Chapter Twenty-One
There are so many thoughts flying around in my mind by the time I get back to Zib's house that I can't walk straight, and I almost stumble through the front door. For the first second everything's quiet and empty. Then the door at the end of the corridor flies open and at least half a dozen people rush out towards me. At first I think it's because they know what happened during the meeting today, but from their questions I quickly realise they don't.
"Where have you been?"
"What's happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Flax? We were worried about you."
"I think I'm old enough to be allowed out of the house without permission, Cali," I reply to the last voice, smiling despite everything at her motherly concern.
"Not when you come back looking like you do."
"You always know how to make a girl feel better, don't you?" I reply sarcastically, pushing past them all into the kitchen and sitting down at the table.
"Talk to me," says Cam, sliding into the chair beside me. "Something happened at the meeting, didn't it? Is it the Thirteens again? Because if it is then we can just go. Go back to Eight and take our guns with us. The Capitol couldn't get us out so they certainly won't be able to."
"It isn't the Thirteens," I whisper eventually, shocked by how quiet and unsteady my voice is. "It's Heavensbee. He's been playing me all along. Him and Narissa and all the rest of them."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you want me to kill him, Flax?" asks Zib, looking strangely delighted by the prospect as she sits down on my other side and links her arm through mine. "Because I could. I'll plead insanity. What's good enough for Katniss Everdeen is good enough for me."
"And it's good enough for me, too," adds Adaira, smiling grimly. "If he hurt you then I'll kill him anyway."
"Thanks, Adaira," I reply dryly. "And you, Zib. But I don't think assassination is the answer. I suppose if I accept then I could have him banished…"
"Accept what, Flax?" asks Luce, puzzled and curious.
"Flax?" echoes Cam, but I can tell from his voice that he's already halfway to working it out without me having to tell him.
"They…they all set me up. They planned it all along, right from when they were plotting against Coin."
"Planned what?"
"To make me President Paylor for real. They talked about who would replace Snow for a bit, went around in a few circles, and in the end Narissa mentioned my name like it was a flash of inspiration even though anyone with half a brain could see it was about as rehearsed as a Capitolian fashion show."
"And what did you say?" asks Zib.
Cam sits in silence, and I can feel the hand that holds mine begin to tremble. I turn to look straight at him, hoping he'll see the apology in my eyes, both for what I'm saying and the fact I'm telling him in front of all the others. He stares back at me but his expression doesn't change. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I can't tell what he's thinking just by looking at him.
"I said they'd have my answer by sunset."
That's all it takes to start everyone off talking at once. They fire questions at me and at each other, all shouting louder and louder as they struggle to make themselves heard. Pretty soon it comes to the point where I can't distinguish individual voices above the buzz of noise.
"Shut up!" I yell eventually, and they go quiet instantly. "Please," I add in a much softer voice, and a lot of them smile or laugh in response.
"Have you decided what you're going to say?"
"Not yet, Zib," I tell her honestly. "It isn't entirely what I want but I don't know what the alternative is. There's nobody else who doesn't totally divide the vote, not yet anyway. And Panem needs stability. If it all falls apart now then we fought for nothing. People died for nothing."
"It's not up to you to carry the fate of the entire country, Flax," says Cam quietly. "You don't have to go along with it."
"Don't I? Don't you think I'd hate myself forever if I walked away and the fighting started again? Because it would. The Capitolians would never submit to District Thirteen rule and the Thirteens would never answer to the Capitol. It'd only be a matter of time."
"It looks like you've made your mind up already then," he says, sounding more sad and resigned than angry.
"Can you give us a minute?" I say, glancing up at everyone else in the room.
I could almost laugh at the response I get. I've never seen a room cleared quicker.
"What do you want me to do, Cam?" I ask with a sigh as soon as Zib closes the door behind herself with a level of reluctance that tells me she'd rather have stayed. "Tell me what to do," I continue, my voice steadily rising in volume. "Tell me! Because I don't have all the answers! I never did!"
"I don't know," he replies. "I don't know. I understand what you're thinking, but when it comes down to it, I don't want to lose you."
"You won't lose me. Even if I say yes then it'll be on the condition that it isn't forever. I'll give it a year or so until we've got some kind of stability back and then I'll call another election and someone else can take over."
"A year?"
"Too long for you to wait?" I snap, more angry at the situation than anything else but taking it out on him because he's there and because I can. "Go to Eight and find yourself another girl then."
"That's not what I meant and you know it," he snaps back, echoing my angry tone before it leaves him as quickly as it arrived and his voice is suddenly barely audible. "I told you I've loved you for over fifteen years and I meant it. But I thought it was all over when we won. I didn't think I'd have to keep sharing you with the whole district, and now it's just getting worse. Now it's the whole country."
"I love you, Cam, and I want to go back to Eight with you, but I have to do what's right first. If I don't then I won't be able to live with myself. It'll drive me mad and in the end none of us will be happy. I don't know much but I know that's true."
"I know," he replies eventually, sighing as deeply as I did before. "But I can't stay here, Flax. I hate the Capitol, even this new Capitol."
"I don't want you to stay here. I know how much you hate it and I need you to go back home. I need you to help create a home I can look forward to returning to."
"Without you? It wouldn't feel right. And people don't listen to me, they listen to you."
"I'll be telling them. But from here for most of the time. You and the others will be there in person. Please, Cam. I can only be strong enough to do this if I know you're all there supporting me."
"If you ask me to stay then I'll stay. For you. Put me in your presidential guard or something."
"No," I reply firmly. "If you're here with me then I won't be able to do my job properly. Being on The Block in Thirteen taught me that. And then I'll be letting the whole of Panem down by being less than I can be. If I'm doing this then I'm going to do it right."
He look long and hard at me, and I can almost hear him thinking. Then he smiles.
"That's all very well, Flaxie, but if you want Zib to leave you then you're going to have to throw her in jail."
"I'll talk to her. She'll go if I ask her to, if I send her home with Adie."
"Adie?" he retorts with a broad smile. "She won't want to leave either. She's having far too much fun terrorising the Capitolians and the Thirteens with her District Two friends."
"I need to talk to Astraea and Velia," I reply with a groan. "It's not that I don't respect what they're doing with distributing the food stashes they find and everything, but they're not exactly big on diplomacy and tact."
"You're taking it, aren't you?"
My eyes snap to his in response to the abrupt change of subject. He stares back at me and doesn't blink so much as once.
"I have to, Cam. I told you. It's the only way."
He smiles and shakes his head. "I know. You wouldn't be you if you walked away. And then I probably wouldn't love you as much as I do."
"I love you, Cam. And I choose you. Remember that. This is just something I have to do first."
He smiles again, stands up slowly and then turns around, holding his hand out to me. I take it and let him pull me to my feet.
We walk to the door together.
"Flax, it's on the television already!" calls Zib as soon as she hears the kitchen door open. "There's some orange Capitolian saying you're going to be the president!"
I walk into the sitting room and Cam follows closely behind. When I look around I find them all crowded around the massive screen, and sure enough, there's a literally orange man with green hair standing in the middle of the City Circle. I hear him say my name several times as he talks about the war and the new government and Coin's assassination and a thousand other things that all start to blend into one.
"This is surreal," I say to the room as a whole as we all watch the crowd swell around the orange reporter in the City Circle. "I can't believe it's happening."
"Is it happening?" asks Adaira flatly, pinning me to the spot with eyes so dark they look black in this light.
"Of course it's happening," replies Zib before I can speak. "It's the right thing for Panem. Do you really think there's even the slightest chance of Flax saying she won't do it?"
I shrug my shoulders. "Like she said, sometimes you have to do what you have to do. And it's nearly sunset. I have to go face my new entourage."
"We'll come with you."
"No, Cali. You can't."
"We're your old entourage," says Zib with a grin. "You can't get rid of us so easily, President Paylor."
"Fine," I reply finally, considering protesting and then thinking better of it. "Let's go then."
I don't know what I expected to see when I opened the front door. Nothing unusual, I suppose. Just the path and the gate at the end, leading onto a street that's unusually quiet for the Capitol. What I don't expect to see is a massive crowd of people, calling my name and pointing cameras that threaten to blind me with flashes of light which never quite seem to fade.
I take one look at them and go back in the house, slamming the door firmly shut behind myself.
"There are half a million people out there," I say, trying to stay calm when I feel anything but. "I don't get it. They know and I don't understand how."
"This is the Capitol, Flax," answers Lucan. "Gossip flies a hundred times quicker than hovercrafts in this place. And everyone's waiting to see what will happen."
"But… I didn't think I'd have to face them now. I thought-"
"That you'd be able to stroll back to the City Circle with just us for company? It was never going to happen."
"I have to go now, don't I? I can't put it off forever. I have to give the council my decision. I can't wait."
"So let's go," says Zib, linking her arm through mine and pulling me back towards the door. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can all start exploring that mansion."
"I'm having that mansion pulled down," I tell her. "If the new government rules from the same place as the old then how will people ever move on?"
"When did you get so good at this?" she replies, looking at me strangely but not letting go.
"I'm still me, Zib. You have to remember that. You all do, because if you don't then I'll go crazy."
"I know."
I smile and walk forwards, resting my hand on the gold door handle as I take a deep breath. I can't tell the mob anything. I can't announce that I'll be their new president before I've told the council. Or can I? If I'm going to be the people's leader then there's no reason why I can't tell them. If they're ever going to listen to and respect me then they have to trust me. And if I lie to them or shun them then how will they ever do that?
The camera flashes and calls of my name start as soon as I open the door, but this time I make myself walk forwards instead of turning away. I smile and answer a few of their more simple and straightforward questions as I make my way to the City Circle, and it isn't long before a massive screen on the side of one of the buildings catches my eye.
I see my own face staring back at me, and I know then that I'll never get used to it. Whatever I've achieved during the rebellion and the war, I'm not the sort of person who will ever welcome fame and attention. Seeing myself up there makes me wish Heavensbee had chosen someone else to set up for this. I'd have quite happily represented District Eight in the council and given that other person the best advice I could, but I'm not sure if I'm ready to have all eyes on me.
However then the camera pans out and I see the others walking behind me. The pride in their expressions eases my doubts slightly. At least I'm not alone. At least they're still with me.
The noise is deafening, and in the end I have to walk along the middle of the wide street just so I can keep going without being trapped by the crowd. I'm about halfway to the City Circle when the black car glides up alongside me and the window winds down to reveal Narissa. I stop and raise my eyebrows questioningly at her but she says nothing until I approach the car.
"I thought they'd take it like this but I came out just to make sure," she says, smiling back at me.
"What I'd like most to know is how the rumour got out in the first place," I reply, narrowing my eyes so she knows I suspect her.
"I couldn't possibly comment on that," she answers.
"No? You just thought you'd wait and see what happened instead? See if the mob cheers or starts baying for my blood?"
"Something like that," she says. "But I knew they'd be like this so it wasn't really an issue."
"You're still here like I might have needed rescuing."
"You don't need me, President Paylor," she whispers. "Your people need you though. I'll see you there."
I don't know what to say or how to react, but I can't ignore the people shouting and cheering for me. As the car speeds off, I keep walking, hoping I don't look like I'm heading towards my own execution.
The first thing I think when I see the City Circle is that it looks different. All the debris of war, the rubble and the barricades and puddles of blood I'll never forget, all of it is gone. There are still things that couldn't be so quickly repaired and I can see them if I look closely, but on the surface it doesn't seem so different from the otherworldly place I used to see on a television screen in a dark and dusty room in District Eight that seems like a million miles and a thousand lifetimes away from here.
Many of those times I sat watching compulsory programming were when the Hunger Games were on, and seeing the place now reminds me of that. There are people everywhere, crammed into every available space as if they're waiting for the chariots to bring the tributes to the Training Centre. Except this time a lot of them are wearing the tattered clothes of soldiers and rebels instead of Capitolian finery. And they're all looking straight at me.
The reporters surge forwards, and for a second I watch them, wondering which of them were on the side of the rebels to start with and which ones simply jumped ship when they saw the old government was going to lose. Then I realise I'll be surrounded by them soon if I stay here and immediately stride towards the steps of Snow's mansion.
They're all shouting for me, calling my name and barking questions, but it's only when I hear voices that don't speak with the high-pitched, whining accent of the Capitol that I stop and turn to face them. I pick them out right away, those people who don't quite belong here. There's great variation in appearance amongst district people, but the one thing I can say for certain is that, no matter if they're District One or District Twelve, they bear little resemblance to the Capitolians.
"Is it true you're going to be our new president, Commander Paylor?" shouts a young woman who has the dark skin and eyes typical of District Eleven and a Capitol-made camera balanced precariously across her strong shoulders. "Do you have a message for the people of the districts?"
I take a deep breath and turn back to look at Cam and Zib and all of the others waiting behind me. Cam says nothing and nods only once, but I know what he's trying to say. He's trying to tell me what I already know, that if I'm going to do this then I need to say something now. I need to openly put the people of Panem before the people who are closeted in a meeting room inside even as I stand here.
"I will-" I start, but my throat is dry and my voice doesn't carry beyond the hearing of the people at the very front of the crowd.
Then I watch with a mixture of horror and amusement as Adie pushes through the mob of reporters, takes a microphone right out of the hand of a blue-skinned Capitolian and climbs the steps to place it in my hand. She's grown again, and we're almost the same height now. It's a shock for me when I notice her eyes are virtually level with mine as she grins across at me before Zib reaches out to grab her arm and pull her aside. I manage a half-smile back and then take a deep breath, getting ready to try again.
"Yes, it is true," I tell them. "The temporary government has asked me to lead it. For now. Until a more democratic solution can be found."
To my great surprise, a lot of them begin to clap and cheer. It's an effort to keep my head up and my eyes on them when really all I suddenly want to do is lower my eyes to the floor and stare at my feet.
"My message for the districts is this: We all need to work together now. You've endured war and destruction, and before that you've endured years and years of oppression by a corrupt and malevolent dictator. I understand that because I've been there. I've lived that life, just like all of you. Which is why I don't set myself above you and hope I never will. I never dreamed I'd ever be standing here talking to you like this, but here I am. For the time I call myself your leader, I will do everything I can to make Panem a place we can all be proud of again. You have my word."
The roar of the crowd begins before I've even finished my last sentence, and it swells louder and louder until I think I'm going to be deafened by it. I feel like I should wave or do something dramatic like Capitolian speakers often did when I was watching them from home in Eight, but for some reason I simply can't move.
"I think they like you," whispers Cam as he moves to stand behind me. "Panem knows why…"
As he knew they would, his words make me forget where I am and I turn around to glare at him. He's smiling down at me, and as usual I can't stop myself from smiling back. When I look out into the crowd again, I'm still smiling, and that only makes them shout louder.
The camerawoman from District Eleven attracts my attention again, and when our eyes meet, she salutes sharply. The gesture looks odd on her because she's clearly never been a soldier, but something makes me return it anyway.
She smiles widely in response and for the first time I truly feel like I've made the right decision. When I wave at them all before heading into the mansion, it doesn't feel forced.
"I'm not so sure that was the best idea," says Heavensbee once the doors have been closed behind us and Zib has pushed the others away down the corridor. "Although I'm more pleased than I can say that you've done the right thing."
"Talking to people is the right thing," I reply as a uniformed servant guides us down the corridor. "I'll try to be President Paylor if that's what's best for Panem but I won't be Dictator Paylor, I can promise you that now. After everything they've been through, people deserve to know what's going on."
"But don't you think it's…wise to think about exactly what you tell them and the way you say it?"
"Sometimes."
"But not then?"
"No. I made my choice and they'd have found out soon enough anyway. You can't have it both ways. Either you want me to take the job or you don't. If I take it then I do it my way or not at all."
He laughs at that, a sound that's so loud it seems to fill the whole corridor.
"They all said you wouldn't be a pushover, Flax Paylor. Even back at the start when we were still only trying to decide how best to unseat Alma Coin."
"If you want a pushover then you'll have to find another woman. Last chance," I add, looking sideways at him as I try to decide if I want him to say he will or he won't.
"I think we'll get along well enough," he replies with a smile.
When we reach the main meeting room, he holds the door open for me himself. The gesture is lost on nobody waiting inside.
The short walk to the head of the table feels so long that it could be ten thousand miles. They've left a chair there for me, the only unoccupied one, and I stare at it as I go. I find myself picturing my grandfather in my mind, and trying to imagine what he'd say if he could see me now gives me the strength to keep going. I hope he'd be proud of this person I've somehow become.
"The people of the city believe you've already made your decision, Flax," says Vesper once I've taken my place at the table and turned to face them. "Are they right to?"
I look around at them, at the slightly disapproving remnants of Coin's government, at Plutarch Heavensbee and Narissa and Satin, at Falco Hazelwell, his expression as unreadable as ever beyond his grief for Cashmere. How I'm going to lead them, I have no idea. I can't imagine why they'll listen to me, these people who have spent their entire lives being powerful. I can't imagine how they'll see beyond my humble beginnings. But I can try. I can do what I can. For Panem. And when Dalton nods encouragingly and smiles, I know that's what I have to do.
"Yes," I announce in answer to Vesper's question. "I accept. But not forever. Not like President Snow. From now on, this job isn't for life. And if someone comes along who is a better solution to the problem than me," I add, glaring pointedly at Heavensbee. "Then I will step aside."
"But you are the solution," says Vesper quietly. "A leader from the districts with the common sense to do the right thing who knows nobody of any consequence and so can't be influenced by them."
"Don't say that where my rebels can hear you, will you? They quite like thinking their lives mean something."
"They're not rebels anymore, Flax," she replies, unfazed by the curtness of my response. "They're citizens of a free Panem."
"They will be."
"Right then," says Heavensbee brightly. "Good, good. Now, I propose for you to be officially sworn in as president tomorrow, Flax. I'm quite happy to manage all the arrangements if you wish."
"I'm sure you'll do a better job than I ever could," I answer dryly. "But I'm more interested in what happens after. I don't want another dictatorship. I won't let that happen. So I want a representative from each district here before we hold another council meeting. Elected if possible, if not then someone who speaks for the majority."
"But most of the mayors were killed during the war," says a District Thirteen woman whose name I never knew.
"I'm not talking about Snow-endorsed puppets," I reply, settling back against my chair as talk of progress and action relaxes me more than anything else could. "I mean real district leaders. People who led the rebellion, people who fought for freedom. Those are the people we need."
"I'm really not so sure that will be possible," says Phoebe sceptically, looking around at the others.
"Satin's here," I retort. "If she can be here then the others can be as well. Even if the rail links are shot then we still have some airworthy hovercrafts. The television networks are still up and running. If there's no other way to communicate then do it that way. We'll never get anywhere unless people realise we've got nothing to hide."
"And that's your first set of instructions?" asks Narissa with a smile.
"Yes," I reply, looking around at each of them. "Each district needs a representative. And the Capitol, too. Then there will be other roles within the council, neutral people who ensure no district is favoured and that everyone has what they need, or at least their share of what we have. Make it happen. And if you can't then you come to me."
After several more minutes of discussion and planning, they gradually begin to drift off to get on with their work. I watch them, giving my opinion when they ask for it but otherwise just listening, trying to absorb as much knowledge as I can and hoping I never give them reason to remember I don't really know what I'm doing.
"You're doing fine," says a voice from behind me, and I turn around to see Falco hovering, a mountain of paperwork threatening to cascade from his arms to the floor. From the gilt binding and the golden clips and ties, I guess they belong to Satin. "You see things clearly. And that's what Panem needs. The rest will sort itself out soon enough."
"Do you think it'll work? Do you think there are enough people left in the districts who'll want to make this work?"
"You already know the answer to that, President Paylor," he replies. "But for what it's worth, if you want my advice then I think you should go there yourself. Do your own Victory Tour, as Cashmere would have said. Let them see you. When it comes down to it, people only follow what's real in the end, because illusions can't last forever."
"And how about you? What are you going to do? Stay with Satin?"
"I don't know. Not forever. Too many memories."
"There's room for you on the council."
"A Capitolian who spent most of his life ostensibly working for Snow? I can't see that working out."
"You fought on the right side. People know that. And if they don't then they can learn. I'm not the begging type but I could use your help. You've done this before and I…well, I haven't."
"I can't," he replies eventually. "Not without her. It'd be too much like carrying on like she never existed."
"Not if you do it for her. Didn't she want freedom for Panem? Isn't that what she dreamed of?"
"I can't," he says, louder this time, loud enough to make everyone stop talking to stare.
He glares around at them all and quickly leaves the room. It takes several minutes for the buzz of their conversations to start up again.
"Cashmere was everything to him," says Narissa, whispering so nobody other than Vesper, who sits on her other side, will be able to hear. "He can't get over what happened. He doesn't want to."
"It takes time," I reply, more because it seems to be the right thing to say than because I'm genuinely convinced.
"It'd take him an eternity and none of us have that long," she says, her voice even quieter than it was before.
I say nothing to that because I wouldn't know where to start.
"Why can't I just wear my uniform?" I ask Drusilla plaintively the following morning as she brushes an imaginary speck of dust from my new suit. "Everyone's used to me wearing it."
"You cannot, I repeat, cannot go to that ceremony wearing your old uniform. The whole Capitol knows I'm dressing you, so think of my reputation if you think of nothing else."
"Drusilla, it's very nice," I start, staring into the mirror at the woman gazing back at me. She looks nothing like Flax Paylor. "But it's not the most comfortable thing in the world. And I don't look right. I don't look like myself. I look like myself dressing up as Satin."
"In a couple of hours people are going to be calling you President Paylor. You might not care about such things, but appearance matters. You want people to take you seriously? You have to dress properly. Besides, you should be honoured. This is one of Felix's own designs."
"I'm sorry," I say, genuinely meaning it when I see the sadness ghost across the older woman's face. Apparently Felix was out with a camera crew during the worst of the fighting at the end of the war and they were cornered by a troop of Peacekeepers. He took his nightlock pill rather than be captured alive. "Truly. I know how much Felix meant to you and I don't mean to be ungrateful. It's just that this isn't me," I continue, gesturing down at the suit. "This whole situation is making me uncomfortable enough, and this is just adding to it."
"When you go out there, they will judge you, whether you like it or not. There are people in the city who doubt you, who think a woman from the districts can't possibly rebuild this country from the chaos. The first step to proving them wrong is making them think twice. If you go out there looking like you mean business then they'll stop and listen to you. Once you have that, you're there, because Panem only knows you talk the talk well enough when you don't think too hard. But you need to grab their attention," she says, reaching up and tapping the centre of my forehead with her forefinger. "So stop whining. Madam President."
"Fine, fine, okay, you win," I reply, taking a step back and examining myself in the mirror again. "Let's get this over with."
She nods, looking very much like she's trying not to smile. When she opens the door, I abruptly realise why. There's a crowd of people waiting outside, every one of them a familiar face from home. I suddenly don't know what to say.
"Look at you in your fancy clothes, President Paylor," calls Zib, whistling so loudly that the sound seems to fill the whole corridor.
"Shut it, Zibeline," I retort, hugging her tightly when she drapes her arm across my shoulders. "How would you like it?"
"I wouldn't," she replies, looking down at her own clothes, which are still plain even if they are made from a fabric of many times better quality than anything we ever wore back in Eight. "But I'm not you."
"What were you saying about getting it over with?" interrupts Drusilla pointedly, glancing down at her watch.
"You'll be late for your own party, Flaxie," says Baize, and before I can protest, he and Darry stand on either side of me and then lift me up so I'm sitting on their shoulders.
"We're proud of you, Flax," says Cam when I start to tell them to put me down. "Let us stay with you until you get there."
I smile, waving my hand in front of my eyes in attempt to stop my tears from flowing and totally ruining my makeup. After the length of time it took Drusilla to do, I doubt she'd be impressed and actually think there's a chance she'd make it so Heavensbee has to find Panem a new president.
Once I've recovered, every single one of them snaps to attention and salutes before Baize and Darry start walking. I think I'm the only president in the history of Panem who's ever had her soldiers carry her to a formal ceremony.
"…so to all of you watching from the districts, believe me when I say this is going to be a very different Panem to the one you've known. This is going to be a Panem where every person is equal, where every person has a voice. So join me and my new government, vote for the person you want to speak for you as your district representative, and together we can create a country we're proud of."
I've barely finished speaking when the clapping and cheering from the public gallery begins. I hear it and I find myself having to cling to my lectern for support, even more so than when I was talking. It was my first speech after swearing my oath as president, and though the sentiments were mine, most of the words were either Heavensbee's or Narissa's. The more I said, the more sure I became that I'd be writing my own speeches from now on because I just didn't feel comfortable speaking so formally, but if the noise is anything to go by then people didn't seem to mind. In the end I smile back at them because I know they'd never hear anything I said even if I tried to speak.
The gunshot that seemed to come from nowhere echoes in my mind long after the noise of the crowd has drowned it out. Someone crashes into me and sends me flying towards the floor, and though my first instinct is to get up so I can fight back, I'm held firmly in place. There are people all around me, so close that I feel like I can hardly breathe.
"Let me up," I gasp, trying to sound firmer and more sure of myself than I really feel. "Now."
When I'm lifted roughly to my feet, I'm surrounded by familiar faces. When I came into this room, they felt like an honour guard. Now they feel like protection.
"Get the president out of here!" yells someone I don't recognise, and I immediately guess from his Capitolian appearance that he's either Plutarch's lackey or Narissa's. "Let's go!"
"No," I snap, standing up straight and scanning the chaos around me as I recover as quickly as I used to during the war. "Bring them forwards."
My former-rebels drag their two captives towards me, and for some reason both of them look familiar even though I can't actually place either of them.
"Open your eyes," snarls the one, a tall, powerful man with the stereotypical District Two dark hair and eyes. He attempts to pull away from his captors and quickly succeeds, however he stops in front of me and points back at the other one. "I just saved your life from that psycho, Paylor," he continues. "But I don't expect gratitude, only for you to let me walk away."
Lucan steps forwards and I distinctly see recognition in his eyes when he looks at the other man, but he says nothing.
"It's true, Commander," says Darry, temporarily forgetting my new title.
"President," corrects Adaira immediately, looking across at me with something that seems a lot like pride.
"President," echoes Darry. "He must have followed the other one in. He tackled her before she could get a clear shot."
"And who is she?"
The group steps back and I get my answer. I'd know from Lucan's reaction even if her disguise isn't so poor that I recognise her straight away. Prisca. President Snow's chief advisor turned my would-be assassin.
"You'll hang for this," growls the man who claimed to have saved my life. "This and everything else you did." Then he spits on the floor at her feet. "I should have killed you myself."
"But you didn't. Because you're weak," snarls Prisca, her eyes flying from side to side in a way that makes me think she's not entirely sane. "And I don't know why I bothered trying to kill you, Paylor. You're nothing. Nothing."
I force myself to stare unblinkingly back at her. I can sense every person in the vast room is watching me, waiting for my reaction, waiting for my judgement. To my great surprise, my instinct tells me to kill her now. It's what I'd have done if we'd still been at war and I suppose not enough time has passed for that mentality to entirely fade. But I can't. I can't set a precedent.
"Take her to the Vault," I command, and I see Falco Hazelwell shudder at the mention of what used to be President Snow's maximum security jail. "Baize, you go. And don't let anyone you wouldn't trust with your life guard her. She'll stand trial tomorrow."
"Under what charge?" Prisca hisses. "With what evidence?"
"War crimes, crimes against humanity, torture… Do you really need me to go on? And I'm sure there'll be any number of witnesses the prosecution can call. Which is more evidence than you ever needed to find someone guilty back in your glory days, isn't that right?"
She glares murderously back at me so I glare right back. It might not be the most appropriate thing for a president to do, but I do it anyway. Then I nod for Baize to take her away and he obeys without question. It's only when Narissa starts to follow that he stops and looks questioningly back at me.
"We have history," Narissa says, her voice so low that nobody further away from her than I am will hear. "She'll be in court tomorrow, you have my word."
"Standing in court tomorrow," I reply. "Do I have your word on that?"
"Of course," she says, smiling a truly wicked smile as she turns to Prisca. "As my grandmother would have said, words can be as painful as knives if you know how to wield them. And you and my grandmother go way back, don't you, Prisca?"
"You'll never break me, Redsparrow," growls the other Capitolian woman, struggling briefly against Baize and then giving it up as pointless. "Do what you like, I'll never talk."
"We'll see about that, won't we? Even if you don't, it'll be a pleasure to try and make you."
I nod once and Baize and his men drag Prisca away with Narissa following closely behind.
"Have I just condoned torturing a prisoner?" I ask, turning around to find Dalton behind me.
"Possibly," he replies. "But that woman was second only to Snow himself and just as twisted. Nobody will condemn you for it."
"That's not the point though, is it?"
"Prisca Oakhurst was the woman who ordered the execution of every man, woman and child who was part of the group of District Two quarry workers that moved weapons out of the Capitol to stores in the districts twenty years ago," says an unfamiliar voice, and I look around to see the man who claimed to have saved my life and probably did. "She took them out to one of the quarries, lined them up and watched as her Peacekeepers killed them. Children first so she could listen to their parents beg and plead and cry."
"How can you possibly know that?" asks Lucan quietly when I'm temporarily too appalled to find words because I somehow know it's true.
"I was there. I saw," says the man. "I was only a boy who was out where he shouldn't have been, but I saw. My father begged Oakhurst to spare my mother before she killed them both. With her own gun."
"I had no idea," replies Lucan. "I-"
"Why would you know? I only ever told one other person and she died ten years ago."
"You look familiar," I say, finally finding my voice. "I recognise you."
"Then it's time for me to leave, Madam President. As I said, the only favour I ask of you is that you pretend I was never here. You'll never see me again."
He pushes past me when he leaves, hard enough for some of my new presidential guard to reach for their guns and step towards me. But something makes me raise my hand to stop them, and as the man quickly disappears, they soon stand down.
"Lucan?"
He knows what I'm asking him and sighs resignedly.
"He won the Games. Fifteen years ago. With a mace and his bare hands."
"Tiberius Silvestri? But all the Victors died apart from those at Coin's meeting," I reply, saying it even though I wonder how I didn't place the other man's face now Lucan's told me who he is.
"Obviously not. Luckily."
"I'm never going to get used to this, Lucan. How many more times are people going to try to kill me. I thought I'd seen the end of that when the war ended."
"Nobody will get that close again," he answers eventually. "Your guard will make sure of that. And I think you'll find Prisca was a bit of an exception. You don't exactly have a lot of enemies."
I nod before glancing across at Zib. "I'm sending her home," I say.
"I'll talk to her," he replies. "And I'll come with her when we visit."
"You're going with her?"
"If she'll have me," he replies with a grin. "I don't know how long it'll take before I end up dead or worse, but I'll take the risk."
"Good."
He smiles before he walks away, leaving me to watch the mass of people swarming around me as they try to work out what to do next. I should say something, I should take control because that's what presidents do, but I don't. Watching them like this gives me time to think, and it's not until I hear someone pointedly clear their throat that I finally snap out of my trance.
"Shall I escort you to your office, President Paylor?" asks Satin with a smile that for her is almost kind.
"Thank you, Satin, but no. I won't be staying here," I say, surprisingly calmly considering everything that just happened. "Nor will anyone else. Clear the building of people and anything that doesn't reek of old-Capitol or can be recycled. In the morning, this whole place is coming down. If we're starting again then we're going to do it properly."
So that's it then. The End. (unless you count the epilogue, which I haven't quite finished yet)
Thank you to those of you who've reviewed, favourited and put this on alert - if you're still out there reading then let me know. It is the last chapter, after all... Thanks :)