Chapter 12

"Why aren't you drinking your tea, Mr. Mellark?" Snow studies the gold-edged tea cup before taking a very precise sip, unhurriedly, his unblinking eyes watching me over the rim. Cold eyes.

Snake eyes.

Oh yeah, the book got that one right. It's like being watched by something that wants to devour you—and not in the good way. When I was younger, this kid I knew had a six foot long albino python as a pet. The snake was big and move slow, but once it wrapped itself around your ankle and squeezed…well, then you understood how dangerous a big snake could be.

And that's what Snow is, a big snake. Compared to this guy, Donald Sutherland's Snow was jolly-old Saint Nick.

"I'm good, thanks." I leave the tea sitting on the small table next to me. I'm not drinking anything handed out by Snakey McPoisonface.

Even if there were nothing nasty in the tea, I still wouldn't drink it. The powdery, old lady smell of roses is suffocating in the closed-up room. I breathe through my mouth to spare my nose, but it's like huffing potpourri. The stench is overpowering, heavy enough to be a physical weight in the room. Sweet enough to make me want to gag.

Against my will, I have to suck in a breath. And yep, this time I inhale the handful-of-pennies blood scent lurking under the roses. Blood and roses.

Thank you Suzanne Collins.

With a clink, he places the teacup back onto its saucer, but the liquid-black eyes never leave my face. "First the Reaping, then your escape attempt, and now your…declaration during the interviews. You've caused us quite a lot of problems, Mr. Mellark. And I'm sure you can guess how we take care of problems here in the Capitol."

My eyebrows hike to my hairline. No one's ever threatened to kill me before. Since my heart has turned full-on jackhammer, my body knows I'm in danger, but my mind can't catch up. The whole thing is so ridiculous—I mean I'm sitting here, in a fucking book, while President Snow spouts James-Bond-villain threats at me.

Snow steeples his fingers in his lap, a long-suffering father admonishing his son. "I'm a reasonable man, but I have never hesitated to do what I must to keep the peace."

Okay, so that's pure bullshit. Every last dictator thinks they're doing what's best for humanity. They're all willing to rape and murder and pillage in order to remake the world in their twisted image, but that's not peace. That's slavery.

I rub a sweaty hand back and forth against the fabric of my pants, weighing my options.

On the one hand, I'm sitting here with the fictional equivalent of Hitler and he could kill me at any moment. On the other hand, I have the chance to tell Hitler to fuck-off. You don't get an opportunity like that every day.

I don't know what dying here would do—for all I know it'll send me home, so I might as well say what's on my mind. "So, killing innocent kids keeps the peace?"

One white eyebrow rises. "I take it you disagree."

"Most of the time, I'm a pretty agreeable guy, but the way I see it, if you want peace, then maybe you should stop killing kids and starving people and generally being a hateful bastard. Might make folks feel just a tiny bit more peaceful."

Snow's lips crease into what I'm guessing is a smile, but it's so frightening it's hard to tell. "It has been a long time, Mr. Mellark, since anyone has dared tell me the unvarnished truth. I am a…great admirer…of truth. I never lie to myself and I can spot anyone else's a mile away."

Huh. Plutarch Heavensbee and all those other secret Capitol rebels must be out of range. Or else Snow is just full of it. I'm guessing he's just full of it.

"I like you." His hand stretches out for his teacup, bringing it back up to his puffy lips for a long sip. "Unfortunately, I cannot sanction a marriage between two underage children. A pity considering how much you love her."

Underage marriage is bad, but underage murder is okay. Yeah, that makes sense. I wouldn't be surprised if Snow were the descendent of some Kentucky politician from back home. That kind of non-logic has to be hereditary.

"As consolation, the Gamemakers have approved a…rule adjustment. If you and Ms. Everdeen are the last two tributes alive in these Games, both of you will be crowned victors and, when you are of age, the Capitol will host your wedding."

I should have realized the damn book would try to auto-correct itself. "I've read the book and seen the movie, Mr. President. You're just going to revoke the rule change at the end and make us try to kill each other."

An elegant lift of the shoulder. "Perhaps. You'll only find out if you live that long. With your objection to killing, you shouldn't be too concerned. And… since District 12 will receive an unprecedented advantage, the Gamemakers thought it only fair to provide an additional...handicap."

Snow makes a hand gesture and two of his guards clip in, sharp and efficient. They loom on either side of me, each clamping a hand down on my shoulder, forcing me deeper into the plush chair. Both guards have that weird, expressionless, surgery-enhanced, model-face thing going for them, but there's something sinister behind the eyes. They both look ready to inflict some damage.

A new jolt of fear races down my back and I remember that the Capitol has more than execution and death in its wheelhouse. They have rape and torture and brainwashing. Adrenaline pours through my system and I fight against the hands holding me down, but I can't shake their grip.

The door bangs open and two more guards drag in Katniss, the silver of her eyes bright with fury. She isn't struggling, but she is stiff with anger. The men basically carry her across the carpet and drop her on the floor next to me.

"Don't hurt her!" I struggle against the hands holding me down.

Katniss shoots me one of those angry, silver-eyed looks. "As soon as they let me go, I'm going to be the one hurting you!"

One of the guards holding Katniss reaches down to her ankle. It's cuffed with a wide silver band that trails a length of chain.

Before I can make sense of what I'm seeing, the guard has clamped the other end of the chain to my own ankle.

It's a shackle.

I'm shackled to Katniss.

"The 74th Hunger Games start tomorrow morning." Snow draws his lips back in another horrible smile. "May the odds be ever in your favor."