The breakfast meeting with the other mentors takes up the greater part of the day, and it is almost dusk when we are summoned upstairs to prepare our tributes for the opening ceremonies.
The Twelve tributes are almost unrecognizable, scrubbed clean and groomed to within an inch of their lives. They're dressed in black jumpsuits with a subtle glow.
"Under the cameras and lights, they'll glow even more, looking kind of like embers," a familiar man with flecks of gold eyeliner explains.
"Cinna!" I say, hurrying over to greet my favorite Capitol resident.
"What do you think of this year's costumes?" he asks.
I admire the three teenagers who really do look like burning coals and smile at him. "You've outdone yourself."
Cinna beams. "It was tricky to construct a third outfit with such little notice, but I had Portia to help me. The Gamemakers had to hire three additional stylists for District Eleven, and they all worked very hard, but there's only so much you can do." He gestured sadly at a large crowd of children wearing green tunics and headdresses covered in fruit. "It's especially unfortunate since the design they'd originally chosen was lovely—the kids would be dressed to look like butterflies, the ones native to Eleven that pollinate the crops—but the look isn't one that's easy to replicate." Two tall kids, one boy and one girl, then appeared amidst the group of green, wearing shimmering gold suits and elaborately ornate wings attached to their backs.
"I suppose they picked the ones most likely to survive for the special outfits," I comment, deciding that the look really was striking.
"It caused an uproar," Cinna says. "I don't know if you noticed, but they had to call the District Eleven mentors up early to calm down the kids. There were all sorts of accusations of 'playing favorites' and 'leaving the rest to die'." He shrugs. "I mean the tributes have a point, but realistically, there's a strategic decision here that the mentors needed to make. I'm not sure why it came as such a surprise."
"I certainly wasn't surprised," Peeta says, appearing at our side suddenly. "Haymitch had to pick one of us, and he chose Katniss. I would have made the same decision. Even my parents had her pegged as the survivor." He hangs his head, hiding the hurt that suddenly appears. "It made sense, but it still stung a little."
Cinna's expression softens. "Of course," he says, trying to be soothing. "That can't have been pleasant. And most of the kids from Eleven are younger than you were last year. They probably weren't thinking that far ahead."
I spy a little girl with long brown hair and a slight frame who reminds me of Rue. A sister perhaps? I don't remember her from the reaping video—perhaps her name was called after the Capitol blocked the airwaves.
Leaving Cinna and Peeta behind, I make my way over to the group of kids clustered around the District Eleven sign. Before I reach them, however, a pair of Peacekeepers appears.
"Where do you think you're going?" one of them growls.
"To see…Chaff," I say, realizing now that perhaps approaching another district's tributes isn't the smartest idea. "He approached us earlier with a proposal to ally our tributes and I wanted to discuss it further."
"Not the time or the place," the other Peacekeeper snarls. "The ceremonies will begin any moment now, and you're all to stay in your places. There will be plenty of time to talk with other mentors tomorrow."
"She'll just be coming with me." A surprisingly strong arm grips my shoulder and steers me back towards Cinna. It's Haymitch. "What do you think you're doing, sweetheart?" Haymitch grumbles as we cross the room for the second time. "If you plan on doing something stupid, at least tell me next time so that I can try to talk you out of it."
"That girl…she looked like Rue," I say, craning my neck to try and get another glimpse of her. No luck, she seems to have disappeared in the crush of bodies.
"And what would you have done about that?" Haymitch asks. "You and Peeta already created a spectacle by giving Rue's family all that money when you visited Eleven during the Victory Tour, or have you forgotten about that already? If that girl is, in fact, a relative of Rue's, what good will it do for you to approach her now?" Haymitch takes my silence as my answer and continues, "I know it's hard, since this is your first time back at the Capitol since you and Peeta were the ones fighting for survival, but this time you just need to keep your head down and your mouth shut." Haymitch finally lets go of me once we reach Peeta and Cinna, with a growled instruction for Peeta to keep an eye on me before I get myself into more trouble.
"Any last words of advice?" Ash looks fervently at Peeta as Rose frowns at Haymitch's retreating back.
"Don't fall off," I say dryly, watching as the first chariot is wheeled into the staging area. It's covered in jewels—for District One.
As it turns out, my sardonic remark ends up being rather important. When the District Twelve chariot is brought in, it's clearly the same one Peeta and I used last year, built for two people only. Even then, we had had a hard time keeping our balance.
It takes some maneuvering for us to position Ash, Rose, and Lucy in such a way that they're all visible and none of them is in danger of falling—Ash and Rose are standing together toward the back of the small platform, and Lucy is positioned closer to the front, standing alone.
Peeta suggests that Rose and Ash hold hands as a sign of strength, and I think back to when he had gripped my hand last year, when it had been us on the chariot. "Look straight ahead and avoid making eye contact," I tell Lucy. "You're strong and you're independent. You don't need a boyfriend to be a serious contender in this."
"Hey!" Rose says, indignant.
I ignore her and nod at Lucy to make sure she understands. She nods back, and I step into the shadows once more, watching as the chariot slowly rolls toward the entrance to the amphitheater where the tributes are being presented to the Capitol.
Peeta takes a step back and reaches for my hand. The gesture is automatic; his fingertips are just brushing mine when he realizes what he's doing and freezes. Peeta's expression turns wooden and I can feel him mentally distancing himself. Somehow, remembering how those same hands had wrapped around me last night to keep the nightmares at bay made that distance feel wrong. "We're linked together" he had said, and as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. And it had all started at the opening ceremonies, almost exactly one year ago.
The cameras are all focused on the new tributes, on Lucy and Rose and Ash and all the others from the rest of the Districts. We stand in the shadows away from the crowd, away from the other victors, away from the Capitol residents and Peacekeepers who work behind-the-scenes of the Games.
It's just us.
Alone.
The Capitol crowd cheers as they catch their first glimpse of the District One tribute chariot. The Games are starting.
The shadows shift. In the distance, I see Finnick Odair sit on the ground and cover his face with his hands in an attempt to block out the sights and sounds of the ceremony. I think about the lengths Haymitch went to in order to try to avoid having to be a mentor this year.
This is the beginning. This is the first of innumerable Games, of barbaric rituals that I will have no choice but to participate in. I look over at Finnick again, and think about his words from this morning. "We are the ones that matter, not them." His experience is undoubtedly shaped by what he endures at President Snow's hands each year, but he still has a point. We are the ones who will never be free of what we suffered during our Games. And we are the ones who must relive it over and over again while simultaneously either inflicting death or life on the poor children entrusted to us by the reaping. In this moment, I'm not sure which outcome is worse.
The crowd issues a fresh burst of cheers as District Eleven's sixth and last chariot is released. This one contains two children dressed in green as well as the two children dressed as butterflies. Any moment now, District Twelve's chariot will follow. Lucy's and Rose's and Ash's journeys start now.
So does mine and Peeta's.
I reach out and grab his hand.
