Chapter 48: All Risk, No Reward

Day 4


"I want to raise the sail today."

The pack stared back at their leader; equal amounts of passive agreement, indifference, and outright skepticism played across their faces. Venatrix's own face reinforced her stance. "You've got to be kidding me," Patience grumbled.

"'Cause that worked out so well yesterday," Mariposa said under her breath.

Venatrix sent her a frown that said she didn't appreciate the lack of support. "That's because we need everyone to help," she said. More unappreciative looks passed between them at her words. "Then we'll split up again afterwards, like yesterday. Got it?"

"Sounds good to me," Percy said before anyone could protest further. With a pat to his knees, he stood, weapons and supplies already strapped to his person, and Venatrix smiled in appreciation.

At the jerk of her chin, the rest followed, albeit some reluctantly. "Come on," Venatrix chirped, slapping a scowling Viper lightly on the shoulder. "Shouldn't take too long."

Quickly, they packed up camp and waded out to the boat. Like yesterday, the morning sun promised an easy day, light wind and summer warmth. Venatrix did her best to squeeze out the water from the edges of her pants legs before replacing her socks and shoes while the others clambered aboard. In preparation for the upcoming ordeal, she dug the leather gloves out from her pack. The ointment she'd slathered in her palms yesterday had thankfully offered some relief; her hands didn't scream with protest once she slipped on the gloves.

At the sight of the untied sail, Patience sighed wearily. "I swear to the gods, if you idiots got this thing too wet…" She shook her head.

Venatrix shot her a look. "Have you done this before?"

"Close enough," she said gruffly before snapping her fingers. "Rockwell! Secure the corners and untie the yard!" Stalking towards the back of the boat, she leaned over the hull to reel in the anchor before turning back to Venatrix. "It's a wonder you guys didn't capsize the damn thing while you were flailing about."

Venatrix only grunted in response.

Patience continued as if she hadn't. "Okay so I want six of you over there—yes, in the back, Viper—you're all gonna be pulling. When we get it up, you're gonna secure the halyards right there on these pins— 'Makers, this is old-fashioned…"

Clearly, this was Four girl's domain. Venatrix had no issue taking a step back here; she let Patience organize the crew according to whatever expertise she had. The Four girl placed her in front of a tar-soaked rope between Percy and Viper, and Venatrix listened attentively to her curt instructions. This had been her idea— she needed it to succeed.

Her gloved hands wrapped around the rope, paying the stickiness no mind as she adjusted her fingers for a stronger grip. Legs spread and shoulders squared, she waited for the Four girl's command to pull. Around her, those manning the other ropes did the same.

Idris remained at the front of the boat with the heavy supplies as extra ballast. "Bow clear!" he called into the wind. "Standby!"

From where she stood at the mast, Patience appraised their positions. "On my mark!" she shouted.

The six Careers tensed in preparation.

"Pull!"

With her entire weight, Venatrix leaned backwards. Her hands snaked along the rope as she pulled; unlike last time, their progress was immediate. Rope coiled around her legs, but the sail itself captured her attention, more so even than the renewed burning in her muscles from the effort. The Fours flitted around as they heaved, ensuring that nothing got tangled in the web of cords. Pained grunts filled the air as rope burned along skin, but a gritted-teeth smile made its way to Venatrix's face as the sail climbed the mast.

It unfolded, and the pattern Venatrix had noticed previously on the fabric became clear. Reminiscent of the fire that danced across the sky each night, a brilliant golden-yellow eagle splayed its wings across the sail— the Capitol seal. The gilded thread shimmered in the sunlight, branding the insignia on the backs of Venatrix's eyelids as she squinted against the glare.

The effort stretched on. Next to her, a muffled "fuck!" slipped through Viper's teeth, but he held fast, and the sail rose ever-higher.

"Keep pulling!" Patience urged. Venatrix didn't need to be told twice; she yanked another few inches of rope through her pulley as the Fours manœuvred the beam that held the sail to angle forwards, clearing out the supports beneath it.

Out of the corner of her eye, Venatrix saw Mariposa's face screw up in pain; the tension in her rope grew heavier, a new strain noticeable in the pinched brows of the others. Mari, come on

A sudden lift; Venatrix's head whipped over to find Idris at the end of the One girl's rope, adding his strength to the task. Venatrix's gaze drifted upwards in a plea.

Sharp blue sky narrowed her eyes to slits. The sail's shadow fell over her; it inched upwards until the weight became impossible to lift further. Venatrix maintained her burning grip, keeping the cord taut as she inched backwards towards her designated pin. At Patience's direction, she tied off, wrapping figure-eights around the pin to secure her rope as Percy, Viper, and the Threes did the same.

Together, Mariposa and Idris tied off the last rope, and they let go. The sail held steady.

A sigh of relief bubbled through Venatrix's chest, echoed in a collective cheer that rippled through her allies. "Thank the fucking 'Makers," Patience said wearily, though a sense of pride kept her chin high. Catching Venatrix's eye, she raised a brow. "Not so fuckin' useless now, ey?"

Venatrix conceded with a nod, disregarding the sharpness in the other girl's tone.

Familiar flute chimes descended on the wind, and Venatrix bit back a terse exhale as the parcel landed Patience's outstretched hands. Warm stew, bread, meat. The sight of it reminded Venatrix that she hadn't yet eaten today. A standard reward for this far into the Games; as the days stretched on, gifts like that would get thinner. If they come at all, Venatrix thought bitterly. They came just fine for the others, though she could acknowledge that the Four girl was deserving of her prize. To her credit, she divided the meal as evenly between them as she could. "Team effort, wasn't it?" Patience said as she held out a portion to Venatrix.

Olive branch or not, Venatrix accepted with a gruff, "thanks."

"You could mention it more."

Not likely. Venatrix could thank the mouthful of bread that she didn't say that out loud.

Compared to the food in the Capitol— and even back home— the quick meal left her wanting for more, but she barely gave it a thought as she stood once again to address her peers. "Alright, similar plan today," she said, clapping her hands together. "Two on the left bank, three on the right, and three on the ship. Same groups except Posy, I want you and Patience to switch out. Patience, you know the ship better, so I want you here."

The Four girl's expression visibly soured. Venatrix half-expected her to protest, but instead her lips pressed together in a thin line, the muscles tight in her jaw. In the shadow of the sail, a chill seemed to settle over the air, but Patience nodded all the same.

"Good." Venatrix smiled. Distancing herself from the rest of the pack, she settled in at the back of the boat, tiller in hand to steer it to shore. Mariposa and Grethel stood ready at the starboard; when they came within swimming distance of the bank, the girls didn't hesitate to take the plunge. Idris, however, stared back at her expectant gaze in confusion; apparently he hadn't been able to hear her from where he'd been napping at the front of the ship. "In the water, Rockwell," Venatrix ordered with a nudge that didn't quite unbalance him. "You're with them."

It didn't take much more prompting than that, and soon enough they'd left Viper and Shannon back on the opposite bank to continue their exploration of the unknown.

With the aid of the sail, the ship cut a clean path through the water, much quicker than slugging along at the river's pace. Venatrix felt it in the pull of the steering oar; it tugged more forcefully at little bumps in the current as she guided the ship around the bend they'd approached yesterday. In her peripheral, she sensed the Four girl throwing glances of quiet judgment. After a few minutes of aimless silence, Patience spoke. "They might not be able to catch up with us now."

Venatrix didn't glance up from her task. "We can stop the ship earlier, then."

She didn't respond, and Venatrix took that to mean agreement. When it became evident that she had the curve handled, Patience took to milling about the deck and inspecting each cluster of ropes.

Percy, on the other hand, naturally found his way back to her side. Out of boredom or curiosity he started pointing out various landmarks in the arena that they came across— an odd-looking, gnarled tree at the top of a distant peak; the mouth of another small tributary pouring into the river; even a lone mountain goat halfway up an odd stretch of bare rock— before his words devolved into funny clicking noises and coos of, "come here, kitty!"

The cat in question crouched beneath one of the oar benches ahead of them. Every now and then, its paw flicked out to bat at the tail of a rope. At Percy's catcalls, however, it looked at them with wide eyes before sinking back into shadow. Percy sighed in defeat.

Venatrix hadn't even noticed until now that Mariposa left the cat behind.

No shit. The mental image of her friend trying to swim to shore with Charcoal in hand made her lips twitch in amusement. Who knows, maybe he's a swimmer. It didn't seem bothered at all to be stranded on the boat.

Not as much as Patience, at least.

Her restlessness was visible from a mile away, between the pacing and unnecessary untying, tightening, and retying of just about every rope on the vessel.

Venatrix's eyes tracked her steadily. She couldn't discern any funny business from the red-haired girl's actions; each rope appeared to be replaced exactly where it had been before, its invisible imperfection corrected. No benefit from messing with the rigging of a ship they were all on board. "You done yet?" she asked when the Four girl finally made her way back to the stern.

"Don't know what else you want me to do," she snipped back.

"No, you're fine," Venatrix amended. "That is what I wanted you here for, and I trust you with this far more than Idris—"

Patience stopped her short. "No, you wanted me here because you can't stand that I did something you couldn't."

The hairs at Venatrix's neck bristled as the Four girl glared down at her. Shoving down the instinct to snap to her feet, Venatrix leaned back in feigned ease. "You think I'm punishing you?" She huffed; a smile, a shrug. "Why would I do that?"

"Trust me, I'm not the only one who's noticed you haven't gotten any sponsorships."

"So you think I'm, what, jealous of you?" She exchanged a look with Percy; to her annoyance, he didn't return her amusement. A warning look. "There really isn't anything to be jealous of, no offense."

Percy's eyes closed in a quiet wince. Oops. Patience's expression wasn't much better. "You're serious. Really?"

"Look, I'm just—"

"Viper's right, you're just an arrogant little shit—"

"Oh, like he's any better."

"—I wasn't finished," Patience snapped, jabbing a finger at her. "You think the rest of us are so beneath you, but the truth is you're gonna end up just like that sister of yours if you don't—"

If she didn't what, Venatrix never found out; the Four girl had a hard time speaking around the shrill squeal of Venatrix's sword as it sprang from its sheath. By the time the blade came level at Patience's throat, the girl had drawn her spear as well; Percy, his arrows. Slowly, purposefully, Venatrix stepped towards Patience; the other girl retreated, chin high to avoid the point. Her watery-blue eyes burned with anger.

It was nothing compared to the barely-concealed rage in Venatrix's voice. "Say that again."

Patience's nose only wrinkled in a snarl of disgust.

"Say it again, I fucking dare you."

Silence followed her words. Tension coiled fingers around weapons in their standoff, begging for something to be released, be it words or steel or blood. In tandem, Venatrix and Percy advanced towards the Four girl until she was pressed against the mast. With the threat of their combined arrows and blade, the red-haired girl didn't dare move, though Venatrix could see the fury brewing in her pinched brow, the snarl twisting her lips. Only a semi-raised spear stood at her defense— it wouldn't be enough. All three of them knew it.

At the deafening cannon blast overhead, three sets of shoulders flinched.

Percy's arrow remained in place; must've been someone else, then, Venatrix thought. About fucking time. His grip on the arrow tightened by a hair, his expression so far from that of the boy she'd grown up with.

(The last time she'd seen him wear that face, Venatrix had wanted to pound it into the dirt at Fairfax Arena. Now, a malicious smile pried the corners of her mouth.)

With the flat of her sword, she lifted Patience's chin. Unflinching steel-green eyes watched the girl squirm until she raised her hands in surrender, spear clattering to the ground. "I thought so," Venatrix said coldly. She lowered her sword.

"Fucking coward," Patience spat. "Too afraid to break this stupid truce?"

At that, Venatrix barked a mean laugh. "You're the one that's afraid to even talk," she reminded her comrade. "But I swear." Her voice lowered in pitch, as dangerous as her blade. "I swear on everything you and I hold dear; not only will I fucking kill you, I will hang you from these ropes as a fucking warning, so really, Patience." Venatrix nodded at Percy to lower his arrow, ignoring the Four girl's bristling. "You can say whatever the hell you want."


"I must admit, I'm surprised you haven't rewarded your daughter for handling the Four girl so… smoothly."

Oberon bit back a snort. The interviewer's hawkish eyes stared eagerly into his, already searching for a weak link in the excuse he'd soon give. The pink feathers lining her eyelashes only made the effect more prominent; no doubt the live audience was waiting with just-as-bated breath.

He cleared his throat. "Like I said before, she's not in a position where she needs outside help right now. I don't see a reason to waste her funds on things she already has." He sealed the delivery with a smile of plastic confidence. Usually, that would be enough to hold them over.

This time, however, he wasn't so sure. He could only hope the stage lights didn't pick up on the light sheen of sweat coating his brow.

Bethia trilled in fake laughter. "Of course, of course. You know what they say; pride is a virtue."

They definitely don't say that. Oberon merely continued to smile like an idiot until she finally concluded the interview. Any sense of relief would be short-lived, he knew; as much as Bethia smiled back at him, he was bound to get some bad publicity for himself.

Sure enough, one look at the Jabber feed said it all:

UnofficialHG151Live: "Damn, not even a cracker? That's fucking brutal man #FuckOberon"

The_D2_Stan: "Percy was right, sorry Ven #yikes #daddyissues #FuckOberon #Percy4Victor #DistrictTwo"

_m4r1tr1x_: "Someone get Venatrix a new mentor NOW! I can't take this! #DistrictTwo #Ven4Victor"

And a response to that,

princessjulianasb!tch: "Where's Dagmara when we need her?! #DaganatorsRiseUp she wouldn't let us down like this DX #FuckOberon #Ven4Victor"

Down the chain, someone had attached one of the family photos from their prep week shoot with his face crudely scrubbed from the image, captioned, "There, I fixed it (: #FuckOberon"

Promptly, Oberon shoved the cellular back into his pocket. Annoyance prickled beneath his skin, curling his lip as he strode away from the glitz and glamor of the interview stage, but in the grand scheme of things, it could be far, far worse.

At least they were still rooting for her.

Behind him, his personal Peacekeeper escort trailed like a white shadow as he stepped outside the building to hail a cab back to the Training Center. Whatever. Any publicity is good publicity in the Games, he reminded himself. Or that was what Callithyia had always told him whenever it became too much to handle. The cab screeched to a halt at the curb and Oberon climbed into the backseat, his escort up front; only belatedly did he realize they'd left Kitty and Morwenna behind. The thought quickly slipped beneath the roiling mass as his mind returned to the damn Jabber feeds.

So much for that fucking photo shoot. His knee bounced erratically as the car swerved between traffic. So much for the money it was supposed to get her. Instead, it had only driven a crack into the illusion of an alliance that fractured ever-further with each passing day, and Oberon couldn't do a damn thing about it.

It may be his fault in the first place, but everything Venatrix did seemed to only make the cracks wider.

Perhaps she should've just shattered the glass and killed the Four girl. I would've done it.

But it wasn't up to him.

On the little backseat television screen, a soundless recap of the day's fresh blood played out in front of him. Drawn to the violence, Oberon watched the Five boy nearly trip over a patch of brambles as he whipped around, knife outstretched; across the clearing, Eight prowled, injured and armed with nothing but his overly-sharp teeth. He bared them in a snarl.

A violent buzzing broke through the trance; Oberon fished out his cellular from his pocket, wincing as he read the caller's name. "Iago, what—"

"What the fuck, Dad?"

Vivid anger laced through his son's voice, but it was the undercurrent of panic that sent a pang through Oberon's chest. "Iago, I—"

"Why aren't you sending her anything?"

Oberon glanced at the cabbie before sliding up the partition. On the screen, the two boys danced around each other, trading fist for knife for tooth.

"Hello?! What is wrong with you? You can't—you can't just leave her—"

"I am not leaving her," Oberon hissed, wincing again at the unbidden viciousness.

"Then send her something!"

I can't, he couldn't bring himself to say; not with the President's implicit warning hanging over his head. "Iago," he said slowly, bleeding every ounce of placating gentleness into his words. He's scared. He's scared, and you need to be the one looking out for him. "I promise you, I am doing everything I can to get her out, you have to trust me on this."

"Sure." Iago didn't even bother to hide his scathing tone. "That's what you said with Bell, wasn't it? Before you got her killed?"

Oberon squeezed his eyes shut. It was a minute before he could breathe again.

When he finally opened his eyes, the blood on the screen dominated his vision. Dark red rivulets ran down the Five boy's wrist from stumps where fingers used to be, from the welts peppering his face, from half-circle marks dotting any inch of exposed skin. His knife stuck out of Eight's shoulder, but Eight merely ripped it free, and lunged.

"Iago, please…"

"Just— just bring her back."

Oberon's teeth sank into his tongue at the crack in his son's voice, but the pain didn't steady him, didn't clear his head. Just as his mouth began to form the words 'I will', the line went dead.

God.

He stared blankly at the phone in his hands. It wasn't until the cabbie cleared his throat that Oberon realized the car had stopped. Nodding his thanks to the man, he paid quickly and hastened back to his station at the mentoring room, the illusion of control his only meager comfort. At this point, he barely even registered his government-assigned hound dog, though the officer drew a few wary stares from the other Victors.

A few monitors down from his, Paschen Clearwater of District Five had already returned from her own interview. For such a recent Victor, she'd handled the horrific questions about her tribute's death fairly well, though earlier, she'd excused herself to the privacy of the bathroom and the live-stream on her cellular to watch her tribute bleed out into the dirt from deep, ragged bite wounds. It had taken a solid half hour until his cannon finally sounded.

Now, the young girl swept away stacks of pens and scribbled notes that cluttered her station, making her exit without a word.

Oberon sighed, turning away from her blank monitor to his own. His daughter cut a sharp profile from her lookout post at the bow of the ship; a few meters off from the riverbank, Mariposa's group trekked back to the water. They'd been hot on the tail of the retrieval Valkyrie once Five's cannon had sounded, only to be met with no shortage of blood and disappointment at the scene of the death.

The ram's horn echoed through the valley when Venatrix spotted her companions. Their return went smoothly; all three of the rangers were back on board before the Four boy noticed the withering glower still marring his district partner's face.

Stay ahead of it, Trixie. Oberon didn't miss the telltale twitch in his daughter's fingers, their desire to reach for her sword.

But the Four girl only shot Venatrix a scathing glare.

"Not important," Venatrix said briskly before turning to snap directions at her peers to guide the ship to the other bank. They followed without complaint, though the look that passed between the Fours and the Three girl said they'd be talking about it later.

Eyes trained on the screen, Oberon didn't notice the approaching presence until they spoke. "Oberon! What an interesting interview that was…"

Oberon let out an exasperated sigh as Gaspar plopped down into the chair at his screen, shifting it so he could chat better. The man had been absolutely insufferable ever since his tribute's bloody little display and subsequent presidential sponsorship. It seemed like whatever money Oberon couldn't spend on his daughter went straight to District One's banks.

When Oberon didn't respond, he pressed further. "You sure are doing numbers on Jabber, old man. Incredible."

But Oberon had eyes only for the monitor, where the remainder of the pack decided to make their appearance on the shoreline. In his peripheral, the younger Victor chuckled quietly as the pair jogged to catch up to the boat. Unnecessarily, it turned out; upon reaching the opposite bank, Venatrix had them anchor the ship and they began setting up a camp for the night. Oberon nodded in approval as Venatrix offered to take the night's watch along with Grethel of Three. Good girl.

"Come on," Gaspar needled. "You must've seen it. Look, 'Fuck Oberon' is trending." He grinned, flashing his cellular screen to show the feed.

"Not now, Gervaise."

Gaspar raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, I've been there too." Still, Oberon's eyes never left his screen, though he vaguely recalled seeing the One Victor's face plastered beneath headlines of minor theft scandals every now and then, never severe enough to retain his attention. Gaspar's eyes flicked back down to his cellular, and he grinned. "Ha! Did you see this one?"

Again, the fucking photo from the prep week shoot.

Sharply, Oberon stood to his feet. The One Victor's jibes fell on deaf ears as he shut off his computer and stalked from the room, his personal Peacekeeper following close behind. Fucking moron. Of all the people he wanted the company of, Gaspar fucking Gervaise was at the very bottom of the list. I'm better off at the suite anyways.

Not like he could do much more than watch anyways. With no line of connection via sponsor gifts, he had about as much sway over the Games as the viewers back in Two. As his son, alone at home, only privy to what was broadcasted on the screen.

How awful it is to be helpless. Ever since the feeling seeped beneath his skin, it only seemed to fester.

At least the elevator was empty. Shaking his head, Oberon pushed open the door to the suite, closing it sharply on his escort. Something about the officer's jaunty stride and the side-glances at Oberon's cellular screen gave him the impression that they were a little too amused by the current situation. Bastard.

A tiny flicker of relief sprouted in his chest as he spotted Callithyia in the common area, a pot of steaming coffee in hand despite the hour. If there was anyone he needed advice from, it would be his old mentor. The look of greeting she sent him was neutral; too late, he noticed who she'd been passing the evening with. "Dagmara."

His wife hadn't said a word to him since the incident. In fact, as far as he knew, she hadn't spoken at all; she might as well be one of the Avoxes flitting around the suite.

'If you've got nothing left to say to me, you don't really need a tongue now, do you?'

It terrified him.

Oberon knew her better than anyone. Or at least, he'd like to think so. But the whole world had seen it twenty-four years ago, when she'd gone mute for the rest of her time in the arena after killing her cousin. He'd seen it again, after the death of her first tribute, after her horrific movie, after… After Bellara.

And this time, he caused her hurt, when all he wanted to do was ease it.

Dagmara had hardly laid eyes on him before she stood to leave.

"Wait, don't go," Oberon begged, and she paused. "I… your coffee," he said stupidly.

"Oberon…"

He ignored Callithyia's warning. "Please, Dagmara."

Slowly, she set the mug she'd picked up back on the coffee table.

His old mentor took her leave, and Oberon waited until they were alone in the open room. He cleared his throat and told her everything the President had decreed— everything.

When he finished, her eyes slid shut, and they didn't open again. Unseeing, unspeaking.

Perhaps it would've been smarter to not tell her; he was only kicking himself further out of her favor in being honest about Venatrix's chances, about the threat to her parents. Oberon wasn't under any delusions that she'd thank him for this new tidbit of tragic honesty, but she had a right to know. "I'm so sorry," he repeated in a hoarse whisper. "I never meant for this."

When her eyes flickered open, she didn't look at him. As afraid as he was of what he might find in her expression, Oberon wished she would. He took a hesitant step closer to her, but Dagmara immediately turned away; he winced as she made a beeline for the safety of their—her—room.

"Iago also called," he called after her. "You should talk to him too, please—"

The sound of the door shutting was her only response.

With a pained exhale, Oberon sank into the couch he'd been sleeping on for the past few nights. For the rest of the Games, most likely. Because as callous as it was, as much as he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her until all the hurt went away, his wife needed to take the backseat on his list of priorities; she'd never forgive him otherwise. With great effort, he forced thoughts of her from his mind, switching on the television so he could watch over his daughter.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't concerned for her.

What parent in their right mind would be? Sure, claiming to be in his right mind was definitely a stretch, but Oberon knew his daughter. Her actions on the second day, her volatility with the Four girl, the discomfort brewing within the rest of the pack members… As he said, concerning.

(A small part of him was starting to think that maybe they'd loved her too much, him and Dagmara; they loved her too much to truly prepare her for the toll the arena would take on her mind.)

With what he knows is coming— and Oberon's sure Venera only clued him in on a small piece of the puzzle— he could only hope it wouldn't be her undoing.


true vengeance 151 . weebly . com


A/N: First off, everyone say happy birthday to Venatrix, the best most loveliest gal in the whole world ! /holds gun to your head/ Come on, say it (:

(for legal reasons, that's a joke)

Um yeah.. will be updating the blog for day 4 whenever I feel like it ! Next birthday will be Bellara's on the 19th (soon !) Little bit behind schedule writing-wise, but it's almost finished and I should be on track to post. If I end up needing to skip anyone's, it's gonna be Oberon's, obviously jbhvbf. Hopefully not, but we'll see ! I've got a lot of shit going on in the later half of October ;-; Hope you guys enjoyed this one ! See you in .. 3 days ! lol

- Nell