Chapter Twenty-One

It sounds stupid to me even though I'm the one thinking it, but despite all we've been through, the first time I truly realise how much the Games have affected my brother is when we get to District Twelve. When I was a tribute I knew as much as I could find out about my allies and my most serious competitors and as little as possible about all the rest, but I soon found out Gloss didn't share my approach. He knows every detail.

He knows the names, ages and as much about the backgrounds as he's ever going to know of every single tribute who went into the arena with him. He knows how the boy tribute from the coal district's father had died in a mining accident, how his female counterpart left behind parents grieving the loss of their only child. All I can do is stare speechlessly at him as he tells me all of this, wondering how he had kept it hidden inside him for all these months.

Nothing changes as we make our way around Panem, a new district every day just like I did this time last year. Gloss knows them all, and it seems to me like he mourns them all as well, not as a group like I did but as individuals.

When we arrive in District Eleven he's more like himself. He jokes about how he should live there because it's so hot that even he wouldn't be cold. However he is quieter in District Ten and quieter still in Nine. Seeing him like that makes me wonder how long he'll be able to take the pressure.

However District Eight puts me more on edge than it does him. There is a man visiting from the Capitol and I'd recognise his yellow, feline eyes anywhere. I don't know how I manage to walk past him on the stage, how I keep silent when Falco asks me what's wrong over and over again, never satisfied with my response.

I do it for Gloss, because he has enough to deal with without knowing he's sitting at a dinner table opposite the man who raped me. I do it for Falco as well, because I know that if I tell him the truth then he won't be able to help himself. I don't think the heart attack explanation will work as well if it's used for a second time.

Gloss seems better in District Seven. The same man who'd told Falco and me tales of the old District Seven on the way to my ceremony last year is there again and he does the same for my brother. Gloss is relaxed and I am grateful. It takes his mind off what is to come next.

District Six is as bad as I thought it would be. The parents of Marisa, the girl tribute killed by her own district partner, stand as far from Titus's mother as they can. The atmosphere is so thick with hatred and grief that I feel like I could cut through it with the dagger I have strapped to my arm.

When I wake up the following morning we are already pulling into the District Five station. Falco lies on my one side and Gloss on the other, both of them holding me so tightly that I can hardly breathe. My brother is still shaking, unable to break free of the nightmares the Tour brought back, but when I wake him he says nothing. I don't know what to say to him either, not when I know it will only get harder.

I always knew District Four would be the hardest for Gloss to deal with and I am proved right as soon as we step off the train and take our first breath of the salty air. It feels different and I know exactly why. We're hated here, me for killing Marcia and Octavian and Gloss for killing Nicon when he was so close to winning, and right from the start I can feel that hatred.

Every single last person in the square of the main town is silent when the mayor makes the presentation, and it's an angry silence, just like I remember from when I went to District Seven last year but ten times worse. Not even their beloved Mags can win them over, and they remain deadly quiet even when she hobbles onto the stage to present Gloss with a plaque she can barely lift.

Now as we walk into the same massive banquet room I walked into this time last year, I shiver and keep watching Gloss, trying to ignore how everybody stares at me because I know I've brought it all on myself.

I say that because of the dress I'm wearing. I knew I wouldn't want to wear it but I had Felix make it anyway, knowing it would come to this when we got here. It's as golden and sparkling as the dress I wore to the Opening Ceremony before my Games, and though it's as tasteful as my stylist could make it, the split in the fabric is almost to my hip and the plunging neckline is so low I have to force myself not to keep trying to pull it higher.

Those who care about the reason we are here tonight will be offended by how inappropriate it is and those who don't will be watching my every move and either wondering how much Snow would want for me or wasting their time dreaming. However even though I hate it, I'm wearing it for a very good reason. If they're looking at me then they won't be focussed on Gloss. I didn't want to wear it but I'd do anything for my little brother, and if this is what it takes to detract some of the attention from him then I'll do it.

I walk further into the room even though all I really want to do is run away, gazing around in search of my brother. To start with I can't find him, but just as I start to panic I see him, standing in the middle of a group of so-called visitors from the Capitol as they talk loudly around him. His eyes meet mine and I move towards him, reading from his expression how much he's silently pleading for a way out.

"We meet again, Miss de Montfort," says a voice I recognise enough to instinctively shrink away in response as a hand grasps my arm.

"Unfortunately we do," I reply scathingly as I spin around to face the Capitolian man who propositioned me last time I was here. It feels like a lifetime ago. "But you obviously have a much shorter memory than I because I distinctly remember telling you not to touch me."

I jerk my arm away and step back. He sneers in response and pushes me to the side, catching me off guard and jerking a curtain out of the way so I don't fall into it. I narrow my eyes at him at the same time as scanning the small alcove around me, wondering why I didn't at least notice the curtains and guess the reason they were there. I'm furious with myself because I should have done, especially as many of the old ballrooms back home have them too. People like my father use concealed rooms like these to discuss business they wish to keep private with their co-conspirators.

"It's disappointing you have that attitude, Cashmere," he says. "President Snow assured me you'd keep me company tonight so it's a shame to have started off so badly."

My mind reels so much at his words that I just stand there staring at him. Could it be true? Did Snow really say that? Did this repulsive man really purchase me? I'm too dumbstruck to move because part of me thinks it's possible, and even the thought of…no, it can't be true. Falco would have known. He wouldn't have let it happen. It can't be true, it can't be.

I turn away, knowing that forcing my way back into the main room will involve pushing past the man who currently blocks my escape. I don't want to get that close to him. It's bad enough seeing his smug face in the mirror I find myself looking into so I immediately refocus my eyes onto my own reflection. That's when something occurs to me that will at least tell me the truth even if it can't get me out of here.

"I'm not sure about this outfit," I say, forcing my voice to sound light and carefree, "I think it needs a little something extra, don't you? How about a rose to put in my hair? White would go nicely, I think."

I breathe what I'm sure must be a visible sigh of relief at the confused look that suddenly appears on the man's face. He hasn't got a clue what I'm talking about, and that means the president knows nothing of this.

I take another deep breath and turn around again, ready to give the man a piece of my mind and tell him exactly what he can do, when all of a sudden he is no longer there but is flying across the alcove into the wall behind me. Once he's landed with a crash which makes me relieved the music and talking in the main room is so loud, I look away from him to the other figure now inhabiting this tiny, confined space. I hardly recognise him as he brushes past me to stand over my fallen assailant.

I have never once feared my brother, but as I watch him approach the man and kick him in the stomach hard enough to make him gasp for breath, I am almost afraid. I see not the man I know and love but the man I caught glimpses of when he was in the arena, a man who is as powerful and lethal as he is ruthless and unforgiving. The man who killed Theodorus. He reaches down and grabs the man by his shirt collar, literally lifting him up off the floor.

"If you touch her again then I'll make you wish you were dead, do you understand me?" he snarls, glaring into the other man's eyes, their faces only inches apart.

"Gloss, I'm fine," I say, gently resting my hand on my brother's arm. "Just let it go, please."

"I'll let it go once it promises me it will never look at you again," he growls, deliberately misinterpreting my words. "Do you swear it?" he continues, turning back to the man whose weight he's still supporting.

"Yes, I swear it," wheezes the man, struggling to breathe with Gloss's hand tight at his throat.

My brother throws him to the ground before pushing me behind him, putting himself between the Capitolian man and me. I'm so close that I can feel how much he's trembling with rage, which is why I grasp his arm when the man speaks again.

"You should learn your place, boy," he says. "Perhaps I should tell the president you need teaching."

"If you knew the president then you wouldn't have spent so long in a place like this," I say before Gloss can speak. "Exiled, were you? Disgraced? What did you do? Or are you too ashamed to say?"

The man pulls himself to his feet with considerable effort, his hand clutching his stomach where Gloss had kicked him. "You'll regret this. Both of you."

"Not half as much as you will," snaps Gloss, jerking his arm from my grip and punching the man square in the jaw. He falls to the ground and this time he doesn't get up.

"Gloss, come on," I say eventually, dragging my eyes away from the unconscious man. He could be dead for all I know. "We can't be found here. We have to go."

I push my brother out of the alcove first, telling him to move away as quickly as he can without drawing attention to himself. A couple of minutes that feel like a lifetime later, I step out from behind the curtain as well. I walk straight into Gloss.

"What part of 'move away' didn't you understand?" I whisper as he takes my arm and leads me through the crowds of people into the hallway I escaped to when I was here last year. "You shouldn't have done that. He's Capitol, Gloss. Have you any idea how much trouble you could be in when he wakes up and tells everyone else what happened?"

"What's he going to say, Cash? For all the wrong reasons, it's true, but I don't think our esteemed leader would like it if he knew what could have happened," he replies, the transformation back to his normal calm and rational self so sudden that I almost think I imagined what I just witnessed back in that alcove.

"You still shouldn't have done it."

"Yes, I should," he says firmly. "And I'll do it again. As many times as I have to."

"Gloss, this is reality. Men from the Capitol think I'm a commodity to be bought and sold. You can't threaten to kill all of them."

"Says who?" he replies, taking off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. I pull it around myself gratefully. "I know why you wore that dress, Cashmere, and I don't ever want you to do that for me again."

"I can do what I like," I reply with a teasing half-smile. "If you can punch everyone who looks at me in a way you don't like then I can distract the masses with my overwhelmingly stunning beauty if I choose to."

"They won't see your beauty because they'll be too distracted by your modesty, sister mine," he retorts sarcastically, laughing as he puts his arm around me and we reluctantly walk back towards the ballroom.

At exactly the same moment, one of the side doors by the staircase swings open and two people, a man and a woman, stride out. They are temporarily too distracted by their seemingly fierce argument to notice Gloss and I, but that doesn't last long, and very soon the man stops mid-sentence as they both pause to stare. It takes a couple of seconds for me to place their familiar faces, and when I do I immediately step forwards, putting myself between them and Gloss.

"What are you doing out here?" asks Nicon's father, his voice dripping with venom as he looks straight over my head at Gloss. "Shouldn't you be enjoying your party?"

"Leave it. Let's go," says the woman, who is tall, strong-looking and nothing like her daughter, in appearance at least.

"It's easy for you to say, isn't it?" her companion hisses back. "You're not staring at your Pelagia's murderer."

"No, I'm not," she snaps. "I'm staring at his father instead."

Gloss tries to move me out of the way as Nicon's father is temporarily silenced, but I stubbornly stand my ground, refusing to let him past. Eventually he stops fighting me but his hands remain on my upper arms. I can feel how much he's trembling, though whether it's out of rage like it was before, grief, or a mixture of the two, I couldn't possibly guess.

"I did what I had to do," he whispers. "I can't tell you how much I wish things had been different."

"That makes two of us, boy," replies Nicon's father, finding his voice again now he's no longer looking at Pelagia's mother. "I spend every minute of every day wishing you had died in that arena and I always will."

Gloss's hands fall from my arms as he jerks back as if the man opposite us had struck him physically rather than with words. I turn and reach for him but he pulls away and races out through the entrance doors. I call after him but he doesn't stop.

Shaking my head to myself, I sigh and head off in the same direction. Panem knows what will happen to him if he starts wandering alone around the streets of District Four when feelings are so against us because of what happened in the arena.

When I find him he's sitting on a bench and staring out across the ocean, apparently oblivious to the freezing cold air blowing back into his face. It isn't easy to be silent on the strange gravel pathway so I'm sure he must hear me approaching but he doesn't respond.

"Gloss?" I whisper softly when I reach the back of the bench. I want to touch him but I make myself keep my hands fixed by my sides. "Gloss, please."

"Go away, Cash," he replies, his voice so half-hearted that I'm sure even he must realise how unconvincing he sounds. "Leave me alone."

"No," I say flatly, mirroring my words from the last time I saw him lose control like this.

"Come here then," he says, reaching around to drag me in front of him before pulling me down onto the bench beside him, wrapping me tightly in his arms. "I lent my jacket to my cruel and demanding big sister and now I'm cold without it."

I smile sadly at his teasing, lifting my arms up so I can pull the thick black material around me before pushing closer to him so he can share its warmth.

"I told you before," I say eventually, "you did what you had to do to survive. You can't constantly beat yourself up about it when Nicon would have done the same if you hadn't won the fight. He'd have killed you to get home. Don't ever doubt that."

"But that man still has no son because of me," he replies.

"And if you hadn't done what you did then I'd have no brother, so I'll always partly be glad Nicon didn't come home."

"I still killed him, Cash. When I volunteered I didn't think it would hurt like this."

"Yes, you did," I say. "Deep down you always knew it. You knew it in a way that Sapphire and I never did, and yet you volunteered anyway. Because of me."

"Yes, because of you. Because of what they did to you. And now you won't have to go to the Capitol on your own."

"Falco told me he talked to you. About the Capitol, I mean."

"I told him not to say anything," replies Gloss, and I can feel him shaking his head.

"Doesn't matter," I say with a smirk, trying to make him laugh. "Where Falco is concerned, I have my ways of making sure I always get the truth in the end."

"Please, Cashmere, do remember you're my sister. That's way too much information."

"Made you smile though, didn't it?" I reply, turning in his arms so I have space to look up at him. He smiles back before his expression becomes serious again.

"I told him to leave it because I really don't care," he says impassively. "It only means something if I let it. If I don't let it mean anything to me then it's just sex. It's just biology and nothing more. Snow can do what he likes with my body but that doesn't mean he has my mind."

His words sound so like what I used to tell myself as a way of getting through the days straight after I returned home following my Tour that it's suddenly me who is crying and upset rather than him. He holds me close and I curl up against him, and he's so painfully familiar that it almost feels like I can't decide how to react. The part of me which is still upset by his words wants to keep crying but the other part is soothed just by being with him.

"Only three more train journeys and then we'll be going home," he says.

Somewhere in the back of my mind there's a voice telling me that it should be me saying that to him and not the other way around.

We made it to District Three without incident despite the obvious hatred felt by the crowd who gathered to see us leave Four, and our time in the factory district passed swiftly. When we arrived in District Two we were running late so they took us straight to the ceremony in the main square. It was easier than last year, especially as I couldn't help thinking that if I can face Astraea like I did this time last year then I can face virtually anything a Victory Tour could throw at me.

Surprisingly they show us not to the usual set of rooms in the Town Hall but to one of the houses in the Victor's Village, which looks exactly like the one back home. I look around and wonder which one belongs to who but I can't tell because there is nobody else around. If it was District One then most of the curtains would be twitching, but this is District Two so there is nothing.

When the Capitol people finally leave us alone after reminding us what time Gloss's style team will be back to get us ready for tonight's banquet for what must be the thousandth time, we sit in the kitchen talking of inconsequential things until my brother says he's going upstairs to sleep. About ten minutes later I can hear him crying out. His nightmares have started again. I go up to the bedroom and sit with him, knowing by now that my presence is one of the few things that chases the bad dreams away.

I go back downstairs to the kitchen once Gloss has finally fallen into what appears to be a peaceful sleep, still shocked by how much this house looks like my own. It makes sense that it would, I suppose, as the Capitol built all the Victor's Villages at the same time and to the same design, but when I look out of the window I still almost expect to see my own garden and am surprised when I don't.

However what I do see is a small figure appear on the top of the fence and drop gracefully down to land on this side. The child pauses for a while, lifting her head to the bright winter sun with her eyes scrunched tightly closed, and then she makes her way towards the bottom of the garden. Curious, I watch her progress, walking over to the patio doors and throwing them wide open despite the cold.

She turns back at the noise and sees me instantly, dropping into a low crouch as if she's about to flee. I step towards her so she can see my face clearly, so she can see I'm no threat to her, and she stands slightly straighter, still distrustful but not as ready to run. We stare at each other motionlessly for several minutes before I take another step, and I almost jump back myself when she does the same, seeming to make up her mind instantly as she runs towards me and stops only a couple of paces away.

I gasp when I see her face clearly because I know who she is immediately. She looks so much like her mother that there's only one person she could be, and I'd know her even if I hadn't seen a slightly younger version on Achillea's video.

"Hello, Velia."

"How do you know my name?"

"I know your mother," I reply, wondering where Ursala is and how her daughter ended up in the garden of the house the Capitol people assigned to my brother and I.

"I'm learning to fight like Mother," she says, her voice even and serious for such a young-looking child. She must be nine years old but she looks little older than seven.

"Why?"

She shrugs her narrow shoulders. "I thought she wanted me to play the game in the Capitol, but I asked her and she doesn't. She says I have to…be able to stand up for myself," she continues, struggling with the sentence as she clearly repeats her mother's words, "but I don't really know what that means. Nobody does anything bad to me."

I bet they don't, I think. Not when they know they'll feel the full force of your mother's wrath if they do.

"Why doesn't she want you to play the game in the Capitol, Velia?" I ask, knowing I shouldn't take advantage of the girl's extreme youth and innocence but somehow remaining unable to resist, my curiosity getting the better of me as usual.

"I don't know. She says I'm too pretty to play the Capitol's games, but she did and she's pretty. So are you."

The true meaning of Ursala's words are nowhere near as lost on me as they are on her daughter, and for a moment I stare blankly down at the girl, completely lost for words.

"I'm sure your mother knows what's best for you," I manage eventually, and it sounds inadequate even to my own ears.

"Velia!" barks a very familiar voice, and I'm ashamed to say I jump almost as much as the child opposite me as she spins around instantly. "Oh, Cashmere, it's you," continues Ursala in a much calmer voice as she appears on the other side of the fence. "I couldn't see who she was talking to."

"It's only me," I reply dryly, returning her smile, surprised by how pleased I am to see her.

"Did they put you there?" she asks, looking behind me at the house.

I nod. "Only until the banquet tonight. Then we'll be going to the Capitol," I say, trying not to think of that.

"Do you want to come in?" she asks, gesturing back to the house that must be hers, seeming to sense how uncomfortable I suddenly am. "Velia, come back here. Right now," she adds, pointing imperiously to her side of the fence.

The little girl obeys instantly, jumping lithely up and over to stand by her mother's side. Ursala pulls her close and the look on Velia's face tells me how much she is loved. She knows it despite the harsh words, or perhaps because of them. I've seen enough of this place to know that what would seem overprotective in District One is considered only sensible and reasonable here.

I nod and walk cautiously up to the half-height fence, pulling myself up and over it well enough but without Velia's effortless grace. Ursala returns my nod and goes back into the house, guiding her daughter in front of her and not saying a word.

My house is full of things, both those bought in District One and those brought back from the Capitol, but Ursala's house is a complete contrast. Most of the furniture that was put into the place when it was built has been taken out, replaced by plainer, more practical-looking pieces that have never seen the Capitol.

"I have to live in their house but there's no law that says I can't have my own furniture," she says, looking at me as if she knows what I'm thinking.

"I'm sure there must be one somewhere," I reply with a smile, following her into the sitting room. "How have you been?"

"Busy," she says cagily, collapsing onto one side of the sofa and leaning against the arm.

"Mother's been to the Capitol lots of times since Meg died," adds Velia as she lies down and puts her head on Ursala's lap. "I don't like it when she goes away."

"But I'm back really quickly, aren't I?" replies Ursala, her voice tightening slightly as her hand moves almost subconsciously to stroke her daughter's hair. "You hardly know I'm gone."

"Wish you didn't go at all," whispers Velia sleepily, shuffling closer to her mother before her eyes drift closed. "And you do."

I look across at Ursala but it's several seconds before she can meet my eyes.

"You have some interesting friends, Cashmere," she says, suddenly the sharp and focussed woman I remember from the Control Room once more. "They alluded to some interesting things."

"I can imagine," I reply, instinctively knowing she means that someone linked to Achillea has been talking to her. I didn't think the leader of the almost-rebellion would move so quickly but it seems she's surprised me yet again. "And?"

She shrugs her shoulders noncommittally rather than saying anything out loud, once more confirming an intelligence I already knew she possessed. She looks pointedly down at Velia as she sleeps and I don't need words to help me understand her meaning. She'll give her allegiance to nobody but the little girl beside her, who is too young to even begin to truly understand how precarious life in Panem can be.

When it becomes clear she isn't going to say anything else, I also watch the girl. Her almost-black hair is long like Ursala's and her skin is the same light olive tone, but when I look more closely at her face I can see how her features are slightly softer than her mother's. I don't dare ask if that's just because of her youth or because she takes after her father, who is someone I've never asked my friend about. I don't pry when she doesn't volunteer information and she returns the favour. It's better that way when I consider what would happen to me and to those I love if the identity of my lover became common knowledge.

"You teach her to fight?" I ask, the sight of the small knife on the table abruptly making me remember Velia's earlier words.

"Of course. If she can't look after herself then she'll last five minutes. My name protects her now but when she grows older it will do the opposite. Every would-be-tribute in the Training Centre will want a go at the Victor's daughter. It's for her own good."

I can believe her words are truthful and justified, but at the same time I can't help thinking she's trying to convince herself as much as she is me. It's that which makes me decide she'd side against the current government if it were to ever come to that and so I'm glad to hear it. I wouldn't want Ursala and I to be on different sides.

"But she says you've told her you don't want her to become a tribute."

"She told you that? Why?"

"I asked her."

She's silent for several minutes, still mindlessly stroking Velia's hair as she sleeps. When she eventually speaks again her voice is so quiet that I have to strain to hear her words.

"I teach her to fight because I have to, but the last thing I want is for her to end up like me. And yet I can't see how she'll get the chance to be anything different."

"There are worse things to be than like you, Ursala."

"Really?" she says, speaking with incredulity that sounds completely genuine. "And what am I good for, Cashmere? Fighting and precious little else. Unless you count lying on my back in the Capitol."

"And why do you do that?" I retort immediately.

"Because I have no choice."

"And why is that?"

"Because of her," she replies, looking down at the little girl beside her. "Because I never wanted her but now she's everything."

"My mother never knew how to love me, Ursala, so I don't claim to know much about mothers and their daughters, but if you ask me then doing what you must so you can keep her safe means you're good for a lot more than what you seem to think."

She smiles faintly but she doesn't speak, and we sit in a comfortable silence for several minutes. If this had been District One and she'd been the one visiting me then I know I'd feel the need to rush around and make her tea, offer her food or find some other way of making a fuss to be polite. However she does none of these things and simply sits with me, her hand still stroking Velia's hair as she dozes lightly by her side. I'm surprised to find I prefer her way.

I jump when the door slowly swings open, immediately on edge, and when I look across at the sofa, I see Ursala and Velia are both alert as well. However they look as relaxed as they ever do and the young girl dives away, disappearing through the now open doorway and returning triumphantly a couple of seconds later, dragging someone who is abruptly very familiar to me behind her. Astraea.

She looks as shocked to see me as I am to see her, and we stare at each other in silence. She looks exactly as she did that night during my Victory Tour when she broke into my room and told me she didn't blame me for her husband's death. Her black hair still cascades down her back like it did then and her dark brown eyes are still just as haunted.

She wears the black uniform which had confused me so much when I'd seen so many of the people in the crowd wearing it when I was here before. The uniform of what she'd called the mountain fortress, of what Falco later described as the Capitol's main defence centre outside the big city. The name badge sewn onto her collar reads 'Rossetti' rather than 'Bellafonte' and she still wears her wedding ring.

"I apologise for Astraea," says Ursala, clearly trying to ease the tension in the room. "I've told her many times that she's allowed to use the front door but she insists on climbing in through the bathroom window."

Astraea laughs at her former mentor. "I don't want to lose my edge, do I?" she replies. "And it's best I'm not seen coming and going from the Victor's Village too often."

She crosses the room to stand closer to me, still moving with the cat-like grace I hadn't forgotten.

"Hello, Cashmere."

I still don't know what to say. Seeing her brings memories of the arena flooding back. Seeing her makes me think of Corvinus, my ally who saved my life on more than one occasion for a reason I can't begin to work out even a year and a half later.

"It's alright," she says, sitting down beside me. "I have a good job and I can look after myself. I can manage."

Like Ursala did when she was talking about teaching Velia to fight, she sounds like she's trying to convince herself more than she's trying to convince me. I can tell from her voice that she grieves as much as she ever did.

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

"They put Gloss and I in the house next door."

She nods. "The protective little brother," she says musingly. "He did a real number on our man in the arena."

"You don't sound too disappointed."

"I knew Theodorus from the Training Centre. I challenged him to a fight in the Arena once," she continues, looking expectantly at me as if she thinks her words will make everything clear to me. They don't. "He pushed me too far one day. It was either that or let him face Corvinus."

"And why didn't you?"

"Corvinus would have killed him. Then Vikus would have punished him. Theodorus wasn't worth it."

"The Arena's where the trainees fight when they really mean it," interjects Ursala. "And it's where they burn the bodies of the tributes who don't win."

She reaches for the collar of Velia's tunic, wrapping her hand around the silver chain that hangs around the girl's neck. A district token. I realise that just as I catch a glimpse of the name etched into it before Velia snatches it away and races towards the door at the sound of the bell ringing. 'Megaera Domani', the girl killed by the boy who's life my brother took when he won the Games. It really is true what I said that night in the Capitol when I first appeared on the Flickerman Show. It never ends.

"She picked it up off the Arena floor," whispers Ursala. "They usually melt them down to make more. That's the Training Centre way. But Velia was too quick for them. I've tried to make her take it off but she won't."

I'm about to respond when the door flies open again and Velia bounds back in, returning to her place by her mother's side. Astraea, who had gone after the girl when she left, follows more sedately behind, leading a boy who looks curiously at me before his vivid dark-blue eyes settle on Ursala. He could be any age between ten and fourteen. I can't guess more accurately as he has the look and bearing of one of this place's tributes already and I suspect he appears older than he is because of it.

"I suppose you're here doing Vikus's bidding," says Ursala softly.

"For now," says the boy, speaking with more bitterness and resentment than anyone his age should be able to claim. "But not forever."

"What did he tell you to tell me, Cato?"

"That the Capitol people want you at Pretty-Boy's banquet," he replies, making me struggle unsuccessfully to stifle my laughter.

"Who are you?" he asks, turning to me without the merest hint of fear. "You're not from here."

"I'm Pretty-Boy's sister," I reply flatly.

For a split second his eyes widen ever so slightly but he says nothing, only looking away when Velia stands up and takes a step towards him. From what little I've seen of children, most respond to other children in a totally different way to how they would to an adult, but this boy's expression doesn't change. To her credit, Velia doesn't step back, but she doesn't move forward again either.

When Gloss was that age he would probably have been staring down at his feet and dragging his hand nervously through his hair in a situation like this, but the boy Ursala called Cato displays no such weakness. He shrugs his shoulders at my fellow Victor, standing tall and straight, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Tell him I'll be there," she says, nodding at the door in dismissal.

"He said to tell him if you said no," replies Cato. "As you didn't then he can find out for himself."

"Your wounds have only just healed from last time you didn't do as you were told, Cato. You're smarter than that."

"He wants me in the Capitol. He won't kill me."

As soon as his last word leaves his lips, the boy leaves the room without a backward glance. I exchange glances with Astraea but she says nothing.

"I don't think I want to know what happened to that boy, do I?" I ask, looking at Ursala this time.

"Probably not," she replies. "I don't know that much myself. He was a street child who Vikus somehow ended up taking in. I dread to think why."

"It certainly wasn't out of the kindness of his heart," adds Astraea. "Not if the boy's face is anything to go by. Corvinus used to say that if Cato survived to reach his nineteenth birthday then Vikus had better be watching his back."

"I can believe that," I say. "I think your most famous Victor might regret that decision one day."

When I woke up the following morning after yet another torturous banquet, my first thought was that I wanted to go to the station with Gloss, but it soon became clear that the Capitol people weren't going to let me. He has to arrive last, they said, there has to be the opportunity to photograph him alone as well as with his support team. His support team? I'm his sister not just part of his support team, and surely they can see they'll sell more newspapers in the morning if my brother and I are on the front page together?

However it didn't matter what I said or even what Gloss said as he gripped my wrist so tightly that I don't think the creases he left in the sleeve of my metallic silver coat will ever come out, they still wouldn't let us leave the house in the Victor's Village together. And that is how I come to be alone and pulling myself out of yet another car outside yet another station. I don't like it. The District Two station looks nothing like the one back home, but I still know I'm going back to the Capitol and when I think about that I can't push my nightmares away.

I can hear the noise of the crowd gathered inside the station from here, and they're spilling out onto the road outside, craning their necks to stare at me as I try desperately to look like I'm happy to be here. I gaze around, knowing it's easier to maintain the pretence if I don't focus in one direction for too long. The camera crews are here but they're not filming yet. They won't start until Gloss arrives, but that doesn't give them enough reason to leave me alone. I don't know where to wait but there has to be somewhere. There must be.

I instinctively step away when a garishly dressed man with a microphone reaches for me, obviously preparing to launch into his first question, seemingly unable to believe his luck that he's got this close. Then someone else grasps my arm and pulls me along the road. It looks like it leads around the back of the station, so when I recognise my rescuer, I don't protest.

"Why aren't you with your brother? Or your…Capitol escort?" says Ursala, saying Falco's official title in a way that tells me she knows he's a lot more than that to me.

"Gloss is still at the house. He has to arrive later. I don't know where Falco's gone," I reply, not quite telling her the whole truth because I know he's doing something for Achillea even though I don't know exactly what. "What are you doing here anyway?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know really. I just wanted to… I don't know."

"Say goodbye?" I say teasingly. "The fearsome Victor from District Two isn't admitting to being friends with vain and shallow little me from District One, is she?"

"Don't push your luck, de Montfort," she replies, trying unsuccessfully not to smile.

She pushes open a door which is a lot smaller than the grand ones at the main station entrance and we walk into the building. It's full of people but for now they're not looking at us. I think they're still expecting me to come in through the front doors and though I know it won't last for long, I smile at the smug look on Ursala's face as she makes her way through the crowd, blending in a lot more than I do.

Then she abruptly stops dead, every muscle in her body tensing, her arms at her sides and her hands clenched into tight fists. She's staring at something on the other side of the vast room, and when I get close enough to see what it is, I'm surprised to see a man and a small boy.

"What is it? Ursala?"

"Nothing," she snaps, suddenly returning to herself a couple of minutes later. "It doesn't matter. Come on," she continues, grabbing my already much-abused coat sleeve and dragging me towards the platform.

People have started to notice us now, so it's impossible for me to ask her anything else until we reach the line of Peacekeepers who surround the train. Most of the mob won't go near them so when we get close we get a bit more space. Once the Capitol officials reassure themselves I'm where I should be, they leave us alone as well.

"Who was that man, Ursala?"

"Mind your own business," she snarls.

"Who is he?" I reply, refusing to be daunted by her attitude.

"Velia's father," she says quietly.

I'm not surprised even though I could see nothing of my friend's vivacious little daughter in the man who was arrogantly looking down at everyone around him like they weren't quite good enough.

"And the boy?"

"My Velia's half-brother. Not that she'll ever know it."

"Ursala, what happened? Why did everything end so badly?"

She looks long and hard at me before shaking her head with a strange mixture of anger and sadness. "I thought I loved him so I told him what I have to do when I go to the Capitol because I couldn't bear him not knowing. He hated me for it. He said it was my fault and that made me hate him. He says Velia isn't his and refuses to have anything to do with her. But she is his. I know she is."

"I'm sorry," I tell her, not knowing what else to say.

"Don't be," she replies fiercely. "He made his choice a long time ago and I made mine. She's my daughter. Not his. Mine."

I nod and am about to reply when the buzz from the crowd gets louder. I guess that the well-to-do of the district who have the job of ceremonially escorting Gloss onto the train bound for the Capitol have arrived, because everyone surges away from us and towards the main entrance. I barely notice the sound of a child shouting over the rest of the noise, but Ursala spins around to face the direction it's coming from as soon as it starts, a knife in her hand I didn't see her reach for. Her expression is suddenly more deadly than I've ever seen it.

"What?" I say, tensing in response to her.

The next thing I know, she visibly relaxes and puts the knife back up her sleeve, her eyes flicking to me and then away again. She says nothing but steps forwards. I tense again when I see Tiberius striding towards her, feeling as shocked as my friend to see him supporting a viciously struggling Velia on his shoulder.

"I think this belongs to you," he says to Ursala, taking a firm grip on the back of the girl's tunic and lifting her down, holding her out in mid-air to her mother with one hand like she weighs nothing. "I also think it's safer for all concerned if you stay together."

Ursala grasps Velia's arm and yanks her to her side. "What do you think you're doing here? When I tell you to stay in the house I expect you to stay in the house, do you understand?"

She barely speaks above a whisper but she doesn't have to. There is such force behind her words that I take a step back, almost fighting the urge to promise that I won't leave the house either. However it seems Velia has heard it all before.

"I looked for you and you'd gone. I thought you'd gone to the Capitol again."

"And if I had then you know better than to come here after me."

"I thought you'd forgotten this," says the little girl, her voice trembling with tears she seems to have already learned not to shed as she holds out her hand. "You never go there without it."

Ursala takes the piece of blue fabric from her daughter with a shaking hand before smoothing it out and folding it. Then she grips both the cloth and Velia like she's never going to let go. I look away as I wait for my friend to control her emotions, not wanting her to see me staring.

"It's part of the blanket she wrapped the girl in when she was born," says Tiberius, his voice suddenly reminding me of his presence. "She says it helps her focus on what she's fighting for."

Now he's said that, I remember noticing it tied around Ursala's wrist when I saw her outside the Training Centre after Gloss's Games. I feel a surge of hatred for President Snow so strong I'm surprised it isn't visible.

"Why are you here?" I ask, looking up at Tiberius. He hasn't got any less intimidating and now we're no longer both focussed on Ursala, he still looks at me like he wants to kill me.

"To make sure you and your little brother have left my district."

"Your district?" I reply. "I don't think it's yours, Silvestri."

He moves closer to me and I don't step away, tilting my head back so I can hold his gaze. He steps forwards again and out of the corner of my eye I see Ursala reach out to put her hand on his arm.

"Leave it," she whispers. "Not here."

He snarls and narrows his eyes at me before leaning down to whisper in my ear. The words I hear aren't what I expected.

"Tell your lover to say I'll do it."

I do step back then, more so I can see him properly than for any other reason, realising instantly that he ultimately wants the message to reach Achillea. I nod once and he immediately turns and walks away.

I want to shout after him but I don't get chance to. The next second I'm swept away from all of them as the Capitol officials and Peacekeepers surround me. It's time, they say, and I look over my shoulder to see Gloss and Falco making their way through the crowd. This is it. Only the Capitol left and it will be over. I just wish I could feel we were over the worst. But how can I when I know from experience that the worst is yet to come?

Don't take this the wrong way but I'm starting to have a confidence crisis - I used to have nearly twenty people who reviewed when I posted a chapter and now I'm struggling to get ten. Are you all still out there somewhere?

And thanks to those of you who always comment - I am in no way implying your reviews aren't enough, I'm just curious to know why so many of my reviewers have suddenly disappeared all at once!