Chapter 70- Terra Coppersmith

Shuttle tilts her head and closes one eye. "It's getting better."

"You don't have to lie."

"No, I'm serious. It almost looks like me now."

"Almost?" I ask, exasperated. I've been staring at the canvas for hours, blocking everything else out, and it still hasn't turned out the way I wanted it to.

"I looked like a potato in the other ones."

I toss down the paintbrush, spattering yellow paint on the floor. "I still think it's better than what you made last night."

Shuttle crosses her arms. "I'm out of practice; I haven't picked up my talent in years."

"It's been months, and I've seen you cook before," I point out.

"Not artistically."

My eyes flick up to the portrait on the wall, and that constricting pain wraps around me and squeezes tight. No matter how many drawings I do, no matter how much Shuttle tries to distract me and I try to distract myself, it keeps rushing back to me like a wave.

No amount of paint will bring my sister back from the dead.

The pain is duller than it was half a year ago. It's not as unbearable, and sometimes I forget. I hate myself for forgetting that she's gone, but it doesn't hurt as much when I don't think about her. Shuttle's organized our new talents that we didn't have before- at least I didn't; Shuttle cooked when she just became a victor. And that helps me forget too.

Some days are harder than others, and that's when I feel that wave starting to wash over me, threatening to fill my lungs with water, until I can't breathe without having Iry here again. On those days I want to give up and drown too, and let that wave of grief pull me down forever.

But Shuttle and Woven won't let me. They keep reaching through the water and pulling me up, and maybe, just maybe, one day I will reach the surface and breathe the air again.

"It's been almost three months since we started, don't you think we should be better by now?" I ask, leaning back in my chair. I keep trying to paint Shuttle, but I haven't been able to make it look like her. Woven keeps saying that I should draw something simpler, but I won't. I won't stop until I get Shuttle's face right.

"I wasn't that good at cooking to begin with," Shuttle says, shrugging.

"So why did you pick it again?"

"It was easy."

"But it's not," I point out. I can still smell the smoke from the artistic supper she tried to cook last night.

"You with your painting, me with my cooking. We can only go up from here," Shuttle says, and I can't disagree with her. I never had any talent with art; my father did, though. He did sketches of both me and Iry; I don't know where they went. Maybe I left them behind on Engineering Road.

"Anyway, we need to get ready," Shuttle says, tossing me a damp rag. "You've got paint all over your hands."

I scrub at the dried paint on my palms, barely hearing the side door opening. "Everyone ready yet?" Woven calls out, but the cold air blows in with her, it's cold, it's-

It's freezing where I'm sitting, but I can't move. Whatever that was in the cave is gone, and I don't know where it is; I don't know where the Cornucopia is. But I've never been so cold in my life; I hurt all over.

My hands hurt, and Fletcher's dead. He's dead, he's dead, he's dead-

"Terra, come back."

"No! Let go!" I scream, hitting out; it's a mutt, it's the bear mutt and it's going to kill me, but I can't see it through the snow. "Let go of me!"

"Terra, it's just Woven. You're in Shuttle's kitchen."

Woven's voice finally settles through my head, making the fog of snow and terror slowly disappear. I'm in the kitchen, I'm still in front of the easel, and Woven is holding my shoulders from behind. "You're fine. We're all here, in Shuttle's house."

"Okay," I say, but it comes out more like a whisper. The sides of my head sting, making me realize that I have my nails buried into the skin of my temples.

"Let go," Woven says quietly, squeezing my fingers until they release from my head and fall into my lap, like I have no control of them. Ruined hands for a ruined girl.

"Here, you have paint in your hair," Shuttle says, grabbing the cloth off the floor where I dropped it, and starts wiping at the edges of my face. "You're ready then, Woven?"

"I came to see if you two were."

"Not quite; Terra wanted to finish trying to paint me again."

I can feel Woven leaning forward to look at my picture, still holding onto me. "It's getting better, Terra."

"I'm looking more human these days," Shuttle says, grabbing my palette to put under water in the sink.

"It's only been three months," I say, finally getting my voice back.

"The Capitol wasn't built in a day, and your paintings won't be either," Woven says firmly.

"My nose has looked better, though," Shuttle says.

"Don't tease me," I say, but I don't really mean it. Having Shuttle and Woven here and having light conversations gives a sense of normalcy to my life that I haven't had since before the Games. Both of them.

"Save it for Woof," Woven adds, just as the door opens again, letting that cold, cold air in. Woven grips my shoulders tighter, and she helps ground me, even as it touches my fingers-

Don't let me go back, Woven. It hurts too much.

"What are you saving for me?" Woof asks, shutting the door with a slam. "And don't you all look ready," he adds sarcastically.

"I was just telling Terra that my nose has looked better," Shuttle says, pointing to my canvas. Trailing melting snow behind him, Woof walks over and squints at the picture.

"It could look worse."

"Paint one of Postumius with his nose broken; I'd hang it on my wall," Woven says, and Woof laughs.

"If you make it life sized with him stuffed, I'll take three."

"Only if you pay me," I say, finally starting to come out of my arena daze.

"You have enough money already," Woof says, "And they're not going to wait for us. Let's go."

"I don't want to go."

"Do we ever want to go anywhere they want us to?" Shuttle says, throwing the yellow painted cloth into the sink.

"No, and good throw," Woof says.

"At the very least, we have to go make that poor girl feel welcome," Woven says. "She's not getting it from any of the other districts."

"Why do they hate her anyway?" Shuttle asks. From what we've seen on the television, the districts before us have been cold at best to Panem's new victor. I don't remember them being like that for me.

"It's the district partner dilemma," Woof says. "You kill your partner; you're screwed for all time."

At least I didn't kill Fletcher outright, even though I still feel like I have his blood on my hands.

"Burn anything recently?" Woof asks, changing the subject with a smug smile.

"Go to hell, Woof."

"Already been, and I wasn't a fan. Let's go; they're not going to wait for us."

"Fine, give me a second," Shuttle says, grabbing her coat from where she draped it over a chair earlier.

"Good thing you picked up painting and not violin. Did you hear the caterwauling on the television? I heard better things in the arena," Woof adds, looking at me.

"Woof, shut up. We're going to meet her in half an hour, and she doesn't need you to bring that up," Woven says.

"We're not going to meet her if you keep standing around and talking."

"Look at Woof being the responsible one," Woven says, pulling me up. "Even though he's talking more than any of us."

"Let's move it, Woven."

"I'm still older than you, so quit," Woven says. "And I already have my boots on."

"Still haven't called in that favor yet, have you? And you two, get your shoes on. Let's go before they start in on our asses."

"Watch your language," Shuttle says, hitting him as she walks by. I go after her, with Woven following behind me.

"You're too young to be using those kinds of words," Woven joins it. I almost laugh, but the frozen arena threatening to come back makes it die in my throat. The last thing I want to do is go out into the snow.

"Look, I don't give a damn if we make it there on time or not. But I sure as hell don't want to tempt them into sending that idiot back to us."

"They won't; I broke his nose," I say.

"Thank you," Woof says, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "Seven years too late. Should have punched him before."

"I had reason," I say, and nobody answers me on that. We all know I hit him because he talked about Iry, but we're not going to say it. Not today. But it hangs over us while Shuttle and I lace up our boots and presses down on me until I can feel it weighing on my back.

I don't want to meet the girl who won instead of Iry. Even though I'm sure she's glad she won, I can't help wishing that everything was different. That she was under a marble headstone instead of my sister.

I can't say that, not even to Shuttle. I can't be that cruel, but I can't stop myself from thinking it.

"Coat on, hat on," Woven directs, handing me both items.

"For god's sake, Woven, she's not an infant," Woof says. "It's a two-minute walk to the car."

I pull my red mittens on, and nod at Shuttle. "It's just out the door, you can do it," she says.

"I know."

"And we'll all go together and sing," Woof says. "Let's go already."

"Well hurrah for the District 8 team," Shuttle says, just as Woof opens the door. The cold air blows in my face, but Shuttle's holding my arm tight and I won't let it get me, I won't let the arena come back.

Once we're outside, I can see the two black cars that are going to bring us to the Justice Hall, where we're going to meet the new victor. I don't want to meet her, because she's a reminder that Iry's dead, but I know it wasn't her fault. She didn't kill my sister. The Capitol did.

And I'll never forgive them for it.

"And I want to thank all of District 8 for the sacrifices of your children. It is through you that the Dark Days will never return, and together we can stand as a united Panem."

"Do they really believe that?" Woof asks, running his hand through his hair. Astrid's, the new victor's, voice echoes around the square and into the Justice Hall where we're all standing.

"Apparently. Of course, they aren't her words," Beetee says. I haven't seen him since July, and he never made much of an impression on me, even on my own Victory Tour. He won the year before me, I know that.

"You were lucky to get her out," Woof continues, looking over at Beetee.

"Oh no, she did most of the work herself. I knew she had potential to be in the top five, but I wasn't entirely pleased when it was her and Circuit left for last."

"The district partner dilemma, isn't it?" Woven asks, and Beetee nods.

"Her welcome has not been, may I say, warm by any means."

"I could have guessed that," Shuttle says as the audience through the door applauds.

"And, Terra," Beetee says, turning to me and pulling his glasses down, "I am sorry to hear of your sister's passing. I was not able to tell you in the Capitol."

"Thank you," I say, but it comes out almost at a whisper. Every time somebody mentions her name, it feels like I'm being strangled.

"What is she like?" Woven asks, gently rubbing my arm while she looks at Beetee.

Beetee rubs his chin while he thinks. "I believe she's more fragile than she's pretending to be. Arrogant, but her pride is sustaining her. An excellent actress."

"Does she know what's she's going into in the Capitol?" Shuttle asks, and her words sound tight.

Beetee shakes his head. "You can't prepare a person for that. And she would not believe me even if I told her. She's not the most, may I say, trusting tribute I have ever encountered."

I can't help but think of Iry, who trusted everyone. And now this girl is standing on the stage in Iry's place. Iry should have won, she should have, but she couldn't have against the District 2s and the District 3 boy.

Watching her drown was still better than watching her be strangled or tortured. Even though I'll never stop seeing her hand disappearing under the waves, seeing the station turn black-

"Is she desirable?" Woven asks, bringing me back to reality; her fingers tightening briefly on my arm. I know they saved me from the attention of the Capitol, but it came at the cost of Iry's life. I would rather have suffered through anything in the Capitol than lose my sister. Anything. No matter what it was.

"Perhaps. She is a novelty, being a District 3 victor. As you might have noticed, we are not the majority in Panem."

"Should learn to clone yourself, Beetee," Shuttle says.

"The Capitol would be happy if I did," Beetee says, smiling. "More of me to work around the clock."

"Oh, get ready, get ready!" The escort I overheard someone call Delia almost sings at us as she walks past in tall high heels and a large blue wig. Woof coughs behind me, but when I look at him, he's trying not to laugh. I don't mind Delia, even if she is Capitol. She's been more productive in five minutes than Postumius was in seven years.

The anthem swells just as the doors open and the girl that I've seen all week on the television, and who I vaguely remember from the parade and in the arena, walks in, head held high, smiling, and holding a large bouquet of flowers.

"Oh, Astrid, you sounded wonderful!" Delia says, reaching out and taking the flowers from Astrid. She looks over at us, and I can't help but notice the contrast between her and Beetee. Beetee's a little shorter than I am, and so is Astrid, but the resemblance ends there. Beetee's dark skin, eyes, and hair are very different from Astrid's pale complexion, green eyes, and red hair.

A redheaded District 3 is a novelty. Woven's hand closes around my arm again, and I know she's thinking that too. I know I wasn't a desirable victor, with my missing legs and fingers, but I don't think she's going to have the same luck.

"Now, these are the victors of District 8," Delia says, passing off the flowers to the shaking with energy stylist standing to the side, before half dragging Astrid towards us. Astrid pulls away at the last moment, but she keeps her smile on her face.

"You're the largest group I've met so far," she says, beaming at us.

Her eyes remind me of someone else's, and I can't place it until she's shaking Woven's hand. They're like Silver Bellcreek's, who looks hunted every time I see her.

I can't hate her, even though she's alive and Iry isn't. I couldn't hate Orna or Kress or Jax or any of the other broken victors who came to see me after Iry's death. I glance at Shuttle, and I think she knows it too. Astrid's broken just like I am, just like Orna is.

"And this is Terra Coppersmith, the victor of the Thirty-sixth Games," Delia says, gesturing to me. Astrid reaches out and shakes my hand, but she lets go quickly.

"It was your sister that was in the Games?" she asks. "I was sorry to see her picture in the sky."

"Thank you," I say. That familiar stab of pain cuts through my stomach, the wave threatening to overtake me again. Shuttle walks over and quietly holds me up until it subsides, and slowly the violent waves of grief ebb away. Astrid looks at me strangely, but her smile is still plastered on her face. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes.

"Upstairs, Astrid!" Delia says cheerfully, grabbing Astrid's arm again and pulling her towards the stairs. "Time to get ready for tonight!"

"Let go of me," Astrid mutters, pulling away from her escort, but Delia is holding her too tight for her to escape.

"They are waiting, and we can't let them wait long!" Delia says, and the last thing we hear is the door at the top of the stairs slamming.

Beetee nods to us once and walks away towards whatever room he's expected to be in, until we're left alone in the entranceway to the Justice Hall.

"Well?" Woof asks, almost glaring at the rest of us.

"She seems nice," Woven says, but Woof waves her off.

"Anyone can be nice. Shuttle, any observations?"

Woof played this game last year, when the victor from 4 came through. I was glad that if somebody other than 8 had to win last year, it was District 4, because it meant that Mags came with him. I hadn't seen her since my own Victory Tour, and even though I only talked to her briefly, I was so happy to see her.

Shuttle keeps saying I should call her, but I haven't yet.

But Woof pointed out his observations on Riptide after he was taken away before the dinner last year.

"Nervous, obviously traumatized. Capitol won't take advantage of him; he's not desirable enough."

"Just say what you're going to say; we all know you're going to say it," Shuttle says.

"I can tell you that she's damaged beyond all hell, and that's exactly where she's going, straight into the lion's den," Woof says. Shuttle and Woven stay silent, so I know that what he's just said is the truth.

I went into the lion's den when I gathered sponsors for Iry, but I escaped. They couldn't get me. Shuttle and Woven and Aero made sure they couldn't get me. Aero. I haven't thought about Aero for a long time. He tried to help Iry, but we all failed. None of us could save her.

And nobody can save Astrid either.

"I saw that you played the violin," I say, water glass in hand. I'd love to know what the glass of stars that Aero gave was actually called, back at that last party in the Capitol, but since that's not here, I'll settle for water.

"Barely. I haven't been practicing long," Astrid says.

"I started painting a few months ago; I'm trying to paint my friend's face." Friend? Shuttle doesn't feel like my friend, more like an older sister. But she's not really my mentor anymore, and she's not my fellow victor. She was Iry's aunt; she's been the one who's watched over me for the past five years. I don't know what to call her to Astrid, though, so I'll stay with friend.

"Are you any good?"

"Shuttle said I made her look like a potato," I say, and Astrid laughs.

"How do you like District 8?" I ask, for lack of something else to say.

"Much better than District 9. The woman victor, Arla, she was drunk the whole night, and so was everyone else."

I look around the room; neither Shuttle or Woven are drinking much, and while Woof does have a glass in his hand, he's not out of control. "I never liked Arla," I say, but I'm cut off by Delia storming up to us with a glass in her hand.

"You must mingle!" she says before pulling Astrid away again, towards the mayor. Shuttle notices and comes over to me, looking back at Delia and Astrid.

"What's with her?" Shuttle asks.

"I have no idea."

"At least Postumius just got drunk and stupid; he never hauled us around like that woman's doing," Shuttle says, watching Delia pull Astrid around the room; Astrid's hands are twitching like she'd like to slap her escort's grip off.

"She should hit her," Shuttle adds. "These stupid Capitolites."

"Are you missing Postumius?" I ask. Shuttle shakes her head.

"Absolutely not. But who knows who we'll get as his replacement."

"Maybe they'll drag Woof around."

"They'll do it once and never touch him again," Shuttle says. "I'd like to see it, actually. Just like I'd like to see Fabian handle Postumius for a year. Or the District 2s. Music to my ears."

"We'll still have to see him," I point out. He's been transferred, not fired.

"Yes, but he's not our problem anymore," Shuttle says, getting distracted at somebody walking by. "I'd love to go home anytime now."

"What time is it?"

"Half past twelve. Just watch, that blue haired idiot's going to start shouting about getting to the train any second. When we had the orange moron, we had to get to the train ourselves and drag him along behind us."

"Talking about the good old days?" Woof asks, appearing next to us.

"Talking about how when we see Postumius again, he won't be our problem," Shuttle says.

"He talks to us, I kill him. I swear I will kill him and mount him on a pedestal."

"And you'd put that in your house?" Shuttle asks.

"I'd donate it to one of those museums in the Capitol and label it 'idiot,'" Woof says, and Shuttle laughs.

"Time to go!" Delia calls, already making her way towards the exit.

"See, I told you," Shuttle says.

Astrid hasn't stopped smiling the whole evening, even while Delia was dragging her all over the room. Beetee's still deep in conversation with one of the factory managers that got an invitation, and District 3's prep team are all somewhat drunk and giggling.

"Look at those idiots," Woof says, gesturing to them. "We've gotten off lucky with Damius."

"What about Janus?" Shuttle asks.

"He'll probably be transferred off next year too. I don't care as long as he isn't in orange."

"We should say goodbye," Shuttle says. Woof waves her off.

"You say it; I'm getting a drink and going home."

"That's the noble victor," Shuttle says sarcastically, then turns to me. "Let's do what Woof won't and actually say good luck. She's going to need it."

Astrid's standing alone when we reach her. "It's been wonderful meeting you," she says, still smiling at us.

"I'm glad you enjoyed your time here in District 8. We'll see you in July?" Shuttle asks, and Astrid nods.

"In July."

"We must be getting to the train!" Delia calls again, and this time the prep team starts to dance their way towards their escort.

"Listen, District 4. Mags. She'll take care of you too; just tell her Terra says hello," I say quickly.

"And Corinna, District 7. You can trust her," Shuttle says.

Astrid's smile wavers briefly before returning completely. "Anybody else?"

"Kress, District 5."

"I'll keep them in mind," Astrid says.

"Astrid! We must go!"

"Good luck," Shuttle says, and Astrid nods again.

"Thank you for having me," she says, then walks away to join her escort. Shuttle and I watch her go, then Shuttle shakes her head.

"She'll need it."

"If you have a nightmare, wake me up," Shuttle says, climbing into her bed. We shifted a lot of furniture a few months ago, so that both of our beds are in the same room. Neither of us wants to sleep alone, and there's no point to it if we don't have to.

"I'll try not to," I say, just as the lights go out. The dark almost suffocates me, until Shuttle turns on the lamp with the dim, yellow light that she puts on every night. No darkness for us.

"Goodnight, Terra," Shuttle murmurs before pulling the covers up almost over her head. We're both fighting the demons that come at night, but it's better when we're not alone. The blankness of night makes me remember small things about Iry; fragments I thought I had forgotten entirely.

Her first shift at the factory when she was eight. Holding her when she was a baby, trying to make her stop crying. Running after her when she started to walk; taking her to the school for her first day when she was five.

She's different ages for me every night, and every single memory hurts.

"Shuttle?" I ask, staring up at the dark ceiling.

"Yes?"

"What's going to happen to Astrid?"

Shuttle pauses, then pulls the covers off of her face. "Nothing good. She's the Capitol's newest toy, and they're not going to let her go like they let you go."

"Because I was damaged."

"Losing your legs saved you from the Capitol. They only want whole people. It's the same reason why they never bothered with Orna and Jass, or Kress. Too damaged to be of much use to them. But Lexa? Victoria? Corinna?"

"And you," I whisper.

"And Woven," Shuttle whispers back. "They're just going to add Astrid to their collection."

"What about Woof?"

"They tried," Shuttle says simply. "He's lived alone ever since."

"Oh."

"One day they'll get tired of us," Shuttle says, shifting in her bed. "But none of us are ever going to be free. They'll bring us back every year until we're all dead."

"I'm glad Iry doesn't have to go through that," I whisper. Even if she's dead, she's safe. I know Fletcher has her, but it hurts so much that I don't have her anymore. That she had to be a tribute in the Capitol's Games, and that's what took her from me.

"Me too."

"But Beetee hasn't," I say, and it's more of a statement.

"No, they're more interested in his brain. He's still in a cage, but I think he's in a cage that he enjoys."

There's a pause so long that I think she's fallen asleep, but when she moves, I know she's not.

"What was your sister's name?" I ask finally.

Another long pause where I stare at the ceiling and try to think of anything else but Iry.

"Penelope," Shuttle finally says, "Her name was Penelope."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

We're all trapped, everyone in Panem is trapped, but we're the ones that they see. Astrid didn't kill my sister; she's just paying for killing her district partner. Just like how I let Fletcher die for me.

The Games aren't fair, they've never been fair. They took everything from me. But now, after hearing what Shuttle had to say, I don't think that they ended in the arena.

They've taken everything from all of us, and they're never going to stop.

Oh, Iry.