Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.
Note: Just a friendly reminder to vote in the bloodbath poll if you haven't done so already. A new poll will be up along with the next chapter.
Training Day Three
On The Line
Jason Vaz, 15
District Seven
"Just the two of us, then, I suppose."
Jason nodded. Viktoria had left the breakfast table already, probably eager to spend more time with the allies she had found. The allies she seemed to consider a better option than the two of them.
"Maybe it's better this way," Jason offered, though he couldn't say exactly why, aside from the fact that he was fairly certain he could trust Saoirse. He planned to keep an eye on her, too, of course, but, with only two of them, that was reasonable. Any more might have been difficult to manage.
And it wasn't as if anyone had offered. The pair of them had spent the first two days alternating between the survival stations and the weapons stations, trying to learn as much as they could. They simply hadn't had time to look for allies, as well, and no one had come forward looking for them.
They must not have impressed anyone.
Jason turned his attention back to his breakfast. It didn't matter whether or not they impressed the other tributes. There were thirty-six of them, after all. Maybe it was better for both him and Saoirse if they faded into the background for a while. It wouldn't get them sponsors right away, but it wouldn't make them targets, either.
And he wanted to avoid being a target for as long as possible.
"Sometimes one ally is enough," Hazel offered encouragingly. "I only had my district partner, and that was enough to get me through the Games."
Jason smiled a little. If nothing else, they seemed to have Hazel's support, and the help of their mentor could mean even more than allies.
But that could only get them so far. If the sponsors didn't notice them, there wasn't much Hazel could do about it.
Viktoria, on the other hand, could pool her own sponsors with those of the rest of her group, so even if Hazel chose to help the two of them, instead, there were still three other districts whose mentors she could count on for help. "Do you think we should…" he started before dismissing it as a bad idea.
"What?" Saoirse asked.
Jason sighed. "Do you think we should ask Viktoria if we can join her alliance?"
Saoirse cocked an eyebrow. "You want to?"
An understandable reaction, given how he'd reacted to Viktoria on the train. But the truth was that their chances might be better with a larger alliance. "It might give us a better shot," he offered, trying to sound as indifferent as possible.
Hazel glanced up. "It's worth thinking about. Try training with them for a while. Get to know them a little better. Maybe it'll work; maybe it won't. It's not too late to keep your options open."
Jason nodded. The same advice she'd given before. But, sooner or later, it would be too late. Sooner or later, they would have to decide.
He just hoped they made the right decision.
Cassandra Sake, 17
District Six
"So, the two of you, then?"
Cassandra looked up, surprised, as Luke sat down with them at the breakfast table. After ignoring them ever since the reaping, now he wanted to talk? What was he playing at? Did he suspect that they were planning to kill him – or planning to have him killed? Was he trying to play nice so that they wouldn't?
"Yeah, the two of us," Cassandra nodded. They hadn't found any other allies. Not that they'd really been looking. Ryzer seemed delighted to have even one ally, and chances were that no one else would have taken either of them.
"Did you find any friends?" Ryzer asked. Cassandra barely noticed her sing-song voice anymore. Or her nasally, breathy tone. Or her eye patch. Or the fact that her hair nearly always hid about half her face.
It was amazing what someone could get used to without even trying.
Luke, on the other hand, was clearly uneasy around her. "Yeah, I've found some allies. One of the boys from Two, and the girl from Three."
Cassandra nodded. She'd seen them together. Why was Ryzer interested? Did she have some reason for wanting to find out more about his allies? Or was she simply curious?
Either way, it wouldn't hurt to play along. "The boy from Two – any training?"
Luke nodded. "Some. The girl, too, actually. And I've managed to convince them that I've trained a little, too."
Ryzer giggled. "Once the Games begin to play, they will find out anyway."
Luke cocked an eyebrow. "What?"
Cassandra smiled; his discomfort was almost amusing. "What she means is that once the Games start, it won't take them long to figure out that you're not actually trained."
Luke's face reddened. "Vernon's trained me a little."
Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Sure. To do what? Lift car parts? Start a fire in the workshop furnace?"
He took the bait. "Knives mostly, actually, but we also spar with the spare parts around the shop. Pipes and things – and the basics are the same regardless of what sort of weapon you're dealing with. I know my fair share."
"As much as them?"
"More than them, I'd bet," Luke scoffed. "I'd bet the boy hasn't actually had that much training. And the girl – well, she looks like a model, so she'll be great with the sponsors, but I haven't seen anything that could be considered weapons skills."
Cassandra nodded. "That's a pity. Sounds like they won't be much use once the Games start."
Ryzer giggled. "Poor Luke. Whatever will he do?"
Luke shrugged. "Well, if nothing else, I can always do what Vernon did."
Cassandra nodded. She'd only been five at the time, but she remembered from the replays. Vernon had joined up with the Careers, only to turn on his allies during the bloodbath. If Luke was planning to do the same…
Cassandra glanced at Ryzer once Luke left. She was giggling gleefully. Apparently, she had been thinking the same thing.
Luke was going to regret his big mouth.
Ryzer Hijore, 16
District Six
"Now, remember, let me do the talking."
Ryzer nodded agreeably. Cassandra could do the talking. She was content to watch. Watch as Luke's little alliance tore itself apart from the inside.
This was going to be so much fun.
They waited until the boy was alone. After maybe half an hour at the sword station, Luke and Natasha wandered off to try out some spears, leaving Dewan, the boy from Two, on his own. Cassandra and Ryzer waited until Luke was far enough away and not watching, then made their approach.
"Hello, Dewan," Cassandra said, smiling a little. "We need to talk."
Dewan glanced over at them, surprised. Then he made the connection. "District Six, right? Luke's district partners?"
Cassandra nodded. "That's right. And, actually, it's Luke that we wanted to talk to you about."
Dewan shrugged. "What about him?"
"You can't trust him."
"It's the Hunger Games," Dewan pointed out. "You can't trust anybody."
"Good point," Cassandra agreed. "But most of us aren't the killing sort until our lives are actually on the line. Some people, however, are actually plotting other people's deaths."
Ryzer couldn't hold in a giggle. The irony was too delicious. "If in Vernon's steps he treads, Luke's allies will soon be dead."
Dewan's face grew paler. Clearly, he knew what had happened during Vernon's Games. "I'm listening."
Cassandra leaned forward a little, her voice low. "We were talking this morning. He suspects that you're not as trained as you've tried to pretend."
"I am trained," Dewan insisted.
"Doesn't matter if we believe that," Cassandra shrugged. "What matters is that he doesn't believe it – you or Natasha. He's planning to take you out, and hoping that will earn him a place in a real Career alliance."
Skepticism finally found its way onto Dewan's face. "Why would he tell you this?"
An excellent question, actually, now that she thought about it. Why had Luke told them all this? Well, except the part about wanting a place in a real Career alliance – Cassandra had made that up. But Luke had been pretty frank about the rest. Why?
Cassandra shrugged. "Because he doesn't think we're a threat."
"And why should I trust you? Why would you tell me this? What do you gain from tipping me off?"
Cassandra smiled a little. "That's where we're on the same side – at least for a little while. If you strike first, it would benefit us both. You because you'd have the element of surprise – and he wouldn't be able to kill you first. Us because then Vernon will have to focus on us. And won't blame us for Luke's death."
"Sounds like you get a pretty good deal for doing practically nothing," Dewan pointed out.
Cassandra shrugged. "If you don't want to do anything about it, that's fine. It's your loss. Also your funeral, probably, if you let him go through with his plan. But that's not really our concern." She gestured to Ryzer. "Let's go. We've said what we wanted to say."
And they had. Maybe they hadn't convinced Dewan, but they had sown seeds of doubt. It was only a matter of time before they sprouted and grew.
Everything had been set in motion.
Natasha Kovaćić, 16
District Three
"Are you sure?"
Natasha eyed Dewan curiously. He shrugged. "No, I'm not sure. You can never really be sure of anything in the Games. And they've got every reason to want Luke dead … but that doesn't necessarily mean they're lying." He shook his head. "I just thought you should know."
"Or you're planning to do something about it, and you want my help," Natasha countered. The fact that he had told her meant that he suspected the girls were telling the truth. That he had his doubts about Luke. That he might be planning to strike first.
"How do you know I won't just tell Luke everything you told me?" Natasha asked. She had no particular loyalty to Luke, no reason to choose him over Dewan. But the reverse was also true. What did she owe Dewan? If she had to choose between warning Luke and siding with Dewan, what made him so sure she would choose him?
Dewan shook his head. "I don't. But I have to hope you have more sense than that. If you tell him, Luke will probably try to kill me, sure – whether he was planning to, anyway, or not – but then what? Which of us do you think would win that fight?"
Natasha thought for a moment. She wasn't sure about that one. Luke was older and stronger, but Dewan, she was convinced, had at least a little training. And, at the very least, he was thinking like a Career. If Luke had been as careless with revealing his plans as the girls had said, Dewan had the edge on intelligence.
Dewan leaned back against a pillar. "Okay, let me rephrase. What happens if I win? I know you tipped Luke off, and I come after you next. Believe what you will about Luke, but I don't believe for a second that you've got the training you say you do. You'd be my first target."
Natasha nodded. "And if Luke wins?"
"Then he's just rid himself of a valuable ally, and he's left with you. Then what? How long do you think he'll let you tag along with him, once the advantage of having a larger group is gone? And if they're right about him trying to earn a place in a better pack, he might kill you, anyway. Or make you his new group's first target."
Neither of those sounded like good options. "And if I don't warn him? If I help you, instead? If we…" She looked away. If we turn on our ally? If we act on the word of a couple girls from District Six? If we kill him, before he can kill us?
"Then we've proved to each other that we can be trusted – at least for a little while," Dewan offered. "It's not much, but it's better than waiting. Better than wondering every second whether he's going to turn on us."
Natasha hesitated. But part of her knew what she had to do. Part of her knew that she had to do something, that sitting back and waiting for her two allies to fight it out wasn't an option. She had to pick a side.
And why shouldn't she pick the side that wanted her?
Saoirse Terris, 16
District Seven
Jason's instincts had been right.
Saoirse shook her head as she and Jason walked away from Viktoria and her alliance. She had tried. Really, she had. But Viktoria and her allies – they weren't merely a team. They were an explosion waiting to happen. They were a time bomb.
And Saoirse didn't want to be anywhere near them when it exploded.
Not that there was any outright hostility in the group. Quite the contrary; they seemed to be getting along surprisingly well. But, beneath the surface, the tension was almost palpable. Fletcher, who seemed to be their leader, didn't seem to see it, but none of them actually wanted to work together. It was an alliance of convenience, and it wouldn't last.
But what alliance would, in the end?
Saoirse glanced over at Jason as they settled into a rhythm at the axe station. Their own alliance had come easily. There was a familiarity to it, a certainty, an odd trust that had already been formed. In fact, if she was being honest with herself, she felt protective of him already, as if one of her own brothers had, in fact, managed to volunteer and was with her now.
She tried to push the thought away. She couldn't afford to think of him as family. She couldn't afford to put him first – or even on equal footing with herself. She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that the boy beside her would have to die, if she was ever to go home to her real brothers.
But she didn't have to be the one to do it.
There were thirty-six of them, after all. Chances were, someone else would kill him before she had to. It was rare – although not unheard of – for the last two tributes standing to be from the same district. It had happened three times – once during the Ninth Games, again during the Eighteenth, and, most recently, during the Twenty-Third.
That seemed a bit many, now that she thought about it. But, then, math had never been her strongest subject. Maybe three out of twenty-four was just about right.
But it didn't seem like it.
Saoirse pushed the thought from her mind. If it came down to the two of them, she would deal with it then. Chances are, it wouldn't. And, as long as there was someone else to fight, the two of them could stand together.
Just like brother and sister.
Daedem Luthra, 18
District One
He didn't want to join any of them.
Daedem picked at his food, frustrated. He didn't want to be here. He wasn't interested in finding any allies. He'd already memorized as much useless information as he could about plants, animals, knots, fires, and some basic first aid. Ultimately, there was only so much room for all of it. What more was he really going to learn in the few hours he had left?
He wished they would just get on with it.
"You couldn't find anyone else, either?" asked a small voice.
Daedem looked up, surprised, as Elaine slid into the seat across from him. "Wasn't looking for anyone," he shrugged, quickly recovering. "I'll do better on my own."
"I won't," Elaine admitted dejectedly.
"What happened to the girl you were with the other day – District Ten?" Daedem asked.
Elaine looked up, shocked – maybe surprised that he had been paying attention to who she had been training with. "I … I think I blew it."
"How do you mean?"
"She said something … odd. And I … Well, I walked away."
Daedem shrugged. "So un-walk-away. There's still time."
Elaine shook her head. "She has other allies now."
"Sure. The pair from Twelve. They'll take you, too."
"How do you know?"
"Why wouldn't they? For all they know, you're a cold-blooded, stone-hearted killing machine."
"That sounds like an argument for not wanting me as an ally."
Daedem chuckled. "I was kidding. No one's stupid enough to believe that. You tried to run away at the reaping, remember?"
Elaine glared. "Well, you were yelling, asking what you'd done to deserve this."
"Touché," Daedem agreed. "You're right; neither of us is Career material. Good thing they're not Careers. Just go ask them. What's the worst that could happen?"
"They could kill me," Elaine suggested morbidly.
"Not until the Games start," Daedem pointed out. "And without allies, you're as good as dead, anyway."
Elaine looked away, ashamed. Daedem shook his head. "I'm just kidding."
But was he? What chance did the little girl have, really, without someone to protect her? Part of him secretly hoped she would find someone.
Someone. But not him. He had to focus on himself. Focus on staying alive. He couldn't waste time worrying about what happened to some fourteen-year-old kid who would have to die, anyway, if he was going to make it home.
And yet here he was, giving her advice.
Probably best to get rid of her before she got the wrong idea. "Go on, then." He nodded towards the table where the girl from Ten and the pair from Twelve were eating. "Go ask them."
And she did.
Lynher Palmieri, 16
District Eleven
He didn't want to be the bad guy.
Lynher glanced over at Francis, who was watching his own district partners with something that was almost regret. "It's not too late to change our minds, you know," he offered. "We can still ask if they want to be allies. They'd probably say yes."
Francis shook his head. "That's the problem. It's 'they' now. Four of them, from the looks of it." He nodded towards the group, which now included not only his district partners and the girl from Ten, but the younger girl from One, as well. "It was one thing when it was just Brennan asking to join us, but all four of them…"
Lynher nodded. Francis was right – technically. But it still didn't feel right, just the two of them. He was used to having more people around. He was used to being … well, maybe not the center of attention, but certainly a part of the attention. A part of the focus. Here, he was just one more tribute. Just one more teenager who could be dead very, very soon.
He didn't want to be that.
"What about someone else, then?" he asked. Maybe if he suggested someone older, stronger, then Francis might agree.
Francis cocked an eyebrow. "Who did you have in mind?"
He hadn't had anyone in mind. He had just thought that, out of thirty-six tributes, there must be someone else who would want to ally with them. "How about District One?" he asked without really thinking. "The boy, I mean. He doesn't seem like a Career, but he's pretty strong, and it doesn't seem like he has any allies yet, and—"
"I get the picture," Francis nodded. He thought for a moment. "All right. Let's ask. What's the worst that could happen?"
"He could kill us?" Lynher offered with a small chuckle. Francis' expression turned grave, and Lynher knew it had been the wrong thin to say. "Probably not, though," he pointed out, trying to backtrack. "Against the rules and all – at least before the Games. And once we're in the arena – well, that's what everyone's trying to do, isn't it? Kill us, before we kill them. So it'd probably be better to have him on our side."
Francis nodded wearily. "Let's just … give it a try."
The pair headed over to where the boy from One was sitting. "Must be the place to come for lunch today," the boy mumbled.
"Pardon?" Lynher asked.
The boy shrugged. "My district partner was just here looking for advice about allies."
"I see you sent her to my district partners," Francis observed.
"District Twelve, then?" the boy asked.
Francis nodded. "Francis. And this is Lynher."
"Daedem."
"Since we're talking about allies," Lynher butted in. "We were wondering if you'd like to join us."
Daedem's expression went blank. Then, to Lynher's surprise, his mouth widened into a grin, and he nearly burst out laughing. "What's so funny?" Lynher asked, confused.
Daedem chuckled a little. "It's not you. It's just my mentor – well, one of my allies' mentors, technically – implied that the only way District Twelve would be useful was if the arena happened to be a coal mine." He shook his head, laughing wryly. "Well, maybe it'll be a coal mine this year." He finally stopped laughing long enough to say, "What the hell. I'll be your ally." He chuckled a little more.
"What have I got to lose?"
Eigen Vallant, 14
District Three
He hadn't realized how much he would miss having someone around.
Eigen stared out at the tables. Alasdair was happily chatting with his allies. Eigen had been perfectly fine with him leaving, of course. Who needed a shy little twelve-year-old as an ally? But the more time passed, the more he realized that, even if he didn't want Alasdair, he did want someone.
But who?
Almost everyone seemed to have found allies already. There were some larger groups, some smaller, and a few pairs, but he seemed to be the last one alone.
He didn't want to be alone.
"What do you want?"
Eigen whirled around. The voice belonged to one of the older boys, who was standing directly behind him. "What?" Eigen asked, puzzled.
"Exactly," the boy smiled. "What do you want?"
Eigen turned back to his lunch. He didn't have the patience right now to deal with lunatics.
"What do you want?"
What did he want? He wanted an ally, but why? So that he could have someone to rely on? So that he could have someone to order around? So that he would have to worry about them stabbing him in the back?
Maybe it was better not to have any, anyway.
"What do you want?"
Eigen clenched his fists, determined not to give the boy the satisfaction of an answer. He tried to focus on his food, but the boy simply stood behind him, repeating the question every so often: "What do you want?"
Finally, he'd had enough. Eigen stood up as calmly as he could and turned to face the boy. "You really want to know what I want?" he asked, his voice dripping with fake politeness.
The other boy nodded solemnly. "I really want to know."
Eigen swung, his fist striking the older boy squarely in the jaw. Then he swung again. And again. But the boy didn't back off. He struck back, landing a punch on Eigen's cheek, another in his stomach.
By the time the guards came to separate them, Eigen's nose was bleeding, as was the other boy's cheek. Eigen flailed for a while before finally calming down enough to storm over to the spear station to take his anger out on a dummy, instead.
Only after a few minutes did he realize that he had been followed. The girl from Eight and one of the girls from Five were standing nearby, just waiting. Finally, the girl from Eight stepped forward.
"We'd like to talk to you."
Shilo Chanteau, 15
District Eight
"Are you sure?" Eigen asked.
Shilo nodded. "That's what he said. The Robber Prince. Probably thought no one else was listening." A small part of her felt bad for spilling Fletcher's secret, but if he didn't want people to know, he really shouldn't have said it in the middle of the training area where anyone who was listening could hear him.
And she had been listening.
"And you believe him?" Eigen asked skeptically.
Shilo shrugged. "Doesn't matter whether I do or not. Point is, the Capitol will be targeting him as soon as they find out – if they haven't already."
"If they're not targeting his alliance already because of my district partner," Mirami added.
Eigen chuckled a little. "I suppose that's why I didn't get in trouble for attacking him. I was a little disappointed, actually – wanted to see what they'd do."
"There's not much they could do," Mirami pointed out. "We're already in a fight to the death. What more are they going to do to us?"
Of course, there was plenty the Capitol could do. They could make sure that their deaths were slow and painful. They could kill their families, their friends, their entire district. But no one said it. Mirami probably wasn't even thinking it. She was loving this entire thing, and, for that, Shilo envied her a little.
But only a little. Once the Games began, her Capitol-loving attitude wouldn't save Mirami forever. But, for now, it was useful. Shilo glanced at Mirami, who nodded encouragingly. Go on. Ask him.
"We were wondering if you'd like to join us," Shilo offered.
Eigen raised an eyebrow. "Join you? Why?"
"Why not?" Mirami asked cheerily.
"Why not? Maybe because I've got enough to worry about without having to protect two little girls," Eigen shot back.
Shilo laughed.
Eigen's shocked expression told her that wasn't what he'd been expecting. He'd been hoping to get a rise out of her, hoping to provoke her into saying or doing something stupid. Instead, she laughed it off and turned to Mirami. "Well, I guess we should go, then." The pair started to leave. "Not much else to do here if—"
"Wait!" Eigen called.
Shilo turned to face him again, smiling sweetly. "Yes?"
"I guess … I guess I'll let you join me."
Not quite what they had asked. But whether he joined them or they joined him, the result was the same. And maybe it was better, for now, to let him think that he was in charge. To let him believe they would follow him. "We'd love to," Shilo grinned.
She just hoped she hadn't made a huge mistake.
Bakaari Reeves, 17
District Eleven
"Just the two of us, then?"
Bakaari glanced over at Jazz as the two of them headed back to the hand-to-hand combat station after lunch. She was right; it was still just the two of them. He hadn't even really thought about trying to find anyone else. He'd been too focused on learning as much as he could.
And both of them had learned a lot. Not that he felt ready to take on a Career single-handed or anything, but he had a good feel for a few of the weapons. A dagger. A mace. A club. Maybe he didn't know many of the finer points, but they felt good in his hands.
But he still couldn't imagine using them on a person.
"I guess so," he agreed. "Is that all right with you?"
Jazz nodded. "Probably better that way – not really getting to know anyone else."
She was probably right. A lot of the other tributes had been mingling, getting to know more and more people – even people who weren't their allies. Why? Wouldn't that just make it harder when they had to start killing each other? Wouldn't it be easier if the others were complete strangers?
Not that it would ever be easy, but he had a harder time picturing himself killing someone he knew. Jazz, or even Lynher. Maybe he could, if it came down to just them. But before then … he just couldn't imagine it.
Then again, he had a hard time imagining himself killing anyone.
But he would have to, in order to make it home. In order to make it back to his sisters. In twenty-four years, only one tribute had made it out of the Games without killing, and the Gamemakers weren't likely to allow that to happen again. Not any time soon, at least, and certainly not during a Quarter Quell. Victors had to kill. That was simply the way it was.
So he tried to imagine it. The next time he swung his mace at the dummy, he tried to imagine that it was real. Tried to imagine he was actually swinging to kill. Breaking bones, ripping flesh.
The thought made him sick.
Jazz must have noticed. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," Bakaari lied. "Just a bit sick of all this, I guess."
Jazz nodded. "Me, too. I wish we were just in the arena already so we could get it over with."
Bakaari had to fight to keep from cringing. That was the last thing he wanted. As bad as waiting for the inevitable was, he knew that the Games themselves would be worse. He was in no hurry for the fighting to start.
He wasn't ready.
Jazz Farnahm, 17
District Eleven
She was ready.
Jazz took another swing at the dummy. Maybe not completely ready, but as ready as she was ever going to be. What difference were a few more hours of training really going to make? At some point, they might as well get on with it.
Get it over with.
Bakaari didn't seem so eager. Not that she was terribly surprised by that. He was enjoying the luxury of the Capitol. The food, the clothes, the beds, the warm water, the clean rooms. And even she had to admit, it was a nice change. But, in the end, the luxuries were simply distractions from the reality that they would be killing each other soon.
And she didn't need any more distractions.
Bakaari himself was enough of a distraction. A distraction from focusing on her own life. But he was a necessary one; she definitely didn't want to face the Games on her own. Not yet, at least.
Not yet.
But, eventually, she would have to. Everyone knew that any sort of alliance in the Games could only be temporary. And she knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that Bakaari would never be the one to break it off. He would never be the one to end the alliance.
So she would have to.
But not yet. She still had a while before she would have to think about that. Get through training. Get through the bloodbath. Get through the first few days of the Games. Then she could think about what to do about her ally.
Assuming they weren't dead already.
It was odd, now that she thought about it – how that hadn't even occurred to her. She had been assuming that she and Bakaari would survive. That, working together, they could make it through the first couple of days. But was that even true?
No. No, she couldn't afford to start thinking like this now. Couldn't afford to start second-guessing herself. They would survive. They had to. And that's all there was to it. Anything else was just a waste of time. No sense worrying about something that she had no control over. Not now.
Better to focus on something she could control.
But what? Now that she thought about it, so few things were left in her control. Frustrated, she took another swing at the dummy. She wasn't used to feeling so helpless. So cornered. No matter what she did, it wouldn't really matter. So much depended on her ally, on the other tributes, on the audience, on the Gamemakers.
And none of them gave a damn about what happened to her.
Francis Cooper, 17
District Twelve
"Did I make the right choice?"
Francis studied Silas' expression, not quite sure what he was hoping for. Perhaps some hint of approval. Some sign that he had made the right decision to abandon Brennan and Blythe in favor of his two older, stronger allies.
He knew it shouldn't be bothering him. It wasn't as if he owed the two younger tributes anything. Wasn't as if he had promised to be their ally and then taken it back. He'd promised nothing. Hinted at nothing. He had no reason to feel bad about his decision.
And yet he did.
But maybe that was the very reason he had to stand by his choice. If he felt this bad about turning down his district partners as allies, how much worse would it have been to have them as allies, only to watch them die? Maybe it was better to sever ties now, so that when their faces appeared in the sky, the wounds wouldn't be as fresh.
That was, of course, assuming that it would be their faces, not his, that appeared in the sky.
"There's no such thing," Silas said at last, with a solemnity that Francis had never heard in his mentor's usually cheerful voice before.
"Pardon?" Francis asked.
Silas shrugged. "There's no such thing as 'the right choice' in the Games. Chances are, you did the necessary thing. But that's not always the same as the right thing. You're a tribute now, Francis; you don't have the luxury of doing the right thing."
Francis nodded. Silas was right, of course. The only way he was going to make it out of the arena alive was if he stopped worrying about doing the right thing and focused on doing whatever would keep him alive. And if that meant choosing his allies based on utility rather than sympathy, then so be it.
"What would you do?" Francis asked. A silly question, perhaps, since Silas had never been in this sort of situation. Unlike the other mentors, Silas wasn't a victor. He had never been in the arena. That put him – and his tributes – at a disadvantage. But, still, Francis was curious about what his mentor would have done in his place.
Silas thought for a moment, leaning back in his chair. "After the war, one of my first cases involved a couple from District Nine. They had two young children – a two-year-old girl who had been crippled in a raid and a seven-year-old boy. They'd all been arrested, but, in return for the parents' cooperation – pleading guilty, naming a few of their associates, that sort of thing – the Capitol was prepared to offer one pardon."
"Only one?" Francis asked.
Silas nodded. "One. That was the deal. I had to choose, Francis – had to choose who to save. The parents were adamant, of course, that I choose one of the children. For days, the little boy asked me – begged me – to choose the girl, instead. To let him die, if it would save his sister's life. But what sort of a life would she have had? How long would she have lived? Who would have taken her in? Would she have survived a week, a month?" He shook his head.
"You chose the boy, didn't you."
Silas nodded. "I did. And somewhere in District Nine is a man who will never stop hating me for what I did. But he's alive, Francis, because I made a choice. Was it the right choice? No. There is no right choice in a situation like that – or this. I did what I thought was best at the time, and now I have to live with it." He shook his head. "Does that answer your question?"
It did.
"Sure is for people with nothing on the line. You and me? We just get on with it."