The Sacrifice
AN: If anyone else feels like this fic is taking forever, that's because it is. Action in the next chapter, I promise!
"Petra, you'll have to walk faster," Tasha Pushkina encourages.
I sink ankle deep in sand. "I can't walk in these damn shoes, I told you that!"
"But you must," Tiberia's harsh voice rings from somewhere ahead of me. "There is no other way."
"I have to stand in them," I tell Tasha as she leads Malcovitch by the hand. "Walking is an entirely optional matter." Cry-baby skips along beside her, bare feet treading easily through the uneven ground.
"You and I are talking later," I remind him. "And you are so not sleeping with me tonight." Not after these ridiculous costumes and absolutely scandalous implications. If District 2's Tributes will attract attention, I can't even imagine what our own pairing will incite.
Xavier smiles, and wrinkles the corners his overlarge eyes. "What else can you say?" I demand, unimpressed.
"I don't think he was actually talking," Tasha intones. "He just made a noise, that's all."
"I don't care. I'm tired. I'm sore. He can go make noise somewhere else tonight."
"It'll be over soon enough," she promises. "And I'll see about getting you a foot and calf massage, okay?"
Sure. Just not from Klerkov's whores. We walk in silence for a long ways. "You're awfully quiet."
"Did you-" I stop.
"What were you and Raelius talking about? It's safe now," she whispers, barely audible over the din of the crowd in the Colosseum above us. "No one can hear you."
Did you really fuck a Peacekeeper to avoid being an Avox? I want to know. Did you really kill that girl? But I can't ask that, can't doubt her, not after all the things she'll told me about the Capitol, losing her virginity, the mothering and backrub she gave me on the train…
"Never mind," I finish glumly. "It's not important."
"He told you things, didn't he," she states, her slanted eyes sad.
My head jerks stiffly.
She presses my hand. "Ask anything. Anything, Petra. Perhaps you're not a woman yet, but you're a grown girl and I'm not afraid to answer. I have nothing to hide from either of you."
"Cinna said you overdosed a girl and slept with a peacekeeper to cover it up," I race. "He said that Klerkov ate a whore-"
Her masked face is unreadable. "You'll have to ask Klerkov about that," she replies.
I groan. "And you?"
"I did." Tasha Pushkina tells me without hesitation. "I'm not proud of it but I did."
"Tasha-"
"I was careless with the dosing and she was naïve to the drug. I should've known better but I was already high myself." She admits.
"Why?" My heart pounds. I have to know.
"Why what?"
"Why sleep with him?" I demand desperately. "After everything you told me on the train-"
"It was do what was asked of me or die, Petra." She says after a long, long pause. "You're going into the Hunger Games, and you'll understand that, soon enough." She accidentally killed one. I mean to outlive twenty-three. I shudder. "Be careful," she tells me in parting. "Of him. Of both of them."
"I have to trust him," I decide. "He was honest with me." I have no choice. Of all the people I've yet to meet, Cinna Raelius has been the only one with nothing to hide. He outright admitted to having an uncle on the Senate…and a brother who is far too critical of the Capitol's politics. But regardless of whatever else, Cinna Raelius still wants-needs-me to win.
Tasha Pushkina stands on tip-toes but can barely kiss my cheek. "You're young, Petra. So very young. Don't mistake him for your friend just for that. Being honest isn't the same as being kind."
The Chariot is waiting for us. Klerkov and Cinna take my hands to hoist me up. I can't make the step in these impractical shoes. Tasha bundles Cry-baby in beside me.
…this is it, I realize. The Games begin now.
"You must be, girl." Tiberia rasps. "Do not forget who you are."
"I won't," I promise. "Really."
"Ready?" Klerkov asks me appraisingly.
"Ready." I affirm.
"Really?"
"Hell, no." I admit. "Not at all."
"Good." He slaps my leg with a wink. "You will do fine, my Petra, eh? Stand up straight, show the world you are not ashamed of your breasts and Victor Ivan Klerkov will do the rest."
I want to believe him. I wish I could, but Cinna's warning still echoes in my ears. He's not let you down yet, I remind myself.
…no, Petra, it's worse than that. Victor Ivan Klerkov has outright used you.
"Be careful, Petra." Tasha says, tearing. "Take care of him."
"I will," again I promise Malcovna. "I will."
"And for Games' sake don't fall on your ass in those shoes," Cinna Raelius interrupts drily. " 'Petra Angelovna, the girl-who-fell'. You'd never live it down."
He's wrong, though. If I fuck this up I won't have a chance to live at all.
District 5's anthem is all but lost. Above us, all around us, outside that gateway the Colosseum erupts into cheers. Malcovitch stands on tip-toes beside me, trying to get a better look. "We'll see it all, soon enough," I promise him. "And they'll cheer for us. They have too."
Our driver mounts in front of us, groomsmen brushing the last flecks of sand from the horses' harness, slicking the last patch of fur smooth and sleek with spray. "District 6 is confirmed loaded," the Game Enforcers state into their radios. "Repeat, District 6 is loaded without incident." And by incident—and the presence of so many Enforcers and Peacekeepers—I can only assume they mean Libertas. They try to lead Klerkov and Tasha to the stands, but I call them back. "Stay," I ask. "Please?"
The head Enforcer is unrelenting. "Mentors, Escorts and Stylists watch from assigned seating areas-"
"Blyad," Klerkov returns, suddenly drunk again. "I am Victor Ivan Klerkov! This is my champion! If a Tribute says to stay, then Victor Ivan Klerkov will stay!" He booms. Outright belligerence, yes, but disguised so well under the pretense of a great drunken bear with dangerous claws even the Capitol's orders don't seem so urgent.
"We will await you," The Enforcers concede. "But your own head be it, Victor Ivan Klerkov, if you're late for the press." My Mentor winks.
"It's missing something," Cinna says skeptically, scratching his chin. "I'm not sold."
I'm in no mood to deal with him. "Cinna Raelius, it's fucking perfect, that's what it is."
"No," Tasha Pushkina says after a very long, very thoughtful pause. "It's missing something."
"What, boy?" Tiberia asks solemnly. "What is missing?"
"The final element," he states in such seriousness I'm tempted to laugh.
"I agree." Tasha continues. "Anyone with enough confidence could wear that costume. It's not yet fully you."
Supple leather encases me from foot to thigh. Armored scales and links of chain cinch my waist and breasts. My hair and helm rise to startling heights and the pelt of a black bear hangs from my exposed shoulders. I remember my reflection, and I look terrifying. "Klerkov, do you have any idea what they're saying?" I ask helplessly.
He shrugs morosely. "Ask me about women, moya Petr'enka, or vodka. Those are my areas of expertise," he harumphs. "Here I must defer."
"Blood." Tasha Pushkina finally blurts. "It needs blood."
"The Butcher," Cinna mouth twitches. "She needs blood. Definitely."
"Human blood," My Stylist insists. "The blood of her enemies. It can be no other."
Even under her paint, Tasha Pushkina pales. "I meant, meant make-up, or, or paint or something-"
"But she would know, and in knowing, would be false."
"But the audience," my Escort reasons, "the audience would never know-"
"But she would know, and in knowing, would be false."
Tasha resists tearing her wig only out of respect for the legend before her. "But we've less than ten minutes. Where can we get it that quickly?"
"We could always kill someone," my Mentor states drily. "That is also my area of expertise."
"Your brother, Marcus," Tasha Pushkina addresses Cinna carefully. "He'd have access to the blood bank, wouldn't he?"
"No time. And I don't need his help for anything," Cinna asserts haughtily, digging a pair of shears out of 'the survival kit', as he named it. "I've got this." Above us, District 5's anthem has stopped playing. For a moment the entire Capitol is silent, waiting with bated breath. Seconds churn to hours and as our own fanfare begins to play I watch with agonizing slowness as my Apprentice does a stupid, stupid thing—
"Cinna, no-!"
The sheen of metal touches the coppery flesh of Cinna Raelius' arm. For an agonizing moment nothing happens. Then-
A spurt of blinding, bitter red. It hits me square in the face, goes pouring down my eyes, my neck, pools under my breasts, spatters across the fur of my cloak and separates into film across the surface of the armor's links and scales. And in that moment I find I can not only walk but fucking fly in those ridiculous shoes and I'm at Cinna's side the moment he hits the ground. Fingers yank those scissors from the wound, staunch the bleeding with a strong grip, hands trained to take life now desperately trying to give it. But I'm not a medic, not Marcus Raelius. I'm Petra Angelovna, the Butcher, the Stone-heart, and I've not been trained to save a life, no one's ever taught me how to save a life I only know how to take it—
He's paler than Malcovitch, I realize. He's just gone and killed himself for a fucking costume. Even under his hot blood I feel a coldness creep over my flesh. It's much more sinister than that. He's gone and killed himself to try to prove that I should trust him. "Cinna? Cinna!" I shake him. "Cinna Raelius!"
He whispers something, tries to form the words through the shock as thick, oily blood continues to spurt, soaking my clothes and skin, matting my hair and drenching the tail of the cloak. "Perfect," he manages to gasp, green eyes dying yet still ablaze with golden wonder. "You look…perfect…"
"Stable 6 to Central, Stable 6 to Central man down, man down-"
"Oh, shit, oh shit oh shit oh shit-" a girl is screaming as Klerkov's strong arms haul me back, shove me forcefully back onto the waiting platform.
"My Petra, there's no time!"
"Mentor, control your Tribute!" Harsh voices ripple through the nightmare.
"He's bleeding out, he, he cut an artery you've got to help him-!"
My Mentor's hands are torn from mine. "Petra, you must go-!"
"Help him! Please, somebody, somebody help him-!"
"Tiberia'll stay with him, he'll be fine!" Tasha shouts over the chaos. "You've got to get your ass on that Chariot!" I have to do this, I gulp down my tears. I have no choice. Cinna Raelius did this just to mess with my mind. He was nice just to make me vulnerable. He did this to make me cry and I'll lose my Sponsors, my Mentor, my life-
I will not cry. I will not die. Over the lip of the chariot I see Xavier Malcovitch curls, his eyepaint running in hot, confused streams. I shake loose the Enforcers with the brunt of my elbows and the rake of my claws. The horses smell the blood. Horses always can. They're uneasy, shying away from me, nostrils flaring, proud heads tossing with dark eyes rolling to show the whites.
I grab their halters, yank their balking faces to mine and bare my teeth as they struggle against their bits. They're stallions, yes, well muscled and fine to put on a show for the viewers of Panem, but they're broken. Spiritless. They will bear us to the other side of the massive Colosseum, and no where else. They've been trained to follow, unquestioningly, obediently, blindly.
…but no longer.
"I'm Petra Angelovna, and I'm not afraid of you!" I shake them fiercely. "I've butchered horses before. A metal rod under the tongue will bend you to my will, and a metal shard against your neck will still you forever. I've eaten horseflesh and I've tasted your blood. I've seen your naked hearts still beating and held your brains in my hands. Listen to me!" I command them. "When I touch the reigns you will listen to me!"
"Tribute!" The Driver stains against their snorting upset. "Tribute, what are you doing!"
"Something unexpected." I don't have time to look back. Don't have time to think. I have to be, and simply be. A booted foot catches him in the small of his back and he careens from the chariot with a yelp of surprise.
As the leather cracks against the horses' backs, Xavier Malcovitch's wide eyes look up at me unflinching, understanding,and unafraid. We're about to make our entrance, and the Capitol isn't ready for us. No one is.
