CHAPTER 14 – (Dis)Trust

HAZEL

Enobaria gives me a curt nod when she enters the room a few hours later.

It's courtesy, of course, to not abuse other victors for their tribute's kills. It's part of the game; everyone in this room has had to kill to get ahead, and we all understand what the odds are. You can't blame a child for trying to survive. Still, I'm relieved that Enobaria isn't the kind of person who treats in-game events like her personal chess match. As far as victors from Two go, I don't mind her.

Even the particularly horrific kills aren't faulted by the mentors, for the most part. Of course, back when Helena from Two specifically told Brutus to gore the youngest tributes he could, she was firmly told she'd no longer be respected in the Donum Room. But the victors are a mostly understanding lot. That's why the pair from Six haven't felt the brunt of Titus' kill. Most of us just ignore one another when the Games begin. We know who the real killers are, and they're not sat in this room, or in the arena.

We know who the real killers are. I click my tongue and risk a quick glance around the room. My pupils are burnt dry by the light of the monitor, throwing little sparks around the heads of my fellow mentors. Who had Cohen been talking about? Surely not One or Two; Queenie and Saffron are posterchildren for Capitol lapdogs, and Brutus and Enobaria stand to lose too much. What about Three? Is that why Zircon hasn't made it this year? Or what about Finnick? Has have the years of being used like Snow's personal bargaining chip finally worn him down? Cecilia? I risk a glance to my left. Blight?

At my glance, he turns to face me. His one good eye is red and bleary, and half his hair is still scrunched up from his nap hours ago.

"I think it's finally quietened down," he nods at the red sponsor phone. Ever since the fight, almost half a day ago, it's been buzzing with all sorts of attention. Sponsors lining up to shove me their money, magazines begging me to fill their pages with false gossip about Johanna's love life, concerned friends offering me their two cents of survival advice. Even Caesar has reached out for an interview. "But if you want to go wash up, I'll keep an eye on things."

"No, you go. She's my tribute."

Blight breathes in deeply. "I want her to come home just as much as you, Hazel."

"Of course. You know that's not what I meant."

He stares at me, for a good, long while; both eyes bearing deeply into mine. Blight's gaze has always been disconcerting, even without the glass pupil, but especially now, it feels too intense for comfort. "It's perfectly natural to be protective. She's the first one you have hope for. But it's just one kill, Hazel. You've seen what the other tributes can do. Her odds are higher now, but she's nowhere near a victor yet."

"You don't need to patronise me, Blight. I know what the odds are; I've been in the Games same as you. You don't think I know that she got lucky?"

"You're tired. And snappy."

"I'm stressed. And you're being fucking condescending."

"I'm telling you to take a break."

"And I'm telling you to get off my back," I lower my voice. Cecilia isn't at the table, but I don't want any of the other mentors knowing that I'm peeved. "Do you think Johanna gets any breaks in that arena?"

"You can't give up everything to make sure she lives."

"Oh yeah?" I look at him dead in the eyes, disconcerting gaze be fucked. "Watch me."

I pull my monitor across, not bearing to see his face for a moment longer. Normally I appreciate Blight's presence, but right now, every word he says digs into my rage like nails into flesh. I don't think I'll ever be an equal to him, not really. To him, I'll always be the scared little girl before the arena. A scared little girl who – if my suspicions are correct – he doesn't trust with thoughts of a rebellion.

Well, bad news, Blight. That scared little girl knows all about that rebellion.

I'm hungry and tired, and apart from the girl from Ten spearing a fox, the arena's uneventful; but I refuse to take a break until Blight's off duty. Cecilia's happy to keep an eye on the girls, with a promise to send someone to me if anything interesting happens, and with a sense of warbling security, I head to the cafeteria.

The food's always good, but it could be cardboard for all I care. The motions of shovelling spoonful after spoonful of rice into my mouth are autonomic, and I find myself phasing in and out of focus. Every so often I'll feel the familiar twinge of panic at the through of Johanna caught out in the arena, which will then fade into the gnawing anxiety at the thought of an underground rebellion, and finally into the piercing discomfort of Cohen's gaze. On all accounts, I'm fucked.

'Jeez, you look a mess, Haz.' I can almost imagine what Felicis would say if he could see me now. Picture him, sat across from me; hair tied into that stupid ponytail, all string-bean lanky, lopsided grin plastered on his face. Arrow stuck right out of his left eye.

'As do you,' I'd reply. 'What's with boys from Seven and losing their eyes?'

'Do you make it a habit to go around insulting the dead?'

'Not unless they're the figment of my best friend,' I phantom smile at the comeback. Any onlookers must thing I've completely lost my marbles. 'I've missed you.'

'Fuck you. You won over me, you bitch," he'd say, but he'd smile. 'I'm not here for pleasantries, I'm not real. You need something?'

'What do you think I should do?'

'Keep her alive,' he'd say. 'Trust nobody; no side, just yourself.'

'Screw over a rebellion?'

'If there's a rebellion, they screwed me over.'

'Supposed that's fair.' I'd say, and Felicis would have rolled his eyes as well as a dead boy with an empty left socket could have.

"Ah, Hazel, just the girl I was looking for!"

At the sound of a real voice, I jump, the sound of my falling spoon making a clattering noise on the floor of the cafeteria. Caesar Flickerman winces, and bends down to pick it up before I have the chance.

"Oh, sorry," I say, rubbing my eyes. "Lost in thought."

"To be expected," his voice seems softer than usual. Of course, he hams it up for the cameras; the real Caesar is a pretty mellow guy as far as things are concerned. Cares for the lot of us more than half the Capitol combined. My trust for Capitolites goes about as far as arm's length, but I like Caesar. "How're you holding up."

"About as well as you'd think. Tired, stressed and pretty fucking on-edge, but she's alive."

"Think you'll be ready for a TV spot tomorrow?"

"Snow's booked one in?"

"Thought it'd be better if you agreed on your own accord," Caesar grimaces. "But yes. People have been begging to hear the behind the scenes on Johanna's perfect ploy."

"If it's not too long."

"I have it on good authority that nothing will happen to Johanna in the half-hour slot you'll be on air." He holds out his hand, though I know I'll have no option but to shake it. At least this'll be a better alternative to getting sponsors than visiting Balbina again.

"There better not," I say, shaking it.

JOHANNA

Twine's mouth hangs wide when the sees the face of Two in the sky.

"Careful," I say, trying hard not to look into the eyes of the girl I laid down. If I look up, I might see her again; all bruised and bloody and twisted. I don't want to be sick. "If you keep your mouth open, you'll catch a fly."

"There aren't any flies. It's too cold. And besides-" she gestures up towards the sky. "She's dead. Dead. Someone got her."

"Good for them," I keep my eyes firmly on the ground. "And good for us. That's one less Career to look out for."

"What if they get to us too?"

"Listen," I say. Twine's hair is frazzled, and her doe eyes are so wide they could eclipse the sun. "We don't even know it was a tribute that killed her. For all we know she might have eaten something poisonous, or fallen into a trap, or gotten mauled by a bear. All we know is she's dead, and we're alive, so we're winning."

"I don't want anyone to die."

"Hey," I hiss. "Don't let anyone hear you say that, okay? You think the Capitol likes to hear that shit?"

Twine shakes her head, and I roll my eyes, but pass her one of our few crackers. She takes it, and we sit in silence, watching as the anthem fades and the dim light of the emblem disappears, casting the arena into darkness. Part of me regrets telling her to shut it; she could have continued making herself look bad and me look better. But a second part of me feels bad. A second part of me agrees with Twine – because I don't want her to die either.

Which all things considered, is a very, very bad thought to have.

"So, what's the plan tomorrow?" I continue, because I can't bear to be alone in my thoughts for as long as they'll keep replaying the death of the girl from Two. Twine frowns, twisting her lips together.

"Hunt?"

"We're a bit low on stocks, aren't we?" I shake my bag dramatically. "You any good with that?"

"I've never even seen land like this before," she says. "There are the occasional rats on the streets, but nobody eats them. They're diseased."

"How appetising," I say. "Well, we don't hunt in Seven – not legally, anyways – but we all know how to take an animal or two down, so I can teach you some tricks."

"Like bears?"

"Nah," I shake my head, digging into my pack for my own share of crackers. "The logging parties are too loud for them. Some curious ones will find their way into town, sometimes, but they're easily scared away. Usually it's wild dogs you have to look out for."

"And you can take them down with knives?" Twine gestures at the one at my belt. It took a lot of convincing, but eventually I conceded and gave her my other. If it came down to it, I'd overpower her easily. Though, judging by how easily she's taken to me, I don't think she's the one who needs to worry about betrayal.

"Traps, usually. Or axes, if it comes to that." I try my best not to think of the girl from Two and her axe. My axe now, really.

"I wish I was from Seven," Twine says. "You guys have such an advantage."

I try not to take it the wrong way; not when Eight has only has three victors in its history, but something about the comment sends my blood simmering. "With the Careers monopolising the field? Not so much."

"I suppose. But you must have had what, five? Six?"

"Six," I say. Two dead; one from illness, the other from suicide. Cove – won the 13th, confined to immobility – Lupus, or Loopy, like most people call him – drowned in gin, usually. Blight. Hazel. "It's only since Hazel that we've had two mentors with enough braincells between them to chop down a tree."

Twine sniggers. "I'm glad I got Cecilia. Woof scares me."

"Is that the old guy?"

"He's big," she shudders. "Cecilia's nice."

"Didn't she stab someone twenty-seven times?"

"Cecilia's nice," she repeats. And then she pauses. "What would you do if you were victor?"

"Take a long nap, probably."

"But after that?" Twine leans in closer to me, as if she's expecting me to divulge a secret. I feel a funny pang – like the feeling of lost friendship, or like the connection to a younger sister I never had. I blink, hard. "How would you live the rest of your life?"

"Pretty dully, I guess. Visit the Capitol every year. Cut down trees in my spare time. Maybe I'd start baking or something stupid like that."

"I can't see you baking," she giggles. "But what about big things? Like love?"

"Love?" I roll my eyes. "Twine, you can't be serious."

"I said, call me Twi," she says. "I'm just asking. I've been in love with a boy in my class since I was twelve. His name's Darley. He's probably watching – oh gosh, that's so embarrassing."

"I'm sure he doesn't care," I say. Twine, no, Twi doesn't seem convinced. "Seriously. If you win, I'm sure he'll go on a date with you."

"You sure that stuff isn't important to you?"

"Fuck no. The only 'Love' I'm preoccupied with is the girl from One. Now come on, do you want to take first watch. You'd better stay awake this time."