A month before the reaping for the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games I get summoned to a phone meeting with Mags, Acanthus and the Head Gamemaker, Bellona Sykes. It's traditional in the Games for the previous victor and that victor's mentor to serve as the mentors the following year. I learn that Cecelia from District Eight put in a recommendation that Piper not serve as mentor during her first two years as her age and youthful temperament made her unsuitable to mentor older children.

The Gamemakers have apparently been discussing whether the same should hold true for me, and for any future victors who are not yet sixteen by the following Games. I hadn't really concerned myself with what it would be like to mentor yet, to watch someone I'd spent time guiding and assisting die while I had to watch on helplessly. The group consensus is that a few months short of sixteen is close enough to sixteen, irrespective of my opinion on the matter.

I'm secretly a little glad – my thought process is that the more time I spend on official duties, the less time I'll be expected to entertain sponsors. Even if the entertainment is no more than meeting and greeting, I've had enough of that over the last year that I'll be glad for a reprieve. I may feel differently when there's a real person whose life is in my hands, but for now the hazy outline of a generic male tribute doesn't concern me all that much (as long as I can keep the image from taking on Oris' shape).

Oris had spent the year picking up his training, now going two afternoons each week plus most Saturday mornings. I've been joining him for the afternoon sessions, helping teach some combat techniques, though not net and trident. I choose to defer to Toric, who taught me the skill, as the true expert there and instead lead sessions on knife fighting, in particular fighting with the off-hand, as my lack of the skill almost got me in trouble in the arena. I also give a few talks during the Saturday sessions, alongside Gabriela, about wound care and mental focus. Things that also made the difference between me coming home alive or in a box.

My adoptive brother has started to fill out nicely, building muscle by joining me for work-out sessions an additional two nights each week. Just past fourteen, Oris is almost as big as I was at his age, and his technique with a spear and sword are steadily improving. His unarmed combat and knife-work still has a way to go as he has a tendency to hold back from inflicting solid hits to people he's fighting. I can only hope that if he ever ends up on the reaping stage again, he'll get over the issue.

Then again, after seeing his pathetic attempts to interact with attractive women, I suspect death would be a kinder fate for him than life as a celebrity. Just a week after the pretty and sensuously educational Juno returned to the Capitol, I made the acquaintance of a new visitor. Lepida, eighteen with stunning long, tanned legs and her hair a rare blonde against the current Capitol fashion, was my second teacher in what goes on in a bedroom. The daughter of a Capitol actor who was taking a two-week holiday to study District Four life for an upcoming role, she and her younger sister managed to weasel their way along on the holiday trip. After a pleasant afternoon spent in her room at the North Side Resort, we decided to introduce her fifteen-year-old sister Octavia to Oris the following day. My poor adoptive brother was not at all prepared for the casual intimacy that Capitol people seem to find appropriate and made a quick escape after a few kisses and some fumbling in the corner of the resort pool.

I teased him mercilessly for it all the way home while also mock-cursing him for costing me further time with Lepida, until I realized that he was genuinely upset. I was made to promise to never breathe a word of our afternoon happenings to Greta or Ric, and Oris spent the next two days sullenly nursing his embarrassment by barely talking to me or anyone else. He'd got over it by the Tuesday training afternoon, after a thrilling sparring match against one of the eighteen-year-olds that Oris only barely lost. I'd cheered him on loudly and praised his success the whole walk home, and by the following morning all the awkwardness between us seemed to have settled.

The only good part about facing the cameras on the eve of Reaping Day to do one last big media piece as the outgoing victor, is the knowledge that this time next year someone else will be in the spotlight and I'll finally be able to relax. Oris gets asked by one of the breathless journalists whether he's planning on volunteering too so that he can be just like me when he grows up. My adoptive brother manages to laugh it off and suggest that he'd struggle to follow in my large footsteps as he doubts he'd be half as entertaining as I am. Greta and Ric, who both tense up off-screen at the question, relax when the reporters drop that line. I really hope that Head Gamemaker Sykes doesn't decide she wants the additional drama of making me mentor him. Surely they wouldn't be so obvious as to reap Oris two years in a row, and even if they do, there were at least two of the boys at our training school who have declared their intention to volunteer this year, hoping to ride my extreme popularity to an easier run with sponsors.

Sure enough, both kids called to the stage by Acanthus are quickly replaced by a pack of options and suddenly the weight of mentoring comes crashing down on my head as Mags signals me to step aside with her and discuss which of the girls standing at the foot of the stage we will be taking to possibly die. I wonder if we will be blamed by their parents, family, friends if they don't make it back. Realistically, whoever we take will have only a little better than one in twenty-four odds of returning a victor, and even then, one of them is guaranteed to die. Why should I have any right to make that choice?

Mags pokes me in the ribs with her bony elbow and hisses, "Wake up Finnick. Not now, we can discuss it on the train."

I guess something in my expression must have given away my thoughts. I nod, and she continues, "What do you know of any of them? You've been to each of the schools, yes?"

In fact, I've only visited two of the four training schools and mostly just spent time at my old school, though the Saturday talk I gave was open to kids from any of the four. I look again at the three waiting girls and latch on to a memory of the tallest one, who asked a question at that talk. It wasn't a particularly intelligent question, something about why you wouldn't just betray your allies early for their supplies. I murmur to Mags that I vaguely recognize the one girl and that she wouldn't be a good team player. Neither of the other faces are familiar, so Mags sizes them up once more and sighs. "No real difference between the other two. I think they are both younger and neither really inspires me with particular confidence. Maybe we should go with the older one – the pack should take her in without a problem and she'll have enough reach to fight someone off with a spear.

I shrug, deferring to her experience, and Tarna Sanders takes to the stage with a sickeningly sweet smile in my direction. I close my eyes briefly while the crowd cheers again, hoping that her volunteering (and her dumb question during the class I led) weren't just poor attempts at getting my attention.

"And now we call for any volunteers from the gentlemen for Mister Rodriguez."

The pack of seven boys that makes its way to the foot of the stage sets a new record for District Four volunteers. Three of them are from my old training school and I immediately dismiss the first one who almost lost a sparring bout to Oris. Another boy I don't recognize looks maybe thirteen or a very young fourteen and I don't have to confer with Mags to ignore him also.

"What are the odds of us actually going back to back," I whisper as she surveys the line, stroking her chin.

"It's been done once, and it's been a near thing a few other times. Good sponsors go a long way. The tall one with the black hair, I think Gabi mentioned him to me. Said he was very good at fighting but had all the personality of a wooden deck plank. Probably not a good choice if we're playing the sponsors game."

"I only know three of them," I whisper back. "The two on the end and the one with…" I trail off and share a look with Mags, silently acknowledging why we've both been glossing over the boy in the middle of the group. He's most of a head taller, with a flatter face and broader nose, but is otherwise a good likeness of Oris. Right down to the shoulder-length brown hair with beaded plaits.

"Valkyr," I say softly. "He started the whole Viking hair thing about four years back and some of the younger boys copied him, including Oris. He's good in a fight and he's always been friendly with everyone at training. I'm pretty sure he's eighteen now, this would be his last year. I never thought he was training to volunteer though. I only thought he came because his uncle got reaped way back, and so his mother made him train just in case."

Mags snorts softly, and replies, "If he wasn't serious about volunteering then he shouldn't have stepped to the front."

She leans past me and crooks with a bony finger at our selection. Valkyr grins and nods to me as he takes the stage. I offer him a fist bump and he takes it, earning another hearty cheer from the crowd. I try not to shiver as we turn to face out to the sea of people, standing to attention while Mayor Byron reads the Treaty of the Treason, then directs Valkyr and Tarna to shake hands.

We're directed to wait just outside the Justice Building, where someone snaps a few more photos and the same journalist that was asking Oris questions earlier yells to us about what we think our tributes' chances are.

"Ignore them for now," Mags advises me. "They know that we'll give them time as we board the train, don't let them get used to having any more." Turning her back, she goes to Nimia who I haven't seen in a while. Our second-oldest victor looks even more shaky and withdrawn than usual and is huddled up against the wall trying to shield herself from the world around her.

"Good picks," Gabriela tells me as she and Morstan join our little knot. Wade wanders over as well, though he doesn't say anything, just glares at the cameras.

"Tarna's a bit of a wild card, sees things her own way," she continues. Unlike the rest of us victors, Gabriela goes out of her way to meet all of the kids who train in our district so that she's not surprised on Reaping Day. "Still a better chance than Rora or Tiller, they're both barely fifteen and I'm very sure they were only interested in a certain mentor." She winks at me, and I actually find myself more at ease with the decision we made. If all three girls were only interested in volunteering because of me, at least we took the one with the best chance of winning a fight.

"I've seen the Hansen boy fight, he's nearly as good with a spear as you are," Morstan adds. I grin and nod.

"Yeah, I remember practicing with him. He beat me a few times, especially when we fought unarmed. He's not stupid either."

Morstan and Gabriela both nod. I think I hear Wade snort in disgust behind us, but I'm not sure if it's directed at our conversation, or at the last of the District Four victors, Ava, who is still preening in front of the cameras. She has to be nearly sixty now and has spent many years and a good chunk of her victor's salary trying not to look it. I haven't spent much time trying to get to know her. Mags doesn't like her much, though they do make an effort to be polite, at least in public.

Eventually we are waved over to the waiting cars, which take us and our luggage to the tribute train. As non-mentor victors, Wade, Ava, Gabriela and Morstan ride up in the front compartment, while Mags and I are directed to the door about half-way down. Nimia hasn't been well enough to attend the Capitol for years, and she heads back to the Village instead.

While we wait for the tributes to arrive with Acanthus we do our bit for the cameras. I talk up Valkyr as a solid competitor and a worthy successor to my fame and title. Mags suggests with forced conviction that Tarna is fierce and competitive. It quickly becomes clear that the media people are more interested in asking questions about me than about our tributes. Mags pointedly reminds them that they are here to cover the Hunger Games, which may include Finnick Odair, but does not entirely revolve around me and me alone.

She marches herself up the steps onto the train and beckons for me to follow. I give the cameras one last smile and a sort of hopeless shrug, silently asking 'what else can I do?' before following her.

"Go settle our bags down in the rooms marked with the M's two compartments up that way, doesn't matter which is which," Mags instructs me as I join her, pointing towards the front of the train. "Meet me back here, I'll have them bring us something cool to drink. And if they ask you again, no you don't plan on being a part of Gregaris Gucco's mid-summer show, unless you want to strut around naked on a catwalk with just a few splashes of body paint on."

I hadn't recognized the name the reporter had shouted at me and grin at Mags again, thankful for her unwavering support and fearlessness in facing down Capitol people who she feels are demanding too much of us. We wait in the dining compartment until the tributes arrive with Acanthus and Mags calls a suddenly unhappy looking Tarna over for a preliminary chat, while I do the same with Valkyr.

It's a little strange trying to think of how to impart a mentor's wisdom to a boy who is at least two years older than me, but we aren't complete strangers, having shared a training school floor for five years. We weren't specifically friends, but that was more due to the age difference and him having others closer to his age amongst the roughly thirty kids that attended.

"So," Valkyr says with a grin as I point him into a chair and shove a plate of cookies Mags ordered for us towards him. "Are you going to tell me all the secrets to becoming the Capitol's most beloved victor?"

I shrug and answer, "I'll try. No promises with that haircut though."

This earns a laugh, a stark contrast to the other pair where I can hear Tarna whining about something. I can't make out the words, just the tone but for some reason she doesn't seem happy.

"Ah, don't mind her," Valkyr tells me. "She's just having a cry because she wanted you to mentor her. Real personally, if you get my drift."

I throw a cookie at him, which he catches and bites into appreciatively. I hope he's not serious.

Shaking my head, I reply, "Well she's your district partner so you're the one that'll have to get along with her."

His grin drops briefly but returns as he gestures broadly with the hand holding the half-eaten cookie.

"Ah, she'll learn to love me. I think it's the curse of District Four men, we're just too popular. Anyway, plenty of other tributes to work with if she doesn't want to be friends. Do we get to watch the other reapings now? Or do we have to wait for the evening replay."

"Replay," I say. "Nothing to do now except relax, unwind, have a bite to eat and start planning. We'll get in to the Capitol tonight and you'd better be ready to look good for the cameras. I think there might be a few of them around."

He finishes the last bite and stands, wiping his hands on his trousers. "I'll go get cleaned up then, wash away the tears of all my loved ones crying for my noble sacrifice. You can start planning how to make me your protégé."

He reaches over and ruffles my hair with another grin before sauntering off in the direction Acanthus points him. I consider insisting that he treat me with more respect, then discard it. I don't want to put him off his game and we seem to be working ok so far, even if he does seem to think of me as a kid brother.

For a moment my mind flashes back to Anita, my district partner, who took much the same attitude with me. She and Valkyr had been friendly, I remember suddenly. Part of the same group of about six older kids who were training more seriously than the rest. Most of them were from poorer families, sponsored by a richer family as protection for that person's kids. Hoping to one day escape their poverty by volunteering and winning the Games. Anita, like me, came from a well-off family that could afford to pay the fees and not miss the extra work hours we'd otherwise put in (though technically Mags paid for mine and continues to pay for Oris). I know Valkyr's family isn't particularly well off, but his mother lost her older brother to the Games many years before, and so insisted her children all train even if it meant going short for herself. Valkyr's two sisters are closer in age with me and Oris and have been regular sparring partners over the years.

As I told Mags, I didn't think any of the Hansens were training with the plan of actually volunteering. I hope Valkyr trusts me enough to tell me honestly why he put himself forward as I may need to understand his motivations in order to help him get through. I also wonder when will be the best time to give him the same warning I got from Mags about the sponsors. My thoughts are interrupted by Mags herself, shifting over to my table to reclaim the pile of cookies I absconded with.

"Silly girl. I'd watch out for her Finnick, she's a little…"

"Obsessed?" I ask jokingly, then grimace when she nods. "Yes, obsessed is the right word for it. As much as some of the lovely folk you have met from the Capitol, to give you an idea. She is most distraught that she can't force us to swap mentors."

I'm not sure why anyone in their right mind would turn down our district's most experienced and successful mentor to get the boy in his first year. Then again it sounds like our girl tribute isn't exactly in her right mind. I can only hope the upcoming week isn't too painful.

"So," I say, echoing Valkyr's tone and words, "Please enlighten me, oh wise mentor, with your years of experience. What do we do now?"

Mags swats the back of my head, but smiles and settles in to explain some of the key things to remember over the coming days, starting with making sure we are both well fed.

~xXx~

It takes us two hours to get from the train station in the Capitol to our rooms in the Remake Centre, despite the best efforts of both Mags and Acanthus to steer us through the crowd. I try to use the opportunity to hype up Valkyr (and, to a lesser extent Tarna) but most of the screaming horde doesn't seem all that interested in them. The apparently inexhaustible crowd of people surrounding the train station demand attention, photographs, autographs on last year's program or any other image they've printed of me. Kisses are blown so often that Valkyr starts pretending to dive in front of me and catch them, fluttering his eyelashes and hamming up that he's the real celebrity. He's not bad looking, with a chiselled jaw and a distinctive hair style makes him memorable, so I figure this is working in his and our favour.

Tarna spends most of the brief walk from the train to the cars scowling and glaring at them all, which doesn't do anything to improve her odds or popularity. Even when we get to the cars, the journey is slow as people have filled the streets and a path through them has to be pushed open by the escorting Peacekeepers every other block.

They help us fight through the wall that has formed on the steps of the Remake Centre as well. As it's me they all want, I signal to Mags and Acanthus to go on ahead with the tributes, willing to suffer the spotlight in order to buy the rest of them some peace and quiet. My mentor shakes her head resolutely, refusing to leave me to the mercy of the horde. We finally make it through the doors into the lobby, where the Peacekeepers use a little more force to hold back the three women who try to cling on and follow us in.

My hair is mussed by half a hundred hands, my shirt is torn in two places and I appear to have lost a shoe during the last push – I'd noticed the lace was loose earlier but didn't dare stop to retie it.

"Well," Valkyr says as he tidies his own slightly mussed shirt. "Friendly bunch here in the Capitol."

This earns him a chuckle from one of the Peacekeepers and a loud snort from a lean older man sitting in a chair in the small lobby, eyeing the screaming horde with distaste. I recognize him as one of the District Five victors, though I can't place his name. He and Mags exchange nods as she hurries us to the lift.

The Remake Centre is much smaller than the Training Centre, only five floors, with the apartment suites on the top level. About half the districts have rooms for sleeping here as many of the trains don't arrive until morning. According to Mags, our district used to be one of them but when they rebuilt the train lines about six years back they set down a faster route. I don't understand how it could be that much faster, but then I never have been any good at maths.

I introduce Valkyr to the joys of Capitol living, including the food units in the rooms which provide an extensive menu with only a minute's wait. I leave him enjoying a late night snack and join Mags in the lounge, where she too is indulging in a slice of cake with her tea.

"All settled?" She asks, patting the seat beside her. "Good. As I'm sure you remember, we will send them off to the prep teams straight after breakfast. The stylists will join us for morning tea to discuss any strategic concerns or angles we wish to highlight, though I'm yet to see Phineas deviate from his vision regardless what is discussed. Alvita is a little easier to work with, she's been doing our girls these last four years. The woman before that was horrendous, thankfully we got rid of her quickly."

I raise an eyebrow, but Mags doesn't elaborate. Instead she waved to the TV set where another replay of the Reaping is being shown, now that they've finished covering our arrival into the city.

On the earlier replay, I had recognised all three girls at the head of the pack of volunteers from the District One victory tour party. The pretty blonde Lapis pointed out to me as Cashmere D'Anville gets the spot for the girls, and her district partner Moonstone Blake is very quick to reach the platform and take the place of the reaped boy.

The pair from Two looked as competent as always – Caius Denver is big and distinctly unattractive, down to a hefty scar across his jaw. Lucia Marks has a cutting glare to go with her resting expression of anger.

I'm not sure that this pack will have room for silly, whinging Tarna, though Valkyr should be fine. Mags concurs, though she suggests approaching with the traditional alliance anyway. All they can say is no.

I'm not overly impressed with most of the other tributes. The girl from Seven is eighteen and sturdy, while the boy from Nine is chunky to the point of being called fat. Especially in comparison to the distinctly skinny kids that follow from Districts Ten, Eleven and Twelve. Even the eighteen-year-olds from those districts look undersized this year.

The physical inadequacy of so many of the tributes is only highlighted by the parade. Our stylists do up Valkyr and Tanna as old sea-gods, down to the trident in Valkyr's left hand, which he waves enthusiastically to the roaring crowd. The girl from One, Cashmere is stunningly beautiful in an artful pattern of gold body-paint and silk sashes. Moonstone is lightly built for a trained eighteen-year-old and doesn't pull off his own gold- and sapphire-laden outfit quite as well.

The pair from Two are done up as rugged stone statues (a frequently used theme from their stylists, especially when their tributes aren't particularly good looking). Caius is indisputably the most physically intimidating of all of the tributes, with a heavily muscled six-foot-four frame, but he doesn't seem to have as much of the crowd support as One or Four. Apart from the sturdy-built boy from Six and girl from Seven, and the overweight boy from Nine, who is comically dressed as a loaf of bread, all of the other tributes are uniformly scrawny. Apart from the very pretty girl from One, and ruggedly handsome Valkyr, none of them are overly attractive. Even Tarna looks among the better options, now that she is finally smiling.

It only takes the volunteer pack a day to see her less pleasant side though. By the end of the first day of training, Mags has introduced me to the other key mentors, who inform us that Valkyr is wanted in the alliance, but Tarna isn't welcome. Lapis, Noah and Enobaria, three of the other volunteer pack mentors invite me to have a drink with them at the bar and I agree when I realize that Mags will have to tell our girl that she'll be on her own. I have no interest in being part of that argument and I figure Valkyr will have the sense to go lock himself away in his room. I can easily catch up with him later.

"So young Finnick, have you faced the hordes in the Sponsorship Hall yet?" Lapis asks as he places four large glasses on the table in front of us.

I eye mine suspiciously; Lapis takes a healthy sip from his and Enobaria drains hers in one go, waving a waiter over to fetch her another.

"Not yet," I say. Mags had managed to find enough things I needed to learn about the mentoring process to keep me away from the sponsors today. Tomorrow I have no excuse and am not looking forward to it.

"Lucky you," Noah tells me, also sipping his drink. He's nearly as big as his tribute, topping six foot three and well-muscled, with only his slightly receding hairline to show he's heading into his thirties.

"Don't worry kid," Enobaria tells me with her savage fang-pointed grin. "Just go flash them a few of your shark smiles and let them pet your muscles. There are worse sponsors you'll be dealing with soon enough."

Noah and Lapis both shift a little at this; it's actually a little comforting to know that I won't be alone in whatever happens going forwards. Certainly, none of these victors will be judging me. I'm surprised anyone wants to try to control Enobaria though. She seems genuinely on the far side of crazy and we all know what she can do with her teeth if she's not enjoying herself.

"Anyone have any ideas on the arena?" Lapis asks, and we all shake our heads. Mags had told me that they never use the same idea two years in a row, so we can rule out tropical island or peninsula settings. Beyond that, it really could be anything.

"I'll ask Topaz," Lapis offers after gulping down another mouthful of his drink. "She's out visiting a friend who might know something about it."

This makes me wonder if any of the other District Four victors are out entertaining people without me knowing about it. I think I can rule out Morstan, who's in his late forties. I don't think Gabriela ever had that level of fan following, and Wade's been overtaken in popularity now. I can only imagine Ava would want the extra attention; she's certainly had a few well-publicized lovers over the years. Though I think she's had control of who and when rather than being told by someone else. She's also pretty old, nearly sixty and even with all her surgeries she still looks at least forty.

I shudder suddenly – there's nothing stopping someone her age or older even having sponsored me. I'm very glad that I took the time to get to know Juno and Lepida. And if Piper hits on me again, maybe I'll take her up on it too. As Ric told me, enjoy it where I can.

"Where's Glory?" Noah asks as he finishes up his drink, waving away the hovering waiter who offers another.

"Off with Cashmere," Lapis replies. "She's his niece, you know. Stupid girl, should have stayed happy with the marriage her daddy set up for her. At least then she'd only have one ugly old man pawing at her. Death's probably her best bet, though you can't tell either of them that. Or her brat of a brother, he can't be any older than you-" Lapis leans over and taps my arm with his now empty glass. "But he came charging up to me after the reaping and demanded I do everything I could to help keep her alive. As though I don't have my own tribute to look after."

I can understand the desperate hope of a brother and, between his complaints now, and his sleazy treatment of the girls in his district, I decide I really don't like Lapis that much. Noah also seems to be eyeing the man from One with distaste. Enobaria just looks bored with everything. She downs her third drink and informs us that she's going to get an early night in her own bed, while she can.

I take a few more sips of the pungent drink and decide that it's probably been enough time for Tarna to have finished her temper tantrum. Noah gives me a nod as I stand to leave. Lapis heads for the bar and another drink, joining three of the outer district victors.

"Here's the new kid," Chaff bellows when he sees me going past. The big man blocks my path with his stump arm and slings his good hand around my shoulders. "Come on boy, have a few with us. We'll tell you all the best ways to get into trouble out here."

I duck away from his grip while Haymitch from Twelve and Blight from Seven laugh.

"No thanks, I need to go teach my tribute how to become the next Finnick Odair," I tell them with a grin.

This gets another laugh and Haymitch waves me away, slurring "Go on then. More likely than any of ours to do it."

It's the truth and we all know it. I shrug and head back upstairs to the lift, ignoring the handful of muffled voices calling my name as they see me crossing the Training Centre lobby through the glass doors.