Chapter 9: Poke the Hounds
January, 151 ADD
District Two was somehow even colder than Jezephel thought it would be, and she didn't just mean the weather.
Not that the bitter mountain winds didn't cut through her jacket like a knife, tiny flakes of snow pricking at her exposed cheeks as they shot through the air like bullets. They'd gotten their fair share of snowfall in Eleven, but those were light and pleasant, almost gentle.
This was another beast in itself.
Colder than the snow, somehow, were the stares she received from passers-by on her tour of the district. They seemed to recognize the District Eleven entourage immediately, and responded as such. Her mentor's irritated grumbling told her that this wasn't the expected behaviour. "Usually they're better than this," Iris muttered, her shoulders tensed but firm against yet another glare sent their way by the district's unwelcoming residents.
Once inside the Justice Building, the old Victor pulled her aside to explain. "The Career districts are usually more understanding," she said, and Jezephel nodded, remembering the friendly, if impersonal, welcoming she'd received from Four and Three. Her eyes flicked nervously towards the window, where the stage she'd be speaking from in just a handful of minutes sat, and then back to Iris's dark, jewel-toned complexion. Not even a murmur reached her ears from the large crowd of people, though whether that was due to their uncharacteristic silence or the thick walls of the building, Jezephel couldn't tell. "This time, though… You remember the girl." Jezephel nodded, and Iris shook her head severely. "Best stay away from those Pykes."
The growing knot in the pit of her stomach only doubled in size.
She could hardly forget the terrifying presence of the District Two girl and her bloodstained family history, the way she'd cut down Amos in the Bloodbath with an almost effortless swing of her battleaxe, the almost-feral grin on her face as she locked eyes with her next target. Jezephel squeezed her own shut at the memory of the narrow escape. Even now, though she knew how horrid Bellara Pyke's death had been, she didn't feel guilty about the feeling of cold relief that had flooded through her veins upon seeing the girl's face in the sky.
"Hey," Iris said, placing a gentle hand on Jezephel's cheek. "You're gonna be okay, hm? Just follow what's on the card."
Jezephel nodded again, taking reassurance from her mentor's wizened smile. After a few deep breaths, she allowed Iris to lead her into the hall where their escort waited for them, her heels impatiently clacking together. A camera crew flitted about them for a few minutes, making sure no stray hair was out of place. Jezephel wondered where her prep team had gotten to; wasn't that their job?
Before she could ask, the escort shoved a thick cream-colored card into her hands. "What's this?" Jezephel asked, confused.
"That's your speech card, honey," the escort said, a false smile glued to her makeup-plastered face.
Jezephel nearly recoiled at her patronizing tone. "But I already have a speech card," she protested, digging around for it in the pocket of her coat.
Extracting it, Jezephel barely had time to spot the difference between the two before the escort snatched it from her grasp. "And now you have a new one, mkay?" she said, giving the young Victor a condescending pat on the head.
They paused just in front of the entrance to the stage while Jezephel's eyes traced over the words printed in elegant but unyielding black ink on the card. Her stomach dropped. "I-I can't say this," she protested, rooting her feet to the spot. The escort huffed loudly, rolling her eyes. Childish, considering Jezephel was the twelve year-old here. She ignored the woman's impudence, searching for aide in Iris's expression.
Iris didn't even bother looking at the card. "You have to," she said, her kind eyes serious. Behind her, Andrew joined them at the elder Victor's side, offering Jezephel a small smile of encouragement.
"But—"
"Listen to me, Jezephel," Iris said, her hands coming to rest firmly on Jezephel's shoulders. "They gave you this card for a reason. Whatever's on there needs to come out of your mouth."
That's the problem. By 'they', Jezephel knew her mentor didn't mean the escort. "I didn't even know them. I can't—"
"It's not an option. You must." Iris's tone was non-negotiable.
The impatient voice of the escort interrupted their conversation. "Can we just go already?"
Reluctantly, Jezephel allowed the woman to lead her out to the stage, her entrance just in time for the fanfare of the nation's anthem. God, the crowd was large, larger than she'd thought it would be, and they were all staring at her, not a hint of friendliness in their faces. I want to go home. Hell, she'd even take the orphanage over her shiny, empty mansion rather than speak in front of these people. It's no bigger than the crowd in Six, she tried to reason with herself. Just get through this and you'll be home soon enough.
The district mayor was talking, some sort of speech of her own that went in one ear and out the other. Jezephel didn't need to listen; she knew her cue to speak. But then she made the mistake of looking at the tribute pedestals.
Beneath the boy's banner, two women stood tall, their hands linked while they stared resolutely at the stage.
And the girl's… If Jezephel thought Bellara Pyke had been terrifying, she was nothing compared to her family. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the pedestal, as rigid as the snow-capped mountains that ringed the district behind them, a threatening stillness to their stance that told Jezephel that every one of them, down to their bones, was a trained killer whether they'd taken a life or not. Already, the father was glaring at her, an expression that sent a bolt of fear through her body, and she hadn't even said a word yet; Jezephel wished desperately for the privilege of never seeing them again.
I didn't even kill her. Apparently, it didn't seem to matter.
At the mayor's cue, Jezephel forced her trembling hands into stillness, and began to speak.
Watching the Victory Tour commence on television was bad, but nothing could've prepared Venatrix for the special hell of being reminded just how dead her sister was. Venatrix had never thought much of Victory Tours before, but she supposed it was easier to recognize a slap in the face when she was the one being slapped.
Her and the rest of her family, too, of course.
The platform was large enough for them to stand comfortably (ha), but they didn't, instead choosing to clump together as she'd seen most families do on this occasion. Her muscles still ached from the extra hours she'd put in at the training rooms this morning, in an attempt to forget what the afternoon held in store, almost more painful in their stillness.
Sandwiched between her father and her brother, Venatrix kept her eyes fixed on the new Victor. She looked tiny up on that stage, even smaller than Bellara.
At her left, she felt Iago's shoulder brush hers. He didn't whisper anything under his breath like she might've expected under any other circumstance, just a subtle shift to lean against her. She returned the weight, trying not to think about what it might look like next year if he had to stand here alone with their parents. It's not going to happen, Venatrix retorted in her mind, attempting to drown out the words of the new Victor with her thoughts. I won't leave him here. Failure in any way — in the Selection Tournament, at the reapings, in the Games — was not an option.
She didn't dare glance his way, her gaze, like Iago's, remaining unflinching in the direction of Jezephel Xoreen of District Eleven, as per their father's instructions.
Again, she was struck by how small the girl seemed, the thick jacket draped over her frame completely dwarfing her. Unbelievable, really, how someone like this could come out on top over Bellara, out of everyone. Jezephel didn't even seem to bother hiding her nervousness and apprehension at the ordeal, her eyes flicking nervously over the crowd and landing more than once on Venatrix and her family.
The little Victor finished her speech, her quiet tones coming to a hesitant halt. Just get this over with, Venatrix thought harshly.
But the girl didn't leave the stage, her feet shuffling nervously as she remained where she stood. It was difficult to tell from this far away, but the speech card in her hands seemed to shake. "I wish to commend the volunteers of District Two for their bravery and dedication," she said in her soft, shaky voice.
Venatrix narrowed her eyes; in her peripheral, Oberon shifted in place.
"But Victory only ever goes to the most deserving," she continued, the trembling almost audible in her voice. "I only hope that your memory of Bellara Pyke and Tauren Harrion will be enough to eclipse their failure."
Complete silence followed her words.
Venatrix's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in disbelief.
Failure. As if her sister's life hadn't mattered up until the Games.
Around her, beneath her, murmurs of the crowd danced through her ears, snippets of snide comments, scoffs of distaste; Iago's mouth had fallen open in shock, anger flashing in his eyes. From the stage, Jezephel Xoreen stared directly at her, terror written across her tawny countenance. No, not at her, at Oberon.
Glare was far too kind a word for the look on her father's face right now.
Venatrix felt a shiver trace down her spine, quelling the bubbles of fury rising in her stomach. No, that was sheer murder — incensed and livid — written plain across Oberon's expression, if the restraining claw that Dagmara clamped around his wrist hadn't given it away.
Failure. How many times had she snapped at anyone even insinuating that Bellara had been a failure? And this so-called Victor had the gall to say it out loud, in front of the entire district, on national fucking television. Venatrix felt her fingernails dig painfully into the skin of her palms. She didn't care how scared the Eleven girl looked, imagining — no wishing — with desperation that Bellara's axe could've split her skull in two.
A forced applause sputtered through the mass of people as the little Victor was led off stage and into the safety of the Justice Building. Venatrix barely even registered it, too focused on controlling the rush of wrath in her blood, the type that practically begged her to pick up a sword and drive it home into her enemy's heart.
She didn't realize how much the thought scared her until she met her father's eyes, saw her own emotion reflected just as vividly.
The drive back to the village was deafeningly quiet. Venatrix distinctly heard the pavement squeak beneath the tires as the car turned up the driveway to the Pyke manor and into the garage. Wordlessly, they retreated into the privacy of their home, all four faces set firmly in stone; Venatrix could feel her own expression in the stiffness of her jaw. Her father brought up the rear, the garage door slamming loudly to herald his entrance. The sound seemed to shatter the blanket of silence that had come over the family.
"Insolent little bitch!" Oberon spat. Venatrix and Iago exchanged an uneasy glance, eyeing their father as he paced around the kitchen.
Dagmara shot her husband a glare. "Oberon, please."
"How the hell did they even allow this?" he continued, a cruel snarl etched into his features.
"And what are you planning to do?" Dagmara challenged, arms stiffly folded as she planted herself in his path. "If you really think those words came from that little girl's head, then you're a goddamn fool."
"Oh, sure, defend her." Oberon huffed an unkind laugh. "Dagmara, the only reason that brat was standing up on that damn stage is because our daughter is dead!"
"You think I don't fucking know that, Oberon?"
"Aaaand time to go," Iago muttered under his breath, nudging Venatrix's arm. She grimaced, following him as they slunk upstairs to the background music of their parents' raised voices. Once concealed in the safety of his room, Iago shut the door. "I hate this," he groaned, plopping down on his bed, his fingers absent-mindedly running through his mass of dark curls.
Ignoring her brother's keen eye, Venatrix swept a pile of dirty clothes off the chair at his desk and seated herself in their place. "They're literally yelling just to yell," she said, shaking her head.
Honestly, she couldn't really blame them; a strong part of her yearned to do the same.
"Never thought I'd want to punt a twelve year-old more than when Bell broke my favorite hunting knife on purpose, but here we are." Iago said drily.
Venatrix snorted. "I think Dad might get there before you."
The sudden lack of shouting coming from downstairs only registered when Dagmara poked her head into Iago's room. "You two; go get ready for dinner."
"You guys finally finished screaming at each other?" Iago asked, his tone falsely chipper.
"Watch it, young man."
Iago laughed mirthlessly, getting up to dig through his closet for a pair of dress pants. "As if this isn't gonna be the biggest disaster of the century."
Dagmara rolled her eyes, though Venatrix caught a glimpse of weary amusement before she left her children to their devices. "What about those grain riots back in one-twenty?" Venatrix reminded him with a raised eyebrow, standing to follow her mother out of the room. "That seems like a bit of a bigger disaster."
"Please," he scoffed. "District Nine's got nothing on us." He flashed a cheap smile over his shoulder, tossing various wads of clothing onto his bed. "Now shoo, I'm changing."
"I'm gonna kick your ass."
"Save it for dinner. Maybe we can stage a fistfight and leave early."
With a huff of amusement, Venatrix disappeared into her own room, throwing on a calf-length cocktail dress and brushing the bare minimum amount of makeup onto her face. Just because she was being forced to attend a shitty dinner party didn't mean she had to like it. She didn't bother fixing her hair into something nice, slipping her cellular into the pocket of her dress so she could spend the entire evening messaging complaints to Percy and Agate.
Dagmara lent her a pair of walkable heels once she traipsed back down to the sitting room, where they waited on the couch for Oberon and Iago to make their appearances. Venatrix flinched slightly when her mother's fingers began carding absently through her hair like she used to when Venatrix was a child, Dagmara's position on the armrest giving her easy access. "Sorry, honey," Dagmara said, a sad smile crossing her bronze features. Wordlessly, Venatrix leaned into her mother's touch before she could pull her hand away. Dagmara sighed. "Should be celebrating Bell tonight, but instead..." She trailed off, not wanting to finish her sentence. Not needing to. "I'm sorry, honey," she said again, a faraway look in her eyes.
Before Venatrix could respond, the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs interrupted the moment; she stood, giving her mother's hand a quick squeeze as they made their way into the car.
They reached the Justice Hall just as the sun began to dip behind the mountains. Venatrix did her best to stick with Iago for the majority of the banquet. She'd attended the year before when the District Nine Victor, Sascha Teng, came for her tour, though Iago and Bellara had stayed behind.
Compared to that event, this one was downright dismal. As it should be.
Not that a District Nine Victory hadn't brought with it a string of tension, but frankly, Venatrix didn't give two shits about Sasha Teng.
Iago, at least, seemed to be having a decent time getting chummy with various district officials, though they both steered clear of any District Elevens or obvious Capitolites. They did, however, catch the attention of Head Peacekeeper Flint Ainsley, who greeted them with a generous smile. Both Venatrix and Iago thanked him graciously for providing the means for their Harvest Festival dinner, and Ainsley clapped her appreciatively on the shoulder, having heard tell of the exploit of their hunt from Oberon.
When the mayor called the guests to dinner, Venatrix reluctantly dragged her brother back to where their parents sat at a large rectangular table with the rest of the District Two Victors and select family members. Venatrix found herself once again next to her father, with old Callithyia at her left and Iago at Dagmara's side. Callithyia gave her a friendly nudge, catching her eye; Venatrix returned it easily.
The smile slid from her face when the three District Eleven Victors took their seats directly across from the Pykes, filling the space between Cadmus and Antigona.
Dagmara had been engaged in hushed conversation with Morwenna, though they quieted the minute the Elevens appeared. The rest of the table turned equally silent. Venatrix ignored the tentative glances thrown between her family and the newest Victor; little Jezephel shifted uncomfortably in her seat, shielded by her elders.
"Mr. Pyke and Mrs. Illura-Pyke," Iris Wilkers, the eldest of the three, said, breaking the silence. "It's a pleasure to see you this evening."
Oberon smiled coldly. "Unfortunately, we can't say the same."
Venatrix couldn't quite tell, but she thought Dagmara might've discretely kicked him in the shin from under the table. Her father only blinked, his expression still as stone.
Iris only nodded, digging into her food heedless of the awkwardness permeating the room.
Tersely, Venatrix picked at her dish of pasta with her fork. She wasn't hungry at all, really. Instead, she focused her attention on Jezephel, who hadn't started eating either. The girl seemed to be in a fierce staring competition with her food, probably recognizing that she stood a better chance against a plate of pasta than against Oberon Pyke. When her hands began to shake, Jezephel hurriedly shoved them under the table; the other Eleven Victor, Andrew Overleaf, shot her father a stiff glare.
From her left, Callithyia intervened, mercifully drawing Oberon's attention away from the girl for a brief moment. "How have you been enjoying your tour, Jezephel?" she asked kindly. "I know it can be difficult, but it's a unique opportunity to see the other districts. They can be quite beautiful."
Jezephel looked startled at being directly addressed. "Um. It's nice. I'm really looking forward to the celebration back in Eleven, though."
"Must be exciting," Oberon said, his tone on the edge of mocking. "Though I suppose we'll be finding out for ourselves next January. My daughter, she's going to volunteer next year." He patted Venatrix on the shoulder, who smiled awkwardly at being acknowledged. "With her in the arena… Well, I can assure you Eleven won't be getting another Victor so soon," he said with a caustic laugh.
Slowly, Jezephel turned her wide eyes to stare unabashedly at Venatrix, her expression a mixture of shock, confusion, and… pity?
"Excuse me."
Extracting herself from the conversation, Venatrix made a steady beeline for the women's restrooms, ignoring the eyes trailing her on the way out. She kept her chin up as she pushed through the door, checking and double-checking that the stalls were empty before releasing a frustrated growl. "I don't want your fucking pity!" she snarled.
The mirror didn't respond, reflecting only marble-tiled floors; elegant but simple white-painted stalls; her own expression, out of place with its lucid emotion.
Venatrix took a deep breath, an ugly rattling thing that traveled through her nose, into her lungs, and hold. And hold. And out. The sooner this damn tour is over with, the better. Attempting to push the girl's expression from her mind, Venatrix inhaled a few more deep, controlling breaths.
Pulling out her cellular, she shot off a quick message to her chat with Percy and Agate.
20:36 - Trix
𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚜
. . .
20:36 - Percy
𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞?
The device rang before she could type a response. "Hey, Trix. You hanging in there? Wait a minute…" Percy paused, and she heard Agate's voice connect on the line. "There."
"Hey! What's up?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Venatrix said stiffly. "Just distract me with something stupid."
Immediately, Percy launched into some story about one of his older brothers failing his driving test this weekend, apparently for the third time. Agate chimed in every now and then with lightheartedly disparaging comments that if even she could figure it out, Herc should have no problem, for which Percy scolded her for lowering her self-worth, while Agate insisted it was merely a joke.
Venatrix lowered herself onto a chair next to a stack of toilet paper and hygiene products, her elbow problem against the supporting table as she listened to her friends' comforting voices. Almost effortlessly, she felt a small smile stretch her lips, and she relished the fleeting moment.
Fleeting indeed; the bathroom door creaked open, revealing a tiny frame that froze as soon as she caught sight of Venatrix seated in the chair on the opposite end of the room.
At the sight of the small Victor, Venatrix's brief peace of mind quickly disappeared beneath the ocean of coldness that had taken hold for the majority of the day. "I gotta go guys," she mumbled into her cellular, cutting off Percy mid-sentence. With narrowed eyes, she flicked its protective case shut with a snap, watching Jezephel flinch at the sound.
"I didn't realize you were still in here," she said hesitantly when Venatrix didn't make any move to leave or speak. God, every fucking time she talks it's so fucking… timid. A stark contrast to Bellara's confident inflections. "I'm sorry about your sister."
"Sorry," Venatrix said flatly. "Sorry? After you called her a failure in front of the entire nation?"
"I didn't want to—"
Venatrix cut her off. "It's not cute anymore, this little girl act," she sneered. "No amount of sorry will bring my sister back." With a sharp exhale, she tore her gaze away from Jezephel, her teeth digging into the flesh of her lip to quell the sudden wave of grief that threatened to overtake her.
Jezephel only watched her with those large brown eyes that reminded her so much of—
"Let me get this straight," Venatrix said stiffly, standing from her chair to tower over the tiny Victor. "If those mutts hadn't killed my sister, if this had been a fair fight... She would've ripped you apart."
This time, she could practically see Jezephel trying to force a mask of bravery upon herself, to summon whatever part of her had been enough to win the Games in the face of Venatrix's threat. She didn't speak immediately. "How… how many years of training did Bellara have?" Jezephel asked, barely audible but determined.
The question caught Venatrix off-guard, an unexpected tangent to the topic. She frowned, unsure if she was even allowed to divulge that type of information to an outsider. Eventually, she decided on the truth. "...Four, at least."
"And you call that fair?"
Venatrix blinked in surprise, recoiling from her words. Jezephel's tone wasn't even accusing, or challenging, just… sincere curiosity. "I—"
"Are you really going to volunteer?"
"Yes," Venatrix said curtly, still miffed that she couldn't provide a solid answer for the previous question.
She didn't anticipate the worry that clouded the girl's face. "Why? You're probably going to die," Jezephel said, her eyes round. And why the hell should that concern you? "Why would you throw your life away like that, especially after your sister?"
"Look," Venatrix snapped. "Just because you don't understand how we do things here doesn't mean you get to sit there and criticize us from that high horse of yours."
"I never meant to—"
"It doesn't matter what you meant!" Brushing past the girl, Venatrix threw a cold stare over her shoulder. "The damage is done, Eleven," she hissed. "I'll see you in June."
A/N: Wow, they're really about to square up with a 12 year old there.. This entire family has maybe one braincell between the lot of them. Most of the time Dagmara has it. Venatrix and Oberon shared it last chapter. Iago gets it once in a blue moon, and Bellara has never seen it in her poor, too-short existence.
Anyways, sorry for the lack of an update last week. Life just threw some things at me and I was like "Oh, okay, guess we're not writing this week." Also, next week and the week after will probably not have updates for either True Vengeance or [REDACTED]'s Victory Tour bc… Exams ! (: Like please report me if you see me posting then ;-; (jk pls don't I'd cry if they took down my stuff) Expect the next update around like… the week of the 10th or so. ..God that's so far away, I hate it.. ;-; But ! That will give me time to pretty up the next couple of chapters because those will be maybe even more fun than this one (:
Also ! I always forget to shout out the SYOT's I'm in (which, granted, are not many) but please check out FireflyLlama's Crown of Thorns and tracelynn's Withered Hope ! I've got my kids up on my profile, if you're curious lol. But yeah, I'm super excited for both of them ! :D
Last note; I've also updated the 168th Victory Tour story today as well, so if you're curious how [REDACTED] is faring after the events of Widow's Bite, uhh.. well, go see for yourself lmao. See y'all after my exams !
- Nell