Chapter 10: Capitol Reaping

I stare up at the statue of Lucy Gray Baird in the school play-yard, the obelisk of stone tall, proud and silent. Our first Victor's teeth are bared as she holds the rattler on high, once the only clue as to how she had won the Games. Now, having seen and known the full context, it makes sense.

"Treech was the only direct kill she made," I murmur to Peeta, who is standing next to me and also staring up at our predecessor's face, now frozen in rock and in time. Other than Haymitch's pilfered videotape, this statue appears to be the only record that she ever existed at all. "She poisoned the puddle that Reaper drank from … and I don't know for sure, but I suspect she might have poisoned Wovey, the girl from 8."

"I guess even back then, the Capitol liked Victors who were vicious enough to get their hands dirty," Peeta concedes. "Disaster though it might have been, the bit with the rattler was probably her only moment that was acceptable to them." My partner's deep blue eyes briefly scan along the trio of other statues mounted on the cobblestones of this courtyard – there's Haymitch, a knife in his grip and glowering out at some unseen enemy on the horizon. To the right of him, is a likeness of me, bow strong and arrow in the notch, though my head is in profile. Turned, so I can gaze lovingly at the limestone boy who is matching my gaze of adoration while standing firm and armed with a spear. His free right hand is reaching out to me, making the idea of lovers pining all the more explicit.

The real, flesh and blood Peeta now slings an arm across my shoulders and we exit the play-yard. I let myself lean into him, pondering over how art imitates life. Despite the occasional episode, I am heartened that Peeta is starting to become less afraid in reaching out to me. More affectionate, the way he once was. So it kills me that I am already starting to develop an involuntary response – shying away from him.

Maybe it's the stress of the 76th Hunger Games, for which we are about to leave; Haymitch said he would meet us at the station. I feel so confused. I thought I was once confident in the knowledge that I wanted Peeta to move in with me, once he was ready to make his way back to me. Now that he's starting to, I realize, if I ask him to move in with me, does that give the green light for us to do…. all the stuff that co-habituating implies? My cheeks grow warm at the thought. I know I love Peeta – deeply – but enough to… bare, give myself to him? I'm not so sure about that. Making love leads to babies, and babies are more mouths to feed. Babies who could at any moment be taken away from you, if not by an arena, then by something else. Just look at Prim.

I've had a change in thinking when it comes to romance, because romance and reproduction can be mutually exclusive. One need not feed right into the other. But my opinions on motherhood remain resolute: I don't want to have children.

Unfortunately, if Peeta and I were to take the next step, he might want differently, and there is very little I could do to avoid it.

I decide to postpone my decision on intimacy until after the Games. And even then, Peeta and I will have to have an open, rational discussion as two people who are romantically involved. It's never been voiced that we're now back together, for better (make-out sessions while letting the cheese buns in the oven burn) or worse (working through Peeta's manic flashbacks). It's happened organically. But a progression of our involvement with each other will require clear communication.

The platform is crowded when we get there, Peeta and I skirting the clusters of our neighbors there to see us off. Many people are cheering, as for once, their Victors are leaving for the Capitol without two of their children in tow. The Reapings are to be held in the City Circle, my colleagues and I (who are starting to be called The Seven) honored guests.

It's a little disconcerting, to know how enthusiastically the people of Everdeen have responded to a final, symbolic Hunger Games filled with Capitol children. Originally from 13 as he is, Governor Bert Petrie has remained tightlipped, sitting back and letting his people debate amongst themselves the merits of what will be a one-off retribution. There have been some grumblings from a few tradesmen and reabsorbed Seamers, those like Peeta who know the Games to be morally reprehensible, no matter who the players, and who conclude that we rebelled to abolish the Games. The revolution was about other things too, but the Hunger Games were the greatest symbol of the Capitol's tyranny – why have another one now, even for revenge? A vast majority of Everdeen, however, is eager for their "pound of flesh," as Haymitch described it, and then never again. As I said, it's a little unnerving, and I voted Yes!

I wonder what that says about me, if I'm having second thoughts. I steal a look at Peeta as he, Haymitch and I board the sleek Capitol locomotive, three abreast. If I told him any of this, he might encourage me to change my vote. Announce it to Paylor so that the tally tips the other way and the Games can be called off. Even if that were so, I doubt it would happen. Snow faced pressure from his own citizens to cancel the Quell and he stood firm. Paylor is no doubt facing pressure now from Capitolites who don't want to see their children sent in to die. If she wants to be seen as a legitimate President, she'll have to stand firm here too. It won't do to waffle.

We leave Everdeen early in the morning, intent to ride straight on through. It takes us the better part of two days to reach the Capitol, Peeta and I spending the intervening night together, unsupervised. He sneaks into my room after Haymitch has gone to bed, and sure, it's risky with his episodes. But Peeta doesn't have one, and I don't have my nightmares. We sleep holding each other, and though the feeling of his body pressed against mine causes my heart to race, we don't explore or make love.

We arrive in the Capitol to much fanfare, an armored car collecting us from the terminal and taking us to the City Circle, where once the chariots were pulled before President Snow gave his speech. A stage has now been erected here, upon which sit Enobaria, Johanna and Beetee in his wheelchair. Pregnant Annie is missing, and isn't she the lucky one! She doesn't need to see this; the health of her baby comes first.

Johanna is the only one to acknowledge us, which strikes me as odd because of the other trio gathered here, I would readily point to Beetee as the most friendly.

As the most experienced and famous escort in all of Panem, Effie Trinket has been selected to conduct the Reaping, which will be culled from the sea of about 200 Capitol children now gathered in the City Circle and bottlenecking partway down the Avenue of Tributes. This part of the metropolis kept better than most, though I dearly wish it hadn't. Effie flutters over to embrace each of us, favoring Haymitch with a kiss on the lips: wet, light and chaste. I remember seeing them kiss each other goodbye when I was released to come home in January, and though it took me by surprise then, it still does now. I guess I wasn't ready for it. You would not look at Haymitch and Effie and see a conventional couple by any means. Then again, it has been said that opposites attract. I chance a glance at the handsome lad beside me and smile softly. I suppose one could say such a thing about Peeta and me.

The kiss with Haymitch seems to calm Effie, anchor her, for she is clearly lacking her usual verve, much as she was at the Quell Reaping last year. She busies herself by passing us a notecard each, two numbers written on them with an "&" symbol in between. My notecard says, "11 & 12."

"What is this?" I ask, though I have a feeling I already know.

"I'll explain," Effie murmurs in a breathy rush, stealing another hug from me before finally turning and stepping up to the microphone.

"Welcome…. Welcome! To this the 76th iteration of The Hunger Games. This year, we will be trying something new: for generations, Capitol children have adored getting to watch the Games. Well, now is your chance to be in one! Isn't that exciting?"

The Capitol crowd makes clear just how excited they are about this, the shoe being on the other foot. From my vantage point, I can see Effie's smile is strained.

"Now, because there are no longer twelve districts competing, to keep things familiar and organized, there are going to be twelve Teams." Effie gestures behind her. "A pair of Teams will be assigned to one of the six previous Hunger Games winners seated behind me. And if I might just take this moment to convey my best wishes to our seventh living Victor, Annie Cresta-Odair, who is expecting a new arrival! We thank her for her service!"

This is probably the one part of the whole proceedings where I will see Peeta react with any amount of enthusiasm, clapping eagerly. We other Victors join in in a show of solidarity. The lull created by Effie starts to get filled by more lusty boos from the Capitol witnesses, but they're weak, unsure and quickly die off. It's never good optics to boo a pregnant lady.

"Again, seeing as the Reaping is to be held in only one place this year, I will begin by announcing the Team numbers. You will be assigned to a Team if and when your name is called. But as always…. Ladies first!"

Effie crosses to the Reaping Bowl at the right, and selects a name. "For Team 1: Clio Wellforge!"

A girl with purple hair and who looks to be about eighteen starts screaming obscenities as some Peacekeepers – Stormprotectors, I have to remind myself – advance to forcibly haul her up onto the stage. In the seat furthest down from me, Enobaria is grinning wickedly, and I have a feeling she has been assigned to mentor Team 1 and Team 2.

"Fantastic! And now for the boys!" Effie crosses to the bowl at the left. "Leto Nighthorn!"

The fifteen year old, mousy boy is even more profane than his distr – team – partner. He too has to be…. encouraged to mount the stage. "FUCKING BASTARDS! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT DISTRICT COONS, THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE!" A gasp of horror goes up from somewhere, and Effie's mask of deportment slips the tiniest bit. As Leto Nighthorn is manhandled into place, I realize that I've heard his surname before: wasn't a Secretary Nighthorn a prominent member of Snow's Cabinet?

Seeing as I won't need to start paying attention until Effie heralds Team 11, I tune out the rest. The most I can say is that it will be a little hard to follow which tribute is which asides from mine, and maybe not even then. The former districts had very unique ways of naming their children, to the point where you could guess pretty accurately what district a tribute was from by virtue of the etymology alone. Here in the Capitol, where every name is derived in some way from the Greek, the names and faces of the tributes Effie picks all start to run together after a while, as she crosses between one bowl and the next. Back and forth, back and forth. Our heads follow her, like we're watching a tennis match – with the Reaping being all in one place, it dawns on me that picking girl, boy isn't the most efficient. But that's the way it's always been done, and tradition must be followed where it still can be.

I notice Haymitch straighten in his seat when Effie announces Team 5; he must have them and Team 6. Peeta takes notice around Team 9, and remains erect through Team 10. I have to hand it to him: he's hiding his abiding disdain for this rigmarole well.

"Team 11: Sperantia Blackstone! ….. Zeus Silentbreath!"

As my first girl is mounting the stage, Peeta leans into me and hisses, "Blackstone… her daddy had Plutarch's job in Snow's government. Secretary of Communications. Pretty high up in the presidential line of succession."

I nod absently, studying the blonde, pretty girl now glaring at everyone around her. Oh, she's a hard-core Loyalist, all right – that's what most everyone in Panem called people who favored the Snow regime. She doesn't give petite Zeus Silentbreath the time of day, and he doesn't speak to her. With a surname like Silentbreath, I'm half-hoping the little tween is a mute just so I can have something to privately laugh at – wouldn't that be just peachy?

"And last but not least, Team 12." A pause, and then:

"Ariadne Snow!..."

"YES!" Johanna blurts out, cackling as she leaps all the way out of her chair. The rest of us look at her, but the Victor from 7 is smiling unashamedly, relieved even. The calling of President Snow's only granddaughter takes me back to something that was discussed during the vote with Paylor, something about soft fixes. Johanna had promised to enlighten me then, though she never did. Have the 24 tributes for these Games truly been pre-ordained, just by virtue of who their parents are (or, more likely, were)? A person like Johanna would probably say that the first Games after the Dark Days were populated with children of the defeated rebels; to do the same here with Loyalists only makes sense.

But that's nothing compared to what I get as Ariadne Snow mounts the stage of her own volition. She shows no surprise, almost like she's been waiting for this, and her eyes are only for me. I wish she wouldn't look at me – at clearly 14 and with her white blonde hair tied off in a single braid, she reminds me of… Prim…

Ariadne Snow's gaze only diverts from me once, to share a glance with Sperantia Blackstone. It is in that split-second I realize: these two are friends. I guess they would only have to be, if their fathers worked together running Panem. The girls appear to be roughly the same age.

Oh gods…. How am I going to do this?

Johanna plops back down into her seat, and a perturbed Effie reads the name of the last boy. "Io Bronzebloom!"

The final tribute of the 76th Hunger Games is a hulking fellow who is more of a man than a boy. He must have just made the cut-off, and all the worse for him. He doesn't display any favor towards his teammates, the closest equivalents he will have to district partners: two teenage girls and a little boy who still hasn't said a word, but is weeping quietly.

I wonder if this was what it was like for the mentors during Haymitch's year, when double the kids were sent in. Sure, there are only 24 now, but they're grouped in such a way that I'll have four kids to care about instead of just two.

"The tributes of the Capitol!" Effie trills, to absolutely stony silence, and I don't think more dramatic words have ever been spoken.

The tributes and mentors are whisked towards the Training Center only steps away. There isn't to be any chariot parade this year – in the itinerary she sent ahead, President Paylor explained that making the kids parade down the avenue when they were already here and when there would be a decidedly different level of enthusiasm from the crowd seemed to render the idea of a chariot procession pointless. To me, it's just one less thing we have to do.

Deciding the rules on Training had been a different story. Paylor decreed there is to be only one day of training instead of the traditional three, with the Gamemakers giving out the scores that same day and the returns that evening. The following day will be Interview prep with the interviews conducted that night. Caesar Flickerman will apparently be released from debtors' prison to host.

As we prepare to enter the Training Center lobby, Johanna is jostled up next to me. "You got Snow's little whelp, huh? Wish I could trade you for her! I'd give her some coaching!"

My crisis of conscience boils over in that moment, and I round on her, teeth grinding. "I'm sure you would, in the form of no coaching at all! You'd be quite content to sit back and let her die in there, Jo, and don't try to tell me any different!"

Johanna's jaws move noiselessly for a moment, as she gapes like a fish, but no sound comes out. She finally recovers enough to sneer: "What's this, Girl on Fire? Did you and Peeta switch bodies or something?" She says this within earshot of my boyfriend, who glowers at her.

"Piss all the way off, Johanna." The axe girl's expression remains cool, except for her eyes, which dim into something truly sad. My face falls as Peeta awards me with a small smile – his way of telling me he's proud of me. He's never spoken much about what went on when he was in prison – with the hijacking, I doubt if he'd be able to recite a consistent narrative of his recollections, with how jumbled they are. But I can tell this much: he, Annie and Johanna developed quite a bond from being locked up together. For my former ally and my lover, that bond was clearly broken as a result of the vote, and I'm starting to wonder if these two will ever get it back.

The mentor-tribute entourages are inside the lobby now and clustering towards the elevators, when I suddenly see a woman with blonde hair and a simple frock make her way through the crowd. I still, astonished.

"Katty, dear!"

"…. Mother?" I breathe. I knew she was living here, but…

She hugs me before I can think to get away, and I tolerate it, but barely. "What…. what are you doing here?"

"To wish you good luck, dear." Mother draws back, smile tragic and awkward before moving on to nod to Johanna, hug Peeta, and even hug Haymitch. Moving up ahead, she also stops at the wheelchair of Beetee, waiting to be waved on with his tributes to the elevators. They're speaking softly to each other, but I can't make out what they are saying. I think I see Mother kiss Beetee on the cheek. Huh? I understand they've been working together, even become friends, but… I have no idea what to make of it, as the rest of us are waved on, loitering up against the elevators and causing a bit of a traffic jam.

"Just be a moment, folks!" the officer stationed next to the double doors is saying.

If my reaction to seeing my mother was at best indifferent, the response I deliver now is positively glacial.

"Gale."

His eyes meet mine. "Catni – Soldier Everdeen." He nods curtly.

Johanna does see the frostiness between my old hunting partner and me, but clearly doesn't seem to care, smiling brightly. "Well, hello, gorgeous. What brings you here?"

"Brought in for extra security," Gale's smile is bright as he takes Johanna in. "Governor. It's been a while."

"It sure has," Johanna's eyes are now practically dancing.

"Well…. if anyone grew up gorgeous, it was you."

Johanna's pupils expand just a little bit, but she appears almost pleased. I don't know whether to gawp or roll my eyes.

The elevator doors finally give way, and the soldiers squeeze on as many complete entourages as possible. Teams 9 through 12 are herded on along with Peeta and I; we're also joined by Beetee and his Teams of 3 and 4. Johanna hangs back for the next lift and to talk to Gale.

Soon as the car ascends, Peeta leans in and whispers to me: "Gale and Johanna making eyes, huh? Pieces of shit deserve each other!" I choke on a laugh, my gut roiling, and I try to distract myself by glancing down to Beetee. I feel for the aging man: he wants to be here about as little as Peeta does.

"How you holding up, Beetee?"

"Better, actually, seeing as I'll be taking over Annie's charges. That makes all this somewhat worth it." The bespectacled gentleman avoids looking at me the entire time he speaks, and my face dips in confusion. Beetee has been acting funny all morning, and then there was that odd little moment of familiarity, with my mother… something's up with the man from Three, and I have the strangest feeling it has something to do with Mother and me. I can't even begin to make sense of it.

The elevator car progressively empties, Peeta deciding to get off with his four troops at Floor 10 so as to stay with me as long as possible.

"It's not the penthouse two floors up, but it'll do." He holds the elevator door to double back and kiss me softly on the mouth. "See you soon."

"See you soon," I smile weakly and watch him disappear.

I silently instruct my apprentices to wait until we ding onto Floor 12, the penthouse suite. I find myself greeting the old place like a friend, and Ariadne, Sperantia, Io and Zeus all tumble out.

"Bedrooms are further down the hall. Pick one. No fighting; they're all the same. You can save the fisticuffs for the arena," I state flatly.

My tributes make themselves scarce, Sperantia with a toss of her hair and a huff. Only Ariadne hangs back a little, glancing up to study me in fear.

The granddaughter of the former President seems to dissolve in that moment and all I see is my baby sister. My eyes are threatening to well up, but I tamp it down, preferring to smile at her kindly.

"Good night, Ariadne."

She nods, mumbling a "good night" and pelts off down the hall. I don't wait to listen for the tears that will surely be coming from her room tonight. I cross to the desk just off the sitting room, transcripts from the Capitol's elite private school awaiting me. I leaf through them, learning as I go, resting a tired hand against my head.

Let the Games begin….