Time stuttered for a second as Caspian's words sank in, and Lucy looked up, wide eyes flying to him.
"What?"
His expression remained calm, calculated, as if he'd been thinking it through all the while the mentors had been talking. "What if we were allies?"
Her breath caught in her chest, trapped, head pounding for oxygen, barely able to form a coherent thought. "Why… why would you want me for an ally? I mean, didn't you see...?"
"It could work," said Digory, leaning forward in his armchair. "But, are you sure? That's a big step."
Caspian nodded. "She's better than me at almost every part of training. Well, with a few exceptions." His eyes flicked to the now-black screen. "But it would be pointless to waste all that just because of one mistake. The Capitol will see once we get into the arena."
Lucy shook her head. "That— that doesn't make any sense."
What does he mean I was better in training?
"Are you trying to talk me out of it?" He raised an eyebrow, the slightest hint of a smile dancing in his dark eyes.
"Well— I, uh, no, I mean—" Lucy stumbled over her words. What was he trying to do? "I thought you said alliances don't last forever?"
"Well, they don't. Would you prefer I reconsider High King Peter's offer?"
His dry tone brought back some of Lucy's own wits.
"Even if you did, I'm pretty sure Peter hates you now."
Caspian smirked. "Ah, bother."
She took a deep breath and sighed, clenching her fists as manicured nails dug into her palms. How had he almost made her laugh in the middle of what should have been the worst moment of her life?
"How would it fix this," she asked carefully, this time to the mentors, "If— if we were...?"
"An alliance would move the audience's attention away from your score," said Polly, "They're rare enough from outlying districts, and especially with Caspian's ten, you'll garner some interest."
"It would seem to be the perfect solution," said Digory. "Not to mention the obvious advantages in the arena."
Lucy pursed her lips, chest buzzing.
This could save her.
The mentors watched expectantly, both clearly in favor of the plan, and that meant it was probably her only chance.
"Let's do it, then," she said, surprised by how easily the words left her mouth.
"Splendid!" Polly grinned and clasped her hands together. "Well, I certainly didn't expect this, but I must say it's a welcome development. Your interviews will have to be adjusted of course, and, oh I have so many notes to make!"
"Tomorrow, I'm sure," chuckled Digory, "It's been quite an eventful day."
"Yes, of course, why don't we all get some rest and tackle our plans tomorrow? You two must be tired."
That might have been the understatement of the century.
Relief crashed over Lucy in the form of exhaustion, limbs heavy and head aching, begging to sink into bed and never get out.
The mentors stood first and said their goodnights, disappearing off to their rooms, and Zardeenah followed, sure to knock on their doors bright and early in the morning.
"Thanks," she breathed when only she and Caspian remained in the dim sitting room, purple city glittering outside panoramic windows. "I mean, you didn't need to—"
"Don't thank me."
She glanced up at the abrupt force in his tone.
One of his arms hung over the back of the sofa, leaning into the plush cushions with one leg propped out as if relaxed, but black eyes locked with hers sharp as ever. "I didn't do it just for your benefit."
"What do you mean? How could I benefit you?"
He let out a short breath that might have been a laugh, the thin line of his mouth curling slightly. "You can save me from all those poisonous plants, for one. I'm afraid I don't remember a single thing from that station."
Lucy rolled her eyes. It wasn't a real answer and he knew it. "How do you know I'll tell you which ones are poisonous? That just sounds like a liability to me."
"There you go again, trying to talk me out of it. One might think you were trying to get out of this alliance before it's even started."
Lucy smiled sheepishly, but deep inside another feeling crept up. That same defensive reflex she'd fought all her life when eyes lingered too long on her threadbare clothes and bony frame. "I don't want your pity."
"It's not," he hurried. Too quick. Too urgent.
Then what is it? She almost snapped in a sudden burst of frustration, but guilt overrode the impulse.
No matter his reasoning, Caspian had just saved her from her own stupid mistakes.
He looked away and brushed his hair back, soft light edging his features, pastel city sparkling in his eyes, but something twinged inside her, a thrum of warning.
Up until now she'd brushed their strange relationship aside, rationalized it as a pastime. They spoke because silence would be worse. They spoke because it wouldn't matter. Like a note you planned to set alight.
But an alliance might matter. An alliance didn't come without a price. And the note would go un-burned, only growing more dangerous the longer it existed, the longer it could be read. She'd seen him smile, she'd heard his voice break, she'd told him about Marjorie, she'd seen the wild and the calm, he'd seen her cry.
He knew she needed this to survive, and she thought she wouldn't even mind being used if only she could understand why. But Caspian Telmar was still the one part of the Games she didn't know how to navigate.
She looked down at her hands again, picking at her nail polish for a few minutes. "Really though, thank you."
"Just save my life out there and we'll call it even."
Lucy raised her eyebrows. "No pressure?"
Caspian smiled. "See you tomorrow, then?"
She sighed, and resolved to ask her questions once she possessed more than half a functioning brain, putting on a small smile in return. "See you tomorrow."
And at last, she dragged herself to bed, slipping out of her training clothes into a clean nightgown, burrowing under the covers.
She reached to turn off the lamp, eyelids weighing heavier every moment, but paused, hand hovering over the nightstand, fairytale book glinting in the lamplight. And on top of that, dark against the colorful cover, lay a wilted rose.
The petals had browned and crumbled by now—she thought too late she should have put it in water—but it still held its form when she picked it up, slender and delicate, turning it over in her fingers, brushing the harmless bumps along the stem, would-be thorns.
How long would it take them to become real now?
Alliances don't last forever.
Tribute. Competitor. Orphan. Ally.
What word would she use to define him next?
With a sigh, she switched off the light and buried her face in the pillows, rose clutched tight, dried petals in the sheets.
Her long cry and the stress of the day overpowered all other thoughts, and with a warmth creeping up through her much too close to hope for comfort, she dropped off into blissful nothingness.
The next morning flew by in such a rush she hardly caught a chance to breathe.
Immediately after breakfast the mentors split them up to prepare for the night's televised interviews, the part of their Capitol stay for which, until now, Lucy had been the most confident. Not that she'd ever actually spoken in public—except at school, and then only in front of her class—but she'd always been much better with people than weapons. Or at least, she hoped so, considering her last encounter with a weapon.
"First," said Polly, "And above all else, keep that spark. That smile, that's what the Capitol has come to love you for. You need to show them you've still got it."
"But," said Lucy, trying not to bite the inside of her lip and failing, "They'll all know about my score."
"That is exactly why you must. Come out beaming and make them wonder what you know. People will react more to how you act than what the numbers say."
They practiced her posture, her attitude, and then Polly traded her off to Digory where she realized she needn't have worried what to say at all, because he'd practically prepared a script.
"Of course we don't know exactly what they'll ask, but all interviews follow a similar trajectory. Just steer it where you can, and be as honest as possible."
Lucy nodded, focusing hard on memorizing everything, but even after all morning and most of the afternoon, her heart still skipped a beat when they actually headed down to the Remake Center.
As one might have expected, her prep team didn't help much.
"The poor thing," blubbed a woman with cotton candy hair, pulling her into an uncomfortably tight hug.
"And we were so hoping you would do well," cooed another.
Lucy forced a smile and patted the first lady on the back until she let go.
"Such a pity," she sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with a bright green handkerchief.
"It's not over yet, love," said a third. "I'm sure you're good at SOMETHING, just a bit of bad luck, that's all, wasn't it?"
"Yes," managed Lucy.
She couldn't think of anything else to say, but it turned out she needn't have tried, the prep team again more than happy to do all her talking for her as they went through the routine of bathing and waxing and moisturizing every inch of her body, making what must have seemed like comforting remarks to them.
"Plenty of Victors got low scores, didn't they?"
"Yes, well, I'm sure there were a few."
"That Frank dear from ages ago, his score was at least a two, but now he's famous!"
"No, that's not right, I think I remember he got a five."
"Well, it must have been Helen, then. You know I'm always mixing up Victor couples like that."
And on and on they went, until Lucy thought she would have preferred a pep talk from Rabadash. But at last, they proclaimed her ready, and Emerald entered the room.
The green-haired lady proved much less keen on talking than her bubbly counterparts and set to work at once, leaving Lucy's hair down this time but winding two small braids from her temples to the back of her head, like Caspian's at the Opening Ceremony.
Maybe that was intentional.
The rest of her hair fell in heavy copper curls, cascading over bare shoulders, dress now entirely white and sleeveless and woven top to bottom with small, downy feathers that frayed out at her knees. Delicate wires caged her arms like the tops of very long gloves, forming small patterns like birds or butterflies, too abstract to tell which, and another wire formed a crown-like band at her hairline.
Pale pink lips and dark eyes gave off a doe-like effect, and Lucy couldn't help gazing into the mirror as if she were a painting too perfect to be real, as if her image would shine out from silver glass for a year and a day afterward, fingers lacing through her feathery dress even as Emerald led her down into the backstage area.
She snapped back to reality only when the sheer magnitude of the crowd rumbled in the marble hallway, and she glanced at Emerald.
"It's about ten thousand people," said the stylist, the lilt of her accent curling the ends of her words.
Ten thousand.
That was a little more than her class.
They ducked into a huge dark space filled with other tributes, and the rumble grew deafening.
Light from the stage peeked through massive velvet curtains that blocked the crowd from view, floor trembling with the bassline of upbeat music blaring over the roar of voices as Lucy's heart buzzed against her ribcage.
Caspian stood a few yards away, his stylist touching up his hair and straightening his suit before nodding to Lucy and Emerald and scurrying back into the hall.
Emerald leaned in so she wouldn't have to shout. "Just go out when they call you, it's simple."
Lucy forced a smile and nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out.
She couldn't afford to panic now.
Emerald patted her arms and brushed a lock of auburn hair behind her shoulder, an expression that might almost have been pride flickering across her face before she turned and followed the other stylist out.
Tributes stood off on their own or next to their district partners; most of the groups who'd stuck together in training showed no hint of familiarity now. They shifted on their feet or fiddled with their costumes, nervous energy thickening the air, and Lucy willed her knees not to tremble as she walked to stand beside Caspian.
They'd barely exchanged a word all day, what with the rush of rehearsal and hurried memorization.
He spoke first.
"You look very pretty."
Lucy burst out laughing, a sharp, unladylike sound she covered quickly before the other tributes could look, though it seemed nobody even noticed over the music and the crowd.
She'd nearly forgotten their awkward first conversation.
"You don't look so bad yourself."
Caspian grinned.
The collar of his dark suit stretched high enough to brush his jawline, at least six belts criss-crossing his midsection, and Lucy dug her fingers into her own dress as she glanced around the room.
She must have been one of the last to arrive. In fact she'd just counted twenty-two when the doors opened and the last two filed in: Lasaraleen, striding smoothly in a fluttering green dress, and a boy Lucy almost didn't recognize at first, but on second glance was, indeed, Edmund.
Not as she'd last seen him in the Training Center, though, jaw squared and eyes haughty. This Edmund almost looked small, shoulders hunched and eyes glued to the floor.
Lucy furrowed her brow.
She almost pointed him out to Caspian, but at that moment a Capitol attendant called their attention and began lining them up by district along the edge of the curtain.
Outside, the music swelled as Caesar Flickerman jogged onstage to raucous applause, purple hair and sequined suit sparkling through a slight gap in the heavy curtains as Lucy's heart sped up.
She'd watched his face for years on the dingy factory television through air clouded with cotton dust and the hum of thirty looms, but now his voice boomed in her chest as he welcomed the crowd, and the responding applause nearly deafened her.
"Isn't this exciting, folks? The moment we've all been waiting for, at last we meet our amazing tributes face to face!"
The front of the line shuffled, and Lucy caught sight of Eustace and Jill, who'd been given the unfortunate fate of standing between the Twos and Fours. Jill huddled so close to Eustace she was practically halfway into his arms, Eustace himself so jumpy and fidgety that Lucy had to avert her eyes to preserve his dignity.
"Now, without further ado," boomed Caesar over the staggering speaker system, "I introduce to you, District One's very own, the beautiful, the dazzling, Susan Bonner!"
Susan stepped through the curtains with a flourish and the audience burst into thunderous applause. Lucy winced at a particularly sharp whistle.
Her dress glittered, nearly see-through, luscious dark curls bouncing on her shoulders as she took Caesar's outstretched hand and curtseyed to the audience, sitting in the chair opposite him and crossing her legs suggestively.
Lucy wound a strand of her own hair around her finger, tugging until her scalp burned.
Susan turned out to be both well spoken and an insatiable flirt, from her body language, to the melody of her voice, to the way she winked at the audience.
And they loved it. They loved her.
Lucy glanced at Caspian, but he wasn't even looking at the stage, gazing past it into space. For a moment she wondered if he'd seen his father's interview too, or if he was only dwelling on what he would say when his turn came.
Susan's tinkling laugh brought her back to the stage and Caesar leaned forward to pat her hand as if she'd just said the most delightful thing he'd ever heard.
"My dear, I'm sure we can't help but think it, but you seem almost too elegant, too graceful to fight."
Susan smiled sweetly, though Lucy couldn't believe nobody else caught the sly edge to it. "Oh, Caesar, you flatter me. Rest assured, I needn't get anywhere near a fight to win it."
The crowd broke into cheers, and then the timer went off and Susan waved and curtseyed again before disappearing off the other side of the stage. Her district partner went next: Glozelle, tall, dark, and handsome, and the pattern repeated. Glozelle was smart, Edith was ruthless, Peter was charming.
This was the real battle. This was why the careers always got the best sponsors. They didn't just train for the Games, they trained for the show.
And it only became more painfully obvious when Caesar called Jill's name.
Eustace tried to nudge her forward, but she froze, glued to the floor, eyes wide, trembling, and shook her head when he tried to coax her.
A Capitol attendant came up to investigate the problem as Caesar announced her again, the audience waiting, terrible silence falling over the auditorium. But Jill only shook her head again, took a step back, and burst into tears.
Attendants bustled in to collect her, now shaking with sobs and blubbering something Lucy couldn't make any sense of as they led her out of the room.
One woman signaled to Caesar, and he covered it up well enough. "It seems Jill is unable to make her appearance this evening." But even avoiding any negative words, the effect would be the same. Nobody would sponsor a girl who couldn't even make it through the interviews, let alone the arena.
"Let's hear from her district partner instead, shall we? From District Three, Eustace Clarence Scrubb!"
Lucy tried not to cringe as Eustace walked awkwardly onstage, looking everywhere but at the cameras, hand trembling as he gripped the microphone. No doubt he tried his best, but his answers came out stiff and robotic, and Lucy breathed a low sigh when the timer went off and he ducked offstage with a stilted bow.
The District Fours only seemed more powerful after that, but Jill's breakdown had proved one thing: nobody was going to force her onstage if she didn't want to go. And if it wasn't mandatory, then it was a challenge.
The next tributes went by quickly without much to note, though Lasaraleen seemed strangely confident, or at least moreso than she had been in the training center.
And then came Edmund, and Lucy noticed what she hadn't in the dim light of the backstage area: the slight purplish mark creeping up his left cheekbone, clearly bruised in spite of layers of makeup.
She touched Caspian's arm, drawing his dark eyes out of whatever space they'd been staring into, and pointed subtly to Edmund, keeping her voice low enough for only him to hear. "What do you suppose that's about?"
Caspian's eyes flicked up to the stage, and almost on cue, Caesar asked her question for her.
"Quite the shiner you've got there. You do know fighting before the Games is against the rules, right?"
Edmund smirked, but the way he leaned back in his chair looked more like relief. "Only if you get caught," he said, and elicited a laugh from the audience. "Tell me Caesar, do I look like a rule follower to you?"
Something about his attitude seemed wrong, still snarky but with the edge taken off, that old obnoxious self-confidence missing from his posture.
"What's he talking about?" she muttered.
The only one who'd fought him in training was Caspian, and he'd never touched his face.
"Do you suppose he got it during his assessment? Messed up or something?" She couldn't exactly imagine Lasaraleen taking a swing at him in their apartment.
But Caspian shook his head. "Doesn't look like an accident."
She wondered darkly why he knew that, until Edmund's interview ended and she filed in line behind the Sevens.
Lilliandil gleamed golden in a dress of spattered stars, angelic voice matching her angelic face. Then Peridan strode out with a grin, but Lucy missed most of his interview, because now she was next, heart pounding, desperately trying to recall everything Polly and Digory had drilled into her.
"Now, you all remember her for her dazzling smile, the lovely Lucy Pevensie!"
She took a deep breath, put on a wide smile, and walked through the curtains into the blinding stage lights before she had time to stop herself.
Applause erupted across the auditorium, though nothing like the last reaction she'd gotten, nothing like the careers', or even Lilliandil's.
She took Caesar's outstretched hand and made a small curtsey, not as graceful as Susan's, and sat down, knees together and toes pointed, clasping the microphone he handed her.
"Well, Lucy, you look lovely this evening, as always!"
"Thank you, Caesar," she beamed, voice booming around the stadium, larger than life, lights flashing in her eyes. "You look very nice tonight, too, I must say."
He gave a boisterous laugh. "Why, thank you! I'm glad somebody finally noticed."
Lucy matched his grin.
"How are you finding your stay in the Capitol?"
Digory had anticipated this question, and she wasted no time in gushing over everything she could think of: the clothes, the skyline, the food, though really she needn't have been coached, every word of it was true. "It's simply the most wonderful place I've ever been! I mean, not that that's saying much, but—"
Laughter rippled through the crowd, and her grin widened.
"You know what I mean."
"Of course, of course," laughed Caesar, "We have a beautiful city, don't we folks?"
Enthusiastic applause answered, but when it settled, the expectation pressed in, and at last he asked the question she'd been dreading all day.
"You seem very confident, my dear. We can't help but wonder, you see, about a rather… unexpected training score. Is there anything you can tell us about that?"
She drew a deep breath and maintained her smile. "Well, I can't say too much, you know, since the assessments are private. But that was a little embarrassing, wasn't it?"
She said it as if sharing gossip with a school friend, and the crowd actually chuckled a little.
"I would have to say so," said Caesar, leaning forward.
"I suppose I got ahead of myself. Tried to do too much at once, you might say. Not really how I wanted to stand out, but it seems to have worked anyway." She grinned. "I got your attention, didn't I?"
Caesar laughed, playing along beautifully, and at that moment Lucy could have hugged him for it.
"Indeed, you did, but you simply must give us a hint. If you can't tell us about training, what about the arena? Any special plans in store?"
"Well," she said, choosing her words very carefully now, "I think that's between me and my ally."
The crowd gasped, and Caesar raised both purple eyebrows.
"An ally you say? Well, tell us, tell us, who is this ally?"
She glanced across the auditorium with a smirk, drinking in the silence as the room hung on her every word with baited breath, some even leaning forward in their seats.
"I suppose…" She glanced at Caesar, as if she really oughtn't be saying it, but gave in at last. "You might already have guessed it from the Opening Ceremony, but… my district partner, Caspian Telmar."
A sea of gasps nearly drowned out the last word, and any fleeting guilt for ever so slightly misleading the audience disappeared in an instant. The crowd murmured, Caesar's mouth gaped in over-exaggerated shock. Of course they all knew about his 10, a score that only he and Peter had achieved.
"Yes, I was just as surprised," she laughed, and shot a grin at Caspian offstage.
He gave a small, encouraging smile in return, and then Caesar gathered his wits again.
"Well, now, this is something! How did this alliance happen? Do you two know each other?"
"We're both orphans, back in Eight." Digory, you genius. "We already have the skills to survive, because we've been doing it all our lives."
She paused, training her face into a sober expression, and feeling like a very little girl again, begging scraps from shopkeepers, making her eyes big as she clutched a husk of dry bread from the rubbish bin.
"It's not easy, you know, in Eight."
Coos of sympathy echoed through the room, the Capitol crowd apparently even more easily manipulated than the particularly old and sentimental man who used to give her stale treats out back of the bakery.
Nobody seemed to notice that she hadn't really answered the question.
"You must be a very strong young lady, to have made it this far." Caesar turned back to the crowd. "Wouldn't it be great to get him out here too, folks?"
Thunderous applause exploded at once, and Caesar laughed. "Well, lucky for us, he's up next!"
The timer dinged perfectly on cue and he stood, helping Lucy up beside him. "Ladies and gentlemen, Lucy Pevensie!"
A chorus of cheers rose up to meet her as she bowed, waving and smiling, fire bursting to life in her chest as if it had never gone out.
Stage lights dazzled her eyes, rainbow audience rippling in the glow, the thrill of their screams flooding her veins, and she blew a kiss before stepping at last through the dark curtains on the other side of the stage, and nearly collapsed into Zardeenah's arms.
The escort steadied her before her knees could give out from sheer giddiness, and shoved a cold water bottle into her hand. "Drink."
She uncapped and gulped it down gratefully as Caspian's name boomed onstage, and only when she handed it back to Zardeenah with a word that might have been thanks did she realize several of the other tributes and their escorts occupied the space too, lounging in chairs around the backstage area to watch the rest of the show.
Edith and Ivy glared at her, but she really didn't care what they thought now.
"Well, we've just heard a lot about you," said Caesar, and Lucy turned to watch through the curtains. "Care to comment on any of that for us?"
"Of course." Caspian flashed his winning smile, leaning back comfortably in his chair as if chatting with an old friend. "Lucy's right, we're allies, it just seemed like the best decision for both of us, really."
Ripples of awe washed over the crowd, though Lucy noticed mostly female voices now.
Caesar nodded. "You must forgive our surprise, you certainly seemed a lovely pair at the Opening Ceremony, it's only that your scores make us curious."
"Yes, well," Caspian cocked his head and looked into the crowd, eyes glittering in the stage lights, "Since I'm the one who's actually seen her in training, I must claim to know better than anyone here that you can't just go by the numbers."
Murmurs spread in every direction and Lucy couldn't help but grin.
"I'm sure we're all looking forward to whatever you two have in store for us," said Caesar.
Then he paused, and Lucy knew what was coming next.
"I've also got to ask… Many people have noticed a similarity, you might say, to another tribute, some years ago. Do you know anything about that?"
Caspian smiled. "I believe you mean my father."
The crowd erupted in shock, voices shouting across the auditorium. She'd been right when she thought it was perfect material.
Caesar wasted no time in pushing for more information, and the crowd ate it up, despite the fact that Caspian gave them a very sugar-coated version of what he'd told her on the balcony.
He didn't mention Jadis at all this time, but Lucy still glanced at Edmund in the darkness, his face blank and eyes on the floor.
"Your father," said Caesar, "If I remember correctly—though it was certainly a long time ago—he also allied with his district partner, did he not?"
Caspian nodded with a smile. "Yes, that's right."
Lucy remembered him mentioning her, the one his father had died to protect. Was that the reason Caspian allied with her? To draw another parallel between him and his father? To strengthen his story?
It would make sense, though something still felt off. That was a big jump just to create one more parallel, but the way he'd so perfectly crafted his story thus far, she wasn't about to put it past him.
Caesar wrapped up the interview with perfect timing. "I'm sure your father would be very proud of you, dear boy. Unfortunately that's all the time we have with him, folks, but this has been Caspian Telmar!"
Caspian rose to an applause even louder than Lucy's, perhaps louder than anyone's, and several women in the front rows were actually crying.
He made it backstage without breaking his smile, but the second he stepped through the curtain he looked like he might collapse, brushing past Lucy and sinking into a chair in an instant.
She shot him a small thumbs up, and he gave her a weary smirk in return, running both hands through his hair and pointedly ignoring the way the rest of the tributes stared at them.
Susan cast a glance from her spot on the District Four boy's lap, whispered something in his ear and they both laughed, but Lucy ignored them, too.
The last interviews flew by: little Gael was sweet but shy, Aravis was sharp, and Rabadash was so full of himself even Corin didn't sound cocky in comparison. The final applause thundered through the building as Caesar closed out the show, and the tributes stood to follow their escorts out into the hallway.
Caspian's shoulders didn't relax until the elevator doors opened into their own apartment and Polly and Digory rushed to pull them into hugs, congratulating them on their smashing success.
"You were perfect! Really perfect!"
"Sponsors would be crazy not to bet their top dollar on you now."
"You really think so?" beamed Lucy.
"Of course," said Digory, leading her to the dining table already laden with a celebratory feast, "You're real performers, the two of you, that's about the greatest advantage you could have in this game."
Lucy's heart raced, pounding hope like adrenaline through her veins as she sat, almost too excited to eat.
The mentors never stopped complimenting them over the course of the meal, and Lucy barely stopped talking long enough to taste anything, though by the time the avoxes appeared to clear the dishes away she'd somehow managed to eat two portions by herself.
She only realized when the conversation died down that Caspian hadn't said a word.
"Well," said Polly, leaning back in her chair, "I imagine you'll want to get to bed early tonight. The Games won't begin until eleven, but your hovercraft will be here at eight to take you out to the catacombs."
Lucy's heart skipped a beat.
Of course, she'd known in the back of her mind that this was her last day in the Capitol, but suddenly time was moving too fast.
"Don't worry," said Digory, as if reading her mind, or, more likely, her face. "You're as ready as you can be." He offered her a kind smile, and Polly chimed in.
"You're some of the most talented tributes we've ever trained. If anyone has a shot tomorrow, it's you."
Lucy smiled back, and it did make her feel a little better, the thrill of the interviews staving off most of the panic for now. She only wished she could have stayed here longer.
All too soon, they said goodnight to their mentors, pushed back their chairs, and stood from the last dinner they would eat in the Capitol.
Then Lucy remembered what she'd meant to ask Caspian earlier, about his father's ally, and hurried to catch up with him down the hall, but he disappeared into his room before she could get a single word out, shutting the door without saying goodnight.
Lucy paused in the middle of the hallway, confused.
For a second she considered knocking, but something held her back. He must have seen her. Maybe he was just tired? Or, more than likely, the interviews had exhausted him in a very different kind of way.
She sighed, and ducked into her own room, closing the door to the space that had already become so familiar.
It was funny, now that she thought about it, how quickly she'd adjusted to a life she couldn't even have imagined a week ago.
The crumbling remains of the rose still lay scattered across her pillow, and she sat gently on the edge of the bed to scoop dusty petals into her hands, running her thumb over delicate velvety ashes.
"What are you?" she murmured, Caspian's silence pressing into her chest against the dozens of questions she should have asked. "What am I supposed to be? You know you can just tell me, I don't mind, just tell me something."
Somehow he managed to be threatening and reassuring all at once, the boy who secretly longed for other worlds, who told her more about his life than even the mentors knew, except for the role she played in it.
Just when she thought she'd solved the mystery, another opened up even deeper than the first.
She took a deep breath and placed the petals on the nightstand, her gaze shifting to the fairytale book next and pulling it onto her lap, tracing the gold lettering out of habit.
What would they do with it when she was gone?
They allowed every tribute a district token in the arena to remind them of home, but a book this big would almost certainly disqualify as a potential weapon.
She flipped open to the page filled top to bottom with creamy brushstrokes, Swanwhite's delicate image gazing up like her own reflection, and she stroked her own feathery dress, her own soft face, cheeks fuller now than they had ever been in District Eight.
As she thumbed the edge of the paper, an idea crept up on her. She lifted the page and tugged ever so gently, pulling at just the right angle to get a small tear next to the binding. She hesitated for a moment, then tugged again, carefully ripping the page until it came away cleanly.
Smoothing small creases in the parchment, she flipped it over to find Aslan's golden head on the other side.
"So, you're coming with me, too," she murmured, smiling at his solemn eyes. "I should've known you'd follow me somehow."
They couldn't possibly fault her for a piece of paper.
She folded it up and gripped it tight, and even when she finally fell asleep hours later, still dressed in feathers with her head on an open book, her perfectly manicured nails dented the soft parchment.
The last piece of her home, her life.
And she was going to fight for it.