Peter
The bench beneath me creaks every time I move forward. The Hall is full of people for the trial of Lord Lyme and the so-called Coriolanus Snow, brother of the deceased queen. The prisoners have not arrived, but there is a loud commotion in the Hall.
Finnick told me the trial was supposed to take place in the throne room, but with the cleanings they had to move it to another Hall. To my left is a raised platform pushed against the wall. It harbors seven chairs, one for each member of the council. The one in the middle is for the king or queen, but since there is not one the councilman closest to the queen will occupy it and conduct the trial.
I feel like this is the climax of something extraordinary and the begining of the end for me. After the veredict, I will collect the few belongings I have and go... Home? To where my father is? To where I have lived nearly a quarter of my life?
I no longer know the meaning of home.
The doors at the end of the Hall open out. The commotion quiets down as the people's eyes turn to the entrance. From the second row of benchs spread along a path between the crowds I am not able to get a glimpse of the prisoners at the doors.
I cannot help but think of what I will say when my name is called. I am still shaken from yesterday morning, so I am afraid I will forget what I have to confess to the council.
The first prisoner is Lyme. Nine days in a cell have had a tool on him. He looks like a corpse walking, because of the rough look of his clothes, his unkpet hair is all over the place, the beard looks dirty, and his hands are dirt stained. Two guards flank him as he walks handcuffed to a small podium facing the council.
Behind him is Coin's brother cuffed at the hands and the ankles. The chain scraps the floor, producing an irritating sound. When I look at his face, his eyes have already found me. He smiles devilishly. I saw what he can do, and now I know he does not plan to die at the hands of a group of petty men.
The three men who flank the man are heavily armed. What is a sword against his power?
Coin's brother climbs the other podium, and one of the guards closes the small door behind him. Another door opens next to the platform. The crowd stands up. One by one, the seven councilmen step into the Hall, and fill in the seven chairs. The fourth councilman stays up, surveilling the Hall and the two prisoners.
"In the absence of a ruler, I, Lord Seneca Crane, will conduct this trial," he announces, sitting down at last. The crowd follows him. Lord clears his throat, while he turns to Lyme. "Lord Lyme, you are accused of killing Her Highness Princess Katherine of Saldrian, and of conspiracing against the princess, His Highness Prince Peter of Baluster, and Her Majesty Queen Alma Coin. How do you plead?"
"Not guilty," Lyme's voice cracks at the second word.
"Then how do you explain the dagger and the princess's blood on your hands as you stood before her dead body?"
"Snow set me up!" Lyme declares. It is not hard to detect the lie in his words, but I am one of three people who witnessed the reality of that day.
"Lord Snow erased any proof it had been him - "
"It was the queen who murdered the princess," Lyme exclaims.
The crowd murmurs about themselves.
"Lord Snow used the queen's hatred for the princess for his purposes. He wanted the queen and the princess to kill each other, so he could later appear as a hero and take the throne."
Lord Crane stays silent, absorving Lyme's confession.
"Why would he do that?" The councilman on the second chair to the left asks.
"If I may speak, councilmen - "
"You may not, Lord Snow," Lord Crane orders, shooting Snow an angry look. "Answer the question, Lord Lyme."
"Vengeance, I assume."
"All right," Crane says, turning to face Snow. "Lord Snow, you are accused of murdering Her Majesty Queen Alma Coin. You have pleaded guilty during your interrogations. Do you still stand by your response?"
"Of course, Lord Crane," Snow declares too easily. "In legitimate defense."
"That is irrelevant, Lord Snow," Lord Crane points out. "Are you the true culprit of the princess's death as Lord Lyme accused you to be?"
"Lord Lyme is incorrect," Coin's brother says. "It was my sister you killed the princess. What an horrible act she commited."
"So when is comes to the true culprit of Princess Katherine's death, you are both innocent?"
"Yes," Snow and Lyme answer at the same time.
Lord Crane sits straighter in his chair, a puff of air leaving his mouth.
"The council calls the first witness forward, Prince Peter of Baluster."
For a moment I stay rooted to the bench, unable to get up. There is a heavy weight pulling me down, ordering me to stay put and to resist the urge to walk to the platform and confess what I saw that day.
However I get up hesitantly from the bench, and climb down the two steps to the floor. Normally I do not let others bother me, but once in my life I am afraid to walk under their watchful eyes. I pass in between the two podiums, and stop right in front of the platform.
Lord Seneca Crane stares at me. I can see him studying my broken figure. He is possibly debating his choice of having me as a witness in this trial.
"Prince Peter, according to many reports, you were one of three people in the throne room that fateful day. What can you tell the council of your experience?" His voice is void of any sympathy.
I swallow, taking a moment to look at all the members of the council. I sneak a glance at Lyme and Coriolanus.
"It was the queen who murdered Katherine," I begin. "It was Lord Snow who murdered the queen. It was Lyme who betrayed Katherine, my father's guards and people, and Bluemoon's soldiers, by reporting to Lord Snow their war plans."
The Hall is silent as I continue my confession, "It was the queen who poisoned my father, and with the help of her brother, captured me and imprisoned me for several days. But most important, it was Lord Snow's plan to create a war between his sister and the other kingdoms."
Snow's laugh echoes around the Hall.
"My, oh my, Your Highness. Just cleverness," he says. "You are an expert reading in between the lines."
"Lord Snow, you will only speak - "
"To hell with your order," Snow says loud enough to capture the attention of the whole Hall. "Such a petty man you are, Lord Crane. I wonder what gives you the right to judge me, when you cannot atone for your sins. Tell us how you murdered the whore you took to your bed last night."
I sneak a glance at Snow. His cuffed hands rest on the edge of the podium. A icy glow in his eyes emphasizes the snake-like shape of them. At any moment he will unleash what he has prepared for these people.
From the corner of my eye I notice a movement of hands. I turn to look behind my shoulder, and at the end of the path is Finnick. He is gesturing like a mad man, his fingers moving like phantoms. I look confused at him.
"Lord Snow!"
A loud gasp from the crowd prompts me to turn to the platform. I only capture Lord Crane's body turning on itself, every bone cracking like the ripping of fabric.
I act on impulse, and run to Lyme. This is a great madness, but I will not let Snow kill him when there are so many questions left unanswered. My sane hand fist the back of his tunic to pull him down and out of the podium. He glances over his shoulder to eye me with surprise and disbelief.
"Make it to the doors. Finnick will help you," I say as straight-forward as I can. We are not friends, much less acquaintances, but in this moment he must trust me.
He nods and runs as fast as he can to Finnick. The Hall is filled with screams. People leave the benchs to escape the wrath of Coriolanus. I watch a few guards run toward Coin's brother, their swords ready to strike, but in a matter of seconds they are thrown to the floor or against the walls and columns.
I pick up one of their swords and hold it as best as I can with an injured arm. Snow has broken free of his cuffs, which gives him more freedom to play with what powers he has.
"Peter!" I glance back to Finnick. He is walking at a fast pace toward me, wearing an expression of frustation.
I ignore his call, and walk against the tide of people to Snow. If he does not turn around, I have the perfect shot at what I should have done that day. But he is not a fool, and his eyes immediately lock on mine.
"Here to finish what you were not able to do, Your Highness?" He asks, climbing down the podium.
"I wish I had been strong enough to kill you that day," I admit, feeling guilty for my mistake. "But I will not let you destroy what is left of this country."
I swing the sword at an awkward angle. It barely grazes his clothes, and just as I had predicted he has the upper hand and knocks me to the floor with his power. I grunt at the pain in my arm as Snow walks toward me.
"You are even worse than I thought, Your Highness. Go back to Baluster, and let me handle Saldrian," he says. The irony is strong in his words.
I try to get up, but I am suddenly pushed down once more. An invisible force keeps me from standing up. Everything about this moment reminds of that fatal day.
"I am willing to spare your beloved kingdom, if you surrender." He shows me a smile, a teasing smile that mocks my inability to complete my task. "I told you I meant you no warm. I am a man of my word."
The force squeezes my body; it becomes hard to breathe. My ears register the eerie silence in the Hall, one that screams the loudest.
"I will. Finish what. I started," I spit out weakly.
With Coriolanus's eyes on mine, I am certain he does not notice the approaching footsteps. It is not hard to hear them in this deep silence, but there is something in the way he looks at me that tells me he is not paying attention to his surroundings.
"Go ahead, Your Highness," he teases, setting me free from his power.
I cough harshly to cover my hand going to the dagger on my pants. I fist the handle, but I am assaulted by a violent impact. Time freezes. Warmth leaves my body at the sight of the sword jutting out of Snow's chest. He has turned into a sculpture, his stone hands holding the blade as his eyes look at it in utter shock.
The sound the sword makes as it leaves Snow's body is the most sickening sound I have ever heard. The sword seems to screech as it slices his insides. At the same time the blade cuts his palms, the black blood falling in thin streams and staining my pants. His body convulses as the sword clanks on the floor. Snow falls to his knees. The black of his eyes eats the irises's snake-like colour; the veins under his skin turn black.
I feel hands on my shoulders trying to lift me up.
Lyme.
He pulls me up, but as soon as my feet touch the floor Lyme lets me go. I am thrown to the side, falling over the bloody sword. There is a soft ringing inside my head, unabling me to focus on the situation.
I take a glance at Lyme. My eyes register a hand going through his chest like he is made of foam and nearly pulling out his heart.
"When it is more convinient," Snow says, his words sounding too far off inside my ears, "You run to the winning side. If I did not help you, you would be rolling in mud at this moment."
I sit with some difficulty, but my hand goes immediately to the sword's handle. Lyme struggles to talk for his mouth is filled with blood. It is a distressful sight to see Lyme in pain. Even after all he did to me, to Katherine, and to Finnick, he is human in the end. And he should not have to endure such suffering.
I forget the pain in my arm, my back, my whole body, and stand up. It could ruin the recovery, but I grab the handle with both hands, ignoring the sharp crack at my shoulder. The grip is firm. My eyes focus only on Snow. I know he can see me, but for some reason he does not glance my way.
Perfect.
I quickly walk to them and strike down on Snow's head with the sword.
I impale him.
And for a moment I lose some of my humanity.
Time stops. I can only hear the sound the sword makes when it breaks Snow's skull and digs into his flesh and insides. It is a soothing sound. There is no pain.
I return to reality and immediately let go of the sword. I step back, bewildered with my action, to see Snow's body convulse one last time and to fall to the side dead.
Lyme falls on his back, a big round wound over his heart.
"Peter! You insane fucker!" Finnick's voice echoes around the ruined Hall.
He grabs me by the shoulders to face him. He is shouting words, but I do not register them. I know he is shouting at me, scolding me, because he is mad with himself. He did not protect me. But at this moment I could care less about his vows.
"Are you listening, Peter?" Finnick slaps me.
"What?"
He huffs exasperated.
I glance at Lyme. On instinct I crouch beside him. Despite the deadly wound, there is a bit of life in him. His breath is weak, and his eyes are not centered. I feel like I am reliving Haymitch's death.
"Odair..." His voice is a simple exhale. "Take... take care... of... her..."
Finnick slowly crouchs beside Lyme.
"Of course I will. That's what I've been doing for the past four years," Finnick says angrily.
"You... you are... a good... man..."
Finnick is in a state of fury and despair. He grabs Lyme's wrist too harshly.
"Don't start, Lyme. You had many years to make amends. You could've seen your daughter. You could've atoned for your sins. I could've forgiven you. But your obssession with wealth spoke louder," he remarks through clenched teeth. "Don't guilty me into forgiving you at your deathbed."
"I... know..."
"Then act like a man for once! You're a coward, because you want to."
There is silence, and I think Lyme has finally died. Yet the hand in Finnick's still stands up.
"I... a-apolo-gise... for... wha-what... I... did... to... y-you..."
Finnick gives Lyme a hard look, because inside he is fighting a battle with himself. He cannot just forgive Lyme to give him a peaceful death. Finnick lets go of Lyme's wrist, stands up, and looks down at the dying man.
"Know that your daughter still loves you, despite everything," he says as a final answer.
Lyme offers him a very faint smile, closes his eyes and lets Death take over him. I pass my finger under his nose. No air comes out.
...
There is a war happening inside my head.
The sword comes crashing down on Snow's head. He falls to the side. My hands tremble as I realise what I have done. But I don't feel guilt.
And I should.
It was an unhuman act, yet I felt a small sense of pleasure. For a second I enjoyed it. And I hated what I became in that one second.
"Your Highness," someone calls.
I lift my head. Master Bernard stares at me as he waits for a response. There is real concern in his eyes.
"Yes?"
"Did you hear what I said?"
"Uh..."
He offers a sad smile. "Your shoulder is merely swollen. It should be good by tomorrow with some rest."
I believe I register his words, but my mind is quickly assaulted by my merciless act.
"I want to see Katherine tonight."
"Peter, you need to rest." I look to my left. At the foot of the bed stands Finnick, his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed at me. "You don't want to travel back home with an ill arm."
"When do we leave?" I ask, feeling I know the answer, but confused by Finnick's comment.
"Tomorrow morning." His expression mimicks my thought.
"Then I must see her tonight." I glance at Master Bernard. He glances back as his hands work the cloth around my injured shoulder.
"If you feel better, then you may see her," Master Bernard suggests cautiously.
I nod. He finishes his work, and leaves with wishes of a good recovery. I stare at the rays of light streaming through the window; how the dust dances in the air leaves me transfixed for a moment.
"Why do we leave tomorrow?"
"Your father, Peter." Finnick's footsteps warn me of his closeness. "He's awake, and wants to see you immediately... Do you remember the letter I received this week?"
"Of course, Finnick," I tell him, but my mind is elsewhere.
I stand up and walk to the washing basin. The cold water sends shivers up my arms and it quickly turns grayish as the black blood desintegrates from my skin. I pick the dry blood on my nails, drawing blood from scrubbing too hard.
"If you need to let it out, I'm all ears, Peter."
"I am good, Finnick. You may go back to your duties."
I sense Finnick's eyes on me. Duties? Since when am I so formal with him? I bend down and bring some water to my face, once again scrubbing it out the dry blood.
"I'll see you later," is his final answer before he leaves.
...
I wake up with a jolt from my sleep.
It is late afternoon. The rays of the sunset pierce the window and crawl up the floor. I have a mild headache, and the void in my chest is barely gone.
I try to sit up. For a moment I forget my injury, and put pressure on it. Cold shivers shoot up my neck and down my arm. My bare feet touch the floor. I stare at the window like it is the most interesting object in the room.
From the corner of my eye, I notice something on the round table. A tray of food. Possibly cold food.
A knock on the door echoes around the silent room.
"Come in," I say in a hoarse voice. I swallow some saliva.
The door opens. Finnick steps into the room, a new change of clean clothes, but there are still stains of blood on his neck.
"You did not wake me up, Finnick," I answer the question in his eyes.
He closes the door behind him just as I am standing up. "I'll ask the cook to prepare you something new."
"I am good." I reach for the vest at the foot of the bed. The second I twist my injured shoulder to dress the vest, I have bite my lip to contain the growl of pain. "Are you here to take to Katherine?"
"Yes, but to check on you first."
"Just a swollen shoulder and a tired mind. Nothing I cannot endure." I assure him, doubting my own response.
"There is time to see her in the morning. After the events of this day..."
"A lot of casualities?"
"Three councilmen and a few guards," Finnick speaks quietly like he is mourning their deaths. I find it a bit annoying, but I am just grumpy from the lack of rest.
"Will they be put to rest today?"
"No."
I nod absentmindedly. "Lead the way, Finnick."
He eyes me, confused by my somewhat cold answer. Finnick grabs the handle and opens the door.
...
The path to Master Bernard's chambers is done in silence. I follow Finnick, my mind empty of any thoughts.
The door opens. Master Bernard looks at us sadly, mostly at me.
"You may go ahead, Your Highness. I have to discuss a matter with Commander Odair," he says as he steps into the hall, leaving the door open for me.
I look at Finnick for a moment, particularly curious to know the subject, but I quickly look away and enter the chambers, closing the door behind me. My feet immediately take me to Katherine.
My eyes admire the white sheet over her body. The spark of hope is still inside me, no matter how small it may be. I still believe she will wake up, but the moment I roll the sheet back her nearly gray skin ends any hint of hope.
Her cheeks are hollow, her lips are a fine soft-pink line, and her eyes are slowly turning a dark purple. This Katherine will be imprinted in my mind for the rest of my life. I am certain every time I think of the good times, I will be haunted by her dead features. But is this the way I want to remember her?
I can walk away and erase this meeting from my mind. I can replace the void with memories of our time together. I can remember her like that forever. A clean image.
However, this is the most realistic image I will have of her. It is the image that will tell me to move on, to have a happier life. I find her hand under the sheet, entwine our fingers and on impulse lower my face to hers and kiss her lips. There is no taste or feel.
The door opens. I straighten up and let go of her hand.
"Your Highness," Master Bernard calls.
One last look at Katherine.
I pull the sheet over her face, turn around and leave without a word to Master Bernard.
...
That night...
A sharp pain ignites my body.
The world is white and cold.
I move to free myself.
I fight the thin fabric that keeps me prisoner, but in the end I tumble to the side and fall suddenly. In a second I am in contact with a hard, slippery and icy surface. The pain trespasses my heart like a spear, the little air in my lungs gone in a matter of seconds.
My eyes try to focus on the hard surface, but I can only see a dark blur. My fingers touch the surface, testing its texture, feeling every crease and lump.
A floor.
I pick up a sound. A creak, which means a door is close by. It is then followed by a dry crash and a muffled scream. I blink several times. When I finally get a hold of my surroundings, I see a tray laying on the floor, food scattered like chess pieces.
I am deeply sorry for taking a long time to write this chapter! Inspiration is hard to find when we procrastinate the most. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed turning Peeta into a heartless murderer. I do not know when the next chapter will come, but I am crossing my fingers it will be soon (possibly before the end of the year). Finally, for those who still wait on the chapters after months of nothing, I thank you for everything! A kind word from you is always a plus.