This is basically part Two of the previous chapter. Thank you all for your reviews.
Just one thing (and I'm entirely to blame here): Zephyr is not Showdown's President Zephyr. Actually, in terms of personality, he could be, but not in terms of timeline because this fic follows canon and therefore Snow will be President before Haymich's Games (the 50th).
Enjoy^^
Year 46, July 15th
"Wear this," Valerian said.
He kept his face impassive as Mags' green eyes met his. Wordlessly, she moved between the cupboard and the wall to don the bullet-proof tunic.
Panem deserves your best and nothing else. I'll have no son of mine be a parasite.
Every peacekeeper, every veteran and decorated officer. They had been heroes in his eyes. Valerian, as a boy, had wanted nothing else than to be a hero.
A real man uses his eyes. I despise cripples, Valerian. The harshness of his father's words had faded as the years had passed, but Valerian had never forgotten.
The gray-haired Colonel remembered the cold days, the flicker of the candles lighting the underground as they drilled until they could move their arms no more. He remembered the whispers at night, begging for the war to end, or for it to last long enough so they could have their share of the glory.
"I'm dressed," Mags announced. "Who else will be accompanying the President on this investigation?"
"Marquise, Vicuña, and three of the President's bodyguards."
His best. During his training years, his best had gone so far beyond the instructors' expectations.
No one liked heroes, and most certainly not in the shape of an antisocial cadet who spent his nights in the weapon's room or hunched over maps and records, and moved up class every six months once there was no one left to outperform.
"Only them?" Mags asked, her voice calm, barely curious.
In striking contrast her eyes were so open, swirling with emotion.
She knew. Valerian wondered if the woman before him had always known. He recalled the wiry girl so full of anger and ambition. The years had turned the anger into so much more.
He smiled. A broad, warm smile.
She was beautiful, their secret General, with a wealthy woman's shapes and lines that spoke of pride, and laughter and choices made.
"I'm starting to feel self-conscious here, Colonel," Mags said, with a growing smile of her own.
His eyes brimming with mirth, he knew she would not understand. "You look nothing like a peacekeeper," he said.
What is Panem? The victor's whispered words still echoed in his ears.
His hands were slick and cold as Major Delisle's last breath left his body. Valerian would never be the slave to the expectations of corrupt men. Already at seventeen, he had been ready to die for his ideals. And he would have died, put down like a dog, alone and unremembered had Colonel Aquila not reminded him why peacekeepers were his heroes.
"Boys who enter training dream of changing the world," Valerian said, "and when they leave, the dreams are long forgotten, and they are content to follow orders, convinced they have nothing more to prove." Valerian smiled again, "We both became the opposite of what we were to be."
All those words the Capitol made them learn, duty, sacrifice, justice, civilisation. All those words the Capitol used but had never truly wanted them to understand.
A soft smile bloomed on Mags' lips, a smile who spoke of battles lost and won, a smile that promised hope and war. "Oh, Valerian, we are exactly who we were to be. Every citizen is called to serve, and serve we have."
The Colonel's alert blue eyes flickered to the door, his ears listening for any sound. He'd had to give up field work fifteen years before, and he regretted it every single day. "She doesn't know. It wouldn't be just us if she knew. She simply suspects and she doesn't want witnesses."
He knew none of the guards that had replaced his people to secure the building for the President's visit. Young men, why bring inexperienced Homeguard on a high risk mission? Inconsistencies betrayed plots, plots promised blood. Valerian could feel the jaws of a trap about to snap shut.
But his instincts told him that he was not the target and he wondered if age had not made President Achlys unwise.
"It was just a matter of time," Mags whispered, leaning on the window sill and letting the summer heat warm her face. "I have no plan today, no plan at all," she said, her eyes lost in the distance.
"I would hope not, this District is under my command," Valerian replied. "There will be nothing done without my approval."
"Yes, Sir," Mags said, breaking into a salute.
Valerian's face hardened. He was not being witty. She was under his responsibility, and she had better obey. Grand ideals and a remarkable mind did not make Mags an elite soldier.
He held her gaze until she bowed her head.
Echoes in the corridor. Steps, precisely on time for a change.
"Colonel, the President has arrived," Marquise said after a brisk salute. "I dare hope you are no rebel, or we are in trouble."
A ghost of a smile lit Valerian's face. He had observed so long, letting insolent and yet so clever Marquise weave her web over the city. "How is Cereus?" He inquired.
"I left him well. How is your wife?" Mags replied, a slight tremble entering her voice. "Sherry, isn't it?"
Valerian's expression softened. He was impressed she would have the courage to ask. Every intelligent rebel understood they fought for the children of others, never for their own. Every child and spouse of those who went against the Capitol would be on the front line, in plain sight and at the mercy of their overlords, the moment their parents revealed their true colors.
Those who still dared rebel preferred to pretend they had nothing to lose.
"She's soon to earn the house and half my savings," Valerian said, his jaw clenching despite their divorce being only a lie. The harrowing charade brought his mind back decades, when Constantine's death had shattered his confidence and Colonel Aquila's departure left him questioning his place in the world. Cereus Sphene, luminous, driven and caring, had become his purpose, but after the young man had left, Valerian realized too late he had all but forgotten the mother of his children. Sibelle had returned their wedding ring in an envelope and he'd pretended to be strong, for his children, for his men.
Valerian swallowed, willing the fury burning his fingers to be tamed. Sherry had found him a shadow of himself and brought him back, reminding him who he wanted to be, and Valerian hated that he couldn't speak of his wife in public as she deserved.
Mags looked so crestfallen at the declaration that Valerian felt a pang of guilt. Had she taken no precautions with Cereus? Surely she understood that he had to protect his family, even if it meant estranging them in public, or he would drag them down with him.
"Mags, you're so guileless," Marquise huffed before whispering something in her ear. Valerian's lips quirked when he saw comprehension light the victor's eyes.
A mirthless chuckle echoed in the room as Mags paled. "Ah well, in Four we're much more upfront. We fight and die together." Her face hardened. "I'm going to have to go back and fix that."
"Hold on to that thought, Sweetie. We all need unfinished business to keep us alive," Vicuña said, pushing the door open without so much as a knock.
Valerian tensed, appalled he hadn't heard her come. What a fool. He'd stopped paying attention.
"You look like an assassin," Mags said, taking the woman's jet-black uniform in. She was smiling slightly at Vicuña's comment, dismissing the morbid like only a mentor of the Hunger Games could.
Valerian found his fingers caressing his sidearm. He could feel it, impeding death. No witnesses, no witnesses but those foreign guard he could not trust.
"That's my teacher uniform. Makes the little careers cry." Vicuña was saying with a satisfied smirk. There was a dry toughness to her, as if every day had been a battle. Mags still had a certain innocence to her, Vicuña looked worn. "Why does Evadne need me to investigate a murder? I'd never even talked to that Colonel Thistlecrown."
"Lucky you. He was a bigoted Sergeant in a fancy uniform," Marquise said, grimacing in distaste. "He's worse than that actually. At least a Sergeant gets to see his men work. Thistlecrown only ever gave orders from his couch."
Valerian raised his eyebrows at the Lieutenant, his focus on her hands rather than her words. Was that woman honestly playing with Mags' hair? While awaiting summons from a hostile Evadne Achlys?
"Don't you think she should let them grow out, Colonel?" Marquise said after a pause, unabashedly fondling Mags' locks while the other patiently glared at her. "They're thick and healthy, long hair, Mags, a woman's greatest treasure."
Valerian decided he would not answer that.
"I know you're in wonderful company, Colonel, but we shouldn't keep Madam President waiting," Mags said, a tight smile on her lips.
Valerian's gaze flickered around the room, and he chuckled. He was sixty-four years old and fate had place him here, with these admirable women, and they were about to walk, slowed by the natural passing of years, heads held high, two of them unarmed, into certain danger. Mags was a woman of shadows and even Marquise was not one for combat.
He had to save them. He was the only one who could.
"Good afternoon," the President said. "I decided to keep this informal, Colonel Fletcher. I fear we may have been compromised. I would like us to go to see the cadets since they are conveniently for inspection."
Valerian disguised his acute alarm behind a professional salute. "I'll do my best to be of assistance, Ma'am."
No witnesses. All the cadets and instructors were in the main courtyard. He gave the appropriate replies, one ear on the conversation around him, wishing Mags would sound less guilty and Vicuña less stiff, the rest of his mind whirring, focused on their surroundings as he pictured the path they would take, thinking like a hiding murderer would think.
"I will need you both, ladies," Achlys told the victors. "You have greater expertise in training centers than anyone in Panem."
The President and her white-clad bodyguards were not watching him, only the women. Intersections and shadows pumped adrenaline in his veins and Valerian Fletcher forgot his aches and his weariness.
His hand dropped to his side as they began to flank the inner courtyard.
It was barely noticeable to an untrained person, but Achlys might as well have screamed: her pace, made slow by age but still military in its rhythm, had slowed.
So many crossing paths and opaque windows, decorative suits of armors, niches and storerooms… Who was the imbecile who had designed this indefensible ambush spot?
"Why did you shoot Jute Wickers all those years ago, Mags?" Achlys asked, her golden eyes fixed on the woman as if she'd never seen her before.
Or as if she'd never see her again. Valerian wondered how fast the bodyguards would be to shoot him if he pulled his weapon out.
They were the best. He needed a distraction and he could feel in his bones that the distraction would come right to them.
"He didn't deserve to live," Mags replied, bowing her head.
Captain Wickers, the last great officer of the Rebellion, who had given his life to allow as many of his people as he could to flee the Bunker. Shot by the very woman who would dedicate her life to carrying on the fight.
"A compassionate woman such as you, why didn't you give him a chance to redeem himself?"
Marquise met Valerian's eyes and her face lost all color when she saw his expression.
About time she noticed something was amiss.
Pay attention, Lieutenant. Valerian soundlessly ordered. An Elite Squad Leader without a squad, how miserable had the times become.
"It didn't even cross my mind, Ma'am," Mags replied, her eyes far away.
Valerian bit on his teeth not to shout at her to pay attention. "I'll tell why, Mags," Evadne Achlys whispered, her golden eyes bright. "No matter your feelings for the person, letting him live was too great a threat. You couldn't wait to see if it was a mistake, you had to do it. I'm sure you had nightmares."
Valerian bit back a roar of rage as he pulled his weapon out. How could have none of them had ever mentioned that Evadne Achlys considered Mags a friend? It changed everything.
He could see now, and it was much too late, that Mags expected to be taken to the Capitol and interrogated if she was discovered, but she would never be. Interrogation destroyed people, Evadne Achlys was granting Mags a last courtesy, preferring doubt over knowing the depth of her betrayal.
The President's voice had muffled the footsteps, but Valerian had known they would be here.
He shot one of the masked men before the latter had a chance to aim.
A new attacker surged from behind the fallen one. Valerian instinctively threw himself to the side when a window exploded.
"Rebels," Achlys snarled, shielded behind a decorative suit of armor. "Colonel, shoot them!"
Screams and gunshots filled the corridor, ripping the air apart in their murderous dissonance.
Valerian tuned them out. If his ears could only give him meaningless confused signals, then he would trust his other senses.
He shot a man much too fit to be a rebel and then another, one who had torn off his mask, and who had been staring straight at him.
Valerian expected excruciating pain or at least the blunt merciless hammering of a bullet against his vest. Instead there was only the icy grip of fear.
The bullets had not missed. They had never been meant for him.
He tore his eyes off the falling attackers, any concern for himself forgotten.
Vicuña was crawling on the ground, her black clothes concealing any trace of blood but a fearsome grimace on her drawn face. A shivering shape was crouched against the wall, almost completely concealed by -
Marquise. Her eyes were shut.
She'd done what he hadn't. She had protected, and even now, unmoving, her body remained draped over Mags' like a shield.
A silent, scorching fury slowly colored Valerian's vision. Was he so old he could only fall back on unsuited training instead of adapting to the situation? Civilians, these woman had been civilians, or close to, and he had reacted as if he'd been accompanied by elite soldiers who would know how to react under fire.
It had been years since anyone had died on his watch. It was the one thing he had never regretted from those adrenaline-filled days.
Valerian turned towards the bodyguards. Intimidating over-trained parade-soldiers who had never seen a real battle. One, two, three, point blank range bullets colliding with their exposed foreheads.
Apparently, the Elite of District One, joint pains and hair loss aside, still defeated the Elite of the Homeguard.
No hint of remorse in his cold blue eyes, Colonel Valerian Fletcher shot the President of Panem without another word.
Forty-seven years of absolute rule and the once regal white-haired woman fell, unanswered questions frozen in her golden eyes.
It seems Achlys had wanted a witness, but she had chosen the wrong officer. False rebels, why such a farfetched plan? Mags could have died by accident, like so many others, and Panem wouldn't have uttered a word in protest.
Valerian's hands were shaking and his back groaning as he pulled Marquise's still form away from Mags. It was a child's green eyes, wide and terrified, which stared back at him, soundlessly screaming.
"Vicuña needs you, now," Valerian said, gasping for breath as he tasted blood in his throat. It wasn't over.
He'd shot three masked men, the bodyguards had shot two including the one wounded by Marquise. Either his eyes had failed him, or one was missing.
He brought his hand to Mags' cheek. Concern etched in his features. Death took a whole different meaning when he saw it reflected in the eyes of someone who had not grown used to it. He hated the power, the pain of it. "Mags, get up, Cereus needs you in Four."
Mags blinked, her unfocused terror replaced by acute anguish. "Vicuña," she whispered after a pause. She grasped Valerian's hand and helped herself up, horror etched in her features.
"You deserved a frigging pre-murder speech, why didn't I?" Vicuña growled as the other victor reached her. She wasn't even trying to hide the fear in her voice. Her hands were slick with crimson blood. "I chose the right side, in the end. So wrong, Mags," Vicuña said, her throat constricting. "I was so wrong about the Games, about everything."
"You chose right," Mags whispered. "You did so much better than all those people who say you are evil, so much better than those people cowering in their houses and those victors wasting their lives away." Mags inhaled sharply, her voice hoarse. "You made me believe Vicuña, you're the reason I trained, all those years ago. The one who made me believe I could volunteer and win."
A pained smile split Vicuña's lips as her blue eyes filled with tears. "That was the point," she ground out, "happy, powerful victors."
"Oh I'm happy," Mags bravely said, her voice breaking.
"You look thrilled, Mags," Vicuña said through wheezing laughs. "Please shoot me, Colonel, it hurts."
"Soldier," Valerian said, saluting. Mags slowly moved away, shaking her head in denial.
"Bless you. Fight on." Vicuña whispered, closing her eyes.
Valerian pressed the trigger. Mags gripped his free arm so hard he gritted his teeth not to shout.
Seven. Seven lives ended on demand and while Victor Vicuña Asti nee Chrysaor had never been one of his, Valerian knew he'd forever more remember her as such.
"Marquise," Mags said, a moan escaping her lips, "I made… I mentored her," she said, spitting the word like the foulest of curses.
Valerian grasped her shoulder.
It was a leader's curse, to bury their people. There had been no wait out, and Marquise had done her duty.
"You gave her a cause, a life in Four, friendship, and then the possibility to come home," Valerian said, awkwardly trying to conceal how unqualified he felt for this conversation. That was another thing he hadn't missed from those days. He took a deep breath. "To come home wealthy and in a prestigious position. The power you gave her allowed her to meet her husband, to have a family. She was your guard," he said softly. He knew the woman was peacekeeper enough to understand.
Marquise would have had it no other way. Valerian clenched his hand, forcing his eyes not to stray to the body.
"It hurts. Her husband... She has a son," Mags said, angrily wiping her tears. "Leander, a young man of nineteen. And I, I stole his mother from him because I couldn't protect myself," she whispered hatefully. "I can't have people die for me," she said, her eyes flashing in pain and rage. "Vicuña, she has two children, peacekeepers -"
Valerian gave her a stiff smile, the loss a pit of ice in his guts. He much preferred anger to the terrifying prone state he had found her in. Mags was a woman of action, and seeing her so very still, huddled like a vulnerable child who'd lived too many nightmares, had struck him in a way that would haunt him forever.
"Dying for a cause is hard, living for it, the whole way," Valerian said, a harshness he could not control entering his voice, "is harder, Mags. I will come with you to inform Arcelio and the boy. I will contact Vicuña's family."
He had to get the bodies away from Mags' sight. Valerian's throat tightened as he let his gaze fall on the fallen. Only Marquise, her full lips parted as if she was dreaming, the shot to her neck concealed under her hair, would seem glamorous in death. A wound to the neck, it was the bodyguards who had shot that one. Valerian fought the urge to spit on their corpses.
He would miss that unprofessional, effervescent woman. He tore his eyes away and they remained painfully dry as he thought of all the lives lost.
The stories spoke little of the friends of heroes. Few ever survived.
And yet they should be remembered. Marquise in Vicuña deserved their place in history. His gun was out and charged when a noise reached his ears.
Valerian didn't lower it when he recognized the men in uniform.
"Colonel, we found this man running away."
An older Sergeant, square-jawed and red-faced. Valerian had never forgotten the name of one of his officers before. He straightened when all his body wanted was to collapse. He was so old, and he had so much to do still.
Valerian's tone was glacial when he spoke. "He and his men assassinated the President, Lieutenant Marquise and Victor Vicuña," he said, pleased to see the small crowd wince as his words cut into them.
Valerian had shot eight men today. He'd done worse before.
"No, I didn't," the last of the false rebels cried out, struggling against the two men holding him.
Valerian lowered his gun. He couldn't shoot the man in front of the Sergeant. It would defy every protocol. Rebels were interrogated, unfortunately.
"I ran when he shot at me," the captured man said, jerking his arm free. "The President ordered us, she said we wouldn't be harmed, we –" his speech was cut short as Private Holson pushed him down, tired of his dangerous flailing about.
"Sedate him and take the traitor to my office for interrogation," Valerian said, his expression betraying nothing. "Clean the corridor."
They obeyed without asking. Disciplined soldiers, they didn't question orders. Just like the disguised Homeguard who doubtless hadn't realized the President had designed for them to die.
Valerian had never believed in blind obedience. The system was too flawed to place such trust in one's officers.
"Colonel, are you injured?" the Sergeant inquired, looking horrified at his own nerve but squaring his shoulders purposefully all the same.
"I won't let him die, leave him his pride and do your duty," Mags said, her commanding voice silencing the rising whispers. "We must contact the Capitol."
Valerian's face softened when he saw the Sergeant grudgingly salute. He would have to commend the man later. He turned to Mags, his hand tightening over her arm as he noticed her pallor. He led her away, startled by her limp and Valerian realized with sudden, terrible, clarity how close Achlys had come to victory.
Had Marquise hesitated even a second to give up her life...
Valerian's eyes tightened in pain. He wished the bullet-proof vest had been a simple precaution. He wished he could have obtained one for Vicuña too. The attack should not have taken him by surprise.
As their steps echoed in the corridor, Valerian willed the morbid thoughts away and held his head higher.
President Achlys was dead, Marquise and Vicuña's deaths had held meaning. In the end, it was all a soldier could ask. They had won the battle, they would fight on until the war was won.
Valerian was an old soldier, not a man of great words. He saw Mags' pain, her fear of it, the ambition that collided with her waning energy, the hope of a new age and the crushing responsibility. He saw the anguished mother, the guilty wife, the mourning, tortured friend. Above all, he saw their victor, the one who never gave up.
"Thank you, General," he said, forcing Mags to meet his eyes. They had accomplished the impossible. There was no remorse to be had.
"Valerian," Mags said shakily, her green eyes bright as she grasped his blood-stained hands in hers. "We'd better not screw this up. Keep me very busy until this is done. If I cry, I may not stop."
Valerian was a soldier, but he was also a husband and a father. So he hugged her, and he promised.
Year 46, July 20th.
We remember the dead, we fight for the living.
Some days, those words kept her strong, just like they had after her victory, other times they sounded so hollow.
Marquise, so alive in the pictures, so alive in her mind. Mags had barely seen the woman once a decade in the last twenty years, but she had heard her voice and read her words, and she had known Marquise was happy, and it had been enough.
Mags' hair tickled her shoulders. It was impractical and a waste of time, but when Mags' caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she imagined Marquise's smile, and vowed to let it grow. How she missed that radiant, carefree smile.
Mags turned the television off.
"That was the best piece of propaganda I have ever seen," she admitted, awed despite herself.
She found herself believing in President Zephyr, in progress and freedom conquered without a civil war.
"Thank you, we had very reasonable delays," Glynn replied with a teasing grin.
Mags simply stared at her friend. Glynn looked so young, like a woman in her prime. So deceptively natural, her auburn hair long and lustrous and her opal earrings casting fairy lights on her skin. So Capitol and yet so very much the Glynn she remembered. How confusing their lives had become.
Mags inhaled when she realized who exactly those glimmering chandelier earrings reminded her of. She suddenly wanted Glynn to tear them off. She wanted nothing to remind her of that woman in her living-room, and yet a part of her understood.
It would all have been simpler and so much more difficult had Evadne Achlys being purely evil.
"Are you safe if something happens, Glynn?" Mags asked. "Can Zephyr truly hold the Presidency?"
Achlys had ruled through fear and ruthlessness. Could a decent man control the Capitol's appetites? Could he soften the unfair laws without giving rise to mass unrest?
Glynn gave a slow nod. "We're trying to spot the low-profile psychopaths, the ambitious politicians, gamemakers, Homeguard or stylists." Mags frowned at the last, earning herself a shrug. "Even District people. Anyone who tries something, smart or stupid." Glynn flashed her a small, exhausted, smile. "Can we not talk about work? I'll be staying for a while. You're not mentoring this year."
"Glynn…"
Phobias. She wondered if these Hunger Games would be different, if they could convince the Capitol to give them up without protests.
"Oh this isn't a choice," Glynn said, a strong edge to her words. "I'll be drugging you on Reaping Day anyway, even if you swear you won't go. "
Mags' eyebrows shot up at the threat. Drugging her? "How old are you, Glynn?"
"You, Mags, are too old to change," Glynn replied serenely, "I know how this will end if I don't physically incapacitate you." A small smile, frightening in its seriousness broke her lips. "I dare you to complain to Cereus or Angelites, let's see whose side they take."
Mags found herself gaping, no coherent sound exiting her lips. Was she to be given no say in the matter. "It's very Capitolite, stealing away my free will without so much as a pang of conscience," she said. How could her friend speak so lightly of drugging her?
"Your free will is a tyrannical master –or mistress, that's between you and yourself- that will have you take on the weight of the world." Glynn jabbed a finger at her. "I'm making you a favor by not giving you a choice. If you protest, I'm calling Esperanza."
"Oh enough," Mags groaned.
She was grossly outnumbered but this conversation was not over. She would not be treated like a child.
"Plutarch will be coming soon," Glynn said, causing Mags' outrage to evaporate. "I need him with Zephyr and I don't want him to give himself away just yet, but I think him and a few Capitolites will be doing a tour of the Districts now that they have a chance to." Glynn was wearing that satisfied smile again. "The surveillance files on victors have 'disappeared' and we've cleaned up most of the other files that could have been a problem later. Zephyr thinks Syri and I are just part of the network, barely informed, but enlightened, like he is. If something happens, we'll fall back on our feet."
A grin broke Mags' lips, both because of the news and out of sheer pettiness. "Not talking about the job, Glynn?"
Glynn winced. "Touché," she said with a rueful smile. "I'm as bad as you." She sobered, her hazel eyes softening. "Mags -"
Violent knocking made Mags' heart skip a beat. She froze.
The door opened. "You," her mother said, her voice cool. "I thought you and Mags were over."
"You have an ex I never heard about?" Glynn inquired, her facetious cheer shaking Mags out of her paralysis.
She had to stop being afraid of repercussions.
"Let me in, woman," a rude accented voice demanded.
Mags' alarm gave way to sheer annoyance. She stood up. When had her house become the new market place?
"Lucian, of all the places you could be right now," she said, blinking as the man's blue-and-red huge curling mustache entered her line of sight. "It's alright, Mama."
"You killed Evadne Achlys," the Capitolite spluttered. "I can't believe you!" He shoved an accusing finger just under her nose. "Do you know she spent a whole night drilling me about your behavior not two weeks ago. I should have known!"
"Did you seriously make the trip to throw a fit because Evadne asked you a couple of questions one evening?" Glynn cut in, by far the most amused by the situation.
Mags felt ill. Lucian too, how many people had she put in danger? Surely, if he had been harmed, Glynn would not joke of it?
And she hadn't killed Achlys. Valerian had done everything. She'd lost Marquise because she had been so certain she'd have warning, so certain that Achlys would try to tear from her every last scrap of information before allowing her to die.
Instead, Achlys hadn't wanted Mags to know she had been discovered. Achlys had wanted it to be rebels, to keep the illusion of thirty-seven years of partnership intact, to have the world think Mags had been loyal until the end.
It burned. Circe, it burned.
"Shut up, Glynn," Lucian growled.
Glynn smiled and slung her arm around the irate former escort's shoulders. "No. You're going to relax, eat a biscuit, and go home."
"You could have told Achlys a lot," Mags pointed out, feeling faint. "You could have told her anything she wanted to hear."
Her first escort had known her too long to need any explicit confession. Her true opinions meant little to someone like Lucian. He was intelligent enough to turn small incidents and slipped words into incriminating evidence.
Lucian pursed his lips. "I never liked her," he finally said. He gave Glynn a piercing look. "You did."
Glynn's amusement withered. "Evadne had a fair few flaws I couldn't excuse." Her gaze hardened. "Is there anything you wanted, Lucian?"
Mags hoped he was wise enough to steer off dangerous grounds. Glynn mourned Achlys more than Mags ever could.
The man colored and moved away from Glynn. He met Mags' hard gaze and winced. "Biscuits?" He said in strained tones.
Mags cracked a smile. Only Lucian Gemini would cross Districts just to let her know how clever he was for figuring it all out. He was a historian after all, chasing the truth in a world of lies. It awed her that Panem had changed enough to make it possible.
"Biscuits it shall be," Angelites said, chuckling as she went to the kitchen.
Year 46, July 23rd.
Mags kept her eyes on the paved path as she walked. It had been a week, a week of frantic action, a week of elephants in the room and awkward silences. She wasn't in pain, but the world had lost some color, some depth, and Mags' whole being ached for it back.
Marquise.
A shadow jumping in front of her as the word exploded. Something hard rammed against the Kevlar vest hidden under her dress.
"Gotcha," she'd whispered, hoarse but triumphant laughter in her voice.
And Mags had survived. A fool, taken by surprise, paralyzed in fear, but protected. Always protected.
Oh, Marquise.
A small sad smile bloomed on her lips as Cereus' arm went around her.
"I'm fine," she said.
"Valerian ordered me to make you cry," her husband replied, his lips quirking at the irony.
Mags' smile broadened. Valerian, Sherry and Cereus' mother would be coming in August. With the frontiers looser for those who knew the right people, it was high time Sol and Larimar met their grandmother.
Mags couldn't wait to have all her family back together. Lorelei had promised she wouldn't be long. Mags wanted them all close, all in her sight, forever.
"Let's drag Marlin out of his cave," Glynn said as they neared the town.
Mags' rising mood plummeted. "I had the impression he never wanted to see us again," she said thickly.
He'd slammed the door in her face, telling her to get out of his life. Mags' chest constricted painfully. They'd asked so much of him, he deserved some peace.
"He's an idiot," Glynn said with that ridiculous confidence that never left her. "He's afraid we'll apologize or ask him uncomfortable questions." Glynn's face darkened. "He probably blames himself," she said wearily.
Mags rolled her eyes. "Let's get him. He'll probably make it difficult," she predicted.
"He will," Glynn agreed with a small smile. "I can't believe he fell for it and went to the station all by himself in the middle of the night. It's like he wanted to come to the Capitol. We should have left him there."
Mags slapped her on the shoulder. "Quit the sarcasm," she said, refusing to sit through Glynn reviewing Marlin's abilities at evaluating danger. "I don't care if people are teenagers until they die in that crazy city of yours. Here, you behave, Glynn."
"Tactful, me?" Glynn protested.
Circe, that woman was worse than Lorelei.
Glynn flashed Mags an unabashed smile. "Syrianus will be sad to have missed it."
Mags failed to keep a straight face as she thought of Jett Corduroy interrogating Syrianus at this very moment. The poor man would bear the brunt of decades of curiosity now that he finally had come to District Four.
If only Cara and Nereus Corduroy had been here to see it.
A tug on her arm had her turn towards Esperanza. Her sister was pointing at Glynn, an endeared grin on her face.
A laugh escaped Mags' lips when she realized her now silent friend was pretending to sulk in a very teenaged fashion.
She had missed not feeling rushed and just enjoying the other's company.
Mags raised her hand in salute when she saw Legend heading towards them. Her, Glynn, Marlin, Cereus, Esperanza, her mother and Legend. They were all here, those who had known Marquise, those who would not let her be forgotten.
A week of silence, but now Mags craved to remember, to tell them all about that resplendent woman.
A sad smile broke her lips. She had to believe it had been worth it. For her ever loyal Marquise, for everyone.
Author's note
I hesitated a lot on Marquise's death. On whether to give her different last words or make it somehow more epic, but I decided that I wanted her to be remembered for how she lived, not for her death. I'll bring her back to life in the outtake I promised to write for the very patient TheWomanWhoCodesandWrites.
Did the manner of Achlys' death surprise you? If so, what had you expected?
Please review. As I said last chapter, end of the 3rd book! Hurray!