Author's Note—Thank you for the lovely response to Chapter 13. I did not have time to respond to reviews individually, as I used any spare time I had to work on this chapter and some of my other work, but I appreciate each one. One general response I can offer is that this story has a long way to go.
As always, all errors are mine, and I owe thanks to El for always planning with me and giving me feedback. ILY!
Happy Spring, everyone. Enjoy.
~*~Chapter 14—The Dinner~*~
From the moment I slip out of my room the next morning, bound for what is sure to be the first of many dreaded dancing lessons, evidence of the extensive preparations being made for this evening's dinner is everywhere. Maids polish balustrades, wax floors, and dust chandeliers. Guards mill about, though not aimlessly so; today there's a purpose to their strides and their scrutinizing expressions.
En route to one of the smaller ballrooms where the lesson is being held I pass the Grand Ballroom. The doors are wide open, and I can see servants towing massive urns of fresh floral arrangements in from a rear entrance. I get a glimpse of Queen Aster, still the very picture of poise as she directs the servants to their various tasks. When she catches me staring, I startle but drop a slight curtsy. Her expression is impassive and she shows no reaction at all as she looks away and barks another order at a maid. I purse my lips and continue on my way.
I'm among the first girls to arrive in the ballroom. I don't see any friendly faces amongst those who have congregated, so I move off to the side of the room by myself and study a painting on the wall. It's a stunning facsimile of the Capitol at night, but it's so incredibly lifelike that the lights seem to flicker and dance before my eyes. The artist's attention to detail is meticulous.
Loud clapping calls my attention away from the painting, signaling the beginning of our lesson. When I see the women standing in the front of the ballroom, I'm dismayed to discover District 1 and 2's escorts are conducting the lesson together. I had already formed a less than favorable opinion of District 1's escort, Lucretia, during our conduct lesson, but District 2's escort Veronique is worse, if that's possible. She speaks in a high nasally voice that drips with condescension and she only makes eye contact with the girls from her district. Gale would label her a bitch within two seconds of laying eyes on her, and I have to concur that this is one time that the label would be appropriate.
The first half of the lesson is not so much a lesson as it is an observation. First, we are forced to view a lengthy film that nearly puts me to sleep with its laborious history of ballroom dancing. I struggle to pay attention and it's only because I can't rule out some kind of a follow-up test, like the table setting one, that I try my best do so. A second film demonstrating proper etiquette with your dance partner follows. It also emphasizes basic positioning and footwork. When this snooze fest of a film concludes, the screen goes dark.
"Good morning, ladies," a familiar voice calls from the rear of the ballroom. Girls straighten up and we all turn to face the doorway. Prince Peeta stands there, wearing his usual dazzling smile. Haymitch is with him. They both step aside and immediately a long line of men files into the ballroom. Most are handsome, some strikingly so, though none more so than Peeta. My initial thought is that they're guards, judging by their stiff movements, but they don't look much the ones that I'm accustomed to seeing around the palace. For one thing, they're all a lot younger. Some don't look much older than the prince. They're also not dressed in the same attire the palace guards wear. These men wear plain grey uniforms unadorned by any braiding or accents or medals.
"Haymitch and I cannot stay long, but I wanted to be present to introduce you to your dance partners. These men are the newest recruits to Panem's military and they generously volunteered their time to assist you with your dancing lessons."
"Yes, apparently it's a far more pleasant way to pass the morning than drills and exercises," Haymitch adds with a smirk. Peeta, too, grins as he looks from us to the guards.
"I trust that these men will be suitable partners for you. After all, ballroom dancing largely entails following some simple steps and keeping pace with the music, not much of a stretch from marching and maneuvers. And they will also be perfect gentlemen, won't you?" There's an authoritative edge as he tacks on that last part.
"Yes, Your Highness," they echo.
"Excellent. Well, then, ladies, let us get you paired off with your partners."
Peeta explains the guards have been randomly assigned to each one of us. When our assigned partner calls our name we are to step forward, curtsy, and follow our partner to a designated area on the dance floor. No surprise, Glimmer's name is called first, and by the time my name is announced, only Madge and I remain. Likewise, there are only two guards left. One is slightly taller than the other, but they both have sandy blonde hair and the hint of a beard shadowing their chins. They look a lot alike, actually.
"Lady Katniss," the taller of the two men calls. Obediently, I curtsy and join my partner in the last of the two spots on the floor.
"I'm Castor," he says, lifting my hand to his lips.
"Katniss," I reply, immediately feeling foolish. Of course he knows my name. But he doesn't seem to notice, as he's not looking at me. His blue eyes are trained over my shoulder, where the last guard is leading Madge to the empty spot to our left, though I don't think her name was called. Castor watches the pair of them, looking almost concerned as he does so.
"Is something wrong?" I ask.
"That's my brother," Castor says.
"I thought you looked alike," I say, mildly satisfied with myself for seeing the resemblance. I glance over at Castor's brother. The similarities are even more pronounced now that I know they're related.
He nods. "But he's…ah…shy. I just hope he's okay with all of this."
"If he's shy, why did he join the military?" Castor's expression doesn't hide his surprise at my forwardness. His eyes shift back to mine and he blinks.
"He's very smart," he replies. There's something in his tone that makes me bite back my follow-up question. I won't pry. I consider the likelihood that Castor and Pollux might be from an outlying district like mine. If they are, it's possible that joining the military gives them more of an opportunity than anything they could have hoped for at home.
Just as I'm about to ask him where he's from, the music starts. Castor clasps my hand in his and settles his other hand on my waist and I falter for a moment before placing my free hand on his shoulder. I cut my eyes back to the front of the room just in time to see Peeta and Haymitch make their exits. Peeta pauses in the doorway and his gaze finds me instantly. He watches me, until Haymitch nudges him and the two of them vanish from sight, the doors closing behind them.
The first dance is a basic waltz. Lucretia stands in the front of the room, counting out the steps we should be taking, while Veronique circulates among the dancing couples, loudly showering praise on her girls and lashing out at the rest of us with harsh criticism.
"Stand up straight," she snaps at Foxface. "You look like a rag doll hanging there in his arms." She crosses to Delly and sneers, "You move as if you have lead inside your shoes. Perhaps if you weren't carrying so much weight you'd be more graceful. You might want to pass on dessert from time to time, Lady Delilah."
If she's humiliated by Veronique's cruelty—and I can't imagine that she isn't—Delly hides her mortification well. Despite the snickers coming from Glimmer and Cashmere and Clove, Delly gives Veronique her usual sunny smile and keeps dancing, her lips moving as she counts silently. My heart clenches with sympathy. Sure, Delly may be a little heavier than the other girls here, but her curves are coveted back at home, where hunger is often the sole culprit for girls' modest breasts and hips. Not that I'd expect someone like Veronique to understand this. Her chest appears to have been inflated with an air pump, and with her tiny waist, her boobs look even more ridiculous.
As Veronique approaches me, I look directly into her Capitol-enhanced violet eyes, daring her to find something to condemn me for. I may not be a dancer, but I can be light on my feet when I need to—a skill I've acquired from years of traipsing around the woods hunting. Her gaze darts between Castor and me, her plum-colored lips twisting, before it lands on me again.
"You might try smiling, 12," she says, then struts off to her next victim.
"What a bitch," Castor mutters under his breath. His eyes flicker up to mine instantly, rounding in apology and I can sense his trepidation that he's overstepped his bounds by not only insulting her but by swearing in my presence.
"I was thinking the same thing," I whisper, grinning at him. He flashes me a relieved smile in reply, and we resume our counting and stepping.
"What? What's wrong?" I ask, catching Effie's critical glare in the mirror. She tilts her head and shakes it vehemently.
"I don't know why you had to put her in orange again, Cinna," she huffs. Cinna finishes fastening the hook at the top of my gown and then adjusts where it hits just below my shoulder blades. He steps back and motions for me to turn around. Obediently, I face him. He grins at me and nods.
"It suits her. With her complexion, she can pull off anything, truly."
"Well, I love it," I pipe up, smoothing my hand down the bodice. I don't know what Effie has against the color, but calling it orange doesn't do the gorgeous soft tone of the dress justice. It's similar in hue to what I wore the night of our first interviews with Caesar, but this dress is distinctly different from that one. This is more of a ball gown, fuller in the skirt, with yards of fabric billowing from the fitted waist. The bodice is incredibly tight, so much so that I can scarcely breathe, and each time I look down the sight of my cleavage gives me pause.
"I might have other reasons for selecting this color for you, Lady Katniss," Cinna adds, his amber eyes gleaming.
"Like what?" I ask, pivoting to the side. His lips tip up in a faint smile, but he doesn't answer me. Instead, he produces a hand-held mirror and angles it to allow me to get a good look at the back of the gown. I gasp. It looks as if I've been laced into the dress, with ribbons crisscrossing to my waist like a corset, but the elaborately detailed paneling hides the zipper that I felt him slide up a few moments ago.
"Cinna, you are a genius," I breathe, grinning at my reflection.
"Final touch." He tucks a jeweled clip into the base of the knot that Venia gathered my hair into at the nape of my neck. I had put up a weak argument against the intricate bun, but Venia had argued that the ballroom would get hot, and Flavius had said I'd thank them later for the decision not to leave my long hair down.
"You do look lovely," Effie concurs, stepping forward to arrange the simple solitaire pendant Cinna had draped around my neck. She nestles the diamond into the hollow of my throat and then bobs her head in approval. "There. Perfect. Just perfect." She claps her hands together and fixes me with a serious gaze. "Now, Katniss, you remember everything that we discussed this afternoon, yes?"
After our dancing lesson had concluded, Effie had corralled Delly, Madge, and me into Madge's room. She had then proceeded to spend the better part of an hour reiterating what a big deal this dinner was going to be, and how we should seize any opportunity to make ourselves visible and gain favor with the guests. Everything she had said, however, contradicted what I had gleaned about the dinner from my conversation with Peeta. He had specifically told me that this dinner was more about politics than it was about the Reaping or us girls. I couldn't very well have challenged Effie's instructions, not without admitting to Delly or Madge that Peeta had been in my room last night. And so I had listened politely while making my own pledge to be seen and not heard and to only interact with the guests who approached me first.
"I remember," I reply.
"Good." She beams. "Tonight is a golden opportunity for you to prove to a lot of very important people that you aren't some simple girl from 12, not anymore. You've barely been here a week and look at you! Show them you belong here."
I manage a weak smile at Effie's misguided praise, but her words trigger an unpleasant sensation that crawls through me. I draw a deep breath, ignoring the pinch against my rib cage, and try to push away the feeling. Fortunately, at that moment, the orb chirps and Claudius's voice announces that we are to report to the Grand Ballroom immediately.
Effie squeals. "This is it!" I exhale slowly and turn to Cinna for one last once-over. His familiar warm smile calms me instantly, and he grasps my shoulders lightly.
"Be yourself," he says softly. I press my lips together, careful not to smear my lipstick, and nod.
"Let's go!" Effie enthuses. She touches my elbow and guides me away from the vanity. She wriggles her fingers at Cinna. As we step out into the hallway, Lavinia curtsies and breezes past me into the room to tidy up the mess that my prep team has made. Across the hall, I see Annie's maid waiting to go into her room.
"You look stunning, Lady Katniss." I whirl about, coming face to face with the dimpled grin of Officer Odair. I hadn't even seen him standing beside my door. I start to thank him, but his eyes drift over my shoulder and I see them widen. I twist around to see Annie emerging from her room.
"Lady Annie," he acknowledges, "you look lovely too."
"Thank you, Officer Odair," she says breathily, and she gives him a demure smile, quickly cutting her eyes towards her escort.
"Have fun this evening, ladies," he says, his gaze still locked on Annie. "I'll see you down there." He winks at me, and inexplicably my pulse quickens.
"You're coming to the dinner?" Annie asks, her face alighting.
"Not as a guest." He laughs quickly. "Security detail."
"Girls, less talking, more moving!" Annie's escort reprimands us. We hastily say goodbye to Officer Odair and hurry down the corridor to where Effie has gathered Delly and Madge. Juniper, the other remaining girl from 4, stands next to them. She doesn't say a word to Annie, while Delly and Madge and I all exchange polite compliments. Delly babbles incessantly about how her gown makes her feel like a princess. She does look very pretty, but looking at all that tulle makes me grateful that I have Cinna for a stylist.
Seneca Crane and Plutarch Heavensbee are waiting for us as we arrive at the Grand Ballroom. They're quite a contrast; Seneca with his fastidiously trimmed beard and hair slicked into place, and his flamboyant suit, and Plutarch with his simple suit, no tie.
"Places, ladies." Seneca commands, gesturing to his left. I look over to where he's pointing. Glimmer gives me a haughty smirk and whispers something to Cashmere. They're the first two girls in a long single file line, so even before Seneca reminds us that we are arranged by district, I stride to the end of the line. Madge and Delly follow me. At least I'm not dead last; that honor belongs to Madge.
Plutarch informs us that when we are announced to the guests, we're to smile and curtsy and a guard will escort us to our places. I take a deep breath and prepare to wait some more. My stomach growls in protest and I chew on my lip nervously.
The doors to the ballroom are thrown open. I can't see anything from my place near the end of the line, but I do hear Claudius's voice declare, "Lady Cashmere Sheridan." A smattering of applause follows. "Lady Glimmer Snow." More gracious applause.
My impatience mounts, as it seems like each time a new girl is announced, it takes longer for the applause to die down. But eventually, Delly's name is called, and I shuffle towards the doorway to await my own pronouncement. From this vantage, I'm finally able to peer into the ballroom, but almost immediately two spotlights converge and blind me. Claudius calls, "Lady Katniss Everdeen!" I blink and step forward, pasting a smile on my face, unsure where I should be looking. Off to the left, I see Cressida and her cameraman, his lens trained on me. I try to broaden my smile, knowing this will likely be broadcast on the next Capitol Report. Then my eyes instinctively begin to scan the crowded room for Peeta. As I glance around, what I see sends a flurry of irritation through me. Everyone is standing around laughing and talking. Servants move about the room bearing silver trays laden with hor d'oeuvres. More servants offer up flutes of champagne and glasses of wine. No one is looking at me, which normally wouldn't bother me, but what, then, was the point of putting us on display like this?
I sharpen my gaze imperceptibly and continue striding forward, my smile growing terser by the second. A guard appears at my side and extends his arm to me. I loop my arm around his elbow and allow him to guide me to where the other girls are in yet another line. As we pass a cluster of guests, Madge's father, Mayor Undersee, among them, I pause and cough loudly. Eight pairs of eyes train on me. I smile sweetly and drop a facetious curtsy, then continue to my place. Just as I step beside Delly, I catch sight of Haymitch out of the corner of my eye. A sly smirk lifts the corner of his mouth and he subtly raises his glass to me. My lips twitch.
I don't even hear Madge's name called, but once she's next to me, the lights dim briefly. Laughter and conversation cease. A hush blankets the room. There's a brief trumpet processional, and then the royal family is announced. King Wheaton and Queen Aster enter the ballroom together, wide smiles on their faces, but I hardly notice their arrival once Peeta appears in the doorway. He's wearing his customary white suit with the gold accents. His blond hair has been meticulously styled and his tanned skin practically glows. He's radiant, like the sun coming out after a storm.
He acknowledges the camera with a polite nod, and then, in spite of all the people in the room, he hones directly in on me. Our eyes lock. My stomach flutters and my heartbeat accelerates. He's clear across the room, but it feels as if he's standing right in front of me, thickening the air between us with electricity. Reflexively my lips split into a smile and I know he sees it before he obediently takes his place on the other side of his father. I feel the queen's icy glare cut to me, but at that moment King Wheaton begins to speak, so I ignore the queen and focus my attention on him.
"Welcome, everyone. This is a very exciting time for Aster and me," he glances to his right and beams with pride as he plants his hand on Peeta's shoulder, "and of course, for Peeta. We have opened our home to the young ladies you just met, one of who will eventually be our son's bride, and therefore, our daughter-in-law. Tonight, we celebrate their survival of the first eliminations, and offer them a small taste of what life will be like, should they become the next queen of Panem."
At this point, he takes several minutes to talk about how hosting dinners such as this one is a task that falls largely on the queen. He praises Aster for her hard work in organizing the evening—which, from what I saw this morning, seemed to be more of directing traffic and giving orders—and thanks her for her efforts. She smiles superciliously, basking in the accolades. He concludes his remarks by thanking everyone for attending. Seneca Crane then steps forward.
"We have one more introduction to make," Seneca says. "We're excited to announce that tonight's Capitol Report will be broadcast live from right here in the palace. The House of Mellark is honored to welcome its host, the incomparable Caesar Flickerman!"
Caesar strolls into the room to loud applause. He bares his teeth in that maniacal grin and sweeps his arm to the side in a grandiose gesture. He waggles his fingers at a few people before making a beeline to where Cressida stands. And then music swells and the conversations and laughter resume.
Almost immediately, Plutarch approaches and advises us to remain in place for another moment. He says that once the cameras start rolling, they can and will capture anything. He also adds that some of us may be asked to sit for interviews with Caesar, to film confessionals with Cressida, or both. Then he tells us to have fun. Girls immediately splinter off in clusters, most giggling giddily. My gaze immediately strays to where Peeta had been standing, but I'm dismayed to see he's no longer there.
Delly grabs my arm. "Let's get something to eat! I'm starving!" I'm hungry too, and so I quickly agree to Delly's suggestion. But again, we are interrupted before we can move from our spots.
"Girls!" Effie appears in front of us, her manicured hand wrapped around the stem of a champagne glass. "Isn't that exciting news, about the Capitol Report?"
"Ah, yeah, exciting," I echo, exchanging a look with Delly. I glance to my right, but Madge is gone.
Effie's expression sobers. "You do know what this means, don't you?" She doesn't wait for an answer from either of us. "You could be filmed at any time, doing anything. You must be on your toes. Smile. And smile more. And if you're going to eat, think carefully about what you put in your mouth. Do not let them catch you doing anything that could embarrass yourself. Or me." She beams and raises her glass at us. "Now go enjoy. This is all for you." Wrong, I think to myself as she flounces off.
"We can't eat?" Delly whispers, her blue eyes rounding in horror.
"Of course we can eat. Effie's just being Effie."
"You're going to eat, right?" Delly asks. I nod eagerly. There's no way that the threat of live television going to keep me from sampling the party fare.
"You guys get the same 'watch what you eat' speech we did?" Johanna suddenly materializes beside Delly. Zoe is with her.
Delly sighs glumly. "Yeah. But everything looks so good. And besides, look at that lady!" She points to a statuesque redhead clinging to the arm of a much older man. She holds a plate in her free hand, and it's piled high with food. "She's skinny as a rail and she's eating—a lot!"
"I think they're more concerned with us stuffing our faces on camera and looking uncouth," Zoe pipes up. "But you know about those, right?" She motions to a server who holds a tray full of glasses filled with some violet-tinted liquid. Delly and I share a look. We both shake our heads.
"What is that?" I ask suspiciously. Johanna's mouth quirks and she jerks her head towards the lithe redhead again.
"That's how ladies like her stay so thin. And how all of these Capitolites and stuffy VIPs can eat and eat and eat," Johanna explains. I narrow my eyes and cast my gaze around the room, looking to see if anyone is taking one of the proffered glasses.
"You drink it," Johanna continues, "and a few minutes later, you've got room for seconds. Or thirds. Or tenths." She arches her eyebrows at me and waits for comprehension to register on my face. But I really have no idea what she's getting at.
"It makes you throw up," Zoe offers. I can feel my face contort before I can rein in my reaction. Queasiness stirs in my gut but is quickly supplanted by an intense burst of anger. How dare they? These people have never known hunger. They've never wondered where their next meal is coming from. They've never felt the clawing ache of an empty stomach, a pain I've known many times over the years. The fact that such a concoction exists so that these selfish people can indulge to excess when elsewhere in Panem people are starving—it's vile.
"That's repulsive." I voice my disgust. Johanna shrugs.
"These people—they're not like us." She glares openly at the redhead and her much older companion. Johanna is right, though. This world is so far removed from reality, and every time I think it might not be so bad I'm served a jarring reminder of how much I don't fit in. It's even more drastic for someone like Johanna. There's something in her expression right now that makes me think of Gale and how he looks when he's on one of his tirades about the government. I have to bite back a smile when I think how well the two of them would get along, Gale and Johanna.
The more I get to know her, the more I question how Johanna is still here. It's not that I expected Peeta to eliminate her yet, though I'm virtually certain she was not his selection from District 7. (I think that was Zoe, as she is the kind of classical beauty that any man would be attracted to. And given Ivory's connections, she had to have been the king and queen's choice.) It's more that I don't think Johanna wants any part of this life, and she doesn't really hide how much her disdain for being here. Maybe there's something else motivating her to want to stick around.
I wonder if the next checks have been delivered to our families, now that eliminations have occurred. My stomach actually turns a little thinking about the money.
"You wanted to know where Ivory disappeared to?" I startle out of my thoughts to see Johanna nudging Zoe. Johanna jerks her chin towards the center of the ballroom. "There's your answer. Looks like your little friend's there too," she says to Delly and me. When I look in the direction Johanna indicated, I see Madge is at her father's side, a huge smile stretching across her pretty face. Ivory is with them, beside who I assume are her mother and father. They're all smiling, actually, and chatting as if they're old friends. Which they very well could be, with their political affiliations.
Zoe makes a face. "That doesn't seem fair! Some of them get to see their families and the rest of us don't? I thought family visits aren't supposed to occur until the Tribute stage of the competition." My clandestine phone call from Prim vaults into the forefront of my mind. I can see Zoe's point, and I'd be inclined to agree with her if doing so wouldn't make me a hypocrite. So I keep quiet.
"Glimmer's over there with her good old granddad too," Johanna adds, contempt coloring her words. I scan the crowd and almost immediately my gaze lands on Viceroy Snow's shock of white hair. I realize he's talking with King Wheaton and Queen Aster. I suck in a sharp breath and shift my eyes to their right. Sure enough, there's Glimmer, her nauseatingly fake smile aimed at Peeta, her hand resting possessively on his forearm. Though Peeta's eyes are trained on his father as King Wheaton and Viceroy Snow converse, he's making no effort to extricate himself from Glimmer's clutches. That uncomfortable feeling in my stomach spreads.
"I'm starving," I declare, and I excuse myself from Johanna, Zoe, and Delly's company. I weave my way through the ballroom, bound for where a large spread of food is spread out to complement the trays being offered by the servants. At least for a short time, my back will be to Peeta and I won't be tempted to continue to steal glances at him. And Glimmer.
I'm so hungry that everything looks more appetizing than usual. A servant hands me a plate and systematically I make my way down the length of the table, nodding and accepting several little appetizers that almost look too fancy to eat. As I near the end of the table, my plate nearly full, I can't prevent myself from turning to check if Peeta is still with Glimmer. My appetite flees the moment I look.
Peeta's attention is now solely focused on Glimmer, as it appears they're having a private conversation independent of whatever his father and her grandfather are discussing. His head is angled down towards her as they chat, and a smile stretches across his handsome face. A smile directed at her. My mouth tugs downward.
"What would Effie Trinket say if she could see that scowl on your face?" a gravelly voice whispers loudly. My head snaps up and I find myself looking into Haymitch's gunmetal eyes.
"I wasn't scowling," I protest.
"I definitely saw a scowl. Now, what could have brought that about?" He blatantly cocks his head in the direction of Peeta and smirks knowingly. "Careful, sweetheart. Green may be your favorite color, but you don't want to tip your hand in front of all these people." My nose crinkles and I feel my eyes taper to slits. But before I can ask him what he meant by that, he speaks up again.
"She's insufferable."
"Who, Effie?" I ask. Haymitch guffaws and takes a huge gulp from his glass.
"Well, yeah, sure Effie's insufferable, but so are half of the people we employ around here." He gestures with glass towards Peeta. "I was talking about Glimmer. Chip off the old block, that one. Just wrapped in a prettier package. Watch your back around her."
It's my turn to snicker. "Glimmer's about as appealing as a cottonmouth. I stay as far away from her as possible." Haymitch gives me an inquisitive look.
"A cottonmouth, eh?" he asks. I cringe, regretting my choice of similes. What normal teenage girl knows anything about snakes, let alone how the names of the poisonous snakes that inhabit the forest of her home district—a forest that she's not supposed to have set foot in? It's hardly a skill set I can brag about here.
"It's, ah, a snake. A venomous one. We had one in our backyard once. My sister panicked because she thought it might attack her goat and—"
Haymitch shakes his head and doesn't hide his amused grin. "You're a terrible liar, sweetheart. But I like the comparison, though I might have gone with something in the constrictor family. Poor boy's gonna lose circulation in his arm if she clutches him any tighter." I immediately look over and see that Glimmer has wound her arm through Peeta's. Furthermore, he seems perfectly okay with the way that she's touching him. I grind my teeth and try to force a smile onto my lips.
At that moment, Peeta glances up and his gaze locks onto mine. His smile broadens to a grin and he raises his hand to scratch his jaw. Then, he grazes his fingers across his cheek and briefly rests them on his bottom lip—just the middle three fingers. It's quick and discreet and no one watching him would have the slightest idea that the gesture has any meaning behind it.
My pulse instantly reacts, though I'm also confused. Peeta and I had agreed upon that sign in the event that I needed to tell him something or wanted to see him. I never thought about him directing it at me. Does he want to talk to me?
Or maybe my eyes deceived me and I'm just seeing things that I want to see, because Peeta's not making any effort to walk away from his parents and Glimmer and Viceroy Snow and it's not like I can just waltz up to them and interrupt their conversation. But Peeta does continue to stare at me. The curve of his mouth has slackened, but something in his expression makes my breath catch and hold. Then he lifts his arm. He itches his nose, and as he lowers his hand those same three fingers unmistakably and deliberately brush over his lower lip. He gives me the subtlest of nods and his lips tug upward imperceptibly. My heartbeat quickens and I feel a flush crawl over me.
Haymitch clears his throat and mutters, "Gonna be a long evening." He takes a long swig from his glass and tips his head to the left. "Have fun with that, sweetheart," he says. I break my heated stare down with Peeta to watch his uncle amble off. His cryptic warning becomes crystal clear a moment later.
"Lady Katniss." Cressida smiles at me. Her assistant whose name I can never remember and one of her cameramen are with her. "I'd like to start with you for the confessionals, if that's all right." I cast a forlorn glimpse down at my untouched plate of food, and sigh. Haymitch is right: It is going to be a long evening.
There's a markedly different tone to this confessional. While I fully expected to have to offer my take on the whole brooch incident, which I do, most of what Cressida prompts me with is leading questions about the other girls. It feels like she's trying to coax me into revealing my personal relationships with them. Who I like. Who I trust. Who I don't like. She asks about Madge, but not Delly. Glimmer's name comes up multiple times. One name doesn't: Peeta's. Cressida never once asks me about him. I don't even know how to process that. The whole thing makes me uncomfortable, and I'm desperate for it to be over.
The twenty minutes tick past agonizingly slowly. Relief floods me when Cressida smiles and thanks me for my time. Confessional complete, Cressida's assistant Messalla (filed that one away as soon as I heard her address him) escorts me back to the ballroom.
As we approach the main doors, I see Officer Odair stationed outside them. His handsome face remains solemn, but his kind eyes reflect sympathy as he opens the door for me. When I step inside, I immediately notice that preparations for the Capitol Report have already begun. Huge lights arranged in a semi-circle face a small dais that has been brought in and positioned in the far rear corner of the ballroom. Caesar's ubiquitous white chair is on the left side of the platform, and a man lugs an identical chair into position on the right side. Caesar himself stands close by as a woman with chartreuse hair pats more powder all over his already gilded complexion.
Selfishly I hope that Caesar doesn't want to interview me, because after that confessional, I've kind of had my fill of answering questions for one night. And furthermore, I'd like to enjoy the inevitably decadent dinner that the palace chefs have prepared. My empty stomach growls in anticipation.
I glance around the ballroom hopefully, but after a few minutes of futile searching, I realize that in the time I was with Cressida, all the servers—and their precious trays—have vanished. I crane my neck and look over to where I had stood with Haymitch, but that table, too, has been cleared. Dammit!
I look over to the tables, but no one has started to take their seats yet. Most of the guests are still in clusters throughout the room. I notice many of the Reaped girls are also huddled together in pockets, though there doesn't appear to be a lot of talking going on. Standing by myself I'm a clear target for scrutiny. I need to find somewhere to get lost in the crowd. I guess my best bet would be to locate Johanna or Annie. Or even Delly.
But instead of looking for one of them my gaze hones right in on Peeta. Relief washes through me when I don't see Glimmer clinging to him like a life preserver. But his gorgeous smile is focused on someone: Madge. She now stands to his right, her hands clasped demurely in front of her, her posture perfect. Whatever she's saying, Peeta listens thoughtfully, that smile unwavering. That unsettled sensation in the pit of my stomach returns.
A moment later, I see Haymitch approach the two of them. He places a hand on Peeta's shoulder and murmurs something in Peeta's ear. Peeta nods, says something to Madge, and then he and Haymitch walk off. They stop in front of a small rectangular table that has been set up in the very center of the front of the ballroom, facing all the other tables. King Wheaton and Queen Aster stand behind two of the four chairs. Haymitch takes the chair to the queen's left, leaving Peeta to his father's right. King Wheaton leans in. Peeta's face remains impassive as his father speaks to him.
Claudius Templesmith's omnipresent voice rings out. "Ladies and gentlemen, dinner will be served momentarily. If you'd kindly take your seats. Reaped girls, your escorts will show you to your tables."
I spy Effie streaking across the floor, Delly already at her side, and I start to stroll towards them. En route to join up with them, I figure it's as good a time as any to start matching faces with the all the names floating around in my head. Thanks to the tip Peeta gave me, I know there is a better than likely chance that one of our next competitions will involve identifying the guests in attendance. It's a state affair, so that eliminates the foreign ambassadors and dignitaries, but only a fraction of the men and women featured in the digital profiles I studied were invited this evening.
As I pass the table nearest to me, only three guests are seated there so far. Two men and one woman. I'm positive that the severe looking man is Commander Thread, but I'm drawing a blank on the older man. Discreetly, I scan the tabletop for the familiar little place cards that they set out at our dinners. All I see are water goblets and wine glasses. I draw my brows. How is anyone supposed to know where to sit without those cards? There's no way that Queen Aster would have allowed such an oversight. Instinctively my eyes lift and slide to her. Her face is frozen in concentration, her razor-sharp gaze reminding me of Gale when he would line up a shot in the crosshairs of his bow. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle at the predatory glint in her cold eyes. King Wheaton and Peeta share a laugh, nowhere near as interested in their guests' seat selections as the queen is. When I look over to check Haymitch, I'm startled to find him staring at me. He shakes his head imperceptibly.
"There you are. Why are you standing here by yourself? Come on, come on!" Effie bubbles, looping her arm around my elbow. My gaze still pinned to Haymitch's, I obediently follow Effie to a table where Delly and Madge are already sitting. Haymitch gives me a subtle bob of his head and then busies himself filling his tumbler with amber liquid from a decanter. Confused by everything—the place cards, the queen, Haymitch— I slide into the empty seat between Madge and a girl from 11 named Olivia, grab for my water glass, and take a long sip.
Dinner moves excruciatingly slowly. The first course—a salad with some kind of crumbled cheese, walnuts, and figs—precedes the palate-cleansing sorbet, something I'm now used to but still not entirely convinced of its effectiveness or necessity. All it does is delay the main course. I try not to fidget in my chair; the rest of the room doesn't seem particularly distressed by the sluggish pace of the meal. Most tables are wholly engaged in conversation. Delly and Melania, a girl from 10 who I erroneously assumed was quiet and meek, have dominated the talk at ours. Melania hasn't shut up since Delly mentioned some silly Capitol television show that nearly all the girls seem to be obsessed with. In the time I've been here, I haven't found much of the programming to be worth my time. I usually just tune my screen to the nature channel.
I listen half-heartedly to their prattle while continuing to steal glimpses at Queen Aster. She barely touches the food placed in front of her, her sharpened gaze continuing to survey the ballroom, lingering only occasionally. The second time I glance over at her I see her place her hand on King Wheaton's forearm and speaks to him, though her eyes never stray from their target. I try to follow the trajectory of them, but can only discern that she's honed in on the table where Madge's father and Viceroy Coin are seated, among others. I look away quickly, so as not to get caught staring, but as I do, for a fleeting second my gaze snares Peeta's. His eyes drop almost immediately, and he busies himself with his wine glass.
I expect the room to quiet down when the main course finally arrives, but that's not the case. Inexplicably, the din seems to get louder, the clanking of forks and knives joining the chatter. My table is the last to be served, and I probably would be more irritated by the obvious slight if the first bite of my meal weren't so delicious. As the flavors mingle on my tongue, my assumption that it's some kind of fowl is confirmed, but I also taste something unfamiliar. The texture is odd, but not so much to be off-putting. I take another bite and it's even better than the first.
I'm savoring my fourth bite when I hear the scream.