Night 3
D5, Victor, 18
A sharp noise had Victor start. Again. He shut his eyes in aggravation. "Either sleep or don't, but do stop breathing so loudly."
"I'm not going to attack you, get over yourself and let me sleep," Georgie snapped back in a low voice.
Mesmer's green eyes flickered open, revealing a flat stare. He shut them just as swiftly. Victor's fingers instinctively curled over his knife. They had a solid plan, it'd make no sense for Mesmer to kill them.
Georgie sighed, shifting again in her sleeping bag. It reassured him to see that even Georgie, born and raised poor, had trouble finding comfort on the unyielding ground. It wasn't just him. She hissed when Victor poked her in the ribs.
"Keep me company, then. It'll tire you enough to sleep later."
Georgie pursed her lips in the gloom. Victor didn't smile, for it would ruin the effect. Georgie wanted to be offended and angry, despite all her claims to the contrary. It was her way of taming fear.
She pushed herself up and was at his side -but not too close, lest anyone suspect she like him-.
"And what do you want us to discuss?" The ginger said with forced politeness.
Victor wondered how red her pretty face would turn if she knew he found her funny. He was glad she wasn't holding her head anymore. He had no idea how to treat a concussion except waiting it out.
"Why do you hate me? I promise not to get angry, it'd make me look immature anyway." Victor said, crossing his arms in genuine curiosity. Their truce was tenuous at best, despite him saving her life, despite them being together among enemies.
"You've done everything for it!"
"I tried to help, actually." He'd been blunt in training, but never a liar. "You just didn't want to hear."
Georgie stared up at him, her shoulders hunched and her red lips trembling. "So I deserved to have my whole team die? I had it coming?"
She concealed none of her feelings, the thickness in her voice screaming for help even as she edged away from him. Why did she bare herself so if she didn't trust him at all? Georgette Calico had made very little sense from the beginning.
Victor swallowed. Maybe he could exaggerate on the side of kindness for once. "Georgie, you helped them. Dash attacked Carnelia. That means he thought he could do it. He thought he could be both good and strong enough. He was true to himself until the end." He'd respected those types in previous Games, as much as he'd been fascinated by the ruthless survivors, but now that the choice was his, he preferred to take his chances, and earn the respect back in the coming decades.
"You know the rules of the Hunger Games," he pressed on with a mirthless quirk to his lips. "You like to think I'm evil, but I won't change anyone's destiny except whoever might win instead of me, and that person will not be innocent."
Georgie's cheeks lost none of their flush. She shook her head, her breath coming out in shallow, quick puffs. "I... I haven't thanked you have I?" she said softly.
Victor looked down. He didn't want to think about the Bloodbath. Orvis, Mouse... Better like that, or worse, he didn't know. Georgie was suffering, now she just struggled with grief, with right and wrong, but as the gloom as fluorescent lights ruined their sense of time, as food become scarcer, what would she become?
Mesmer wasn't suffering. Mesmer gave Victor purpose and strength instead of doubts and discomfort, but Georgie, with her small balled hands and earnest stare... He couldn't bring himself to consider kicking her out of their alliance.
"Do you regret it?" Georgie
A smile thick with disbelief broke Victor's lips, building into a silent laugh. He grinned, feeling light for the first time in days.
"Georgie, you idiot, saving your life is the single good thing I've done in the last week."
The ginger just stared at him. She then turned away, looking at the rustling leaves in the moonless night. Currents of fluorescent green light streaked against the skies, twisting like racing eels. Georgie's hand had somehow ended up resting on his wrist.
"Oh," she simply said.
Victor brought his fist to his lips. Georgie's naive question had shattered the wall he'd kept around him. He had all the reasons in the world, but his actions had been evil, and it would just get worse.
The cameras were right there staring at them. Mesmer had sat in front of one, making ribbons of grass appear, vanish and break. He'd given them names, stories all too similar to the remaining tributes, and wrapped it all in darkness, staging a show for his invisible audience.
"Hi, Mother," Victor said with a choked smile. "You must be even busier than me. Caesar seemed surprised that I wasn't embarrassed during the interviews. I meant it, I'll wear the most ridiculous dress if that means I get a chance to talk to you again."
She was sponsoring him. She was fighting just as hard as he was from the outside. He knew she'd murder, if that's what it took.
"I have so many plans, for the victory money. I saw in the Capitol, from our window, there's this street full of buildings and gardens on the roofs. I'd build a bridges, we could make a river. The Capitol's architects have the dreams, but the skill for heavy works lies in Five."
He'd asked his escort, about avoxes, and he'd learned they were public slaves, very rarely private. Few Capitolites had them in their homes. The Capitol didn't want to associate with anyone from the Districts, except victors of course, but Victor had begun to see that Capitolites couldn't give a solid reason why. It was the way things were.
"I could study and I'd build us a castle. You, me, Dad and Whitefang. I'm sure we'd find a woman happy to be surrogate, I'd call her aunt, and we'd finally get the big family we always wanted." He spared a thought for Clarisse, the girl from the community home they'd tried to adopt. Mom had bounced back, she always did, but losing Clarisse had sucked the fight out of his father.
They did on purpose, the rebel voice in his mind whispered. We have to fight for every scrap of power and even now we are barely better than vermin. It was no accident. They murdered Clarisse.
He turned to Georgie, who was staring at her feet with tears in her eyes. Clarisse had been angry and freckled too, but her warm open laugh still seared Victor's memory. "I'm sure you have people watching."
Georgie shook her head, rage clouding her face. "It's never live," she choked. "They'll never hear it."
His mother would find a way to get a live feed. She always found a way. "Mentors see everything. Your message won't be lost," Victor promised.
He backed away, letting her mouth names he didn't know and finally break into heavy whispers.
They shared a look full of meaning before she slowly curled up back in her sleeping bag, her breath almost brushing his leg, a lock of curly hair falling across her freckled face.
Day 4
D11, "Mesmer", 15
There was only so much that chatting and bickering could do. The four had remained holed in their little cave for thirty-six hours. The Gamemakers had to be as excited as him to see this work.
Time to play.
He hid four of his six knives along the way. Victor had volunteered to safeguard them, the noble soul, but no.
A knife he left in his pocket, and with the hilt of the last, he expertly struck his own jaw. It would bruise, spectacularly, but it wouldn't impair him in any way. He slashed his shirt, just beneath the armpit seam, and pushed hard enough to draw blood.
Finally, he dragged his knees roughly on the ground. No one would doubt that he'd been in a fight.
The hardest was to go back to the memories, to unlock the feelings he'd long since outgrown. He'd need them to be believable.
'You won't do it.'
He'd been six when he'd began to understand, that he was smarter than the other boys. He smiled at the teacher and did everything perfectly and more, but he made himself slow, so he could stay back and then get maybe a chore. He'd not be pushed around if he was doing a chore for a teacher. Unfortunately the bigger boys noticed too.
'You don't have it in you.'
They taught him tricks and set him to beg, because he was cute enough the peacekeepers would let him if he payed them some. After them and the boys, Mesmer had almost nothing at all, but when he complained, they taught him a lesson.
Mesmer had been great a school, but he wasn't good at learning those lessons. After the tenth time, they got real mad and broke one of his ribs. He couldn't beg for a whole month. So Albedo went, because the boys were hungry. The last time Mesmer saw Alberto, he was bloodied and being flogged on the square. They'd made him an avox.
The lesson Mesmer learned was that they needed him. He couldn't help being defiant, even when he knew it was stupid. And after they beat him again, when they thought he'd forgotten about it, he offered to show them a trick with a knife.
'You'll nick me, and see blood, and run screaming to your mommy. Except you've got no mommy. I'm your mommy, stupid. And you do what I tell you.'
Mesmer remembered the feeling. He had the knife, he knew exactly how to use it, he could taste the threat, feel the blows that would come raining down if he didn't follow through. He hated, like his eight-year-old self had thought it was impossible to hate. But he couldn't do it.
So he ran. He threw the knife down and ran as fast as he could. They let him, laughing, daring him to come back. He never knew what they became. He never came back to his birth-town.
Mesmer shivered, his cheeks burning in frustration as he forced himself relive it. He hadn't been able to do it. He'd been weak.
His feet struck the dirt hard as he neared the cave. "Rosemary?" He called. Time to be friendly and speak names. "Drake? Harrow?"
"Stop." It was the healer. Bow in hand and the string pulled, but the arrow was pointed next to him.
Mesmer already had let go of his knife and had his hands high up, the blood under his left arm clearly on display. "I mean no harm," he said hoarsely. "Victor tried to kill me, I have nowhere else to go."
"If Victor tried to kill you, why is it still so dark?" Mercury called. He couldn't see her, just her long shadow on the cave. "And why is he still alive?"
Mesmer blinked. He didn't even register the darkness anymore. The ghost-lights were good enough for what he needed. "Maybe it's not enough anymore. Only real kills for light... I..." Mesmer slowly reached for his second knife and let it clatter to the ground. "That's all I have." He stepped away from the weapons, his every muscle tense. Their weapons didn't count. They held them but wouldn't use them. They were not killers.
"Why is Victor alive?" Mercury repeated.
Mesmer almost smiled. Methodical, rational, predictable. "I couldn't do it," Mesmer spat. "I... he attacked me. He... I can't find allies," he said, his voice thick with unfeigned frustration. He should've been a Career. He deserved his place among them. "I just want somewhere I can be safe. Maybe, with people to protect, I can be useful."
Rosemary wasn't pulling on the bow string anymore. 'You can't do it.' "Well, come in."
"No," Mercury said tightly. Now he could see her, and she held her knife all wrong, but at this distance, she still might hit. "First you strip, slowly, down to zit." She took a slow breath. "You're clever enough to know it isn't personal."
I do and I will still kill nonetheless, pretty lady.
Maybe he should strip sensually to screw with their minds. Fear shone bright in Three's blue eyes. No, he'd not take the chance.
Mesmer stripped quickly, the water bottle rolling out of under his shirt as he revealed his skinny frame and a large bandage wrapped around his thigh. The more wounded they thought he was, the less they would be on their guard. He shook his shoes and four cereal bars fell out.
"Throw us your clothes, shoes, and socks" Mercury ordered. "You can put your underwear back on after that. Rose, don't put the bow away," she added through clenched teeth.
"I'm flattered you'd think me so ruthless and clever," he said, obeying with resigned grimace. He shuddered and not just from the cold. The arena had gone from warm to barely mild in less than a day. He hated being so exposed, despite the very useful expressions on both Drake's and Rosemary's faces. They thought that Mercury was going too far, he had gained their sympathy.
"I think the life of everyone here is valuable," Mercury replied, checking his clothes, "and I don't presume to know anything about you, aside that you are very clever."
Mesmer bowed from the waist, his lips twitching. "I understand."
He hated being naked. His body was frail and barely fed, every failure written in it, spiky scars from dangerous tricks and the bigger boys who'd found stealing from beggars easier than making money themselves. And peacekeepers, before he'd made a pact with Secundus. Mercury didn't let his seething embarrassment faze her, and she took her time.
She then walked over herself, taking knives and cereal bars, before handing him back his clothes.
Mesmer met her eyes. "Give me back one bar, and I'll teach you tricks. We'll be funny for the cameras."
Mercury handed it back without a word, a small frown and a veil of questions over her eyes. Wonder all you want. I have already won. You won't kill me in cold blood.
The cave they were in was large enough for five. Rose and Harrow never seemed more than a foot apart. Maybe Georgie had been right... He'd kill them together, quickly. Making Three or Six his pet would be enough to slake the sponsors' thirst, and empty their wallets. They weren't much different from the people coming back from the orchards, desperate for something to distract them from their pathetic lives. Just with higher expectations, and much, much wealthier.
There was a functioning heater in a corner of the cave, but only three little bags. They'd hidden the rest. No visible traps. Where were Three's snares? Would she really waste it on protecting their supplies. He hated electronics. He knew nothing about them.
"How are you?" He asked Harrow. "That looks neat," he added, pointing at the bandage and flashing Rosemary a look. "When will he walk? If we have a good plan, one that requires Harrow to walk, I'm sure sponsors will be convinced."
"Is Victor going to come after us?" Drake asked, his skin pasty-white in the gloom.
Mesmer ground his teeth. "If he does, we'll make the sun rise," he vowed.
"You think you'll be able to kill this time," Mercury said. It wasn't a question.
"Mercury, enough. He doesn't deserve this," Rosemary intervened. "He's Drake's age. Rough lives have made great men as well as bad ones."
Mesmer didn't meet her eyes. He was too entranced by the glimpse of black he'd spotted in Nine's pocket. Looking more closely, they all had black berries in one of their pockets. Nightlock. They'd killed Starch, the last boy from Eleven to make the last four. It had been the year he'd met Zephyranth, and he'd been happy enough to dare hope Starch would bring a feast home.
"I'll give you your knives back when Harrow will have received medicine."
"That sounds fair, Mercury," Mesmer said with a small smile. Don't waste your money, sponsors, leave it to me.
Zephyranth, I have a new plan. This one would be delightfully elegant.
D3, Mercury, 17
She'd been uneasy ever since Mesmer had shown up. He was delighting Harrow, Rose and Drake with rock tricks and stunningly expressive mimes, but with every sleigh of hand, Mercury felt an invisible noose curl tighter around her neck. They ate the cereal bars, dividing the four into five portions without even having to ask Mesmer to share his. The meager meal had quieted her hunger but hardly filled her.
Now they had nothing. She stood up.
"I'll go cover Mesmer's tracks. Better try to keep this place hidden a while longer." She had to get out.
Drake scrambled up to come with her, harpoon in hand and a hard expression on his face. "I'm coming with you, it's spooky dark out."
He was brave, and so full of life. Mercury's chest constricted painfully. Everything was so wrong.
"I need to think, please don't talk to me," Mercury whispered. She squeezed Drake's hand, because she more time she spent around Harrow and Rose, she more she realized she'd not been touching the people who mattered nearly enough.
"No worries," Drake replied, alert. "Better I keep a look-out in case Victor comes back."
Mesmer was too convenient. She was blessed with clever level-headed allies who agreed to overdo the drama, to court the Capitol's good graces, even if she'd seen not missed the loathing in Rose's eyes.
All this, for candy. Rose hadn't shouted, she hadn't said anything, but her silence had been enough. The prices were rising. They'd gotten buttered bread for four with just some good-natured complaints, but only candy after a half-hour of doing their damnedest to forget Harrow's wound, to forget the violence and threat, and laugh about booby-trapped cookies, and eat disgusting birds.
A ghost of a smile lit her lips. Not all the smiles that night had been fake. She'd never done that before, sit a whole day with near strangers and just talk. Aster hadn't insisted on 'don't make friends'. She must not have struck him as the type. She had so few true friends back home.
She would defend them. It wasn't a matter of reason, of strategy, or angle. She knew she would, and it terrified her.
Victor had not seemed the type to attack Mesmer. Had Mesmer threatened Georgie? Georgie was with them, wasn't she? Mesmer might have thought her a liability, or decided to make her part of his show, underestimating Victor's morals.
He'd not have killed Victor because... it wasn't the right time.
Aster had told her to stay away from the dark-skinned boy. 'He's a murderer and a showman. He can't be allowed to notice you.'
But what if it was true? What if Mesmer had overdone his angle, creating fear he couldn't match with violence?
But if Mesmer was lying... What use could they be to him? Would he come up with a plan, to attack the Careers?
She had to trust Aster. He knew the Games, he was her mentor now. If she couldn't trust him, then there was nothing left.
A shaky breath escaped her lips. She kept her eyes fixed forwards, pretending she couldn't see the glint of cameras, pretending Aster couldn't see her. He was so smart and yet so full of self-loathing. Would he hate her if she killed? Was he cursing right now, hoping she'd act and do the right thing? Had she missed something critical? Did Aster, deep down, hope she would die? Mercury bit her lip, swallowing back tears of fear.
Mercury couldn't antagonize Mesmer more than she had. He wouldn't kill the four of them at once. It wouldn't make any strategic sense to, and Mercury brought an electrical trap no one else could use to the alliance. But if it became personal, strategy would fly out the window.
She wiped sweaty palms on her clothes, her eyes locked on Drake's face. He caught her staring and gave her an extra cute smile, his eyebrows raised in question. She didn't want him to die.
"Come here," she said thickly, opening her arms. "I'm just happy you're here."
She couldn't stage a romance, she had no idea how, and the arena had sucked all the flirtatiousness out of her, but she meant the hug, and she knew Drake, her solid, cheerful Drake, meant it back.
She couldn't kill Mesmer. As she let go of Drake, his warmth still clinging to her, she realized she just... couldn't. She couldn't run away, not in the darkness. Not when it meant leaving Drake and Rose and Harrow, and every chance at comfort and laughter.
Rosemary gave Mesmer a watch, two watches after Mercury's. They didn't bother to try and figure out if it'd be midnight or midday by then. She felt ill. Mr. Daemon, I'm so sorry for your watch. She'd have to wake on her own, and they'd all slept so poorly the nights before that she never would.
One night. Surely she could trust Mesmer for one night? She'd hide his knives with the rest of their supplies.
D2, Corsair, 18
The Capitol was like a child. What entertained them one day might bore them the next, and encourage Gamemakers to make them face a bigger threat than their painful bat-mutts.
No cannon had blasted in almost two days. That had to change.
"Today we hunt."
The arena was stuck in an almost-night, as if the sun was right behind the horizon, waiting for them to pull it out with blood. The cloudless sky was dark blue, barely light enough to make the maze's rocks stand out from the rest of the shadows. They might spot an unusual movement, but if a tribute was smart enough to stay silent in the shadows, they could well pass them without noticing.
Armagnac was tying ropes around his drum to efficiently carry it. His fingers were trembling and he'd not rested much more than the night before.
"We separate," Corsair added. Armagnac had reached his peak of popularity, and but he would not be able to sustain it. That boy was no Career. Cashmere and Gloss had been made of a very different mold. Better Armagnac break far from them. His killer would not earn the Capitol's good graces.
"Carnelia, Armagnac, Paloma, circle East. We're keeping Messenger and climbing West. When the light returns, we both climb on the walls and seek the others out. We'll find you."
"Don't damage him," Paloma warned.
Corsair put his hand on his heart. "You were right," he allowed with a small smile, "his skills are valuable."
He brushed his fingers against Aurora's hands, letting go of a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding when she loosely wrapped her fingers in his.
Brutus had warned him the angle would be exhausting. He'd not believed his mentor. He was a fool.
He didn't hide the desire in his eyes as her attention was elsewhere, she was beautiful, and a challenge, and while he couldn't let her win, he could offer her this one victory, a power-play on her terms.
The dirt paths were a map holding all the keys to the meat's whereabouts. It wasn't long before they found tracks, despite the green light's efforts to ruin contrast. Corsair crouched, tracing them with his fingers. "Human, two people. They're really faded but there's no wind. This was before the rain." He moved without standing, careful not to meet Aurora's gaze. Tracking was taught to the seventeens in the Annex, and she disguised her ignorance behind guarded admiration. But the game was to pretend that he didn't notice.
He stopped in front of the wall. "Here, the people stopped. Paced. These feet are very small..." He picked a scrap from the stone walls. The fire had consumed itself and the slippery grease was now only sticky.
"They climbed the walls," Messenger finished. "Yolo and Bryony, on the first day. They went through here."
"We climb after them," Corsair announced.
"You want us to go after thirteen-year-olds?" Aurora said. "It's not very... glorifying."
Corsair shook his head with a faint smile. "No, Charming, but I want to run on those walls instead of being confined to shadows and winding paths. How did Armagnac's song go? 'The top of the mountain'?"
That he would feature in a ballad had never so much as crossed Corsair's mind, his exposure to music was confined to peacekeeper parades and the Hunger Games. He'd been stunned to enjoy it, and the dancing.
Aurora met his soft smile with a mild challenging scowl. What? He heard. His lips twitched further.
"I've got a massive dump to unload first," Messenger announced. "Don't do anything nasty while I'm gone," he added with an insolent wink.
"The long-haired postman is getting cocky," Corsair mildly said as Messenger disappeared round the corner.
"And insulting. Nasty," Aurora said in distaste, femininity draped all over her as she leaned against the wall. "There is no nasty with me." A flicker of light danced around her neck, darkening her amber eye. "And you're rather not-nasty either, I must say."
Her smile was faintly mocking, but Corsair matched it with one of his own and a faint straightening of his shoulders. "My primal instincts are telling me to throw you over my shoulder and make you laugh, it works with my little sister."
Aurora snorted. "Down, caveman."
She was making him despair. Girls had come to him and let him conquer them, or sometimes conquered him without him complaining too hard, the moment he'd made first tier, but he felt like a fumbling virgin trying to woo his first woman with that one.
His jaw clenched. Cameras. This year Careers had a soft side. So instead of keeping his thoughts close, he told Aurora in a soft tone.
Her eyes widened and she looked down, but the turn-away smile was there. "I'm not sure I was quite ready to hear that," she said breathlessly. "I..." The mask was gone, Corsair could see it in thousand things adding new richness to her expression. He troubled her, he knew it now.
Corsair laughed softly and handed her his hand. "Climb," he said, facing the wall, "we'll stand above them all."
"Don't look in Messenger's direction," Aurora said, her eyes glinting in mischief, "it would ruin the moment."
"Nothing can ruin the moment," Corsair replied, basking in her beauty.
The maze's nature was self-evident from the walls. A sea of living ice stretched below them, pulsing green as if an unearthly bonfire burned in its heart. Cold mist and green lights rose from it and it slowly climbed upwards, leaving nothing living. It was less than mile below them and would reach them within the half-day. At this speed, four more days and the whole arena would be covered in ice.
An odd echo caught his attention. Voices.
Two shadows stood where there should have been just one. Messenger wasn't alone. Instead of being pants down making his business, he was with his district partner. She had a throwing ax, but the way she held she may as well have been unarmed. He handed her crackers, his posture tense, but more resigned than fearful. Corsair could almost hear his thoughts 'what, come on, I couldn't kill her for crackers.'
Meat. Unable to play the game.
Corsair shared a look with Aurora. Her jaw was locked in anger. "She's taking us for fools. Parasite."
Neither of the Tens saw them coming.
Shrouded in shadows, Aurora ran on the wall, her balance perfect. Suddenly, one of the holograms appeared out of nowhere and gave her color. The knife holding her hair glinted a bright otherworldly green. Aurora looked terrifying. Corsair grinned.
Rachel turned just in time to be slammed to the ground, the ax knocked out of her hand.
Her chest heaving and her weight still on the slighter girl, Aurora let out a tired sigh. "Do we look like idiots?"
Corsair met Messenger haunted gaze. Be still like a good boy, Ten.
Rachel's hands tried to reach her belt. Aurora tore the dart-bag away from her and threw it to the side.
"Did you just try to kill me?" Aurora hissed. Her hand now held a knife. Corsair crossed his arms, an amused smile lighting his face.
Inwardly, he repressed sudden doubt. Was he growing too comfortable? Was he letting Aurora get too much spotlight?
"No!"
Messenger slammed into Aurora with a roar. "NO!" He lifted her off with surprising strength and shoved her backwards.
Corsair caught Rachel before she could think to flee, and froze. Aurora gasped as her back hit the maze wall.
Corsair buried the urge to grab his morning-star and break Messenger in half. To throw his bolas around his knee and drag him on the maze walls until he had no skin left.
You've got this, Charming. Brutus had told him control would be key, that the Capitol thought they wanted lust, but in truth also hungered for respect. So Corsair, one hand tightly gripping Rachel hair, his knee pressing on her shoulder to keep her on the ground, just watched.
Messenger had gained the advantage through surprise. He was bigger, stronger. He also was a fool. He had Aurora struggling against him, her back against the rocks. His arm and elbows were pressed hard against her breasts. Aurora's eyes had glazed over, all angle shattered.
She twisted her body like a fury "Let me go!"
Messenger wasn't fighting a Career from Two who wanted to satisfy the Capitol above all else. By bodily trapping her, he had become Aurora's nightmare.
And Messenger wasn't strong enough to contain her now. Aurora shoved her knee in his stomach, elbows and fists striking out. It was not polished, not precise, and made bar brawls look tamed. The knife tumbled out of her hair, freeing a shower of golden locks. Messenger lost hold and grabbed her hair, slamming her back.
Rachel gasped in pain under him, but Corsair couldn't take his eyes off Aurora, his mouth dry and his heart thundering at the sight. Aurora, composed, graceful Aurora, lashing out with wild abandon.
Aurora let out a shriek of pure rage and slammed her elbow in Messenger's face. The boy's head knocked back hard against the maze wall.
Messenger grunted, the knife he'd been fumbling with falling out of his hand. He gasped as blood spurted from his nose.
"You don't touch me!You don't put your hands on me," Aurora screamed, shoving him again, slamming his head against the stone, until his eyes rolled back. "nobody touches me unless I say so!"
The cannon blasted.
A low moan escaped Rachel's throat.
"What did he expect?" Corsair whispered in her ear. "To save you? Probably not, probably it's what you people call primal decency. He couldn't bear to see you hurt, couldn't bear to stand watch, even if he has a family."
Rachel's chest heaved as she made a wretched gagging sound. Corsair threw her to the ground, letting go of her hair. He didn't want to be vomited on.
A ragged breath left his lips as the consequences of the cannon blast sunk in. With Messenger dead, Paloma had just become a wildcard. The alliance was broken. It wasn't even the last ten.
Aurora let Messenger go with a shudder, straightening in defiance but brittle as a flame of glass. Slowly, the brittleness vanished, replaced by the Annex's polished charm.
Corsair should be annoyed. He should care, but the calculations were nothing compared to the wonder filling him.
Aurora was so beautiful. The Capitol would forgive her anything.
"Want me to take care of that for you?" He asked, gesturing at Messenger's corpse.
Aurora rolled her eyes, a smile chasing away the last of her panic. She removed Messenger's shirt, took his water, and cleaned her hands and face.
She turned to him. "Thank you, for not rescuing me."
"You didn't need any rescuing." It would have been a crime to.
Soft rays of sunlight fell on the taller part of the stone walls. Rachel was still shivering on the ground, her muscles locked from shock and terror. How that girl had to hate herself, for how her body betrayed her now.
Aurora smiled, her eyes now on Rachel too. "Corsair, why don't we show her, what we do with thieves?"
Corsair nodded gravely. He tied her up, one feet, one hand. While Aurora circled her like a lion on prowl.
"Grubby fingers of yours. Filthy fingers. Didn't your mom teach you to clean your nails?"
"What about your Mom?" Rachel spat. "Did she watch while daddy his had fun?"
Rachel screamed when Aurora pressed her thumb against her eye. Aurora only removed it when it was soaked by tears.
"Maybe I'll gouge out your thieving eyes," Aurora hissed through clenched teeth.
"How much did she steal?" Corsair asked, staring down coldly at the girl. She was lucky, that he wasn't Carnelia.
"Four oranges."
"The Games are harsh, we understand." Corsair's small smile was devoid of any warmth. "We won't chop your hands off. Instead... one nail for one orange."
"You're sick," Rachel gasped, her left eye bloodshot and still crying. "You're rabid dogs that ought to be put down!"
"Let's round that up to five," Corsair said dispassionately. "One hand. You can do three, Aurora."
"Show me," she asked. "I want to do this properly."
Corsair was delighted to.
When Aurora's turn came, she snapped the nail too hard. It landed in her hair, trapped in locks as Rachel screamed.
Corsair stood up to get it out. Somehow, Aurora ended in his arms, her breasts pressing against his chest. The distance was too short to conceal the rapid beating of her heart.
Corsair froze. They couldn't kiss. Not today, it'd be wasted. Once they kissed, the tension would be gone, unless Aurora run away, but it was too early for that, too many tributes still roamed the arena. Corsair fought against his body, ten years of training screaming at him to stay in control. Aurora's eyes were half closed, her face half-tilted, bathed in sunlight, inviting but not demanding and-
A clang has them both turn. They'd underestimated Rachel's pain threshold, and her ability to get out of binds. She'd even gathered her bag, ax and darts back. Corsair winced. He could hear Brutus slamming his fist against the console, or whatever mentors had.
A stunned outraged gasp left Aurora's lips. "She got away! I can't believe it! We've got to find her!"
D1, Carnelia, 18
The cannon boomed through the arena, making them all start.
"Damn, they get all the fun!" Carnelia complained.
Armagnac was fidgeting, his eyes wide and far away. Wide and scared. He was losing it. Come on, Gnac.
Feeling a sudden tug of kinship, Carnelia licked her lips. "Let's stop a sec. Enjoy the recap. I want to see blood." Gnac looked like he could use a break.
They sat. And waited. The sky stayed a dull dark blue of late dawn.
The suspense pumped adrenaline in Carnelia's veins. She held her breath, expecting a second blast any second now.
None came. Still no death recap.
Paloma lost patience first. "We should move. We don't know how fast the ice is climbing. We must cover more ground."
So ground they covered. It was relaxing to be able to keep silent for once. Carnelia side stepped and checked corners and bushes, sometimes freezing like a hunting dog, her feral grin losing a bit of its edge as Paloma tried to hide her smile.
Stupid District Four was totally going to ruin Carnelia's credibility as a crazy predator. But it kind of warmed Carnelia, to see that Paloma knew the difference, between doing what you had to do, and being a basket case only the Hunger Games didn't mind seeing around.
Carnelia pointed her nose against the camera and licked it. "Not food," she whispered in exaggerated disappointment.
A spring in her step, she went to check out another shadowy corner, eyes wide like a child seeking candy. Funny how by willing herself to act curious and excited, her heart sped up, and suddenly she realized she was curious, and that it was fun.
Carnelia giggled as she snatched a bug off a branch and popped it in her mouth. They'd never paid attention to her, except to better know how to hurt her. Or to turn her into something she could never be. Not her parents, not the girls at the Academy, not the instructors, when even with her whip she failed to match the thousand unspoken rules you had to follow to be more than a nobody.
Here, everything was different. Armagnac wrote songs about her, sponsors came flocking when she had a wound, every camera turned as she passed. Carnelia was a queen. Her, not Rosacea. It was the best feeling in the world.
Carnelia suddenly stopped. The ground was shaking. She tasted the air, but it wasn't any colder. An odd smell reached her nostrils. It wasn't pleasant.
"Something's here," she said. Paloma had stopped too, but Gnac had taken his sword out in panic and was making stupid dangerous circles.
"Relax, Armagnac!" Carnelia hissed.
Paloma went to him and grasped his shoulder. She let her hand rest there a while, and it seemed to do the trick. "Mutts," Paloma said, her jaw tight. "This is an animal smell."
Animals. The ground was shaking. Something, lots of somethings, were running, and Carnelia was stuck in a corridor five yards wide.
"Boost me on the walls," Paloma said.
Right. Smart. Within seconds, Paloma was up on the still slippery stones and dragged them up. Armagnac swayed from the bulk of the drum still attached to his pack.
The dawn was blinding. They couldn't see a damn thing. Loads of somethings were coming their way, flooding the paths, but not just in front of them, all around, and they stank.
Goats. The running somethings was goats. Those mad-eyed goats that had rot in their meat and nothing much better in their brains who were speeding for them, black against the rising sun.
She frowned. That shadow wasn't goat-shaped. Hello there, Yood. His clothes made hers look new, except his weren't full of dried blood. He'd been herding the goats. With little Twelve, just as rag-clad and even closer to them..
"Aaah!" Carnelia shrieked as the wall they were was on collapsed under her.
They were surrounded by panicked fucking goats. Carnelia ducked, her whip folded in her hands.
The goats tried to head-but and kick and she ran between them, crouching low. She was faster, using her arms and shoulders as shields. Aside from nasty bruises, unless Carnelia fell under those hooves, she wasn't risking much.
Little Twelve was most certainly not expecting her. Carnelia smirked. Goats had to look so scary to her, scary enough to beat the bad scary Careers. Bryony, darling, I'm much scarier than your stupid goats.
"Hello there." Carnelia's whip cracked before Bryony's horror could become a scream. The blade sliced above Bryony's knees and deep into her hand as the girl instinctively raised her arms.
The little girl's chilling screams were better at herding the goats away than anything had been.
Carnelia jumped over her as she fell, shoving the last goats away before they could trample Bryony to death. "Shoo! SHOO!" Carnelia cracked her whip again, her tongue moistening her lips. She had to strain her voice to top Bryony's screams.
Shivers -anticipation, Carnelia convinced herself- ran down her spine.
"Carnelia, stop!" Armagnac cried, making his way towards her. A big hoof-shaped print filthied up his trousers. That had to have hurt.
What-. Ooh, there goes Yood. The blonde boy clutched a rock as if he meant it, his crazy eyes darting from them to his little girlfriend.
Carnelia giggled. "Two for the price of one: what a bargain! Well, you coward, you'll let her bleed out?" She stepped forward. And stumbled.
Armagnac had tripped her. "Run, you fool," he croaked. "Run, for your loved ones!"
"Damn it, Gnac," Carnelia hissed.
Broken. Her district partner had finally cracked. Pity, he'd been fun while he lasted. Carnelia squashed the twinge of regret and memory of smiles shared. Happy Hunger Games.
She glowered at the guy who'd written her songs. Her arms shook, and she forced it to be in outrage. "I'm fed up with everyone telling me what to do!"
She snarled and the blade tip tore into Armagnac's neck, slicing skin, cartilage and artery. His sword fell out of his fingers and he crashed to the ground.
BOOM.
District Seven deserved the kill point. The dead brunette with her axes had hollowed Armagnac out like Carnelia never could have.
BOOM.
Carnelia whirled. A stunned breath escaped her lips. Paloma has finished Bryony off. Not again! What was wrong with her allies?
And of course Yolo was long gone.
Carnelia roared in anger. "I thought you were my friend!" Steel snaked through the air, obeying to her slightest touch, breaking Paloma's skin just enough to make her point as Carnelia advanced. "How could you!"
Carnelia's breath froze and she gasped as a blade sliced between her ribs. She jumped back, a whimper escaping her lips and her hand falling to her wound. "What? I thought you were my friend," she whispered, betrayed. "You promised me a tattoo."
She backed off and broke into a run, cursing the pain.
Carnelia chanced one last look at Paloma. She wasn't pursuing and looked shocked. Shit, she'd thought Carnelia was really trying to kill her? Carnelia almost laughed at the stupid irony. Well, they could reunite for hugs -and that tattoo- later. Time for some solitary hunting. Carnelia gasped as the tearing wound. That thin sword was nasty. The pain was easy to ignore: Carnelia had dealt with much worse on a normal day at the Academy, but there was no sickbay here. Cashmere had better have sponsor money stashed away.
Carnelia took her shirt off to patch the wound and her laughter was tinged with hysteria as she squeeze Armagnac's blood out of it.
"You're my muse now," she said between giggles. A hum built in her throat: the tone Armagnac had invented just for her. She turned the hum to song as she wiped the sweat off her breasts, spreading more blood on her chest. Her shirt on her arm, she soaked in the sunlight.
Finally, they'd have a real day.
The didn't bother to run. The pain was fierce and Paloma wouldn't hunt her. She found a tree, there were more now, and lied down to sunbath.
Finally, a parachute came. Painkillers, and... ice-cream? In a large cone with a protective box and everything. Carnelia beamed, licking it with delicious moaning sounds.
You Capitol perverts. Painkillers... fine she'd kill someone who wasn't her ally and wasn't thirteen years old for real medicine.
But honestly, she wasn't the one who'd told the kids to rush at them with the goats. She hadn't made the rules. She just wanted a chance at a good life.
She couldn't have made her stitching more gruesome if she'd done it on purpose. It looked worse than an actual scar ever could. She grinned it. Hey, it was functional, and she already knew how to dance like a proper lady. Embroidery had never been on her to-learn list.
D7,Yolo,13
Yolo ran, barely registering the pain in his calloused bare feet. He'd find something in the end. He ran and stopped when he saw ice, a monster of shards edging towards him. A primal howl of pain burst from his lungs, barely covering Bryony's screams still ringing in his ears.
He turned and run, gasping for breath. Crossroads. Another choice. He had no clue which path to take.
He fell to his knees. Bryony, he'd made her laugh, he'd helped her get to the top of the maze, he'd thought... Why? He'd worked so hard to keep his family fed and happy, and fed and happy they were. He'd done everything he could!
Bryony. A strangled moan escaped his lips. It hurt, he hadn't thought it could hurt so much.
His lips were warm and salty. Blood. He repressed the urge to bite harder. The goats had been their only chance. What else had they had? The Careers had barely blinked and Bryony...
He wanted to rush back, to be the one hunting. He wanted to free the world from monsters. His legs shook as he ran upwards, tears running down his cheeks.
How could she kill Bryony? Someone so nice, so small.
He jumped in rage when he saw another running shadow and stopped. "You're hurt," he whispered. Not arena-hurt. The arena didn't do these things. "I'm Yolo," he said, as she dropped the weapons she'd been trying to get, her bloodied hands shaking too hard to hold the darts. "They killed Bryony. I couldn't do anything." He couldn't breathe. Bryony could've ended up worse than that, tortured.
Two cannons. He'd died. The boy with the drum. His own District partner had killed him, for helping them.
"It's not your fault," District Ten whispered. "I'm Rachel," she added.
Yolo started at the rage in her tone. He liked it. His anger was too trapped in shock and grief to escape, but she was strong.
He set down the bag he'd grabbed. It had been just lying there and it had a drum on it. It had food and water, and a sleeping bag, and bandages, and a knife, and a rope, and a bottle of alcohol, and he hadn't even emptied it. Careers always had things, so many things.
Rachel had nothing. He took the bandage out. "For your hands."
"It's just the right," Rachel whispered. Yolo gasped, his stomach heaving. Three of her nails were gone. He carefully used the alcohol, hating how she bit so hard in her shirt not to scream loudly, and then he wrapped her fingers. "Take a bit of water," he said.
Her jaw clenched, and he feared she would refuse, but she didn't, and she drank, five long swallows. She took crushed crackers out of her pockets and two oranges. "Take an orange."
"I can trade it for... cheese." It was some kind of dry block of cheese. Oranges had water in them. They were valuable.
He'd have to leave the drum. He froze. It had been the One guy to play drums during training. For your loved ones. Yolo cried silently. He'd not have remembered Shae or Mom, not with Bryony there, if the boy hadn't said it.
Bryony. An anguished moan escaped his lips. How could the sun burn bright after her death but never while she was alive?
Yolo jumped upright, panic knocking the breath out of his lungs when Rachel moved.
She couldn't leave.
"I'll just get you killed," she said, a scowl etched on her face. She wouldn't look at him. "They could still be following me, the Careers..."
The Careers. Yolo shuddered violently. "You must be lonely too," he whispered.
Her scowl just deepened. Yolo grinned, a hollow grin, but it was the only way of coping he knew, thinking positive. At least Rachel was good. District One had been good, even if he'd been a Career.
"I need you, Rachel." He didn't want to be alone.
But she didn't care. "It's not your fault" was all she said.
He almost ran after her, but instead he took the other path, hurrying to get ahead of the ice.
Dasheen, Liana, Shae, Fey, Rael. Mom, Trudy, Billy, Dad. Shae. He repeated their names in his head, like a mantra, holding Shae's whistle in his clenched fist.
Not your fault.
Yolo rolled his tearful eyes, a bitter sigh escaping his mouth. His fault or not, Bryony still was gone. Gone. His tongue darted on his lips, tasting the salt of his own tears and struggling to walk straight. They'd not slept since they'd had the idea to use the goats. How long had it been? It felt like they'd been herding forever.
Bryony had looked happy and confident then, even when he'd almost been bitten by a goat, even when one had shat on her feet and he'd laughed instead of helping her. He'd helped her.
Dasheen, Liana, Rael, Fey, Trudy, Mom, Dad. Billy. Yolo had to get too high up for ice. He'd made Bryony smile. That had to count for something.
She was still gone.
Living 13/24:
D1, Carnelia Aspen, 18: wounded on the side (burn + rapier wound, light/medium) received sponsors for ankle wound, painkillers and ice-cream.
Killed: Armagnac (D1, during day 4).
D2, Corsair Teneber, 18
Killed: Orvis (D4, during bloodbath) and "Mouse" (D5, during the bloodbath)
D2, Aurora Feather, 16:
Killed Algor (D3, during bloodbath), Hawk (D6, during bloodbath), Chester "Messenger" (D10, day 4).
D3, Mercury Kernel, 17. Had sponsors for candy (shared with allies).
D4, Paloma Farsee, 18: Had sponsors for leg wound.
Killed Dash (D12, during bloodbath), Tesu (D8 finished off during the bloodbath) and Bryony (D12, finished off day 4).
D5, Victor Gleeb,18
D6, Drake Stanhope, 15. Had sponsors for bread basket. (shared with allies)
D7, Yolo Underbush, 13.
D8, Georgie Calico, 14: concussion (recovering, light)
D9, Harrow Carter, 18 smashed kneecap (severe).
D9, Rosemary Shakra, 18
D10, Rachel Galloway, 16. Hand, three nails removed (medium).
D11, Mesmer, 15.
Other info: Apple (D11) killed by Tesu (D8) during bloodbath
Armagnac (D1) killed Gamina (D7) during Day 2.
