Thank you to all those who are still reviewing regularly. A chapter of more reasonable length this time. Achlys will fall in 3-6 chapters.
Year 15 August, before dawn.
"Get up."
Mags' fingers curled around her soft pillow in protest.
"Get up, fierce victor," Cereus said softly, brushing her hair away from her face.
"It's dark," Mags protested. Why was that evil man waking her up?
Cereus' laughter made a small smile flit over her lips. "That's because you're trying to hide under the pillow."
What if she was? It was still much too early. Even the sailors were still asleep.
"Have you ever gone on top of the lighthouse to see the sun rise?"
Mags furrowed her brow against the pillow. Must they go now?
"I do expect to come back, you know," Mags mumbled, clutching her sheets harder.
She squealed when Cereus picked her up and opened the automatic shutters. The cool wind envelopped her and her drowsiness fled when she saw her boyfriend's eager grin.
Reaping Day. No wonder he couldn't stay still.
"Did you even sleep at all?" She said, nuzzling against his chest.
Cereus stole a kiss. "No. Be glad I've got enough self-restraint to nicely watch you leave to Lycorias. These Games had better be short, or I'll file a complaint."
Bubbling laughter escaped from Mags' lips. She'd love to see him threatening the gamemakers.
"The keys of the lighthouse are in the bottom drawer near the front door," she said, stifling a huge yawn at the thought of all those flight of stairs. Her man had the most dynamic idea of romantic she'd ever seen but Circe, it was sexy.
"Great," Cereus said, stealing another kiss before gently letting her down, "and don't you dare get dressed before I come back."
"Of course not, darling," Mags said with a knowing smile.
A yawn got the better of her. Cereus winced, guilt flashing across his features as the clock chimed six.
"Bear with me, you're used to this," he said, glaring out the window. "You're quite certain you don't need a personal guard in the Capitol?" He said, seriousness barely hidden behind his joking tone. "I'd dye my hair to blend in if I must."
A broad smile tinged with sadness bloomed on Mags' lips. "I'll be fine, Cereus," she said, pulling him into a tight hug. "I'll blow a kiss your way every night."
Year 15 August, Capitol days.
Mags pushed back her nervousness. She had Vicuña and Lucian on her side. The others shouldn't be too hard to convince.
"If the career system expands to District One, you will never have a victor."
Apollonia's painted lips curled into a disgusted smile. "Why should I believe Vicuña's word?" Eleven's escort said. Her blue nails were long enough to be classified as weapons.
"She'd gain nothing by lying," Mags replied. "It's not about the Capitol or influence here." She hoped Apollonia's competitiveness would play in her favor.
"Then next year, I want a victor."
Mags shook her head. "It doesn't work like that."
"I could warn the Gamemakers of your machinations," the Capitolite threatened, fury flashing in her eyes at the refusal.
Mags wondered how much the gamemakers already knew and if they even cared.
"You are the escort of the rebel District," she said and she hoped Apollonia heard what she wasn't saying: that the position hadn't been given to Apollonia as a favor but as a second chance and that the escort with the feathery red crest couldn't afford to misstep. "I know of Euryale's plans. Already Two's, Five's and Eight's escorts have been replaced by her tools. It would be better for us to be allies."
Apollonia had been the loudest supporter of the Hunger Games among the escorts, but Lucian had assured Mags that the woman was also frank and uncomplicated. Mags could deal with someone evil, as long as she feared no backstabbing.
"The Games would lose all appeal if they became too predictable," Apollonia granted. The glitter in her eyes belied her detached tone. Mags hadn't needed Lucian to know this woman was desperate for some recognition, to have some say in who won or lost in the Hunger Games.
Year 15 August, Capitol days.
"She could win," Rowan said, "she is already a crowd favorite. She can keep her head in a crisis."
Teal, the girl from Seven was called Teal, and nature had seen fit to gift her with the same strawberry blonde hair that had softened the face of the rebel who had unwittingly stolen Constantine's heart.
Mags prayed that her Teal had safely escaped the Bunker all those years ago.
"This is greater than a single life, Rowan." Every time she saw the sixteen year old tribute, it was as if needles were pushed into her heart.
"Tell that to her," the man who had been her lover whispered, his hands folded before his face.
Mags looked down. She knew what she was asking. She knew it whenever she looked into a teenager's eye and encouraged them to volunteer, even when the future tribute didn't know themselves.
"She will save hundreds of lives if this is the price to pay to keep One humane," she said, willing him and the others to understand.
"You don't know that," Rowan said, his expression dark. "Vicuña could still be overruled."
Mags tensed in anger when Bianca agreed with the older man. They would never change things if victors wouldn't believe in their own power.
"We don't just need One to win. We need Two to lose," Comet declared. "It needs to be obvious, humiliating, to show their training doesn't make them much better than us."
"How do you propose to do that?" Mattock asked. His eyes were hooded, but he was listening.
That was the only thing Mags asked. As long as they listened, things would get done.
"The tributes must be part of this," Mags said. "The will be told what they need to know."
Year 15 August, Arena days.
Again the Gamemakers saw fit to give Careers supplies, leading the six trained tributes to form an alliance. Mags thought it strategical suicide, to trust the people who had the greatest chance of killing you, but this year, it was part of the plan.
Panic flashed in Craig's blue eyes when "his" alliance –who'd been promised a shower of sponsor gifts if they followed Vicuña's and Mags' instructions - committed mutiny, making him look ridiculously unprepared. Mags' tributes perished when they played the exact same trick a few hours later on Craig's brutish district partner, but for once, hope accompanied Mags' sorrow. Their deaths didn't feel so meaningless as they had the years before.
Back to back, Garnet with his quarterstaff, and Cherie with her curved blades, towered over the other tributes on their supplies filled hill.
Mordred wasn't blind. "How did you obtain so many sponsors, Vicuña?" He demanded, his muscled arms crossed threateningly across his torso.
Of the friendship that had linked the two first Career victors after Mordred's victory, only shards held together by a tenuous form of kinship remained.
The blonde gave Mordred a small haughty smile. "They don't want the Games to be predictable because of the volunteers, Mordred."
Neither was he stupid. "So they sponsor a weaker volunteer?"
"I cannot rival with your conditioning system," Vicuña replied through bared teeth, "So instead, I train idols. Garnet is handsome, he is smooth and he can sing. He knows how to please a Capitol crowd. You faded after your Games, you and your powerful killing machines," she said, giving the sullen Domitia a small nod. "I am as popular as I was eight years ago, because I make sure not to be forgotten."
"You're their pet, Vicuña," Mordred said with a sardonic grimace. "I won't be a bloody toy. I train tributes not actors."
Mags shook her head. The man had yet to understand how power worked in the Capitol.
Year 15 August, Arena days.
"Hello, gorgeous," a flirtatious accented voice called.
Mags' lips broke into a wry smile when she recognized Plutarch. She couldn't believe that opinionated blue-eyed boy was already taller than she was. As she sized the fourteen year old up, she realized he was definitely broader than Cereus.
"How quickly they grow," she teased, adjusting the last laces on her lavish purple gown.
His slight blush and resulting shy grin reminded her Plutarch was still quite the adolescent. He looked very smart in his red and black long suit and Mags didn't have the heart to tell him the thick silver monocle was overdoing it.
"Have you seen Glynn and Syrianus yet?" She asked.
"Syrianus is being fussed over by his mother, aren't you supposed to be with Glynn?"
That was why she was asking. In the whirlwind of organizing her wedding, Glynn had forgotten to give her a map of the place. Plutarch was the first guest she'd run into in the maze of flower-filled corridors.
A smile bloomed on her lips as she remembered how nervous Glynn had been when she had asked her to give her away. Glynn, green-haired, in love and stuttering out of fear of being presumptuous, who would have thought?
"I'll lead you there, but first, smile," Plutarch said, adjusting the monocle.
Mags' eyes flew open in surprised when she realized that what she'd mistaken for a fashion statement was a camera.
"I'm the photographer today," Plutarch said, puffing up proudly. "They both wanted a private ceremony and since no one gets married during the Games, they easily found a place to rent. President Achlys might come by, Glynn invited her."
"She did?" Mags exclaimed, repressing a groan. Why? Surely the woman had better things to do that come.
Plutarch shrugged. "She said it was only polite and that in Creneis the mayor is invited to most weddings." He chuckled. "I don't think there are twenty families in the Capitol who'd dare to invite the President, and even some of her relatives would probably pass if there was nothing to gain politically, like here." His cheerful face broke into a grin. "Smile again."
Mags tilted her chin up and gazed down into the camera. Years as a victor had taught her to weather a photo shoot without grumbling.
"Who knows, Achlys might even be flattered in this case," Mags said, struggling to be positive.
Plutarch laughed. "Syrianus will never be a political animal. Glynn is self-taught and she swears it's better to be too nice sometimes. You district people have big hearts. I'll come to Four one day, I mean it," he added, his jovial blue eyes glittering in anticipation.
"Anytime," Mags laughed. "When will you start your classes to become a psychiatrist?"
"After graduation, at eighteen. I've been reading books in the meantime. I might get an internship this year with Dr. Newman. He's a star in the field," Plutarch said with a large satisfied smile. "Let's hunt down the bride."
The bride wore a splendid ivory sleeveless dress that spread out into a shimmering gown lined with dazzling pearls. She was reading a book, her bare feet on the table next to her pearl-embellished shoes and scowled when Plutarch's monocle clicked.
Her scowl vanished and she beamed at Mags."Finally!"
"Shouldn't you be fussing over your makeup rather than reading-" Mags shuffled over to glance at the cover. " -Adam Smith, Glynn?"
An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. The title itself threatened to give Mags a headache. Only Glynn would immerse herself in theoretical concepts on her wedding day.
"My makeup's perfect," Glynn said with a pleased little smile. She grinned and made her dress spin. "See that, taste in the Capitol. It took me a whole three months to find a stylist I could tolerate." She put her book down and leaned over to kiss Mags' cheek. "Thank goodness someone from home could make it, you look wonderful," she said squeezing the victor's hands, her eyes suspiciously moist. "I'm sorry I didn't invite the other mentors, but –"
Mags squeezed back, "Oh don't, this is a happy event. Forget the Games and miserable people," she said. There were times to be selfish.
"You'll notice I waited until your tributes were dead before dragging you out," Glynn said with a wink.
Plutarch gasped, turning to Mags in alarm but the victor just laughed. "How sensitive of you," she said in exaggerated sweet tones. Glynn hadn't changed so much after all. "Now put your shoes on, you shouldn't be late at your own wedding."
"I"ll go check everyone's in place," Plutarch said, stealing a last shot before he sped off.
"I'm scared, I want my Pa," Glynn grumbled as they walked out. She looked irritated rather than truly reluctant.
Mags squeezed her dear friend's arm. The flowers' perfume was exquisite, but no woman of Four should have her wedding inside. The pictures and movies would never justly capture how radiant Glynn was today. In a fair world, the Corduroys would have been allowed to come.
"How'd you two hook up?" They'd gotten down the whys Glynn was getting married the last time Glynn had been in Creneis, but Mags still barely knew how their relationship had evolved.
"See Dylana and Caspian? I actually got the clueless guy to notice me," Glynn said with a happy smile. "I'm not sure Syri realized what was happening to him."
Mags chuckled. "No trouble with his family?"
Glynn's eyes sparkled as she shook her head. "It took a bit of doing, and the trick is to earn respect rather than trying to fit in in a world that will never be yours. They'll be fine grandparents."
"Nothing to worry about, then," Mags said with a bright smile, squeezing Glynn's arm once more. The bracelets she recognized, they were from Four, just colored string and seashells. It made her smile.
Mags swallowed when she saw the group of assembled guest. Just thirty people, but so Capitol. Her now stiff smile almost fell when she recognized the white-haired woman wearing a black and gold dress on the second row. "You could have told me I was also dressing up for Madam President and consort."
"It was the polite thing to do," Glynn whispered back, apology and defensiveness warring on her face. "Besides, I think she's lonely."
Mags didn't answer, but only because it was Glynn's wedding day.
She smothered a broad grin when she saw Syrianus' expression as he spotted his future wife.
Cereus had better look at her like that if they ever got married.
A sixth sense alerted Mags of a presence. Her presence. Mags hastily make sure she didn't have any juice on her lips.
Of course Achlys was perfect, radiating the power of a nation and outshining everyone but the bride.
"Madam President, Sir, I'm surprised you would make the time."
Mags hoped the fact she'd spent the last fifteen minutes preparing what she'd say if Achlys came to see her didn't show.
"I will not be staying long," Achlys said with a small smile, "but it had been a while since I had attended a wedding."
"Mags," the President's husband exclaimed, raising his glass in salute. "One of the few people Eva talks about without complaining."
Mags bowed her head in greeting. For some reason she'd expected Lucius Achlys to be a block of ice, no matter what Myia had said. Instead he looked like a cheerful aristocratic man in his twilight years, cane and all.
"I'm thrilled Glynn has found her place in the Capitol," she said, careful not to steer the conversation on dangerous grounds.
"She is a willful girl," Achlys replied with a knowing smile. "Debauching peacekeepers, Mags? You are aware victors are exempt of the child bearing laws."
Mags' startled expression made quite clear she wasn't. She blinked her shock away, realizing the President was still waiting for an answer.
Give me a break. Her heart twinged at the mention of Cereus. She ached for him, for a hand to hold in this hostile land.
"Cereus has got more perspective and a sharper mind than most sailors. Glynn had to come here to find someone suitable," Mags pointed out, hoping they wouldn't hear her hammering heart. "I'm more modest, but in Creneis..." She said with an intent expression that would have made Lucian proud.
She was turning into such a snob.
Achlys chuckled, and Mags smiled back, happy that the years had taught her to handle the woman's periodic friendliness without fearing the worst.
When the music started, Mags saw that Glynn hadn't lied. Reflective and serious Syrianus was graceful as few could claim on the dancefloor.
"My Lady?" Lucius said, turning to his wife.
Mags shook her head slightly as the couple left her, creating a invisible bubble as people instinctively moved away from them, but not seeming to care in the least.
Had Glynn been right? Mags frowned at the thought. Alcohol inhibitor or not, she wasn't having any more champagne. Achlys didn't deserve her sympathy.
"My Lady?" Plutarch said with an impish grin.
Mags accepted his outstretched hand with an apologetic smile. "You'll have to teach me all the steps, young Sir."
Year 15, August, Arena days.
Her head still full of music and dances, Mags watched Garnet bring his staff down on the last tribute standing between him and victory.
Garnet was a bright lad. He was also vain, with his long brown hair and perfect alabaster skin, but Mags could see it was a shield, a way to keep people at arm's length. He was human, with all the darkness and issues that entailed.
He was human, and that made Mags sigh with relief. She'd tried to talk to Mordred, but he didn't see it, why his training center wasn't humane. He spoke of children escaping the quarries, of giving Panem the best peacekeepers. He was proud of his academy and did not see Domitia's cruelty. In truth, she respected him enough to mute her blood thirst around him. But Domitia respected only volunteers and she loved the Games, loved them more than many Capitolites.
Vicuña didn't love them, Garnet didn't, and even Mordred saw them only as a fatality they had to mold into a tool.
"People are weak, finally the strong are given their due," Domitia had said, vindictive triumph darkening her gaze.
Even Flickerman had looked unsettled.
Mags smiled when Garnet walks on stage for the final interview, all glitter and honey for the crowd's amusement.
She wasn't the only one. This time, the districts had won.
Power, it had been so long since many of them had tasted it.
Year 15, October.
"I'm getting married."
Mags' eyebrows shot to her hairline as Esperanza came skipping in.
She had a look Mags knew well, the one that said 'my heart is now taken'. Mags also knew for a fact that Esperanza had been dating her current boyfriend no longer than three weeks.
"Who's the lucky guy?" She said, unable to keep all the skepticism out of her voice.
"Adrian Odair, he's -"
"I know the Odairs," Mags cut in. Sailors and shipwrights mostly, a cheerful bunch. "Isn't their eldest like eight?"
"He's sixteen," Esperanza shot back, her dark eyes wide and dreamy, "perfectly legal."
"You're eighteen!" What kind of boy got married at sixteen?
Esperanza glared. "So?"
Mags conceded her point with a nod. "What kind of guy is he?"
Esperanza had been falling for confident social boys since her early teens. Usually her relationships were short, full of drama and ended with Esperanza declaring that all men were jerks and that she would never let herself love again. A few months later, she was with another boy. Creneis was small enough that Mags wondered where her sister found them, but she had never been alarmed to the point of interfering. Esperanza was a passionate, sincere girl who would grow up at her own pace and was wise enough to know her emotional limits.
Except Esperanza hadn't been talking about marriage back then. Mags wasn't prepared to let this go.
"He thinks he knows better than me what I want, but it's hot, and most of the time he's actually right. He makes me laugh so hard. He's a rooster, Sis, seriously," the raven-haired young woman said with a laugh, "but he doesn't look at other girls and when I'm with his friends he makes sure I feel good and never puts me down. He doesn't let me tease him in front of the guys though," she said with a grin. "We fight, but it's just that we're both loud, and it's never nasty or in public. He listens, he does, and that's rare." Her smile fell and a rare confidence illuminated her face. "I think he's for real. He's smarter and more mature than any I've dated yet. And he's hot," she added with a grin. "Darvi likes him."
Darvi Solal, the one guy who'd rejected Esperanza and undoubtedly her best male friend. Darvi approving of one of her sister's boyfriends was rare enough to make Mags pause, but knowing Esperanza, she'd have taken a shrug to mean 'I agree he's wonderful'.
"Well if he's a mature sixteen year old and Darvi approves..."
"Screw you, I don't need your permission," Esperanza shot back. "I'm thinking of moving out."
Mags started. First marriage now this? "Esperanza, take it slow, I can understand it all feels wonderful now but -"
Esperanza shrugged. "Then I'll come back."
Mags frowned. Sometime in recent years, her sister had turned into a whirlwind she could barely keep up with.
"If it doesn't work," Esperanza said with a warm smile, "I'll come back, Big Sis. I'll rather get my hopes up and deal with the disappointment later than tip-toe around life. I won't come back pregnant," Esperanza said with an eyeroll. "Although with Adrian, any kid would be gorgeous. On the topic of kids, you might want to start thinking about it, Mags. Biological clock's ticking, you're almost a quarter century."
Mags glowered. "I need to see with Dr. Alexanders if I can stop the hormone regulators before we even discuss it with Cereus," she granted, if only to close the subject.
She didn't want to admit that becoming a mother on top of everything else terrified her. How could she be there for a child when she had barely enough time for every thing else? Besides, Cereus was golden, but they'd been together less than a year. If it wasn't for her mother, who'd be there if Mags ever messed up, the victor wouldn't even be considering children.
"You want to meet Adrian?" Esperanza said. Circe, the girl was almost bouncing.
Mags nodded. "For sure." She grinned. Sometimes she envied Esperanza's ability to enjoy every morsel of happiness life gifted her with with no fear of future storms.
Year 15, December.
"Would you prefer if I moved out?"
Mags almost choked on her water. Had Esperanza -still happily unmarried with Adrian Odair- indirectly brought this about?
"Mama, don't be ridiculous. The house is huge, you're never in the way and I like having you here. Besides, what kind of daughter kicks her own mother out?" Mags stared at the woman, incredulous. "If you're feeling old, I can buy you a hair dye."
Angelites grinned, her eyebrows shooting up. "A hair dye? Grey hair adds character, Precioza," she said pointedly. "Don't get offended, I was just asking."
"But why? Did you have a dream in which we argued?"
Mags couldn't help feeling selfconscious. Did her mother feel like an intruder now that Cereus had all but moved in?
"I'm simply of the mind things need to be said. I'm staying," her mother said, raising her hands in surrender before walking over to plant a noisy kiss on Mags' forehead. "Te quiero, Precioza."
"Te adoro, Mama," Mags replied with a grin.
Cereus cleared his throat as he shut the front door behind him.
"It's hot when you speak Spanish," he said, his mischievous eyes sparkling in delight. "You should roll your 'r's in English too."
"That's also my mother you're talking about," Mags scolded as he reached her side. She loved to tease him.
Cereus squeezed her waist in response, false innocence widening his eyes. "Your Mama is hotter than mine," he said shamelessly.
Mags slapped his hand away. There was no way he would be getting the last word here.
Angelites was struggling to contain her laughter.
Year 16, February.
"No!"
"Yes."
"This had better no be a joke," Mags warned. "I'd hate you, Marquise!"
"Numbers don't lie, Miss Mags," Marquise said cheerfully. "Crime rates have fallen to 187% of what they are in District One. Want to find someone with nice curly writing to tell Madam President?"
Mags took a deep breath, unmindful of the biting cold. "We are so awesome," she exclaimed, not caring about the gawking passersby as she threw herself into Marquise's arms.
They'd have earned every last piece of those meteorological radars.
Year 16, August, end of the 16th Hunger Games.
A guilty part of Mags wished she had sponsored Eleven like Apollonia had asked her to the year before.
Year sixteen, the year no tornado had killed in Four. The mentally stable had jobs and houses, Creneis Town was richer and cripples could be taken care of by their own families instead of left to beg in the streets. The Academy was a great success and for every volunteer there were ten children like Catalina and Angelo who left with skilled jobs and a smile on their faces.
Volunteers. Broken, violent, power hungry. Mags saved those she could and those she let play she rarely liked, even if she did her best to do right by them in the Capitol. Delmar had been the exception and there had been no unexpected volunteer since poor Deniz.
Mags bit her fingers. She'd known this would happen one day.
Tang's temper would have had him cast out of his village had his father not been chief. A chief who'd ruthlessly used the adoration his wild son bore him as a tool. Tang was untiring and relentless. He'd been the first trainee Mags had ever hit and she'd been dismayed to see how force had succeeded to have him follow the rules when logic, understanding and example had failed. He obeyed her, but her only. His father had sent Tang to her when he realized his hold on his son was slipping. Mags knew the sixteen-year-old now saw her as his new family. A twisted power-bent version of family.
"I thought it was a mark of favoritism," Tang had said with a bitter smile tinged with hate. "That father loved me most because he trusted me with stuff and not my siblings. He trusted me like you trust your dog to dirty his mouth with the blood of a thief trying to get in your house. He's stupid enough to think me coming here was his idea."
She didn't doubt him capable of love, passionate, exclusive love at least, but compassion and friendship were alien to him. Vengeance had sustained him and nothing they had said had gotten through. Puberty made him unattractive and even if adulthood would solve most of his problems, it hadn't helped in the Academy. He took every look, even benign ones, as an insult that strengthened his resolve to return victorious. After six months of fruitless attempts to placate his anger, Mags had decided to train him for good. Tang should have waited another year, but no power in Panem could have stopped him from volunteering by then.
Tang had betrayed his unsuspecting allies and hunted at night. The Prowler, the Capitol called him. He had no empathy and no desire to impress anyone nor to let his victims know they were about to die. Rocks, blades, poison, anything did the job. Darkness, loneliness, danger, all the terrors that twisted tributes' minds left him unruffled. When he saw an opportunity, he pounced. He was frighteningly good at spotting weaknesses, and one by one, his enemies had fallen until none was left.
It didn't feel like a victory.
"You look appalled. Can't say I'd marry him, but he's yours, Mags," Bianca said, putting an hand on her shoulder in worry. "Isn't that good?"
District Four had a victor. Mags had taught Tang to fall asleep in extreme conditions, to nap in a way that would leave him full of energy at night. She'd showed him how to kill and what behavior to expect of the other tributes. She'd made that murderer. She'd sent the sixteen year old to his death and he had survived.
"I have no clue what to do," she whispered.
A revenge bent victor, someone who had been encouraged to cultivate some of his worst traits rather than be given the years of psychological care he would have needed to turn his life around.
The gangly brown-haired youth could never know Mags hadn't believed in him, or truly, no one in Panem would be able to control Tang Netter.
Year 16, August, end of the 16th Hunger Games.
Tang grinned when she went to visit him in the regeneration facility. "I'm a victor, I can do anything now."
Mags tried to warn him then.
She failed.
I've taken a bit of liberty with Finnick's and Mags' relationship. She won't be immediate family, but he'll grow up with her around.
Please review!^^.