+ Thanks again for the reviews, melliemoo! Not sure how I felt about that last chapter in hindsight, but let's keep the ball rolling. I've been sparse on action lately trying to set things up for later, and blood and violence is to come soon, but creepiness coming in this chapter, heh.

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Shiiink!

The sound of steel grating against steel jostled me from my sleep. The sun hadn't risen over the mountains to the west, but someone in the Capitol was up early on the second day of training. He'd been up for quite a while, even – long enough to sneak into my room, take a seat across from my bed, and sharpen a pair of knives with an expression of boredom.

"Gah!" I gasped, jerking upright and scrambling against the head of my bed and banging my elbow in the process.

Arrian de Lange didn't so much as look at me. "Our victor sleeps in. The day has long since begun, girl."

"How did you even get in here?"

He shrugged. "It is not hard."

"What do you want?"

"So many dead children walking around in here. Two of them are yours," he said. "Or only one. I told you my offer long ago. It still stands. I have talents to sell, and prices to earn. I only need you to ask. Name one of them, either of them. They can go home with you for one of those prices."

I narrowed my eyes. I'd seen what his work entailed the last time, and the way he said price made me think I'd be paying a lot more than I'd get in return. How much did I really know about Arrian, anyway, besides his brutal effectiveness? "Who else are you offering this to?"

"Anyone interesting. I offer different things depending on the customer."

"And you think I'm that interesting?"

Arrian smirked, picked up the glass of water I'd left on my nightstand the night before, and took a drink. "No. I saw your interview last evening. A convincing sort of teenage smoldering for a gullible audience eager to believe, but…not so convincing for one versed in the Gilded Game. A smart girl would try less obviously."

"I'm learning."

"I said the Game is not about what is said, but what is not."

"I have to say something to make people want to speak up."

He took another drink. "Our victor could use some authenticity."

"Fine. How's this? I'll get my kids out of the arena myself. I'm not paying whatever you want to do it."

Arrian sighed and set the glass down. "That was not authentic, either. But I do not force a choice on an unwilling victor. I will leave out the elevator this time. Everyone else is asleep."

A thought struck me just before he opened my bedroom door. "Wait!"

He turned, and I swallowed hard and dove in. "There's something I do want?"

"Ask away, but everything comes with a price."

Gods, this was stupid. "There's a party tonight. The president's daughter is hosting it at…wherever her place is. I want in."

He raised an eyebrow. "To drink with Calla Snow?"

"You don't need to know why."

"I do not. And I can get you an invite – if you do something for me."

He sized me up for a moment, and I did my best to hold his gaze. Arrian was an intimidating man in such close quarters: Back home, even in my dusty old house, he hadn't looked so powerful. His hair looked longer, stretching down to his shoulders, wiry and with just enough wildness to seem dangerous. He looked taller than I remembered, and I had to wonder just how he had snuck in here with no one noticing. It wasn't like he was a mouse who could slip in and out undetected.

"A Capitol artist is attending Calla's…party," said Arrian at last. "His name is Rex Rousseau. He will have your invitation, and in return, you will go as his honored guest tonight. He is a fan. You will meet him at the front entrance of this facility, in front of the doors that open onto the Forum at eight o'clock. Do so and you will have your way in."

That was his price? That didn't sound any more difficult than rounding up sponsorships, by the sounds of things. "You just want me to go with some artist? That's it? Why?"

He shrugged. "You do not need to know why."

"Wait, again," I said as he moved to open the door. "How do you do these things? Sneak in here, get invitations whenever, make Peacekeepers into avoxes…"

He shrugged again. "It is not hard."

"Can anyone learn?"

"Maybe."

With that, he left.

I spent all day thinking about what would come next. As Fenton complained over breakfast about spending time at the plants station in training, I mulled over Calla Snow's party. As I hopped from one media interview to the next, practicing saying less and asking more, my head circled around what I'd gotten myself into. I didn't really want to go to a party with the president's daughter, of course. I knew all of about thirty seconds of her. Cicero, however, had sounded quite eager at the thought of the event – and if Panem's biggest media host had an invitation, I imagined many more big names would be attending tonight, as well. It was a perfect opportunity to learn more about these people I'd be spending time with, both to satisfy Creon Snow and my own curiosity.

What else did I have going on, anyway?

Hours later, I found myself standing by the great steel front doors of the Training Center as the evening sunlight died. This black cocktail dress was too tight: Elan had gotten his hands on it for me once I told him where I was headed for the evening, but he must have forgotten to look up my size before he did. That, or he secretly enjoyed that the dress clung to me like cling wrap, even as it cut off at mid-thigh and left my shoulders exposed to the hot summer evening air.

It felt just a little revealing.

Before long, a long, white car pulled up to the front of the Training Center. The windows were too dark for me to see into the vehicle, especially in the waning light, but I had a feeling who it was when a well-dressed man stepped out of the passenger door. If I'd thought Arrian was a big guy, I wasn't using my imagination. This newcomer was huge, a giant, easily six-seven at the least and with shoulders so wide they looked like they could envelop me. His face was eerily boyish despite his massive frame, curved and with full cheeks and bright hazel eyes. Each strand of his hair seemed dyed a different color, as if a rainbow had fallen and splattered upon his head, and he hid his giant body beneath an ankle-length green silk cloak. From beneath the sleeves, navy blue, snake-like tattoos stretched down his wrists and across his hands.

"Ah!" he said, stepping forward and motioning for a burly bodyguard to wait behind. "You must be Miss Terra. Rex. Rex Rousseau. I'm known in a few venues around here. Let me say, I'm just delighted that you chose to accompany me tonight. It'll be a good time, no doubt."

He grabbed my hand and shook it with a vise-like grip before I had time to react. "It's, uh…great," I stammered. "Should we go?"

"Of course," he said. "Uncouth to be late on such a lovely evening."

His car's interior was a piece of work itself: Gold leaf lined the black paneling, and the velvet seats almost sighed as I slumped down behind the driver. It was quiet in here, so quiet I couldn't even hear the crowds outside as we sped by them.

"Quiet the lovely dress, if I haven't said so already," Rex said as we buzzed down the far end of the Forum and headed out towards the city's outskirts. "Did you buy this yourself? Putting some of that victory money to good use?"

I blushed. Well. "Ah. No. My escort got it."

"Elan. What a man," he said. "I suppose he'd know about what to wear. One doesn't come from his background and not know how to fit in."

That perked me up. "Where's he from?"

"Oh, here and there. Nothing really to worry about."

Arrian's advice took root. The Game is not about what is said, but what is not. Whatever Rex knew about Elan, he was hiding it from me – and I had a feeling it ran a lot deeper than my escort being some ordinary guy off the street.

"So where are you from? Artist school, or something?" I said, eager to keep the conversation off of me. After Arrian's chiding, I wasn't eager to figure out exactly how I needed to answer questions about myself.

"Artist school?" he laughed. "That's not exactly how artistic inspiration comes about."

"Then how?"

"A little dash of this and that. It's more about creation, Terra. When you have your eye on creating something specific, you just do it. Damn the consequences. Sometimes it doesn't turn out like you expected, but that can be a good thing. It's a process that takes some getting used to."

I shrugged. "I guess. It's probably fun to have the time to do it."

"Oh, the aggressive, cynical victor crops up! Yes, it's not probably as time-consuming as what you're caught up in. Getting a tribute out alive from the arena, that must be hard. If you're on the outside."

He scratched his chin and smiled with the edges of his lips. "If I can say so, you don't seem quite like the victor I saw in last night's interview. A little more reserved, quiet. I would have thought you'd have tried to kill me by now, considering your back-and-forth with Mr. Odair."

"I'm not –" I started, but caught myself before I let on any further. "Maybe I'm just planning the deed out."

"Aha! I'll have to watch my back. Of course, here it's not as easy as just planting a knife in someone's back. Sometimes it's the ramifications far away that deliver the knife in the first place."

I eyed him, wary. There was something strange about Rex, but I couldn't place it. He wasn't as artist-y as I would have imagined. "Do you have a lot of experience with knives?"

"The brush is my knife," he said. "But who knows if our fellow guests tonight can say the same? Calla Snow's parties have a habit of attracting the famous. When someone important shows up, it's a good idea to be there yourself."

"I'd be happy not to have everyone gawking for once," I said.

"Oh, not so much gawking tonight. I'm afraid to say it, Terra, but I imagine you'll be something of the low girl on the totem pole tonight. Enjoy it while you can. Some of these people are a little too highfalutin for even my nerves."

"You're not that excited?"

He frowned. "I have business here tonight. I'm here for that. Of course, it's icing on the cake that I can show off with you around. It looks good, you know? Exclusive access to our most recent victor."

Great. I love being meat. I expected things like this, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow.

I had to say one thing for Calla Snow: She knew how to keep up an appearance. Her estate was as bright as the sun in the shadowy darkness of twilight, with a thousand twinkling paper lanterns of every color imaginable lighting up her colossal front garden. A smooth cobblestone pathway snaked from the estate's wrought iron gate between towering hedgerows lined with glowing flowers and sturdy, foreign trees that twisted up high into the sky, their trunks like vines wrapping around invisible stands. Behind it all lay the great estate itself, hidden behind a façade of white stone columns and a lawn packed with a hundred partygoers. This place must have cost more money that I could imagine making in a lifetime as a victor.

At least Rex was right about one thing: The other guests who passed by us on the walk glanced my way without a moment's hesitation. For one night, I was just anybody else. As energizing as the spotlight's attention so often felt, I was glad to melt away into the crowd tonight.

"It's fancy, if a bit ordinary," Rex sneered as he led me up the walk. "Calla's mansion isn't much besides some traditional Capitol architecture. She could have gotten better design for her money."

"It's nice."

"If you're used to District 5. When you diversify your surroundings, Terra, you'll understand when things are really impressive and when people are just putting up fronts."

I didn't have much time to stew over what he said. Introductions followed, and I quickly began forgetting names: This man with the graying hair worked in Capitol infrastructure, while this woman was an associate Gamesmaker. This one had met Rex two years ago at an official gala, while this had snuck him into a bar on the bad side of the city. I dreaded spending the entire night as his pet to show off, but after a few introductions and boring conversations full of small talk, Rex stuck out his hand and motioned towards the mansion in front of us.

"I'm afraid this is where I have to leave you tonight," he said, his voice apologetic. "Business, like I said. It can't wait."

"What?" I said, not entirely understanding. Hadn't he wanted to take me around and show off? "We only got here, like…a half hour ago."

"Well, yes, but you have to know how these things go. Time's valuable."

"Do you have to meet someone, or something?"

"Something, yes. Well…yes."

I stopped him before he could leave me. "Should I just go, then?"

He looked horrified. "Of course not! Go mingle. We only just got here. I'm sure whatever's in store for you these next few weeks, you'll need to know some of these delightful people. They're only too happy to tell you all about themselves if you get them to speak up. It's all disgusting really, but what isn't?"

With that, he merged into the crowd and was gone. I pushed past a circle of onlookers trying to find him, but it was as if Rex had vanished into thin air. I was left alone on the lawn, a hundred or more other guests all around me, talking, chatting, mingling as if they'd known each other for years. It wasn't the first time I didn't know what to do next, but I felt particularly lost this time.

Why exactly had Arrian wanted me to accompany him here? It didn't make sense.

I guess I'll go inside.

The mansion's foyer was a sight to behold. A three-story high ceiling of gold and white marble looked down upon a wide floor flanked by columns, all staring up at a velvet-lined staircase that seemed as wide as the entire fifth floor of the Training Center. Red and gold banners hung down from each column, and violet streamers drifted down from the ceiling as if propelled by lazy winds, blowing to and fro without a care in the world and taking seemingly forever to reach the floor. A multitude of fancy outfits dazzled me everywhere I looked, from flowing blue gowns and tight scarlet dinner dresses that left little to the imagination to black, gold-buttoned sport coats and long pearly cloaks that trailed a good two feet behind their wearer.

I didn't even know where to start, so I found the most familiar thing I could: Food.

It wasn't as if the food was any less dazzling. Gold tables offered up dozens of chrome platters filled high with everything I could think of eating, and then some. Bright, spherical, purple fruits the size of my fist threatened to teeter over into a plate of gooey tangerine mash that foamed and spit. Mint green soup frothed and roiled as it steamed, and gray-pink spiny fish the size of my arm gaped at me with vacant urgency, egging me on to slice off a bite.

A little voice reminded me that I wasn't here to sample all the food, no matter how appealing it all looked, however. I wouldn't find out anything about all these people if I sat around loading food onto my plate. No matter how intimidating the crowd looked, I had to butt into a conversation.

Fortunately, one found me.

A clearly drunk Julian Tercio stumbled up to the table. He was a mess, with splotches of wine staining his shirt and bits of food clinging to his chin. He attempted to wipe it off, missed, and nearly smacked me in the face.

"Hm?" he said, as if I'd thrown him off balance. "Mm. Hello."

I stepped back, fearing he'd throw up on me at any minute. "Hi."

"Hello to this," Julian murmured, grabbing a picture of greenish drink and pouring himself a full glass. Whatever it was, I guessed it had a high alcoholic content. "You don't look like you're enjoying yourself."

"Yeah, I'm just…why're you here?"

Julian raised his glass. "My delightful uncle tells me I should cut back on my drinking and partying. I think he's jealous, but it is good ad…advice. Advice. That's the word. So I've combined the two for efficiency." He tipped back the glass and leaned against the table for support. "I think it's productive."

I frowned. "I thought you were on the president's council."

"What? You think that we – I – can't enjoy myself while I tell Creon Snow all about how much people in this city shower?" he said, clutching his stomach briefly before rambling on. "Or about how much vomit gets flushed down the pipes every day? It's a very, very stressful job. I'm almost invaluable."

He took another long drink. "Much more than that dumb lout of a Head Gamesmaker. I keep looking for a way to get Galan Greene fired, but all I can figure out is that he stares creepily at every girl tribute. I don't know if that's a fireable offense."

Well, I didn't need to know that. "You're saying…"

"Cheeks," Julian said, staring into his glass as if it contained some mysterious revelation. "Yours. He went on for five minutes. He liked the one from 4 last year more, I think, but I also think Taurus or Creon or someone told him not to let 4 win for some reason or another. Because they just won. That's it. They did just win, right?"

I swallowed hard and tuned Julian out as he continued his rant. Because they just won. I'd known for a while that districts winning the Games back-to-back was frowned upon, but the odds against Fenton and Mari kept growing more and more insurmountable. Could even giving Creon what he wanted be enough to get one of my kids out alive? Was there even a point to trying to curry his favor, or was I screwed either way?

Arrian's price seemed a bit less steep, no matter what it was.

"-because Elan Triste made me bet on you," Julian was in the middle of telling his glass. "What a persistently annoying man. But I made back a lot of money, so it was a good investment, I guess –"

"Can't you find anything better to do with your time?"

I spun around at the sound of a gravelly voice. Taurus Sharpe stood right beside me, his stony frown making me look away immediately.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm doing sponsorship stuff –"

"I'm not talking to you."

Julian looked amused. "It is part of my job to discover why our people drink so heavily! Here I am conducting primary research into this phenomenon, and I have come to the conclusion that if you and Cyrus drank more –"

Taurus grabbed the glass from his hand, startling a circle of nearby guests. "Clean. Up."

He spun around, eyed me, and said, "Walk with me."

Taurus split the crowd as I followed after him up the velvet stairs. "If you want people to think you're gathering sponsorships, you're doing a poor job showing it."

I bit my tongue searching for the right answer. "I…came in with a man who promised to help with that."

"Yes," he said, leading me up to the second floor. It was darker and cooler up here away from the crowded floor below, even as the second-story balcony overlooked the party. "And you were happy to abandon your artist companion not even thirty minutes after I saw you arrive."

"He told me he had to leave."

"So he paid for you to accompany him just to vanish so soon? No," said Taurus, shaking his head. "I don't know what Rex Rousseau is up to, but I'll find out. As for you, you're wasting your potential at events like this."

"My potential?"

He stopped me. "I don't know what Creon Snow's long term plan with you is, but I know that you're young enough and pliable enough to learn how to be a good advisor. You're not going to be that if you're wasting time watching Julian Tercio make a mockery of himself, or embarrassing yourself in interviews with Drake Odair of all people. You lucked into responsibility. Prove you should keep it."

Taurus spun around before I could get a word in.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked as he led me deeper into the second floor hallways, away from the overlook.

"The president's daughter wants to see you," he said. "For what reason, I have no idea, and I don't want to know."

Whatever that meant. Before a pair of wide gold doors, a pair of Peacekeepers stopped us.

"Only the lady," one of the Peacekeepers spoke up, holding out a hand to halt Taurus. He received a long, cold stare in return that changed his answer: "Hm. Go in."

Taurus opened the doors to a spacious bedroom. A giant, violet-tinted window looked over a bed wide enough to hold four people, its sheets trimmed with gold and red lace. Small jade statuettes lined the walls, some of odd-shaped figures, others of heads that stared unblinking at the door. The décor wasn't as grand as Creon Snow's meeting room, but it made Calla Snow all the more noticeable amidst the dark stillness of this place.

Calla looked at Taurus as if he'd brought something disgusting in. "I only wanted her," she said.

"And here she is."

She frowned. "Fine. Leave us alone."

Taurus didn't move. "Don't take too much time with whatever you're doing," he said. "Templesmith wants you tomorrow morning. Morning. You had best be sharp for the cameras."

"He can wait for me. I don't have to rush for some interview."

"Ten a.m. I look forward to watching it," Taurus said. He glanced down at me, turned to leave, and said, "Miss Snow."

Calla sneered at his back as the door shut. "What a stick up his ass. You'd better be having fun, Terra. I can't stand all these serious people all the time."

I shuffled uncomfortably. Her beauty was intimidating, and it didn't help that she wasn't wearing more than a silk dress that showed way too much skin, both from its sinking neck to the way it ended higher than mid-thigh.

"It's, um…a nice party," I stammered, all of my acting confidence suddenly lost. "Did you want me for something specific?"

She laughed. It was a tinkling sort of chuckle, but she ended it with a husky sigh. "Relax. I'm not going to hang you or something." Calla looked me up and down and grinned. "I heard my father wants to keep you close."

"He – I think he wants a victor's input or something, just –"

"I know what he wants," she said, strolling up to me and brushing her hand along my dress. "He's a suspicious little man."

"I don't –"

"Terra. Come on," she said, bending over an inch to look at me at eye level. "It's not that hard to tell. But it's fine. One day I'll be president. If we're going to work together, we should get to know each other."

"What do you want to know?" I said, teetering back on my heels.

"Anyone special back home in District 5?"

"No."

"Good."

Before I could react, Calla leaned in and kissed me. Paralysis caught me for a second before panic took over. I shook away and stumbled back, almost falling over and grabbing the door handle to brace myself.

Calla looked amused. "You're so tense, sweetie."

Shock tied up my tongue. What? For a moment I couldn't think as a million thoughts raced through my head. "I'm sorry, I –"

"Scared?" she said, sticking out her lower lip. "I won't bite until you're more relaxed."

I struggled to keep a handle on my breathing as my lungs threatened to rip out of my chest. My heart thudded, and heat flashed across my face. "No, I – I'm only sixteen –"

"That doesn't bother me, girl. Don't worry."

"No...don't you have a daughter who's like, nine?"

"So?"

Gods. There was no getting her to back down. She wasn't so intimidating now as terrifying. "It's just…but I like boys, and –"

Calla laughed again. "Oh Terra," she said, as if introducing a child to some secret. "That kind of little thing shouldn't stop you. Besides, what are you going to find around here? Some of these creepy old men who will pay you? One of your victor buddies? Drake Odair, or Quintus de Ostia, maybe? I've tried them both. They were easy. It was so boring."

She leaned in close again, and I was out of room to retreat. "You want me to find a boy?" she asked, grabbing my hands. "Would that help? I wouldn't mind."

I didn't have any defenses left. Squeezing my eyes tight, I clamped my mouth shut and shook my head.

"Not in the mood?" she said, her breath hot on my face. "That's okay. Taking it slow is like opening up a bunch of little secrets one by one. We can do that. It's more fun, too."

Calla backed off, and it was a feat to keep my hands from trembling. "Be a good girl and go home," she whispered, backing towards her bed. "We'll pick back up another day, hm? You taste too good not to."

It took me less than a minute to hightail it out of the estate, find the nearest isolated bush, and curl up in its shadows with my face in my hands. Gods, what did I do? I'd meant to come here and learn about some of these people. I'd ended up finding out way more than I wanted.

Daud's face seemed so much sadder now, Finch's persistence so much more desperate. I didn't want to face something like this, and especially not with one of the last people I could ever say "no" to.

Someone help.