"I do."
Those two words had never meant so much to Aden as they had on that day. Lena by his side, breathless more with delight than the dress that was several sizes too small to save on material. His friends around him, the meek celebrating with the rowdy. The wolf whistles that cascaded into laughter, the cheers and applause. The smell of soap and scrubbed skin and Sunday best. The sparkle of soda, rationed out into little thimble glasses and arranged in regiments next to slithers of cold meat and crumbled cake.
Even the so-called Justice Building with the Capitol's presence in its every orifice, even with the faces of the dead tributes who had so recently been murdered hanging on the very walls.
Even those horrors could not end his happiness.
And yet it had gone. Like the bubbles in the soda, like the clean sheen on skin all had faded away.
The applause however, had not. No, it remained in a new form.
A chorus that heralded entertainment in death.
Aden jumped in his sleep and awoke clutching at- something. He hated the instability of it all, like clinging onto a rock face as smooth as an ice rink.
I will find her. He promised himself. I will see her again. She cannot have come into my life to be taken from me so easily. It doesn't work like that. It can't.
But when? And what if I change before then? What if she looks at me and yet cannot wholly see me?
What if she changes?
What if they change her?
Could they do that?
Never.
To think that it was Aden, redhead Aden who had wanted to marry her. It had seemed so strange, so blissful, like it should have happened to someone else, to someone- lucky.
And yet it had made so much sense. Every part of it.
And she was the most important part of it all, there in the Justice Building. The sun kissing her through the window, Aden kissing her every bit as warm and persistent, in spite of the people watching. He'd never been one to stick to the rules when his heart was involved.
They would be watching him now, but for entirely different reasons and another girl by his side would become the important part of it all.
Not that she could feel anything but pity for her. She had no more control over it than Colleen did.
And now their eyes would be wishing ill, with dark looks and greedy smiles. And the wolf whistles would come not from friends, but from a real wolf. From her.
And they too would herald death.
The Capitol was an impressive sight, no one could deny that. But to Colleen, the skyscrapers were pillars of bones painted silver and the city stretched out before her like a graveyard of dreams for all its bright lights and colours.
She had no idea which part she was in. Hours she had spent at the window, looking fervently for the training centre but as she had no idea how to distinguish it from the multitude of buildings she was stumbling blind.
She rested her head against the window. Aden wasn't near, that would be it. If he was, she would know. She always knew.
Colleen turned to the side and looked emptily at the magnificence of her room without awe. She was surrounded by luxury in this apartment yet she could not feel privileged. Her bed was welcoming and as comfortable as heaven yet she had never slept so badly. The bath was pure yet she could not feel clean. The colours calming yet she could not be still. The softness was suffocating, the smoothness cold. She was made welcome, yet home only felt further away.
She flicked through the clothes hanging in her wardrobe. What she would have given, before now, to wear such beautiful things. How long she had gazed at garments of half the quality in the shop windows. How long she had dreamed of touching, caressing fabrics she had learned to produce yet never enjoy creating, but now she tossed them aside without even an admiring brush.
She pulled out a simple cream dress, soft and patterned with primroses. It bore a semblance to one she had seen at home.
But, like all the garments, they smelled of her.
Without hesitation she went into the bathroom. Opening the cabinet and without pausing to briefly appreciate the wonderful smells of the soaps and salts she removed a bottle of body spray and swiftly proceeded to deposit the entire bottle's contents onto the offending vestment.
She slipped it, sopping wet and reeking, over her head and felt it cling to her damply, the perfume slipping and sticking on her skin. Still, all traces of the previous odour were gone.
There was a knock on the door and everything in her seemed to stop completely. She felt suddenly as lifeless as the cherubs in the bathroom and then envious of them. Cupid had a bow and arrow, she was weaponless.
But it was only Rufilla. She didn't await an answer and opened the door dextrously with her elbow, her hands preoccupied with a large tray on which sat comfortably a large white china dish.
"Ah, the smell of fruit in the morning." She inhaled the smell as she put down the tray on a side table and took off the dish's lid.
"It's half past four," replied Colleen tartly.
"I can dream, can't I?" Rufilla shrugged and helped herself to a slim handful of grapes. "Besides, somewhere in the world it's that time in the morning. In this year's arena perhaps, there's always a gap of some hours. Makes it more convenient for filming, else how would we have any nighttime footage? The Capitol is addicted to the games but they can't spend all of their time in front of their screens."
"I wouldn't know. I can't imagine you all have anything else better to do," For all her insistence on politeness Colleen could not keep the edge out of her voice around people like Rufilla. Something in the proud elegant sweep of her made Colleen want to break something.
"What we do isn't really any of your business, is it?" She swept up a handful of little blueberries and a strawberry. "Here, I brought these for you, you know." She held out her hand to Colleen like she was feeding a pet. "Immy says the strawberries are the best, but I say the blueberries are better. Try them both, decide."
"I'll bet the conundrum's been puzzling you all day," Colleen replied acidly. She studied them with caution. This seemed an odd method of assassination. "Why are you really here?"
"Well, according to you, I have nothing better to do." Rufilla winked one hooded grey eye at her but did not smile, which confused Colleen further. Rufilla seemed to bring an odd atmosphere in with her, one of courtesy yet still oddly aloof.
"Let's sit, shall we?" Rufilla hopped onto the bed and scooted over cross-legged to make room for her.
"My company exhausting you already?"
"Definitely," Rufilla giggled. "I'm a resident of the Capitol. Doing nothing is exhausting."
"Yet you still find the energy to crawl your way up here. How traumatic is your life."
Before she'd even had time to register Rufilla's reaction, the woman's thin hand had closed tight around her throat. She tried to scream but it came out stifled. This felt different to the cringing aches in her arm, the anticipation almost as painful as the breakage. This was feeling something indestructible closing around her, forcing her to buckle under sheer pressure.
"How does that feel?" Rufilla sounded curious. "Not like the life is ebbing out of you slowly, but all you can think of is the hand and just how tight it is. The other thoughts will come later."
She released her as quickly as she'd grabbed her and Colleen felt herself drop with the relief of it. "I'll not be doing that again," Rufilla remarked in passing. "But then I'll warrant you'll now be showing me the respect I deserve. A small price, I think you'll find."
"Small? You tried to kill me!"
"Only I. I, a stranger. Who let go of you of my own free will. Compare a broken arm, perhaps-" she sighed and seemed almost to forget about Colleen for a moment. "With a broken neck," she said finally.
"A broken heart is worse."
"Is it? A broken neck is far more final. But a broken heart can feel that way, I suppose."
"You know nothing. Nothing about this, nothing about anything. Nothing of value."
"Says the woman who was educated in the District where they spend longer studying the impact of thread count than their own language."
"Says the woman who spends years in school studying science that she'll never use. I wonder why you Capitol people go to school at all if all you do is sit on your backsides all day."
"We do more than that. Otherwise this country wouldn't run."
"This country would be far better off if you spent more time worrying about getting rid of poverty and less time worrying about the number of wrinkles you're getting!"
"My, you are quite excited today aren't you? I prefer you like this. When you're moping around you're just unbearable. At least a tantrum tells me you're still alive and kicking. Literally, in fact."
"And why would you care if I'm alive or not? You don't care if Aden is."
Rufilla tutted, shaking her head. "Aden was always a bit of a loose cannon. Shame really. So well-meaning, so dedicated. Like a cup of warm tea to the heart (while you were more like coffee). I'll be sad to see you two leave my services, but it would never have worked. This is not an operation for those who are to Machiavelli what chalk is to cheese. Aden's a good egg, I have no doubts that his heart is in the right place. But I've encountered battery hens with more street smarts."
"Then send those battery hens into the Hunger Games and give me back my red headed Aden."
"If only it were that simple. But one of you had to go into the Games. Some gamemakers wanted both, but I put my foot down. After you've burned the forest, so to speak, there must be some seeds to sow in replacement. Otherwise you have nothing."
"So you're so sure he's going to die?"
"I don't know. But while Faer may have him pinned down as having potential- well, I don't think your district has any hopes of him coming home. Maybe they've dug graves for him and the pregnant bimbo already."
"You don't know them." Colleen's voice became stronger. Talking about Eight suddenly seemed to bring something back. Something to hold onto. She could go home. This could get better. "They're good. They would never do that."
"Sorry, I forgot about the massive long queue of people lining up to volunteer to save the life of a teenage father with a teenage wife and two dependant children just old enough to ask "Mommy, what's the Hunger Games?" But for some reason it slipped my mind. Anyway, I'm sure they were equally as enthusiastic to do good as they were at the reapings of twelve year olds, the disabled and those with the talent to change the world for the better. I agree with you Colleen, it seems nowhere is the concern for the vulnerable greater than in District Eight. I just hope one day I'll have proof."
Colleen's reaction was immediate. Her hand flew up and smacked Rufilla across the face.
"I hope that hurt!"
Rufilla sighed as if she had let her down. "Lena, tell me what you know of pain."
"Only my family call me that," she replied stiffly.
"That's all right I don't mind being associated with you. Lena, tell me what you know of pain."
"I-" Colleen didn't know why she felt driven to honesty. She stared at her hands, as if the answer was hidden under her nails or buried in the creased lines of her palms.
"It um... It hurts. Really bad. It feels like... like everything is out of joint. Like it'll never end. It's your worst nightmare made real. It feels like the end of everything and it's worse because you know it isn't. You want it to end, all of it, life itself and yet you still feel cheated if you know that's what would happen. You can't bear to feel sad but you can't help it because thinking of happy things just makes it worse. Everything that's ever been good feels unreal like it never happened, like it could never have happened because the pain is all there is. It feels like being trapped, trapped in a nest of brambles or thorns and you can't get out without hurting yourself but if you stay still-"
"-the thorns will tear you to ribbons." Rufilla finished for her.
"Well, yes." She looked up into those strange grey eyes.
"Who even are you?" Colleen asked incredulously.
"Someone older than you and much cleverer," she said bluntly. "So if you want to see your home again, pay attention to what I've got to say."
"I'm all ears."
"I'm glad to hear it. The affirmative, that is, not your use of an overused and unimaginative expression."
Colleen bit her lip. It looked like she would just have to put up with this woman's strange rudeness.
"Get out more. Stretch out whatever freedom you have. Dress up. Go to parties. For goodness' sake, you're seventeen you should-"
"Eighteen."
"What?" Rufilla looked suddenly confused.
"I'm eighteen."
"I could swear you're-" Rufilla shook her head. "Whatever. You're a teenager. You should be out enjoying yourself not sitting at home crying over babies."
"Perhaps I would if the Capitol didn't give me reason to cry."
"What Faer did is nothing new. Children die everyday in this world and they have done before and will continue to do so. Perhaps you should learn that distance might protect them better than love. Besides, your boy didn't even know what was happening. Many mothers who have watched their sons or their teenage lovers die in agony in the games while they sat in poverty would swap their right hands to be in your place."
"is that supposed to comfort me?"
"You said you were willingly to hear my advice. I've given it to you. If there are any grey cells upstairs firing on all cylinders then it might do well to stop wallowing in a puddle and start actually getting your act together. You can't go into battle without a strategy. I'm sure Aden's working on his. Now you need to work on yours."
"Strategy? What for?"
"For deciding which path in life you want to take. Think about the future, Lena! What are you intending for Logan? What'll you do if Aden dies? Have you thought about that? How do you intend to support yourself? I need to know if I can still count on your good behaviour or whether I was wrong not to turn you in too. I have had my doubts about you as well."
"And what if I want none of that?" Colleen's voice had dropped an octave. "What if the only path left that the world can offer is a dirt track I wouldn't think of taking one step towards?"
"Then, by all means take your leave of the world. I'm sure Hunter would appreciate the company."
Before Colleen could even put a name to what she was doing, her hand had already flown up and slapped Rufilla hard across the face, again, a faint mark rouging the scornful olive cheek.
"You deserved that."
"I did" her reply seemed almost detached. "But a slap won't be enough. Petty violence against me is like splashing around in the ocean when you should be reaching for the lifebelt."
"Then what is enough?"
"Ah yes, I see I have your attention again now. Good. There's a party tonight at the mansion and I want you to be there. Smile. Shake hands. Dance. Chit chat here, network there. You'll find there'll be plenty of people who'd happily form an orderly line to even glimpse the wife of a tribute let alone be of assistance to her. Enjoy yourself, do have fun but remember you'll be a walking billboard for the quarter quell."
"Funny" Colleen's face and voice suggested the opposite. "When I signed up for rebellion I thought I'd be shooting you lot not clinking glasses with you."
"Well that's what life is when you get down to it. Smile and chit chat. Politely shake hands, how's the wife, it's been so long, oh my goodness is that the time, these spicy prawns are divine, have you come far, you must try some, have I introduced you to yada yada yada b******t b******t b******t."
"What a lot to look forward to."
"You'll learn to enjoy it. I have. And it's better than the alternative."
"The alternative being?"
"the only alternative. Fight to the death."
The sheer scale of the party was beyond anything Colleen's imagination could mine. Everything was brilliant, colossal yet so detailed it seemed to have been crafted by an army of mice. Colleen's dress was the most lavish she had ever worn, yet comparing herself with the finery around her she felt like a blank canvas in an art gallery.
She also felt as bare as one, her dress was more modest than it was provocative yet she had the distinct impression that it showed more than it covered. But then, it was so light it was like being wrapped in a large spider web.
Every nook and cranny was a spectacle in itself. Colleen moved with stately slowness taking in every inch, every gleam of polish, every flash of colour. Every time she turned she wanted to take a picture
Then she looked up. The sight took her breath away, but it was not a bad feeling, like in the middle of a skirmish where every heart beat was a time bomb. No, it was like when Aden had taken her breath away, when the feeling was so wondrous that respiration felt too tedious to comprehend.
The ceiling was nothing short of a phenomena. Pattern upon pattern interlocking, weaving, refracting with minute, mathematical precision. Every image pleasing to the eye, anything that could be associated with beauty depicted on it, every colour sublime and chosen with nothing short of genius. It was a sight to lose yourself in, yet a sight in which nothing seemed more delightful than to be lost. What did a compass matter, or a map to navigate your way when you could lose yourself entirely so glorious a sight?
She laughed softly to herself. To think that its original purpose was to keep out the rain.
"Enjoying civilization?" Came a wry, clipped voice. She spun around and saw a tall thin man behind her. His silver eyes watched her out of his pinched face with acute interest and she flinched slightly from such a searching gaze.
"The ceiling," she swallowed. "I've never seen anything like it before. I'm not from around here, you see."
"I gathered as much," he said amusedly. "Just as well you haven't seen the bathrooms here yet. If the taps in there are as mesmerising as the ceiling you'd probably never come out."
She blushed pink. "We have bathrooms in Eight."
"I'm glad to hear it. The thought of civilisation reaching the barbarous parts of our world gives one hope."
I could tell you a lot of things about your so-called civilisation, Colleen thought, that would make you tremble like that jelly over there.
"I don't believe I've introduced myself. How rude of me! Around so lovely a creature. Silver Marble, Mayor of District One."
He held out his hand. She did not respond.
"In the civilised world, you shake it." Silver still looked amused.
"I know the etiquette. I just wondered if it was different when in conversation with a wolf."
Silver's smile broadened as if she had paid him a great compliment. His eyes never left her and it began to make Colleen feel distinctly uneasy. For all his talk of civilisation there was something animal in his eyes that seemed particularly primal. She half expected him to open his maw and swallow her whole. He certainly looked like he wanted to.
"May I have this dance?"
"Sure, dance away. Not my thing. In the barbarian world you see, we don't dance. We just sit around the campfire all evening and uh, grunt."
He laughed at that, which surprised Colleen as she had half expected an ominous howl. But something in his unflinching demeanour told her he was not pleased. She wished he would go away. Or at least, blink. His keen eyes were starting to freak her out.
"If you say so."
"Do they dance in One or do they grunt?" She couldn't resist it.
Then at last he flinched, only unfortunately with annoyance which simply served to make Colleen yet more uncomfortable. He seemed to be a Mayor with an especially sensitive pride.
"I assure you, Mrs Hanran. Civilisation is at its finest in my District, thanks in particular to my unceasing efforts to keep standards higher and well maintained than any other district save the Capitol."
"If you say so."
"I do say so. You would do well to heed it. I should hate to see that pretty face damaged until after I've had time to enjoy its beauty."
Someone seemed to have emptied the ice bucket down her back.
"Enjoyed it?" Her voice felt suddenly hollow.
"Enjoyed it." Then he was gone.
Colleen had hoped in vain to distract herself from the chilling inference in Silver Marble's words using food, but it was a lost cause. She could not be tempted by any of it, it felt like snatching morsels from a starving child's slavering jaw, a betrayal of those poorly fed at home. There was more food on the soup table alone than she had been able to supply her family all year. One glass of soda here held more than all of the glasses at her wedding put together, the meat there like mere scraps tossed aside in favour of choicer portions here.
She shuddered at the sight of the meat. It made her think of Silver. She did not like to think of Silver. She did not like to think of the way he looked at her, what he said. She suddenly felt very alone, and no less fragile than the champagne flutes that were waved around as their holders gesticulated in conversation.
"Coo-ee! Colleen Hanran! Colleen! Over here!"
Essta came over, barging unapologetically through the crowds like a vacuum cleaner and just as noisy.
"Colleen Hanran! I don't quite believe it! What a stroke of luck- I never thought I'd see you here!"
Neither did I, she thought. "I like your dress," she remarked mildly. And she did. It was white fading down into blue on the skirt, the top half and shoulders scattered with tiny blue stones the exact shade of her hair.
Tears welled up in Essta's gleaming eyes. "You do? Really? Oh, sweetheart!" She seemed to explode into a cloud of excited cooing sobs and gave Colleen a touched and adoring hug that almost lifted her off the floor.
"I'm so pleased, you know. I knew it was worth the small fortune I forked out for it the moment I saw it. I'm totally skint as a result, unfortunately, so no sponsoring this year for me. Had to switch from smoked salmon to tinned to pay for it. Hard times, but I'll pull through. I'm more resilient than I look."
Glad to hear it, Colleen thought. Because you look about as resilient as tissue paper.
"Well we all have to make sacrifices," Colleen remarked and tried to keep the irony out of her voice.
"Oh, of course. Necessary part of life. And it's all worth it. The moment you step onto that stage and see them all there watching you, knowing that you're on the eve of making history- all worth it."
Colleen briefly closed her eyes. She was back on that stage again, in the claws of that horror. The pain in her arm surged like the water that surged over Hunter's head and engulfed her precious boy, her son.
"Colleen?" She opened her eyes.
"Sorry. Flashback."
Essta nodded, her brow furrowed seriously as if she actually thought she understood anything of what Colleen was going through.
"I can't begin to tell you how excited I am!"
"You're beginning rather well, I think." She wasn't giving her full attention. Her mind was still on the stage, with Hunter and Faer.
"I'm so looking forward to really getting to know the tributes, finding out what really makes them tick underneath it all!"
Are you mad, woman? Colleen wanted to laugh in her face. They're anything but their true selves in front of you. Of all the people who could claim they truly know them, you are the least. If you really want the truth of the games, let them write the story themselves. Then get some unknown amateur author to publish it on the internet.
"So many exciting people- Jenny, she's pregnant, how heart wrenching! Then there's Coriander- a volunteer from Eleven, no less! You don't see many of her kind around. Then there's that Alwilda from Six- we've barely seen her, just imagine what she could be like! Silver Marble's own granddaughter will be taking part and so many fearsome looking Career Tributes- and of course Aden himself!" She laughed merrily, it sounded like a symphony of glasses clinking. "I can't wait to interview him! I'm certain his will be an interview to remember!"
"Aren't they all?"
"Oh, of course, it's a privilege to interview them- with some of them you know, I'm the last person they really talk to before they, you know, shrug off the mortal coil!" She laughed again, though Colleen couldn't think of anything less funny.
"So what's Aden really like?"
"Like?" Colleen felt suddenly wistful. "He's the best person I know."
"oh, I'm sure, but what's the gossip about him? What's the secret to our little red headed enigma? I'm sure he's fascinating, I can tell. I can't wait to find out, there's nothing worse than an exciting arena filled with dull people."
"I'm not going to spill our private lives for you to titter over!"
She laughed again. It was now getting annoying. "Then surely you haven't drunk enough yet!"
"Look, excuse me." Colleen turned on her heel and walked swiftly away from the enthusiastic host. She turned back again after a few paces to check that Essta wasn't following her. Her hopes were confirmed. The woman was nattering away with a lady in a long red dress and seemed to have forgotten entirely about Colleen. She breathed out.
"Somebody rattled your cage, my dear?"
Every muscle in her body seemed to clench and freeze at the unctuous tone of that voice, yet again the urge to run and hide had returned and now it felt as if it had never truly left.
"No, Mrs Faer." She said shortly.
"Good."
Then came the arm, gliding around her shoulders, the red nails tapping the top of her arm like the legs of a patient spider awaiting the entrapment of an enticing fly.
"Look at it all," Faer gestured with her glass at the room, at the people around them. "What a sight. What would you name such a picture? Mistletoe and wine?"
"More like punch and poison," Colleen felt suddenly emboldened. Faer couldn't do anything to her here, not with all the people surrounding them. That was enough to make her speak out. "Canapés and cyanide. Chatting and choking. Flowers and threats. Dancing and dying. Skinning the hog roast- then the skinner."
Faer smiled, her pert red mouth stretching wider like an old wound. "Isn't that the way it always ends?"
"it doesn't have to. Evil isn't natural, I know it."
"And yet it always does."
"How can you say that?" Colleen felt something in her swing, her temper rising up to greet her. "Are you truly insane? You have no right to do what you do! None at all! And you dare to say it's inevitable?! You make it inevitable!"
"My dear, that's-"
"You have blood on your hands!" Colleen bellowed and the force of her accusation seemed to resonate through her whole body, booming out of her with the pain of Hunter, Aden, Aden's parents, her parents. With all their voices she yelled aloud.
"All of you!"
Everything stopped, the music, the chatter- even the soda seemed to stop fizzing. Every stood as if the music in musical statues had just been switched off. All of them watched Faer with as much apprehension as if she really was a wolf.
The President paused for a moment and took a quiet sip, pursing her lips together, the red stark and daunting reflected in the glass.
"Of course we do," she said finally, in an amused voice as if Colleen had said something curious. Her words seemed to bounce off Faer's composure like clouds. "We all had the steak and have you seen the mess it made? So raw it was virtually still alive!" She laughed, she laughed at Colleen and at her fury. She raised her glass to Colleen as laughter erupted around them, laughter at Mrs Hanran's splendid joke. Her grip was even tighter than Colleen remembered as she led her out of the room.
"Perhaps it is not just my hands you should worry about," the gentleness in her voice was disarming.
"As those real?" Colleen nodded skeptically at Faer's nails.
"Very real. And sharpened on the throats of my enemies." The President laughed at the disturbed look on Colleen's face.
"And if you speak out against me again, it will be Aden this time who suffers. For now, silence will do. There's little else you can use against me."
"You want me out of your sight."
"On the contrary. That's not possible. Nobody is ever out if my sight, not truly. You thought that as rebels you were out of sight. I proved you wrong. Don't make me prove you wrong again."
"You what?!" Silver's face radiated fury like a furnace and his silver eyes bore closer resemblance to arrows than anything human.
"Colleen Hanran is not your property. I refuse to break my word to Aden."
"And what about your word to me?"
"Which word are you referring to?" Faer's face radiated contempt.
"I'm a Marble! A Marble! Of District One! Have you any idea, you stupid woman, what that means?"
"It means you're a dysfunctional neurotic hypocrite. Midas will be a beggar before you take possession of the moral high ground you claim to be yours. Any greatness you can possibly boast of is thanks to the Capitol favours you have been shown. You have no automatic right to any of them."
"No right! My family knew greatness before you knew life at all! This is not a matter of some petty little pact you made with some District Eight little s**t and his w***e of a wife! This is a matter of honour, of pride! Which you know nothing of."
"I'm not going to break my word to Aden and certainly not for you. I told him that should he win his wife and daughter will be returned to him. Should he lose and die subsequently, his family go home. To Eight, not One."
Silver snorted derisively. "You can keep the brat. I'm not interested in any dead weight- son or daughter."
Faer ignored him as if he had had said nothing and continued:
"As for honour and pride, I'm sure they'll be the only ones weaping at your graveside."
"What are you suggesting?!"
"I'm not suggesting, I'm commanding."
Silver slammed his fist down on the table. A glass of wine, left over from the ball, tottered and then spilled a dark red stain on the floor, spreading out like the creeping pall of death.
"You'd defy me, over this?!" He seemed almost catatonic. "You would dare fight me over this?"
"Yes I dare! I'll dare you one thousand times and enjoy the victory for each!"
"Then I'll bring this all crashing down on your head," Silver's voice dropped an octave until it was almost whispered into silence. "Don't think you can keep your little Capitol friends happy when I block all of district one's exports from leaving. Shortages aren't fun, I'll teach you that. And don't think I care how many of my workers you kill in retaliation. Their bodies will simply cushion your descent into hell."
Faer leaned back with almost satisfaction. "I think it fair to even this game out a little. I have the upper hand, I dictate the rules. I'll give you one clue. After that, your fate is not my concern."
Silver laughed, shaking his head mockingly at her.
"The apple never falls far from the tree. All are indistinguishable from each other. You don't know which one is rotten- until you pick it up and taste it. And when it crumbles into decay, the wolves come out to play."