd be worth winning this thing just to get near your sister, de Montfort," he continues, as unable to resist trying to wind Gloss up as ever and perhaps unwittingly choosing one of the very few subjects guaranteed to produce a reaction. Me.
"What's my sister got to do with this?" replies my brother, narrowing his eyes. I see his hands form tight fists despite the thick gloves he wears and realise I'm already subconsciously waiting for the fireworks to start.
However Theodorus smirks, seemingly either oblivious or indifferent to the unspoken threat contained within the response he just received. "Have you seen her?" he asks, addressing Nicon rather than Gloss. "She's so hot she only has to stand there to be asking for it. I think I'd like to see if she lives up to her name, and when I'm crowned the victor I'll make sure I do. Think about that when I kill you, de Montfort. Think about me and your beloved Cashmere."
I just hear Falco snarl at the screen in response to Theodorus's words before I cry out and fly to my feet when I see Gloss launch himself at the man from District Two. A cannon fires when my view is obscured by the fire and by the snowflakes which billow across the front of the cameras. I scream. Everyone stares at me as the sound echoes around the silence of the Control Room but I barely even see them. Was that cannon for Theodorus or Gloss? Does my brother live? I can't see. They have to do something. I can't see.
"It's alright, Butterfly," whispers Falco as he moves to stand behind me and places his hands lightly on my shoulders. "Look."
He releases me to point at the small black screen attached to the left of our computer, and the little machine suddenly beeps reassuringly back at me as if it knows I'm watching it. I hear Tiberius's shout of rage at the same time as the thin red line that traces Gloss's heart beat reappears and settles back into a steady rhythm.
The main television screen clears so abruptly that it was obviously a deliberate act by the Gamemakers, and I see my brother racing across the ice away from the others. Theodorus lies dead on the ground, blood seeping from the wound in his neck to colour the snow beneath him a bright scarlet red.
Thanks to BNTN for being my wonderful 'second opinion' :)