+ Thanks to Dancing-Souls for another great review! Coming to an end on the Victory Tour, we're back in the Capitol. Time for Terra to meet everyone finally. Also, these chapters are starting to get really long...

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A veil of white draped the Capitol on my first return to the great shining city. Frost glazed the train's windows, but I could still make out the gleaming silver forest of towers stretching high above the maze of winding streets and avenues below. Snow capped the mountains flanking the city, hiding every inch of rock and grass beneath a frozen blanket. The rising sun bathed the city's frozen lake in red and orange light. Here and there hovercraft flew about, giant, bird-like ones meant for great hosts and smaller ones like silver gnats, flitting between skyscrapers with the fluid grace of tiny fish.

The beauty evaporated the closer the train got. It wasn't the scene that upset me, however, but the signs.

She will strike, read a large, black-framed banner draped across the side of a boxy gray high-rise littered with icicles as large as me. The acid-green words leered at me from above the picture of a girl I didn't know. Her bare skin was tan and strong, barely concealing thin, rippling muscle sinew beneath. Her brown ponytail curled around her neck and her bony shoulders, falling down just above the black dagger she clutched in her right hand. Her face was ice and contempt. To top it all off, a pair of green-yellow serpents slithered between her legs, coiling around her ankles and hissing with long tongues out at anyone who dared to look.

A red 5 was burned into her hand.

"You did a fine job listening to my advice," Elan mused as I watched in horror from the breakfast table. "Even Drake Odair will have a hard time competing with your brand. They painted him as a hero, the son of a champion reclaiming his family's reputation. I can't imagine a more perfect foil. The girl of snakes. The lady of the night. Whatever they end up calling you, you made an impression, Terra."

"It's horrible," I murmured, still in shock as I watched the banner – as I watched me – drift by as we approached the Capitol.

Elan cast a sideways look towards Daud, who was in the process of drizzling an avalanche of jelly on top of a pastry. "No worse than some."

"They think I'm a killer."

"You are a killer," said Daud.

I glared at him, sighed, and said, "How did they even get that picture of me? I never posed."

"It's not hard," Elan said. "They have plenty of you on camera. A little editing and you're nude with snakes and a dagger."

"That's disgusting."

"No different than much of what goes on this city."

"Filled with whores," Daud muttered.

I frowned. "Are you even coming this time, Daud?"

He glanced out the window, eyed the mountains, scowled, and said, "No."

"Why are you – "

Before I could get any further, a quick shake of the head from Elan cut me off. Just another secret. I plowed through breakfast and headed back to the rooming cars to let Rhea and my stylist team work me over before we arrived, but Elan caught me by the shoulder before I could make it far.

"Before you go," he said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure we were alone before going on. "You'll want to know one thing about tonight."

I frowned. "You're not coming, either?"

"Oh, I am. But I'll be running many an errand here and there at the same time. Being an escort means a busy life in times like these. You probably won't see much of me until we leave the Capitol."

Elan adjusted the high collar on his shiny red shirt, pulled on a long strand of hair that ran down from his ear to his neckline, and said, "You'll be with Cicero Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman most of the afternoon, but tonight's the real important part. You'll have a feast in your honor, much like the ones we've endured in every district up until now."

"Then why's it so important?"

My escort paused, letting each second tick away at my curiosity. I hated this. Flint had used the same trick on me for years: Every moment that passed by in weighted silence made me more eager to get at what would come next. It didn't take much for eagerness to give way to anxiety.

"Elan?" I pressed.

He smiled, a small, subtle grin that began and ended at the corners of his mouth. "There are many things that aren't meant to be heard in the Capitol, Terra – but they're impossible not to hear if you listen to the right people at the right times. Creon Snow, the president, will take you aside sometime tonight. He'll have a job for you."

I swallowed hard. "A job?"

"Victors are unique. They command the spotlight and there's relatively few of them still young and…whole, let's say. Rarity breeds scarcity, and scarcity breeds value. There are victors who engage in unsavory tasks in service to the Capitol, but that was under the old regime. Creon Snow is a practical man, and I think he'll want to keep you close. Whatever you're told tonight, Terra, you'd do best to remember all of it. What the higher-ups in the Capitol say isn't always what they mean, and for people like me and you, a good ear trumps a strong voice. I understand you well enough to know no one will ever answer all your questions. Sometimes it's best to put them aside for a night."

I didn't like the slow, soft way he told me these things. Something about the way he emphasized job, the ominous feel behind it, sent shivers up my spine. "I still don't get how you know all this. You're an escort."

"Exactly," he said. "What are the odds?"

One thing was sure that night: The Capitol's feast put District 4's to shame. Following an afternoon of questions and faked smiles for the camera with a scarlet-haired Cicero Templesmith, the Presidential Mansion felt almost like a welcome relief from the bright, probing eyes of the cameras. Twinkling yellow lights from the city towers behind me watched as I followed Finch up the hedge-lined walk to the great manor. Red and gold neon lights strewn throughout the foliage glimmered off of my shiny blue dress. Up ahead, the Mansion reached up in a glow of blue and violet lights, a midnight sun eager to outcompete the full moon's radiance. Everything felt bright and new, and I pulled in irritation at the sparkling silver streamers that Rhea had laced in my hair.

"Terra, what'd I say about leaving your clothes alone?" Finch said. She'd outdone her typically humble sense of style herself: My mentor had donned a bright red dress that drifted on the walk behind her like a trail of flame. Her hair's curls lapping at her shoulders only made her look fiercer.

I certainly wasn't looking to spark an argument. "I know."

"If you know, then stop messing with it."

"I am."

The night was off to a great start as I sighed and followed Finch up the walk, clutching my arms tight enough to leave marks in my skin. Even with the spindly metal space heaters lining the hedges, the air was still frigid. Would've been a lot easier if someone could've just driven me to the door of this place…

It wasn't long before the cameras began to flash again. With a smile plastered across my face, I waltzed through the great bronze doors to the manor, Finch leading the way through a throng of partygoers dressed in all sorts of outlandish outfits. Reds, greens, blues, violets, every color of the rainbow whirled around me as I stepped into a great hall, easily as large as the town center back home. Off in the distance by the far wall, an ensemble of musicians clad in ankle-length scarlet robes played and sang a low, slow tune. Violet wisps of fog curled around the yellow and red ceiling lights, mounted around a skylight easily thirty feet above the floor. On every side of the great room, chrome tables groaned under the weight of gold dishes tempting my taste buds with all manner of foods. Armored crimson bugs with monstrous claws hissed and steamed beside fluffy brown buns. Moist orange globes threatened to tumble out of serving bowls and into goblets of hot stews. The smells of sautéed fish, boiled vegetables, and foods I couldn't even imagined swirled together with the sounds of laughter and chatter.

I wondered how much all this all cost. An arm and a leg? All four limbs? A torso?

It wasn't the lights and smells, however, that demanded my attention. No sooner had I escaped from Finch and begun loading slices of sizzling red meat onto a silver platter than a bony hand grabbed my arm and turned me about.

"There she is," said a thin man with a crown of tattoos atop his barren head. "Our guest of honor."

I had an urge to run the other way. The man was dressed to catch the crowd's eyes – and not in a good way. He wore a flowing lime green suit that stretched down to mid-thigh, contrasting horribly with the black, inky body art that snaked down his neck and reached out over the tops of his hands. His cheekbones poked a little too obtrusively out from his face, and his small, dark eyes made anxiety rise up in my gut before I even started to speak.

"Do I know you?" I said, nearly tripping over the words.

The man next to him, a powerful, broad-shouldered brute in a black suit, scoffed. "Of course you do. In a certain fashion."

"I guess I'm responsible for you being here," the thin man laughed. "Galan Greene. Head Gamesmaker."

"Otho Tercio," said the other. "But I'm only here for the week. Commander of the District 1 garrison."

Already I didn't like either of them. Maybe it was the way this Gamesmaker – this Galan Greene – introduced himself as if he'd won the Games for me, or maybe it was the haughty way Otho carried himself, as if everyone in the room knew his name. I didn't think either one connected Terra the girl from District 5 with Terra the victor.

"You're making something of a name for yourself already," Galan said, stirring his fork through a plate of something red and mushy. "The way I hear it, we'll be seeing a lot more of you."

Otho cast a nasty look at him. "So I hear. No need to spoil it now. I hear you carried yourself well in my district, Ms. Pike."

I feigned interest. "It's uh…lovely, your district."

"Oh, not a native," he said. "Capitol born and bred. Of course, it's nice to escape this lot for most of the year."

He cast another sideways glance at Galan Greene, the derision obvious in his scowl. "I'm almost amazed your Games went as well as they did."

"They went well?" I asked. "I'm sorry, I just saw some of the banners this morning, and…"

Galan laughed, a high-pitched, airy bark of a thing. "You're worried about your look? That's just what we could have hoped for on the heels of a prissy brat like Drake Odair. Those white knights are so boring. Someone like you with a little mystery and a dark side, well, that's a lot more fun."

"There's a little more than 'fun' in it," Otho said, gritting his teeth.

"Of course. Of course. No party's a real party if there's any fun involved. Wouldn't want that, would we?"

It wasn't Galan who mocked Otho but a newcomer, a long, skinny man who sidled up to me and eyed the table. He looked entirely out of place here with his ragged bush of brown hair, adorned in a loose golden robe that bunched up on the floor behind him. "Ah! My favorite person here!" he exclaimed, looking past me at the table. "The champagne! What would I do without you?"

Galan made a noise like a dog vomiting. The newcomer held out a beer mug that would have fit in at my father's cantina and poured champagne into it, careful to fill it up all the way to the brim. "Musn't waste it. This probably took a year to cultivate in District 8. Or is it District 6? Wherever they make champagne."

"It didn't take you long to get drunk," Otho hissed. "Your father –"

"-isn't here," the man finished, taking a long swig. "Not a subject for pleasant conversation, hm? Death, dying. Oh, who am I kidding, the victor of the Hunger Games is here. Maybe we should talk about it."

Galan hurried off into the crowd. Otho moved to follow him, but not before turning back to me and saying, "Careful how much time you spend with him."

The drunken man rolled his eyes as he left. "What a pleasant man. The day he clears the stick out of his ass will be the day the sky falls and the seas boil over."

"I'm trying not to take sides tonight," I said.

"Bad idea here. I don't think neutrality's a thing," the man said. "Oh, where are my manners? Introductions! I'm the man who made sure your toilets didn't overflow in the Training Center last year."

I couldn't help but laugh. "You think it's funny?" he said, filling up his mug again. "It's a prestigious role! So they say. Capitol Administrator, manager of infrastructure, whatever my official title is. The pipes are clean and the roads are clear. It'd be a lot easier if my name wasn't Julian Tercio. Ugly men like my uncle, who you just met, place all sorts of egregious responsibilities on me because of my last name. They even think I shouldn't drink so much. The horror!"

"Maybe you shouldn't?" I suggested as he tilted back his mug again.

"Preposterous," he said. "How else would I make it through these things? I know you don't think it's fun. I don't either, and I have to host these kinds of things."

I couldn't argue with that. I reached for an empty crystal goblet on the table and filled it to the brim with champagne. The drink was fizzy and sharp, but something about it made me want to drink more.

"Faith restored," Julian said. He glanced over my shoulder and laughed. "And just in time, too. Here comes the conquering hero of the party! Cyrus Locke, the man of no smiles. Only I don't think he's conquered anything, and I don't think he's a hero, either."

An older man in a simple blue jacket walked up behind me. He hadn't shaven that morning it seemed as gray stubble crept up from his chin and jawline. His hair thinned in spots, but his simple style was a refreshing breath of air among the bright colors and overwhelming perfumes of the crowd around me.

"I'm happy not to be one," the man, Cyrus, said as he walked up. "The way I hear it, in every story, the heroes end up dead."

"Don't we all," Julian said to his mug. "Here to take our guest away from this fantastic feast?"

"Afraid I am. Duty calls."

"Duty. Because we love our little roundtables."

Cyrus smiled. "I hope you don't mind if I pull you away, Terra. I need a few minutes of your time. The party will still be here when you get back."

It sounded like I didn't have much of a choice, but this man, Cyrus, wasn't pushy. He guided me away from the crowds, the music, and the food, back into a hallway lined with oil portraits and gold sculptures. "Don't mind Julian," he said as we walked up a marble staircase, a crystal chandelier with a thousand pearly lights shining down on it from above. "He's a conflicted man. I think he wants nothing more than to waste away his life with drinks and songs, but he inherited one of the largest fortunes in the Capitol. There are strings that come with that."

"I guess it's hard to be that unlucky," I said. I immediately regretted it. Stupid. Elan had told me to listen, not to talk, and I was instead spouting off whatever came to mind. Maybe it was the champagne: I'd had my share of hard drinks from an early age in my father's cantina, but this new stuff hit hard.

"More than you might think," Cyrus said. "Although I know how it must seem."

"How?"

He paused, holding up at the last step and glancing over at me. "A longer story than we have time for now. Come on."

I stopped myself before I asked where we were going. Elan had told me enough on the train, and I trusted his secrets. The president wanted to see me, and from the way this Cyrus carried himself, I had no doubt that Creon Snow waited.

"Forgive me for the short timing on this," Cyrus said as we walked down another hallway, this one flanked by red walls and polished stone totems sitting atop marble platforms. "I've got another two places to be before the night's over, and the president's keen to see you. I'll have to run as soon as we reach him. I'd much rather stay and talk, but now's not the time."

"I'm just doing what I have to do," I said with a shrug.

"The same."

Cyrus led me to a pair of gold-inlaid doors, the eagle of Panem draped across them. He knocked once, twice, and pushed open the doors. Before me was a much smaller room than the one downstairs, but much grander. Lining the walls were statuettes and figurines of jade, lapis, and other precious minerals, their polish exquisite, their detail finer than I could imagine. A chandelier above reflected every shade of light across the room, a thousand hues flickering against hardwood floor. In the middle of the room, a hardwood table stood over a rug emblazed with the same Capitol eagle as the one on the door, flanked by a dozen mahogany chairs. Light form the Capitol skyline shined in from the glass screen on the other side of the room, reflecting into a million twinkling fractals on the walls.

Then there was the people. A gaunt, black-haired man stood over the table with his hands on a chair back, looking over a long piece of paper with hawk-like eyes. He glanced up as soon as the door opened, catching my eyes and staring back without breaking his gaze. Every inch of him reeked of authority, from his perfectly-fitted black coat to his high cheekbones and stout chin. Yet he seemed almost normal – in district terms – to the woman across from him. She was drenched in an off-putting shade of pale blue that covered her from head to toe. Even her hair was blue, and her eyes looked unnatural when she glanced up.

None of them spoke but one, one who I didn't see at first: "Leave us. All of you."

The black-haired man protested. "Sir, one of us should – "

"You too, Taurus. I want to be alone with her. And you, Lucrezia."

Taurus. Cyrus. Lucrezia. Elan told me to listen, and I did. I vowed to remember their names. Something told me I'd be seeing them again, and often.

He slipped out from behind a statue as the door closed. I barely saw him at first. The plain gray suit he wore hardly stood out from the grandiosity of the room, and with his hard eyes, jutting jaw, and streaks of gray in his hair, he could have fit in right at home with any older man in District 5. President Snow didn't look much like I imagined a president to look like at all. He didn't seem haughty and he didn't look outrageous. He looked normal.

"Taurus Sharpe would tell me to have security on hand," he said, strolling forward to a chair and grabbing its back with both hands. "But I don't see why I should trust them and not you. Am I wrong?"

I stumbled for an answer. I didn't know what to expect from Creon Snow, but whatever it was, I wasn't prepared. "No. Uh – Mister President."

"'Mister President,'" he scoffed. "The sycophants call me that. They think mindless flattery will get them into my good graces. It might have worked for some rulers. Not me."

My mouth moved before my thoughts came together. "So what do I call you? Creon?"

He grinned, but only with the very corners of his mouth. "Careful Ms. Pike. We're not that well acquainted yet."

I bit my tongue and stood back. Hastiness would get me killed here if I didn't shut up and let the man do the talking. "You're the first victor since I took over the presidency," Creon said, pushing aside a cluster of papers on the table. "They tell me you can be useful. Lucrezia, Taurus, all of them. Even Cyrus says it. I don't know much about you other than that you survived the arena and made a name for yourself here, but that's two things going for you. It's a start."

"Ostensibly," Creon went on. His gaze never broke from mine. "I'm telling you that I want you to watch the other victors. Get to know them. You got to know enough of the other tributes during the Games, so I know you're not too shy for that. Once you get to know them, Lucrezia wants to know everything about them. Our eyes and ears only go so far, and there's nothing better than an inside source telling us every last little detail."

My skin prickled. "You want me to spy on the others? I've barely even met them. They won't trust me."

"A few. Besides,my advisors want you to spy on them. You'll report your findings to Cyrus, who I sent to get you personally tonight. He's trustworthy, if too soft, and you'll know him well soon enough. But that's not what I want."

He planted his hands on the table and lowered his head so his eyes darkened. "What do you think of the Hunger Games?"

"They're…" I started, letting the thought trail off. I bit my lip and looked away, unable to keep up with the president's piercing stare. The glittering fractals of light thrown up along the wall by the great windows looked a little less welcoming. Snow's question felt like a trap. "The districts seemed happy to see me. People are happy to have them."

"A lie," Creon countered. He frowned.

My throat closed up. "Not all lies are bad, but I hate a certain class of lies. Yours was a lie of fear. Others lie out of loyalty, and I can tolerate them. Some lie out of far worse motives," he said. "Lucrezia's a liar. I only tolerate her because she's good at her job. Galan's a liar, and I have half a mind to throw him out of this manor every day. They're liars of opportunity, and I hate that kind of liar. Come walk with me."

He pushed open the great glass doors and let the cold winter draft slip in. Clutching my arms, I followed him out onto the patio. Far below the vine-entwisted gold railing surrounding the balcony, a frozen-over, circular reflecting pool at least a hundred yards across glistened with icy golden light. A marble colonnade encircled it, lined with hardy winter trees and bushes covered in spiny green needles and brown seed pods. I imagined it looked completely different come summer: In my head, I envisioned palm trees reaching high for the sun, shading bright, flowering red bromeliads below. Dozens, maybe hundreds of courtiers might pack the walkways and terraces around the pool, laughing, smiling, even just listening inside what must be a tiny slice of natural peace in the heart of the Capitol's bustle.

"Caro's Gardens," said Creon, sweeping his over the icy pond. "Named after my great-great-uncle. He ruled the Capitol in the months and years after the Dark Days, when the Hunger Games first began. He built this right after the war to get away from the thoughts of the fighting, but ever since then, the House of Snow's controlled the Capitol and all of Panem. My father might have been the longest-ruling Snow, but he wasn't the first. My family's kept a grip on the country through riots, fighting, and discontent all for one reason."

"You lied out of fear of what I'd say," he said, looking out towards the mountains in the distance. "That I might not like what you think of the Games. I don't care. Weak men answer disagreement with executions. If that made my father weak, so be it. He thought only fear could control the country, but it brought him two riots, one that tore District 8 apart only fifteen years ago. Others say differently. Cyrus tells me mercy would better control the masses, but there's a fine, easily-crossed line between compassion and weakness. One step over it and everyone with an ounce of ambition is free to wreak havoc. When those who would take advantage of kindness are free to cross lines, chaos ensues. That's how District 13 began the strife that led to the Dark Days."

"So shoot for somewhere in the middle?" I asked.

"Exactly. It's order that keeps people in line. Laws. When the rules are clear and just everyone understands them, they have no excuse to break them. Those who would are criminals, worth neither mercy nor compassion."

He narrowed his eyes and stared off towards the city lights. "It's no surprise that the country's unstable. The Hunger Games are as arbitrary as things come."

"You sound like that you want to end them."

"I do. But only a fool ends overnight an event that's run nearly a century."

It felt strange to defend something that had nearly taken my life, but Creon said he welcomed disagreement. I decided to test my luck. "I don't think your father would've agreed."

"So he's weak and a fool," Creon said without missing a beat. "He has his chances. He had Finnick Odair fall into his lap, a perfect tool to keep tabs on the Capitol with, and he turned him into a prostitute. Only a fool does that."

I shuddered. What? Creon must have sensed my hesitation, because he said, "That new to you? You killed three or four other kids six months ago and you think my father didn't destroy victors after they'd won? Ha. I'd hoped you were smart. I still hope so, but there was a reason I wanted the boy from 3 to win."

"What?"

"I'm not proud of engaging in these things. I'd rather step away from the Games entirely, but I know what position I'm in, Ms. Pike. I need people on my side, and I need someone who won't lie to me. Someone who can do dirty work in this city full of lies."

He turned back to me, his face all stone and steel. "My father died a year ago. Do you know how?"

I stuttered. My mind was still reeling from the last few things Creon had said: The last president turned victors into toys...and this one didn't even want to see me survive. Why does he care what happens to me now? "No."

"The official autopsy says he was murdered," Creon said. "District anarchists won the blame. But I have reason to believe it was an inside job – someone or a group who tired of my father's power and wanted some of it for themselves. The thought ate away at me for days. I spent a long time in my early adulthood away from the Capitol and in the districts – 8, 2, 1, others. I realize I don't know these people around me half as well as they know me. All this time, no one has watched the watchers."

I knew where this was going. "You don't want me to spy on the victors. You want me to spy on the Capitol instead."

"Maybe there is a brain in there. That's what I want. Lucrezia, Taurus, Cyrus, Galan, even Julian, all of them. I want to bring order to Panem. I want to find out who murdered my father. And I want to find out who would stand against me in these things. I don't have reason to trust them. I don't have reason to trust you. But you're new. No one really knows what to make of you yet, and I can't let you slip past me."

In the darkness of the night, Creon looked like a dangerous predator. He didn't have the same old authority of the last president, nor the same frown. He didn't smile with downcast eyes, but balled a fist instead. "I want you to report to Cyrus and Lucrezia on the other victors, and while you do, I want you to report to me on them. Do your job, and maybe you and I can go a long way to safeguarding Panem's future for years to come. No more riots. No more Hunger Games. Law, order, and peace. Nothing more. Nothing less."