Thank you all for your continued support.
Year 66, February, Victory Tour. Continued.
It had started in Six, the pharmaceutics and transport District. Almost three years ago, before Eight had begun to stir, before Three's rebels had started whispering, Six's rebels had dabbled with the food preservatives, poisoning supplies, they had dabbled in transport, a bolt left too loose, a screw "forgotten" and the hovercrafts that had to land in extremis as they fell apart.
Six were careful not to kill, they knew the poison would end mostly in District dwellers' plates, they knew that a hovercraft explosion would bring the Capitol's wrath upon them. Six aimed for chaos, stopping short of murder. Six was dramatic.
"Six has a sense of humor," Mags told Finnick. "And they work in packs."
Finnick nodded, his eyes bright and alert, sharp curiosity etched in his face as he drank in every detail. Mags smiled warmly, she often did these days, because it was the first tour which felt like a victory instead of a punishment for daring to be alive.
Six was large and scattered, villages had grown around factories and drug manufactures. The speech and reaping was just another village, the one with the largest square. There was no Paylor in Six, no one to federate the people, no real discipline for hierarchy, and yet people coordinated all the same, as if moved by a collective intelligence.
"What is going on here?" Donna squawked, as a group of men in the crowd, stretching across the whole square, began removing their coats and shirts.
Six was where a baby in eight grew addicted in the womb, where morphling was as common as the coal dust that coated the Seam in District Twelve. The man who controlled morphling would control Six, but beneath the rumors, the scorn, Mags had discovered a culture that prized peace, and year after year, morphling remained cheaper than bread, produced in surplus. The Capitol found it convenient, of course. Few were so addicted they could not work, and those who were swiftly grew too poor to survive long.
Finnick's eyes had widened, but he kept reciting his speech, as if a hundred people weren't throwing their clothes off in the biting winter cold. The men slung their arms around each other, and the black and red paint on their skins soon formed a huge shining message.
Morphlings. Pity and disgust accompanied the word in every District. People forgot that while morphlings floated and dreamed and saw colors where there was just gray, they were not blind or deaf nor did they spend every hour of every day in a haze of drugs. They had their codes, and the codes didn't even have to be too subtle, because when they caught the whiff of substance, peacekeepers looked away, some disgusted, others envious, for they risked the whip were they to try morphling for themselves.
'WHY NOT TWO VICTORS?' It read, a wall of flesh, staring accusingly at the cameras. 'WHY SO PREDICTABLE?'
Cereus squeezed Mags' arm as she stared in awe. How much time, how much preparation? And of all the messages those men could have sent… It was brilliant, because while rebellious, no Capitol citizen would feel threatened. Only the Gamemakers, only Snow. She shot a look at Glynn who looked carefully blank, except for her eyebrows, which had disappeared behind her hairline.
The peacekeepers began to move, their hands clenched around their metal crowbars. Cereus and Mags stepped as one towards Finnick, and the microphone.
Mags met her husband's eyes and a brief nod told her she could take care of Finnick while he handled the crowd. The relief she felt at not being alone, struggling to be strong for a distraught victor like she had been so many times, was priceless.
Instead of running, the men turned their backs to Finnick, huddling close, shoulder to shoulder.
WE WANT REAL ALLIANCES. DELFINA WAS COOL.
Mags had her hands on Finnick's shoulders then, and she almost fell when Finnick, a head taller and a good two stones heavier, stumbled backwards, the microphone hanging limply by his side.
All of Panem saw the sudden tears running down his cheeks. All of Panem saw the peacekeepers shoving the crowd aside to get to the wall of painted men.
"Peacekeepers halt!" Cereus said, his voice effortlessly authoritative from decades of military practice. "Crowd control is not breaking ranks, or risking sabotage and injury by becoming blind to an assembly of three thousand to arrest one-hundred. Who trained you?"
The peacekeepers straightened. The threat of a bomb, of someone slipping through their ranks, of it all being a clever diversion, crashed through them like a wave.
"I think it shows that Panem is very safe, for an opinion on entertainment during the Victory Tour to be considered serious unrest," Mags commented calmly in the microphone. "I am honored that both the children offered by District Four were found deserving."
The painted men scattered, their shirts and coats back on, and short of beating randomly at the crowd or tearing people's clothes off, on camera, the peacekeepers could do nothing.
And frankly, the men in uniform seemed to agree that the statement was no big deal.
"What's the Capitol's stance on this?" Finnick asked Glynn.
He had crashed in his seat, popping sugar cubes in his mouth. Now the day was over, his body seemed to have given up on him. Those painted bodies… Finnick's heart raced just by remembering.
"They'd love two victors," Glynn replied. "Especially if they find two people to root for as a pair. It'd be something different and they love novelty. But they don't crave it enough to speak up too loudly."
"Did he die? The journalist who was filming when Eirene…" Finnick's voice failed him. It had barely been a week and he'd seen so many things since then. Panem was so huge, so different. But whenever he remembered, it crashed on him.
Eirene. It still didn't seem real. Donna had said the journalist wouldn't have gotten away with it.
"Alypius is very alive, although he has been pushed aside, given the kind of dull assignments usually left to interns," Glynn frowned. "How did we get from Delfina to Alypius?"
"If Alypius wasn't a rebel and he dared to ask those questions, why don't people dare to bring up Delfina?" Finnick whispered, grief making him curl in his seat. "Do you think we can make sure that they never forget?" He dared hope. "She'd have liked that."
Columbus, Sparrow, Fustel, Daphne. They all gave Finnick shivers. District Six had had five victors, counting the late Bianca, as many as District Three, more than any other outlying district, but they were all so… so battered, the drugs obvious in their every movement, their every breath. They'd asked him what songs he liked, his favorite food and color, or how he'd describe the scent of the sea or the roll of the waves. They'd said it was nice, that he wasn't a Career, that he'd shown them not to feel safe. Finnick had wanted to hide under the table.
A smile broke Finnick's lips despite the churning sensation in his stomach. The victors were miserable, but it was the people of Six who'd given him hope that Delfina would not fade into darkness.
"If we can do it, then we will," Glynn replied, sitting on the armrest next to him.
"Where were you during dinner?" Finnick asked. Peacekeepers had come to get her, but Glynn hadn't looked alarmed.
And now she looked so satisfied that Finnick perked up.
"Factory inspection. Two colleagues arrived by hovercraft to assist me." Glynn sounded unsurprised by that fact, but the curl to her lips told Finnick that the colleagues were no ally of theirs. "Have you heard of radio jamming?"
It was a rhetorical question, but Finnick shook his head nonetheless, intensely curious.
"Radios are easy to make," Glynn explained. "Hacking into hovercraft transmission frequencies, to hear the conversations going on between hovercrafts and the bases, is not that much trickier. Because of that, the frequencies used by hovercrafts depend on the district they're in, and all the frequencies used in a single district are jammed in the eleven others. The aim of this is to prevent inter-district communications. Hovercrafts use the bases as intermediaries when they have to."
Finnick slowly nodded. Before his Games, he'd thought people just lacked the courage to be rebels, but the more he learned, the more he saw the main problem was logistics. The Districts combined outnumbered the Capitol four to one, but the Capitol had unmatched means and outnumbered every single District except Eleven. "So how do you fix it?"
"Learn who operates at which frequency, which frequencies remain unused, and therefore can potentially be used in every district, and where the jammers are. Three makes the devices but the information we were seeking was here."
"You found it?" Finnick whispered, his eyes very wide. "Your colleagues, the guards, they don't suspect?"
It was in moments like this, that he felt it to his bones, how awesome it was. He didn't care then, that it was slow, dangerous and that he was fifteen and could barely help.
"Yes and no," Glynn said with a smile. "They don't trust me, but they have not one shred of proof and they don't know that the frequency waves are critical strategic information. They were making sure I didn't pocket a component or ask odd questions instead. Ignorance keeps people from efficiently standing up to the Capitol, and Capitolites from getting too ambitious, but the people I was with won't think to report that the frequency list was in plain view, since it was drowned amidst other documents, and Snow won't think to discuss the details of my visit with experts. Even the experts, they know all about how transmissions work, but they don't think 'what kind of information would be of use to a rebel' and if they do, they don't tell Snow unless they're asked, and they're not asked." Glynn's smug smile bloomed into a grin. "Ignorance, lack of communication, is a two-edged blade. It doesn't always work to Snow's advantage."
Finnick grinned back. It served that man right, for his own policies to bite him in the ass.
"So you did manage to steal documents?"
"Oh no," Glynn said. "No need. I trained myself to have a very reliable memory. You can do it too. It will take a few years. I suggest theater as a talent. It'll help with memorizing long texts. The Capitol will want you close either way, and cultivating a dramatic and eccentric personality will shield you. People will be more tolerant of your whims."
Finnick pondered her words. They'd barely spoken of talents with Mags, with everything going on in Four. A warm feeling filled his chest. A feeling he'd come to associate with power.
"Sugar cube?" He said with a growing smile. Theater… It even might be fun.
Cereus double-checked that Finnick and Donna were out of hearing range. It wasn't about trust, ignorance kept people safe.
"Do you have it?"Mags asked Glynn.
The information on transmission frequencies and the cartography of the jamming devices, the recent railway maps and the names of the repair crews, but most importantly, the list of Six's suppliers: who sold what in Three, how much was bought, where did it go. Beetee and their allies in Three couldn't hope to hijack the technology as long as the system remained so opaque. Non-disclosure agreements were enforced with the whip. Few people could afford to safely talk about work with people who weren't colleagues.
Glynn nodded. "I've been drawing the map from memory, hence all the yawning this morning." Her expression suddenly darkened. "Expect the camera crew to join our wagon within the hour. You handled the situation in Six well, but -"
"But we handled it," Mags cut in mirthlessly. "Instead of letting the peacekeepers act, whether their actions were appropriate or not, we reminded Six, and the Capitol, that we have authority and aren't afraid to use it. Snow will want close supervision."
Their freedom had been too beautiful to last, but the events in Six were still too recent for it to kill Mags' good mood.
"Then don't let the camera crews suspect," Cereus said, his brown eyes calculating. "Keep them busy. Give them a reality show," Cereus straightened his suit, his lips curling with that easy superiority that was very District One. "Mags, husband and Finnick, riding through Panem. We'll be such a perfect family."
Unsaid was that the more Finnick was seen as a boy and not a sex-symbol, the less harm his scandal-wary buyers would dare inflict upon him.
Mags wrapped her arms around his neck, a small smile dancing on her lips. "We are a perfect family."
"You have an inhuman tolerance for cameras," Glynn said, looking already exasperated at the prospect.
"Adaptability is a chief human trait," Mags replied before planting a kiss on her husband's lips.
A reality show. Mags chuckled. As much as she tried to think outside the box, she realized she was becoming a creature of tradition. Cereus' solution was so obvious she was ashamed not to have thought of it first.
"Glad to be of some use," Cereus said with a warm smile, tightening his hold on his wife.
"Your great aunt would never have been seduced by words alone," Cereus said with an endearingly stern expression. He was clothed in a very military fashion, standing straight and stiff while Finnick hung to his every word. "A real man acts. If I could not gain the respect of my brother-in-arms, then I had no business expecting a victor's consideration. Do not simply make promises; show up with already accomplished deeds. And don't think a mask will fool an intelligent woman. Girls may be charmed by bad boys who treat them like princesses while they treat other men with contempt and other women like objects, but women know that you judge a man's worth by how he treats those he has nothing to gain from."
"When you're all done with the dating advice," Glynn said, "could you please, Syrtos, remove my folder from under your camera," she said, breaking the fourth wall with a small humoring smile at one of the cameramen filming Cereus and Finnick. "I need that map of Five."
"Could I hope to woo Capitol women, or is that too arrogant a thought?" Finnick asked Glynn, his green eyes so perfectly innocent. "Why would any kiss me?"
Mags hid her laughter behind a benevolent expression.
"Good point, you did kill the last girl you kissed."
Mags' desire to laugh faded. She shot Glynn a withering stare. Yes, the cameras were grating, yes, Glynn had to keep her distance and act Capitolite to remain safe, yes, the camera crew had asked for drama and references to the Games, but damn it, Glynn.
"Paige wasn't a Capitol girl," Finnick answered woodenly, staring at the floor. "And it's different now." His breath hitched, "besides, she asked," he added feebly.
Glynn's eyes critically roamed over Finnick's body. "Good enough? You, Finn, that's debatable, but your body is adequate."
Well that put Capitol mentality in a nutshell.
"Woo away and they may grant you their affections for one day," Cereus intervened. "Magister from One was gentleman enough to marry an escort."
Finnick shifted uncomfortably. "But Uncle, I'm not interested in a single day. Pa raised me to be faithful."
There was a hint of desperate hope in Finnick's tone, and Mags felt a burst of hate for that city where everything had a price.
"You are a victor now," Cereus replied and only Mags could see the clenched fist in his lap. "Faithfulness is a matter of the heart more than of the body."
Mags cracked a stiff smile. Cameras made them sprout the most asinine things in the most serious of tones. She couldn't let that pass and Finnick needed a break from that line of questioning.
"Capitolites have reached a level of self-awareness that allows them flexibility," she said, her voice gaining a dangerous edge as she walked up to her husband. "While Finn may be young enough to adapt, you, Cereus, are a primitive district dweller, so don't think I'll be satisfied with exclusivity over your heart alone."
Cereus pressed his fist to his chest, his eyes burning into hers and reminding Mags of all that was good in Panem. "I never have, and never would, ever dream of it, my love."
Finnick was looking at them with wide eyes, his embarrassment unfeigned. Mags felt the urge to stick her tongue out at her nephew, her age staring right back at her in those too-green eyes. One day she'd speak to him about sex just to see him squirm.
"Can I bring you to speed dating events, Cereus?" Donna said, her tone a little too syrupy-sweet and her gestures too expansive to be spontaneous. "I'd love you rating the candidates. It'd save me soooo much time."
Glynn furtively shared a long suffering look with Mags, but Mags simply smiled. Yes, they would be speaking of dating until they reached Five.
Such was the price to pay for rebellion.
Finnick shot Mags a questioning glance, his eyes narrowed at the twitching people on the polished stone floor of the Energy District's covered reaping square, but Mags had nothing to say.
Five was nothing special. Five was overlooked. Five had made disappearing into an art.
Mags bit back a scowl, because Five were cowards. They listened to Finnick's speech like children who knew they deserved a spanking but who, in the end, would not do things differently.
Five was clever, Five was well off, richer than Three. The rich were few, but there were no clusters of extreme poverty like you found in District Two.
Five was very good at surviving and very good at staying neutral. Five would side with the winner, but only once they were sure.
Unfortunately, Mags knew that Five could not afford not to be sure. The Capitol could go without fish or lumber for months, even textile and coal could be done without, but energy was not something the Capitol would ever tolerate being taken away, even if the large dam flanking the fortress city had the ability to sustain them through a long siege.
Three was silent and attentive. Three was too smart to attract undue attention to themselves.
"Finnick, I never thought I'd say this, but act spoiled. Challenge the peacekeepers to a wrestling match and get the camera crews off our back," Cereus said, as if it was the most natural of requests.
Mags raised her eyebrows. A wrestling match? Her lips twitched, because there was something irresistibly attractive about that man's effortless confidence, especially when it came with good ideas.
"Love, you keep forgetting peacekeepers are regular people who are quick to accept orders and not feel responsible about it as long as said orders are given confidently," Cereus said.
Mags smiled, remembering how quick Six's peacekeepers had been to obey.
Finnick had squared his jaw and shoulders. "Let's do this," he muttered, his eyes gaining a fierce glint.
"Listen up, I'm the new victor here, this is my party, so I want to set some ground rules," Finnick announced as they entered Justice Building's reception hall.
"We await your orders, young man," Aster said with a mocking smile.
Finnick blinked at the gaunt victor of the 49th Games, but he lost none of his bluster. "I spent the last days cooped inside a luxurious but nevertheless small train," he said, his lips quivering in outrage. "I need some air!"
Predictably, the Sergeant-Major escorting them wasn't happy. "You cannot leave."
"Ha, you're all impressive in those suits but I bet I can wrestle you to the ground," Finnick said, straightening with a cocky smirk that painfully reminded Mags of Esperanza.
"We can't miss the opportunity to see young Finnick toss peacekeepers around," Mercury said, stepping around the table to take a good look at the teenager. "Nice meeting you in the flesh."
She met Mags' gaze briefly, but it was enough. Mercury had figured it out and her and Aster would leave Mags and Beetee to talk.
Tension slowly melted from Mags' muscles. The help was unexpected, but extremely welcome.
"Or peacekeepers toss Finnick around," Aster replied, amusement and a touch of condescension lacing his tone as he joined the victor he had mentored, and who every rumor led to believe was now his lover.
"You and Mercury are quite good at hand-to-hand combat if your Games were any reference, maybe my nephew does need a lesson in humility as well as an outlet," Cereus said, his piercing stare making Finnick sober slightly even if he knew it was pretense.
"Why don't you all go all have fun while the old people eat?" Mags said, her smile quite heartfelt.
"Pack up, boys and girls," Donna said, clapping her hands. "This will be fun. Let's get Finnick warmed up enough to drop that shirt."
The peacekeepers still hesitated, their eyes darting to Glynn, but when the Capitol woman said nothing and the camera crew scrambled to obey Donna, all too eager for an alternative to the boring evening-meal-with-the-mayor footage, they escorted the group out without a word.
Mags kept her smile firmly on, aware this would further cement Finnick's popularity and that they desperately needed every whit of it.
"Come on, Mayor. We'll need an unbiased referee," Donna called.
Mercury pulled her mid-length raven hair in a ponytail. Her pale blue eyes met Mags' squarely as she passed by. "I want to see Enobaria at the next Games," she whispered, and Mags saw someone who wasn't rebel, but who supported them on an intellectual level and who, blessedly, wouldn't interfere.
Mags nodded "Thank you," she said. She'd do her best to persuade the young victor from Two to go.
"Ma'am," Beetee said, briskly bowing his head to Glynn as soon as the five of them were alone.
"You trust her?" Wiress said, curiously cocking her head towards Mags.
Beetee blanched at the all too direct question.
"Implicitly," Mags replied without hesitation.
Beetee took a slow breath, the muscles in his jaw still tense. "Greetings, Mrs -?"
"Glynn, but who I am doesn't matter. This, on the other hand, matters a lot," Glynn said with a proud smile as she handed her notes on Six to Beetee.
Beetee's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. "This will keep me occupied a while," he said. "It should not be impossible to record messages in all television sets. With unblocked signals, everyone will know if a district rebels." Beetee chuckled, looking like a delighted little boy. He winced. "Of course, once the first message is broadcasted, the Capitol will know."
"We must get our walls," Wiress said, her eyes riveted on the paper Glynn had given them.
"Excuse me?" Glynn said.
Beetee nodded. "We have made significant progress on forcefield technology but it will only delay the inevitable should the Capitol decide to bomb the Spires. Establishing technological bases away from the city is not an option as long as stealth remains necessary."
"Imagine war is declared," Cereus said, his hands folded over his nose. "How long do you need to move everything to safe places: transmissions, people…"
"People?" Beetee said, a dark smile lighting his face. "I can only oversee the displacement of critical equipment. People will have to save themselves," he said, and it was chilling. "It will take two days if there are no delays. Erecting a cloaking forcefield on the spires for that long will burn more energy than the centrals can give. Smuggling energy sources from Five is slow and tedious."
Mags could see the spires from the window. The tall silver glass buildings at the center of Three's single outreaching city. The brain of Panem.
Beetee smiled again. It was not a reassuring smile. "We are not forced to wait until then. One of our Professors made a breakthrough, an easier, cheaper way of making some metals nastily radioactive. We can put it in headphones. Capitolites buy them by the hundreds, it -"
All color fled from Mags' face. "No," she interrupted.
"Don't worry about backlash," Beetee said. "It will take them weeks, months, before they make the connection and we-"
"No," Mags repeated, horror chilling her bones. She met Cereus' eyes and was immensely relieved to see her disapproval mirrored in them.
Beetee straightened, anger flaring in his dark eyes. "Why?" He breathed.
"We build, we do not destroy," Mags replied heatedly. Her rebellion would not be like this! That madness had been left behind during the Dark Days. "The silent rebellion that brought President Zephyr to power failed, and I do not see a rebellion being possible without massive bloodshed anymore, but killing Capitolites this way serves no purpose. Worse, it will diminish what we achieved in Four. Snow will love the opportunity to prove that any civilized act from the Districts is a fluke."
"They go unpunished, year after year," Beetee said, rage entering his voice. "The age of retirement is now sixty. There are less than thirty-five percent who reach that age in the Web. Do you know what the first cause of mortality is, among the working men and women of District Three?"
Mags shook her head. It would make no difference.
"Heart attack, stroke. Stress kills hundreds of our researchers and engineers every year."
Beetee was wrong if he thought she underestimated the Capitol's vileness.
"You are smarter and more moral than them, and you know what an act of vengeance will cost us, Beetee Morse," Mags said. "We will build, and the new world will have a justice system and the Capitolites who will fail to abide by it will be punished."
"Will they not be punished for their actions, their inaction, during the last fifty years?"
"Our aim is to offer all a better world, not to hunt down everyone who had the misfortune to grow up in the Capitol," Cereus said.
"Are they victims now?" Beetee hissed dangerously. "Poor brainwashed Capitolites."
"It's a waste of energy, a waste of lives," Cereus snapped. "First the Districts will be freed, the people educated, starvation eradicated and medicine made accessible to all. These are our priorities and they should be yours too."
"You have buried so many people, loved ones, innocents, how –"
"Because I want to see those living innocents laugh much more badly that I want culprits to suffer!" Mags said, her eyes burning with frustration. Rebels, those accursed wrathful rebels, why was it so hard to make them understand! She knew Esperanza would have understood. "Those who are truly evil will be unable to change their ways, Beetee. They will break the new laws."
"Vengeance doesn't taste so sweet," Glynn intervened. "What would you do? Round everyone who bought a victor up?"
Actually, Mags was half of a mind to do just that.
"Everyone who ever sponsored?" Glynn continued. "And then what? Whip them? Kill them? Kill also their relatives, friends and children to avoid backlash? Pit them in an arena and laugh at them on TV? It wouldn't bring anyone back. Every Capitolite would end up being accused of crimes they did not commit, then people would turn on peacekeepers, on anyone who wasn't rebel enough." Glynn said. "If we focus on death, we will not be able to rebuild over the ashes. The Capitol has more people than you expect who'd be happy to have a fairer world even if it would mean a simpler lifestyle. They have doctors and scientists and the only people in Panem who have knowledge of history, administration and politics. Righteous anger won't make a country rule itself."
Beetee stood up, livid. "You would have a Capitolite rule after the rebellion? You must believe none other would be up to the task. Only a Capitolite could have the intelligence to be -"
"I was born in District Four, worked as Mags' number 2 before I worked for Evadne Achlys. As her number sixteen, I'd estimate," Glynn said with a half-smile. Beetee sat down, the revelation surprising enough to pierce through his anger. "Of course we won't have a Capitolite as new President. It'd be horrible for morale and a bad decision in every regard, but we will need an efficient government and we can't do that if we spend the first years committing mass murders in the name of three generations of deceased. We fight for the living."
Mags remembered Marquise, and how she'd struggled to hold on to that mantra as she mourned the woman who had long been her closest friend.
Beetee turned to Wiress who lowered her eyes. "Fast is better," she whispered when it was obvious she had to be the one to break the silence. "Better happy, with no deaths. I…" Wiress shook her head vigorously. "I want them to forget that I'm a victor," she said, her breath quickening. "I want… I want my life back. I don't care," she finished vehemently.
I don't care about Capitolites, Mags heard.
Beetee put his arm around Wiress, his face softening. "I wish I didn't either," he admitted.
"They want to be the center of attention," Glynn said. "To obsess you more than hunger, more than illness. Don't let them, Beetee. It's never been about fair but about what we can accomplish."
Beetee nodded, showing his mind agreed even if his heart would always demand justice.
"I need more precise data on what transpired in Four. Snow remains an unknown quantity, and I dare not take initiatives," he said, his eyes narrowing as Mags and Cereus as if to say 'especially since you're shooting them down'.
Cereus stood up. "I'll go check on the wrestlers and buy you more time," he said, planting a kiss on Mags' cheek. He smiled. "It was nice meeting you. I am glad to see we have such reliable allies, even if we disagree on the specifics."
Beetee shook his hand and gave him a genuine smile. "Likewise. Take good care of her," he said, winking at Mags.
The wind howled like a caged beast desperate for escape.
Tall and intimidating, the gray mountains of Two cast a looming shadow over those who lived in their wake. They were dark and eternal, so different to the ever-changing seas of Four. But the blizzard enshrouding the train like swarm of ghastly wasps was a humbling reminder that they could match its power.
"The coats will preserve your body heat," their stylist, Lawrence, said for the fifth time, fidgeting as a heavy silence descended upon them again.
The train shifted on the rails, shivering as they slugged through the last miles, reduced to limping speed to avoid being thrown down at the first turn.
"Transmissions aren't getting through and we can't get people in reaping square in this weather," Donna said, her forehead pressed against the window as she uselessly tried to see through the storm. "It's still going to snow buckets tomorrow, but nothing too violent for us to handle. We'll get the rich to be the crowd for once. Two can't look scruffy."
"Don't you have power amplifiers for the transmissions?" Mags said. She hardly minded the delay.
The camera crew shared awkward glances. "Been using those to film you during the last days," Syrtos said.
Mags fought the urge to grin at Cereus and kiss him. Reality TV had been an excellent idea.
"Glynn," Mags began, determined to pounce on the opportunity. "Were you not tasked with doing a preliminary inspections of structures President Snow found too opaque for his tastes?"
Glynn nodded, her eyes narrowing shrewdly. "You, Cereus and I should indeed go to visit the Annex."
Mags' lips quirked. Read my mind. She needed to see Lyme, and Enobaria.
Glynn tutted and Mags realized that the camera crew had lit up like beacons. "Training is illegal, remember?" She said.
"Donna, take Finnick to Victors' Village," Mags said. "It's in a mountain's shadow, it will be shielded from the blizzard. Go speak to the older victors, those who mentored victors: Gunnar, Domitia, Lyall. Speak of tribute mentor relationships, of what you wish. I heard that the view from Mordred's grave is magical."
"Should we not warn them first?" Donna said, her concern unfeigned as she shared a look with Finnick.
"Twos are always prepared," Mags said. She knew that no matter their personal feelings, they would not be vicious. Two had developed a deep-rooted respect for victors that would keep Finnick safe.
"Don't you want to visit the Annex too, Finnick?" Syrtos said, his hopeful, tactless, expression making Mags want to punch him.
Finnick blanched. He stared at the Capitolite squarely, disbelief and muted scorn bleeding through his usually perfect mask. "Face the children who saw me murder Nero and Lupa, their heroes? Who saw me break one of the few stringent honor codes of the Hunger Games? Watch trainees assessing me and wonder how to avoid someone doing the same to them? That part of my life is over," he said through clenched teeth, dropping his eyes as Cereus' hand grasped his shoulder. "I won, I'm not going back there." He gave Mags a small smile. "Victors' Village will be great."
"Sorry," Syrtos said, looking uncomfortable. He didn't understand, people like him seemed unable to, but at least he didn't ask again.
Mags stared in shock. She'd known it would be more impressive than FLASH. She'd known six-hundred teenagers over thirteen lived there, isolated from families they rarely missed, and that half of those would be culled out when they failed the kill test, at fourteen. She'd know a thousand eight-year-olds played and brawled four afternoons a week in the Annex, earning their parents an allowance that increased with every semester passed in the city walls.
Because it was a city. Mags should have known, but seeing it showed her she'd never stopped to truly think.
The halls were cool but not chilly, everything seemed well maintained. Uniformed children aged thirteen to eighteen stood in the side room and against the walls, avidly staring at her and Glynn, sometimes at Cereus, but saying no word.
"What can we do for you, Ma'am?" Brutus asked Glynn, trying hard not to look off balance. "Lyme's coming," he added to Mags.
Mags smiled at him. She perked up when she saw Enobaria and other adults enter the large hall.
"Enobaria, good, you can stay with Mags," Glynn said. "I will be borrowing Brutus and Archon or whoever regularly works here. The Capitol does not intend to strip you of your privileges, consider this just a routine check, to make sure our trust isn't being abused." Brutus didn't look very reassured. "I will be then going to the barracks, so have Cereus ready to meet with me in three hours."
Brutus disappeared with Glynn in the labyrinth of corridors, leaving Mags and Cereus with Enobaria and a group of trainees who could have as well been statues.
"You, me, my husband, a room," Mags said as nobody seemed to know what to do. "Not too many cameras," she added in soft tones.
Enobaria's brow was set in a slight frown. "This way," she muttered.
"Mercury wants to see you at the Capitol next Games," Mags said as soon as they were out of earshot.
Cereus had decided that the long list of names covering the walls were more interesting than their conversation. Mags agreed it was the less awkward option.
Two's youngest victor stared. She stared so long Mags almost suspected shock. "She said so during the Tour and Aster had already told me during the last Games," Mags elaborated. She remembered how it had been Mercury, three years ago, who had been responsible for Enobaria's golden teeth. "She seems genuine."
"Bahamut doesn't consider me fit for mentoring yet, he'll be opposed," Enobaria replied.
Her attractive, but harsh, face had softened, and Mags suspected that Enobaria was more touched than she let on. Mags realized that she'd been expecting flat out refusal from the young woman. After all, what would a Two want to do with a Three?
"Then go as an observer," Mags said. It was hardly unheard of, for Two's victors to come in threes with the tributes, so that the new mentors could learn their job. "It's your choice Enobaria, I'm simply the messenger."
Enobaria hesitated. "It's not like anyone's selling me," she mused, baring her awful sharpened golden teeth. There was a reluctant vulnerability in those hazel eyes that made Mags sad. How isolated, how emotionally crippled, even the fierce victors from Two were. A friend shouldn't come at such high a price.
"She really does want to see you," Mags said.
Enobaria glared. "That's the only reason I'm even hesitating. You have real non-Career friends?" Her gaze sharpened. "Do you even consider yourself a Career, Mags?"
Mags hid her surprise, because in all those years, Enobaria was the first Career to ever ask.
"I'm a mentor, first and foremost. Every victor needs a mentor and not every victor who brings a tribute home can fulfill that role," Mags finally answered. "I am only there during the Games, but I try to fulfill the role as I can. I try to avoid victors seeing each other as enemies. My methods regarding tributes are Career, although Two makes a greater effort to bring them back alive than I do," she admitted.
"I know all of them respect you," Enobaria said, having subconsciously straightened in pride at Mags' admission. "Friends though?"
"I like to think so," Mags replied with a smile.
Enobaria nodded slowly. "I'll convince Bahamut to take me," she said, tensing at the thought of the Capitol. "You might want to mention it to Lyme and Brutus. If Bahamut comes, then one of them cannot mentor."
Finally Lyme arrived, and she took them to the living quarters of the Annex, keen to show off their infrastructure.
"Lyme, we need a Two victor this year," Mags said, ignoring the unease creeping up her spine. Almost all her trainees died, but planning it, acknowledging it, always made her bitter. "Someone who'll appeal to sponsors enough for them to want a fifth Career."
A shadow crossed Lyme's face, as if she was offended they'd imply she wouldn't be trying her hardest, but then the full import of Mags' words registered. "You want a wager," Lyme breathed after a pause. "Someone original but not like Enobaria was. Finnick was kind and full of feeling and joy, but we don't have any kind tributes." Lyme's jaw clenched and she seemed to hesitate. "There is one," she finally said, almost reluctantly. "A boy, who's small and touching and desperate for recognition and lethal. They kept him, but he's too wild, even for the Games."
It didn't sound good but Lyme had said different from Enobaria. No matter who the real Enobaria was, the Capitol saw her as rabid and feral. Mags was curious now.
"Let's meet him," Cereus suggested. Mags nodded, it was unorthodox but the simplest solution.
"This is Wolfe," Lyme introduced as she opened the door to one of the ten-by-ten foot dorms of the oldest trainees. It held only the bare essentials.
Wolfe straightened, revealing striking amber eyes that were almost golden. His dark hair were long and tangled, although clean, contrasting with his pale complexion. He was small, with a thin waist, but his shoulders were broad and Mags didn't doubt he had the strength to wield a mace.
Cereus' cough rang in the silence.
Wolfe said nothing. He simply stared. He wasn't attractive, there was a severity to his face, something menacing and yet Lyme had been right, he was cute. In a Two way, a strong way, but those eyes held a life and a vulnerability that made Mags want to hear what story he had to tell.
They couldn't say too much, anything could be repeated, but Mags had to know, if their plan to push the Districts over the edge, with a long uninterrupted series of Careers, shattering an illusion of hope that had lasted much too long, had a chance of success.
"I'm looking for an ally for my boy," Mags said, settling for the safest excuse. "If he loses, I'd support your victory."
Mags pushed Azurine's smile out of her mind. Four's girl would be the first to go this year. Snow wouldn't tolerate another Delfina, another alliance that would motivate the Capitol to ask for two victors. Sawyer would live longer, but in the end, he'd be a tool, like all the others. Mags swallowed downbile.
"I don't want a cage." Wolfe's voice was low, slightly hoarse.
"You look rough and intense," Mags said, searching the boy's features for proof he'd be good enough. "In the arena, you'll be striking but cleaned up and Capitol-pretty, you'll be terribly plain. They'll send you home and forget you. You'll be in Victors' Village, freer than anywhere else."
Wolfe locked eyes with her, and Mags had the eerie impression he was reading her mind.
"You're desperate, you're old, time's not your ally anymore. The man with you, he coughs. Time is really not your ally." Mags clenched her fist, feeling an irrational urge to leave the room. "Why me?" Wolfe's speech accelerated, his voice growing lower by the second. "Will I owe you? Will you come for other favors? Will it be Lyme, to mentor me?" and at that he bowed his head fractionally at Lyme, proving that even trainees deemed too wild had an ingrained respect for mentors.
"Wolfe, do you want to win?" Lyme said, her voice betraying no feelings.
Wolfe smiled, a child's shy smile, and it was so innocent and yet for some reason Mags felt she couldn't trust him, and at that moment she understood why they had kept Wolfe. He had charisma.
"Oh yes," Wolfe breathed, "But I never thought anyone would want me to," he said, straightening, and he looked straight at Mags, sharp and hungry. "Why?"
"Because we need you to. Or the Hunger Games lose their meaning," Lyme said. "You are different, the Capitol's eyes will stop on you."
Wolfe arched his eyebrows. "Their meaning?" His expression darkened. "Why your boy? I don't want an ally," Wolfe said, now diffident and leaning back against the wall. "I will play on my terms."
"Or you won't play at all?" Lyme challenged.
"You need me," Wolfe said with a crooked smug smile, detaching every syllable.
Mags could see a penchant for drama, someone who would want people to recognize his intelligence and abilities before he killed them. He was too talkative, too full of flourishes, for a Two.
Wolfe was someone the Capitol would root for and that the Districts would despise.
"Enobaria didn't ally and it would be seen as you following her footsteps. You need to be unique, Wolfe," Mags said. "One ally, my male tribute will do fine. You'll make each other important."
Wolfe smiled. Again that innocent bright smile that made Mags feel protective despite herself. "Fine, I won't tell anyone as long as I can be there, when it's announced. So I can see their faces. They'll hate me," his smile broadened. "And then I'll win, and I'll make them bow."
Cereus shivered and Mags wondered how mad she had to be, to help this boy even Two's instructors were wary of.
"Deal," Lyme said. "I'll ask for you but you will need to trust my experience to shape an angle the Capitol won't forget. Acting stupid will just make you a very forgettable corpse."
Wolfe bowed, the way One's tributes bowed to Caesar Flickerman. "Of course."
Cereus faked a heavy cough, and Donna raised an unbelievable fuss to have them allowed the military care facility. Mags struggled to appear relaxed, because her husband didn't have to fake that hard and Donna's do you want him to die? shrill accusations at the peacekeepers still echoed painfully in her ears.
They excused themselves from dinner, and Mags would have felt guilty, but Finnick was with Glynn and Donna and he didn't need her now. District One could be vicious, but one look at Finnick and they all had seen that barbed remarks were nothing compared to what the Capitol would demand of him. Under Snow's reign of exploitation, One's victors, the youngest especially, had learned to hate Twos and Fours, for being safe, and to despise the outliers, for being so often too coarse and common to hold the Capitol's interest long.
Drop outs from training in Two usually became peacekeepers but Mags couldn't say what happened to the drop outs in One. To the beautiful girls and handsome boys who'd learned to charm but who'd fallen one short. She didn't want to know, because she knew that she couldn't help them, and she didn't need more nightmares.
"I'll be fine," Cereus told the doctor examining his chest. "The Capitolites overreacted, I know you have other patients. My illness is old age in winter."
"We do have medicine for old age in winter," the doctor replied with a hint of a smile. "Stay inside, the patients in this ward are mentally stable but ring if you run into trouble. I must run."
High ranking officers were allowed emergency treatments in the Capitol and medicine at reduced prices, but even they had to stay in their Districts if they needed daily care. Mags and Cereus didn't need to long to find Valerian.
It was painful to see the former Colonel so wizened, bound to a wheelchair. It was worse for Cereus, who hadn't seen Valerian in fifteen years and remembered a sharp, charismatic man so proud and full of energy. Valerian had been his mentor, they'd mourned Constantine together, and it was Valerian who had made it possible for Cereus to come to Four.
Valerian pushed himself upright, his limbs shaking from exertion, to greet them. Aware she'd be just as ridiculously proud in Valerian's stead, Mags didn't try to assist him and warmly grasped his hand instead.
"I never thought I'd seen you again," Valerian said, his blue eyes pausing at length on Cereus. "Hate to make you see me like this, boy, but I'm happy that silence in Four wasn't too bad news." His voice was soft and tired, and Mags wanted to bundle him up and take him to Creneis with them.
"We won this round," Cereus said with a smile. "Whispers are you've been keeping in the loop all these years."
"Special classes," Valerian said, straightening as much as his back allowed, with a mischievous smile that held a hint of the handsome man he had once been. "Seven years ago, we decided that talks with retired officers were compulsory during officer training. I still manage to go to see the cadets once a fortnight, sometimes more."
Cereus chuckled, impressed. He put his hand on the man's arm.
"Valerian," Cereus said, his voice thick with emotion. "How have you been, how are your children?"
Valerian gave them a big smile. "Peacekeeper, peacekeeper and only the girl left to give me grandkids. Two of them, a handful of years older than your Finnick and I had to knock some sense into the eldest or he'd have gone Career."
Mags found herself boasting about family and sharing anecdotes on leading and peacekeepers, marveling at this precious, intimate moment shared with the man who had brought the rebellion to One, who had stopped Evadne Achlys, and the man he had led to her, her husband, her partner.
The figure to interrupt them was not a doctor, a Capitolite or a peacekeeper, but a sleek and polished man, maybe forty, with long blonde hair tied in a manly ponytail. His long winter-suit was shiny and well-tailored, and still humid from the frosty air outside.
"Just wanted to make sure, that you weren't really dying," the man said. "You're not allowed, not until you're done."
His imperious tone had Mags stiffen, but Valerian only glared at the man, half-stern, half-resigned.
"Who are you, Sir?" Cereus said.
"My name is Leander." The man's polite smile turned stiff. "My mother died for you, Mags."
Mags' stomach plummeted. She remembered the pictures from all those years ago. He'd been a boy of nineteen. Her throat constricted painfully. She'd never had any news… Now it seemed that Valerian had kept silent because he'd been asked to. Marquise's son had grown into a successful man.
"I hated you for a long time," Leander said, his deep voice calm. "Mother evaded talk of politics, with father and me."
"Marquise would never have given her life lightly," Mags replied, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "She was an exceptional woman."
"And you were more important than me, her son," Leander replied. His hard smile softened. "And I didn't feel unloved, which made it all so more puzzling. I had to see you, at least once. Hello, Valerian," he said, with a true smile. And Mags could finally see the resemblance, in those high cheekbones and how those blue eyes crinkled, in that open smile with a hint of insolent playfulness.
"You wouldn't think to show your face empty handed," Valerian said, an odd look in his eyes. He looked pleased.
Leander smirked. "You know me too well old man. I never became a peacekeeper," he said. "It's so much more satisfying to be of the lords, to give absurd orders in the name of politics. I prefer information to cold weapons."
"Get on with it," Valerian said with an eyeroll.
"Fifty people cannot keep a secret unless they are avoxes, and avoxes are rarely qualified," Leander continued. Vibrant triumph lit his face. "The next arena is being built as we speak by One's craftsmen." He paused, savoring Mags' stunned expression. "Clockwork," he exclaimed in delight. "Clocks small and big, plain and precious, white, black, red and blue, locked into each other, but also able to re-position themselves and change angle." His voice dropped dramatically. "You want to have a very good balance, and run fast, when that happens. They heat up or freeze depending on the time. There are even three huge clocks that are big enough to walk in rather than onto, with man-sized parts. One is hosting a river."
He gave a dramatic sigh. "And I can't believe I'm giving you that information for free, but Mother believed you to be a good investment."
"The word is friend," Mags said waspishly. She was touched by the man's effort to be civil, astounded by his information, but his cavalier attitude reminded her of Capitolites, which was probably why he was successful, but it sent shivers up her spine.
"I know," Leander whispered, suddenly so subdued that Mags felt guilty about her unease.
"Bet on District Two this year," Mags therefore said. "Not excessively," she added. No plan was foolproof.
Lyme would go to the Capitol in the Spring. Mags would have to tell Glynn.
"Careers have won the last four games," Leander replied with a deep frown. "Five in a row is would be almost preposterous, last time three Careers won back-to-back was in the second decade."
Domitia, Garnet, Tang, Mags remembered painfully well. Odd that the first ghosts lingered the longest… Mags occasionally still dreamed of Petrel, her first tribute, that sweet and deluded twelve-year-old volunteer, but even if she mourned her sacrificed students, none of FLASH's Careers haunted her waking days.
Leander's eyes had narrowed. "Someone wants Careers to win. Can't be the outer Districts and Sponsors like variety. Why do you want Careers, especially Two's?"
"Do you really want an answer?" Valerian said, and with him behind her, Mags could almost picture him as the man who'd steadied her during her own Victory Tour.
The question had been very mild, but Leander deflated like a popped balloon. "Of course not," he said, giving them a strained broad smile. Mags' heart went out to him. "I'm just a piece of machinery myself. The cogs don't need to know how the clock works to make it tell the time accurately. Top of the day to you, and don't slack," he said, jabbing a finger at them in warning.
He threw his coat over his shoulder and turned to leave with a last piercing glance at her and Cereus.
"Her sacrifice was necessary, but not acceptable," Mags said as Leander reached the door.
Leander's eyes had a dangerous glint to them. "I should hope not. Give me a shout if you need money. I still don't like you, so ask nicely."
Valerian sighed as the Leander left, but he was smiling.
"I had wondered if he'd be brave enough to show up this year. The provocation is just a facade he wears. He's a loyal boy, he means it," Valerian said. "Marquise was never one for ranks and salutes and that boy is worse, probably because he grew up already rich."
Mags' eyes were suspiciously moist. "Why don't I go talk with the doctors, and leave you two men together."
"You-"
"If it was Marquise here, I'd kick you out, Cereus," she said affectionately. "I'm going to get myself an education in curing old age."
"It's always an honor, Colonel," she said, saluting Valerian for what she knew would be the last time. She could see in his eyes that he knew it too. He smiled. "General," he said with a salute of his own.
Mags' throat constricted. He'd only called her that once before, the day he'd killed Evadne Achlys. The day they'd lost Vicuña and Marquise.
She'd thought she'd be sadder, instead it felt natural and bittersweet. The sunset that marked the end an exemplary and full life. Safe journey, old friend.
Her feet echoed on the floor as she walked to the medics' offices.
Clocks.
She still had so much to do, but today it almost felt within her grasp. Maybe, just maybe, she would live to see an empire topple.
The Capitol tried its hardest to be new, but it always felt the same.
"He's my nephew, you're not getting him alone," Mags announced, a hand around Finnick's wrist. Cereus mirrored her stance.
No one was surprised to see her protective and they didn't complain, because it was expected, with her being his great-aunt, and different, a victor with a family in the spotlights, and they were just as happy to enjoy Finnick being Panem's first child-victor as they were excited to see him grow up.
They asked of Four and Eirene and Mags spoke of misunderstandings and the greater good. She promised production in Four would soar again, and just like Plutarch had promised Snow, the Capitol stopped grumbling. Mags had no way of knowing if her lies had been accepted, or if the calm was just a temporary illusion.
They did not ask of Delfina, they did not speak of Six. Mags' heart went out to Finnick, but she was unsurprised.
Plutarch raised his glass at her from the Gamemakers' table and Snow never asked to see her, or Finnick, and in Mags' mind, that was the solidest proof of their success.
That was probably the most cheerful chapter I've written in ages^^.
Please review.