Chapter 7: A Bitter Taste
Sundays were the best day of the week, as far as Venatrix was concerned. The only day where the Academy offered its inhabitants a brief respite from the grueling hours of training, letting them breathe for the afternoon. At least, until the Selection Tournament in January; designated volunteers received no breaks.
But that remained a few months away, well after the Pyke birthday run (the fact that all five of them had managed October birthdays never failed to be a source of amusement, most years) and the fall holiday season.
Venatrix had no doubt that her father would devise some machination to steal her Sundays away in the coming months, but for now, she was content to spend the last one before school started in the company of friends. Percy had dragged her and Agate out for ice cream in the late afternoon, despite the early chill hinting at the coming of autumn; they ambled through the outskirts of town now with their cones, vaguely heading in the direction of the foothill campgrounds. A location the three of them frequented fairly often — Percy had brought the firestarters while Venatrix toted the marshmallows and hot dogs in her bag and Agate carried the papers.
Her two friends chatted amiably as they walked, the ground slowly morphing from sidewalk to dirt and grass. As they picked their way through the trail, Venatrix paused every now and then to snag thin, sturdy sticks for roasting. Better to have more than necessary; usually, at least one tended to get snapped in their antics.
They reached the campground with their clunky load, Venatrix trying (and failing) not to let her melting pistachio ice cream drip all over her hand. Leaning the bundle of sticks against one of the sitting logs, she licked the ice cream from her fingers while Percy and Agate debated again whether or not they should've invited Lancelot. Eventually, she resorted to scrubbing the remaining stickiness with a napkin and water from her bottle.
"It's kind of our thing, y'know?" Percy argued, dropping his bag on the log. Having finished his ice cream long ago, he pulled out the pack of firestarters, crouching next to the campfire pit. "Plus, I really don't think he likes me like that."
As these campgrounds were fairly popular, it was deemed a common courtesy for previous campers to leave a stack of chopped firewood for the next group. The last batch had been generous indeed; the cluster of wood leaning against the small outhouse would be more than enough for them. "You could've just invited him as a friend," Agate said, bringing an armful of logs over towards their pit and helping him arrange them around the kindling.
"You guys would've made it weird," Percy pointed out.
Venatrix and Agate exchanged cheeky grins, only confirming his suspicions. "Next year, then," Agate said definitively.
Next year… If I'm still alive at that point.
"We'll be out of school by then," Percy said, striking a match. He held it near the kindling, waiting for the firestarter to catch before throwing the match into the pit. In a matter of seconds, the logs caught, stretching the flames into the air. "No need for a pre-semester bonfire with no school."
"Doesn't have to just be for that," Venatrix said. She'd certainly have a lot more to worry about than exams and grades this year.
"Right? Who doesn't love a good bonfire?" Agate said, plopping down on the log next to Venatrix. She unzipped her bag, pulling out the stack of papers. "Okay, math first, as usual. Let's see what we've got…" Rifling through them, she extracted three individual sheets. She kept one for herself, passing out the other two Venatrix and Percy. "Trix, 92; Percy, 95; and here's my 89." She kissed the sheet before tossing it into the fire, and the other two followed suit. "Sticks, please?"
Dutifully, Venatrix reached for three of the twigs she'd collected earlier, shoving a marshmallow on each before distributing to her friends. They held the sticks over the fire, allowing the flames from their burning exams to lick the fluffy sugar gelatin into a charred, bubbling monstrosity.
Venatrix and Agate did, at least; with an almost loving patience, Percy waited for the heat to transform his into a soft golden-brown. "Geez, no mercy for the mathmallow, huh?" he said as the end of Venatrix's stick caught fire.
Extinguishing it with a quick huff, Venatrix gently pulled the still-hot mallow from the stick with her teeth. "Tastes like an A," she said, grinning around the sweetness.
Agate passed around their history exams next; to her irritation, the highest Venatrix had managed to score last year had been an 86. She burnt two mallows for this one. When the sugary ichor of roasted marshmallows started to make her teeth hurt, Venatrix switched to hot dogs, taking her time to roast the sausage over the flames of her law and politics exam.
Her written exams had concluded with that; unlike Percy and Agate, she'd been enrolled in the prospective volunteer track last year. Briefly, she wondered if either of them would be joining her there this year; most Academy seniors followed it whether they planned on volunteering or not, if only to graduate early before the Games began in June. It offered a lighter course-load, too; last year, the majority of her examinations had been physical tests in order to prepare her for the arena.
Needless to say, that hadn't quite gone as planned. Stupid fucking Quell.
Venatrix pretended to laugh along as Percy cursed the grade on his essay for the historic Election of 122, her mind drifting, following the patterns of smoke curling towards the sky, curling into her memory.
Fire danced in her eyes, behind her skull as Bellara's funeral pyre burned into her brain, more alive than her sister will ever be again. The stars weren't out right now, not yet, but Venatrix saw them in her mind's eye, sparkling in and out of the smoke trails. Will that be me next June? Surely, if she wasn't careful enough…
Though 'careful' wasn't the only aspect that came into play, and neither were 'talent' and 'training'. More often than not, it was just plain luck.
Flickering light illuminated the mallow on the end of her stick in front of her, the sharp features of her father's face in her head as he stared into the smoldering remains of his youngest child. The harshness hadn't left since. It burned into his mannerisms as much as the image that night was branded into her mind. Why couldn't she remember the good things, the nice things?
"Trix, your mallow—"
Percy's voice startled her out of her thoughts; as she shifted to look at him, the marshmallow — she'd hardly noticed the flames consuming its once-pallid flesh — slipped off the end of her poker, landing with a sigh of embers into the fire pit. "Whoopsie," she muttered half-heartedly.
The concerned looks on her friends' faces were almost tiring at this point. "Hey, are you alright?" Agate asked, her hand coming to rest on Venatrix's shoulder.
Venatrix shrugged, though she leaned into her friend's touch. "Not really, but that's nothing new," she said, a forced nonchalance to her tone. Digging through her bag, Venatrix pulled out a thick, glossy piece of paper. "My dad says it's pretty much set that I'll be volunteering this year, so I feel like I should burn this too. For luck, or something." Percy and Agate said nothing as she released the photograph, letting it drift into the warm embrace of the bonfire.
The picture itself was just a copy, the original probably stored in some Capitolite's camera, no doubt preserved forever on the internet, so she felt no remorse for burning it. Venatrix's marshmallow hovered over the blue-tinged flames of burning ink, the image of her parents just after her mother's Victory — much younger, not yet married but still lively despite the circumstances — swallowed by hunger of the colorful fire.
"You probably shouldn't eat that," Percy commented once the photograph had crumbled to ash, the marshmallow blackened and blistering.
Too late. Venatrix shoved it into her mouth anyways, mindless of the temperature. She nearly gagged at the chemical taste, the bitterness lingering in her mouth long after they'd stomped out the flames.
The sun had long since started its descent towards the horizon by the time Venatrix got home.
At almost eighteen years of age, Venatrix knew she had the right to be out and about with her friends, but that didn't stop the tiny flicker of guilt — the feeling that she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to — when she entered through the garage door to find her father waiting for her at the kitchen table. She froze as she met his gaze before willing herself to relax. He had no reason to be angry with her, and indeed, she detected no traces of anger or annoyance on his face. "Hi, Dad," she said with forced casualness.
Oberon smiled at her in greeting, but it didn't reach his eyes. Never did anymore, really. "Venatrix. I've been meaning to talk to you about school this year."
Ugh. Never had a topic been less interesting.
"Obviously, you'll be enrolled in the prospective volunteer program again," he began, his tone taking on a brisk, businesslike manner as he gestured for her to take a seat at the table. "But since this is your last year…"
Venatrix couldn't suppress the sigh of irritation that slipped out as she dropped her bag to the floor, reluctantly seating herself across from her father.
The corner of Oberon's lip twitched in annoyance at her behavior. "We want to make sure you'll finish your schooling before the reaping ceremony this year, which is what the program is designed to do—"
"So you're okay with me dying in the Hunger Games, but god forbid I don't graduate high school?"
As soon as the words slipped out, Venatrix wished she could take them back. Oberon blinked in surprise, his mouth opening to reject the notion, but no sound came out. She narrowed her eyes, ignoring the hurt look on his face. "You know that's not at all what we want, Venatrix." His voice was surprisingly quiet.
Venatrix didn't respond, meticulously picking at a stray thread on the tablecloth. Why this suddenly grated on her, she didn't know. It wasn't exactly news.
However, to say that recent months had rekindled her sense of mortality would be an understatement.
She could apologize, but… No. There were too many things that couldn't be taken back.
"This is only to make things easier after you win." Oberon kept talking, his words careful and clear. "It's far better than going back to school afterwards, trust me. The whole year will be dedicated to your preparation; it's the best anyone can offer before you go in." His eyebrows furrowed as he studied her reaction. "We had you in the same program last year, so I don't understand what the issue is."
Venatrix felt her lips curl into a scowl. "Because nothing's changed since last year, huh?"
"Venatrix…"
Chagrined, she felt her shoulders sag. "Sorry, I just… I don't know what's wrong with me," she admitted, refusing to meet his eyes.
Reaching across the table, Oberon took her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "You don't have to apologize. I know what you're thinking about, and this is what we would've done for Bell too, if-if we had known she was going to volunteer." She could practically feel how much it hurt to talk about her in his voice.
"Fucking Quell," she seethed. "Couldn't've seen it coming."
"No," Oberon agreed hollowly. He frowned, his hand unexpectedly going slack in hers. "You didn't… know about Bell's plans, did you?"
"What?" Venatrix recoiled, withdrawing her hand from his grasp. "No! Why would you think that?" Even the mere notion stung, that she would've sat back and allowed it to happen, if she knew. "No," she repeated firmly, insistent. "Bell didn't tell me anything, I swear. I mean, we all knew she wanted to, but you and Mom said no; the Academy said no. I thought she would listen—"
"You're her older sister; you should've stopped her."
The words hit like a slap in the face. They echoed the thoughts that invaded her sleep in the middle of the night, wrapping their icy claws around her chest. It's your fault. "What the fuck, Dad?" Her voice was barely audible, a hoarse whisper.
Why is he saying that? Why was he looking at her like that? The sudden cold emptiness in his eyes froze the air in her lungs; Venatrix felt warmth prickling in her own, threatening to spill onto her cheeks. But he wasn't looking at her, he was looking through her. Blinking, Oberon shook his head as the chill drained from his face, immediately replaced with an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Trixie, I didn't mean that." He exhaled a rattling breath. "I just… we all could have — should have — done more to—"
"Don't," she spat. How dare he try to blame her? (Is he right?) At once, a blistering anger surged through her chest, burning ruthlessly through shreds of grief, of hurt. "You were her mentor. You should've gotten her out!"
Oberon didn't even flinch at her words, his face clouding with a misery that told her the thought wasn't foreign; she wanted him to flinch.
Mercilessly, she continued. "I heard the way she cried out for you, we all heard, and you just—" fury leaked through her eyes, drawing hot streaks down her face, marring the composure in her voice "—you just left her there to die, why didn't you help her?!"
"I couldn't," he choked out through gritted teeth. "You'll understand, once you have to mentor, sometimes we can't—"
"But what if I won't?" Venatrix interrupted hotly. "What if I die in there, huh? What then? Are you just gonna send Iago in after me to try again and…" She trailed off, catching the flash of discomfort, of guilt, on his face. "You are." A sharp laugh tore from her throat, though it wasn't remotely funny at all. "What the fuck. Are we that expendable to you?"
"Trixie—"
She shook her head incredulously. "God, you know what," she hissed, "I hope I do die. And I hope Iago volunteers, and he dies too, and you—" she jabbed an accusing finger at her father's stunned expression "—have to sit there, and live with it!"
Her voice had risen to a shout, the silence that followed broken only by her panting breaths.
The sudden sound of a door closing caused them both to flinch in surprise. "Trix, what the hell?" Iago's voice came from near the garage door; she turned to find him wearing a grass-stained soccer jersey and an openmouthed expression of shock, their mother standing behind him with wide eyes.
"This doesn't fucking involve you," Venatrix growled at him.
"Clearly it does — hey, where are you going?"
Wordlessly, Venatrix pushed past him, trying to contain the sob clawing at her throat as she stumbled out the door and into the street.
Without realizing where she was going, Venatrix found herself at Callithyia's house.
The old Victor didn't even bother asking what was wrong; she just opened her arms, and Venatrix fell into them, unabashedly relinquishing the past hour's worth — no months' worth — of emotional baggage that she'd been stifling. Callithyia ran a calming hand through Venatrix's tangled waves of dark hair as she cried, whispering comforting platitudes into her ear. "Come on, dear, let me bring you some tea." Venatrix nodded wordlessly, allowing the woman to lead her into her expansive yet somehow cozy sitting room.
Callithyia Orixa had won the 108th Hunger Games; her father's mentor, back in the day. To Venatrix and her siblings, the Victor had served as a babysitter, but more often than not, she offered an ear to confide in outside of their parents.
Yanking one of the knitted blankets from the back of the soft couch, Venatrix wrapped it tightly around herself, trying to ignore the pathetic sniffles emanating from her nose. The light whistling of a tea kettle reached her ears from the kitchen, and not a minute later, Callithyia appeared with a teacup and a plate of cookies in hand. Gratefully, Venatrix accepted the warm drink, dabbing away fresh moisture from her cheeks with the corner of the blanket; thankfully, Callithyia didn't seem to mind.
The tea effectively stifled the last of Venatrix's sniffing, and the Victor took advantage of the opportunity. "I lost my sister to the Games too," she said placidly.
Venatrix's head snapped towards her, eyes wide.
Callithyia only smiled ruefully. "Not hard to guess what you're upset about."
"I—" Her throat felt raw and ancient at the same time. "I guess, but I— and my dad said— and then I said—"
"Shh, shh," Callithyia cooed, her fingers gently carding through Venatrix's hair. "Sometimes it doesn't matter what you say."
"I—we said horrible things—"
"And you both can apologize later," the woman said resolutely. "A grief like this takes a long time to run its course, and even then, it will never truly be gone."
The daunting thought threatened to crush her, and she felt a flash of guilt for wishing the grief to disappear. It felt wrong for Bellara's memory to hurt like this, but how could she think of her sister, keep her safe in her mind, without the pain of missing her?
Venatrix's fingers curled around the almost-too-hot mug, her thoughts steeping with the tea. "Can you tell me about your sister?"
"Of course," Callithyia said gently. "Io was her name. I don't do as good a job as I should, remembering her." Sadness tinged her quiet sigh. "This whole business, it's more common than you think. Parents lose a kid to the Games, and they like to cover it up. Hide the embarrassment of their 'failure'." She tutted, shaking her head.
"Bellara wasn't a failure," Venatrix shot back, defensive.
"I know, darling," Callithyia said, resting a light hand on her shoulder. "And your parents know too, far better than mine did." Venatrix grimaced in anticipation of what the woman might say next. "Io volunteered four years after I won, just after Cadmus the year before. I mentored her, of course," she said, her eyes seemingly lost in the memory. "Which made it all the more worse when I couldn't bring her out. My—our parents blamed me for her 'failure', and yet, not even a month later, she'd been practically stricken from history." Callithyia's hand found hers, giving Venatrix a comforting squeeze.
Venatrix felt a surge of anger towards Callithyia's parents; no doubt they'd made her situation worse.
"They couldn't erase her entirely," Callithyia continued. "The Academy still carries her memorial plaque, and the Games, well. Those are preserved forever. But in here," she said, tapping her temple with a finger, "that's where the best of her lives."
A hint of emotion tickled again in the corner of Venatrix's eyes. Scooting closer to Callithyia, she wrapped her arms around the older woman, pulling her into a hug.
Callithyia chuckled sadly, returning the embrace. "Thank you, darling," she said, patting the top of Venatrix's head. "When it comes to Bell... I've known your parents long enough to know that they couldn't bear to let her go like that. They know far better than mine the price of the Games."
The heaviness in her tone made Venatrix frown. "If they know so much, why do they want me volunteering in the first place?"
A sigh escaped the older woman's lips; Venatrix sensed it bore more than the weight of the story she'd just told. "Even as Victors, there's a limit to how much influence we can have, when it comes to things like that."
From an early age, Venatrix remembered the encouragement from both of her parents on the idea of volunteering. The way it had been drilled into her head that it this what she was meant to do. There hadn't been a reason to question it before, before the idea of not winning the Games unexpectedly became a reality. Sure, she'd trained with some of the past tributes, seen her peers leave for the Capitol and not come back. Seen the weariness that creased her father's brow, sapped her mother's energy year by year.
I know I'll do better, she'd thought. I'll make them proud. The Capitol, the other tributes, they wouldn't dare stop any of us from taking the crown.
How arrogant she'd been.
Did her parents really want a Victor so badly that they were willing to sacrifice all three of their children in order to do so? Matters of 'want', it seemed, were long past.
Bellara, Venatrix, Iago. Blind loyalty, legacy, or desperation?
"Come on," Callithyia said, breaking Venatrix out of her thoughts with a soft pat on the leg. "Let's get you home."
A/N: If you noticed me going back and shuffling around everyone's ages so I could give all the Pykes October birthdays for Literally no reason... No You Didn't.
Anyways, this chapter was just supposed to be that Conversation between Venatrix and Oberon, but suddenly I was writing a campfire scene.. /shrug/ Writing as you go! It's fun (: I've just accepted the fact that I'm gonna make a couple mistakes every now and then because of the lack of Meticulous Planning, so realtalk, if you ever see some slight adjustments/edits to things, just do me a favor and pretend it was always like that, thx 3
Also re: my exams, they got pushed back to May so wooh! More chapters! :D ..We're getting super close to some exciting things that I've been looking forward to writing, so. That's gonna be a lot of fun, I promise (: We've still got a ways before Reaping, but. January is a fun month in District Two..
Last Also! Ok so this Friday is Perhaps my Birthday so uh. We maaay be getting some more Content then, and by Content I mean 168th Victory Tour yeahhhh boy :D ..I think I said that last chapter but ! I'm excited (:
- Nell