Last week Haymitch began to teach Katniss how to harness and use her power. She learned that not all magic is pure some of it could lead her down a dark path. It was a warning the Seneca Crane never listened to. Crane's overconfidence was his downfall and this week he is dealing with the aftermath.

The Future

Seneca Crane stood before the walls of the Olvidado's castle in utter shock.

King Snow pulled the reins and guided his horse directly to him. He paused and stared down at Crane. "We will talk when we get back!"

Crane didn't dare speak as he heard the clip-clop of the horse's hooves as the King moved away. Crane wiggled his fingers that tingle of magic was low. He sighed heavily and pondered what had gone wrong. Lifting his head he saw the King was now addressing Plutarch.

"Plutarch!" King Snow commanded. "Tell the army to fall back."

"Of course, my liege," Plutarch bowed deeply.

"Plutarch," Crane muttered under his breath. As if hearing Crane, Plutarch turned to stare at him. Seneca swallowed bitterly as he watched Plutarch mount his steed.

"Retreat," Plutarch called when the King left.

The King's guard followed the King closely.

Crane found his horse, which was left by itself. He mounted and proceeded to follow the procession back to camp.

Traveling back to the campsite took longer than expected. When they arrived the night was almost gone. There was only an hour or two before the sun would begin its trek across the inky sky.

As the men on horseback trotted back into the camp Seneca was at the end of the procession of King Snow's army.

Seneca rode past the men in Snow's army, he looked to Plutarch but he turned his face. The men took their cue from Plutarch; they did not make eye contact with him. As they dismounted and took care of their horses it was eerily quiet. He passed by the King's tent and the guards lifted their halberd and crossed it over the King's tent.

Seneca kept his head high as he trotted by them. Before they left the men were boisterous and jovial. Now the morale of the men was low. They expected an easy victory but were handed a demoralizing defeat.

"Sire," his page greeted as soon as Seneca reached his tent.

"Take care of the horse," Seneca said, dismounting.

The show of force did not proceed as King Snow wanted. No one could have predicted the appearance of that wily old wizard Haymitch. Seneca sighed as he entered his spacious tent.

It was well-lit and there was a warm fire in the center to greet him. His page had left a good portion of bread and mead for him to drink. Seneca removed his dark purple hooded cloak and blankly stared down at the material in his hand. The night sky embroidered in silver thread was no comfort to him. He replayed the evening in his mind.

The odds were in their favor. The castle was not the strong fortress it had once been. Its walls were weakened by time and disrepair. They had no army. Just a handful of untried men who only kept the peace among the vendors.

They were supposed to rattle King Daniel, perhaps get him to abdicate or surrender. It did not turn out as he had hoped. Seneca gripped his cloak and threw it to the side. Years ago he went against Haymitch, his mentor, to help bring Snow to power.

Back then Haymitch was someone to be feared. Natheless, he had found a way to bring down Haymitch. Seneca exploited Haymtich's only weakness to defeat the crafty wizard.

Seneca had killed Maysilee, Haymitch's soulmate. He stole her essence to become the strongest wizard of the land. The price for such a deep and wicked act, was high, natheless in his youthful zeal for power, it did not seem great. Seneca instantly aged, turning into a doddering geezer, moving forward he would age backward every time he used his power to its fullest extent.

He'd chosen Snow after having a vision of them overtaking the Mellark's kingdom. On his vision, the King had invited the two Princes to the Capitol. Everything happened just as he had foreseen. Though tonight was unexpected.

Haymitch turned the tables around and exploited his one weakness.

Angrily Seneca kicked over his stool and growled in frustration. Haymitch was a drunk, and his magic was weak, yet undeniably the weasel had gotten the best of him.

He seethed internally. Tonight he had come off as weak.

"Now why take out your grievances on the stool, Crane?"

The King's voice was soft.

The softer the King's voice became the more dangerous he was as an opponent. He had seen the King strike an opponent with the ruthless cunning of a snake, all the while speaking softly. Seneca wiggled his hand, the magic crackled weakly between his fingers. He had to play his cards right. He turned to face the King. Seneca bowed and greeted, "Sire."

Plutarch stood behind the king. Plutarch's right hand, a creature called Lyme, stood next to Plutarch. Crane did not know what Lyme was, but it was a brute, with a thick neck and beady eyes that peered out from the helmet the giant wore. Lyme's hand cradled on the pommel of the sword, ready to strike.

"I thought you said King Daniel was an easy prey?"

Crane did not dare speak. He found hope as the King's voice had some grit to it, his voice had lost its softness. Seneca hoped to take advantage of the fickle King's temperament. At this point the King could forgive or he could strike.

"I was displeased by what happened. I thought you held more power than Haymitch?" King Snow said standing before Crane.

Crane calmly said, "I am but he used nature, the lightning scared the horses."

"Ah yes the horses," King Snow said, as he quirked an eyebrow upward.

"Haymitch is a weak old fool who has been weakened by the loss and his obsession with drink."

"And even in his weakened state, he still managed to best you," King Snow pointed out.

"With tricks."

"I should not underestimate Haymitch, he served Paylor. Her magic ran deep within her veins. I never met the woman but Haymitch knew her well. He survived Thread and my sister. He even survived going up against you once more."

Seneca was aware that Haymitch was crafty but he wasn't as powerful. "He is weak."

"But he made it here without our knowledge and managed to best you, and made me look like a fool."

It was true they looked like fools and Crane hoped the King wouldn't take it out on him. Currently, his energy was drained and he needed to recuperate. He furiously thought of a way to sift the King's ire to Haymitch and give him the time he needed.

"We need to find out why Haymitch is here and when he arrived," Plutarch said.

"Plutarch is correct, I want to know what that old drunk is doing inside that castle?" The King said.

"I can find out," Plutarch volunteered.

"Good," Snow said. "I do not trust Haymitch."

Plutarch left but Lyme was left behind.

"So what do you think?" King Snow asked him.

"I need to consult the heavens but I need at least a week."

"I grant you two days."

"As you wish my liege," Crane said bowing.

"Good."

The King left and Seneca slid to perch himself on the stool he'd kicked over. He had two days to figure out why Haymitch was here and how to kill him. He was sure that he had seen the castle walls tumble and at no point had he seen Haymitch Abernathy.

Seneca rubbed his face as he stood, tonight he needed to rest. The quest would wait a day, it wasn't as if they could go anywhere.

Special thanks to Jrosley who was my beta on this chapter. She's really been great and I wanted to thank her for all of her help. It's so hard writing for my bestie and not discussing plot lines with her lol. I Norbertsmom to be surprised because she deserves a great story.