Chapter 58: Show Your Teeth

Day 11, 12


Callithyia spent almost the entire evening grilling him and Dagmara on interview questions. It was quite literally the last thing Oberon wanted to do.

But they needed it— he didn't realize how truly, woefully unprepared they were until Callithyia asked him how he broke his arm, and they both froze up. Thankfully, District One had gone home by then, or wherever they were required to be. The day had left the pair of them frazzled and unfit for television, but he owed it to Venatrix to get this right. They all did.

'Makers, I forgot how merciless she could be. Seconds before Oberon made the decision to finally kill his old mentor, she called a break for the night.

Instead, he promptly passed out on the couch.

It did the job of getting his mind back on track, of wrapping this new dilemma into a neat little box and storing it away for later, right next to the much bigger box labeled 'Dagmara.'

The next morning, he tried not to shift uncomfortably as he sat next to her on their lonely little stage. The Capitol hadn't bothered pulling a crowd for it. Evidently, this year they'd managed to find someone back home to interview for each kid. Sometimes they didn't; in those rare cases, it fell on the mentor's shoulders. Oberon vaguely remembered asking if Callithyia could do his back in the day, and wishing they'd let her when he'd finally gotten the chance to watch it.

Cameramen and stage attendants flitted about while Oberon and Dagmara attempted to get comfortable. Their velocity increased when the projector flared to life with the nation's seal.

"And we're live in five! Four!" The attendant finished the countdown in silent gestures— three. Two. One.

Just like that, Oberon forced his body to relax against the couch. Smile and wave. As the fanfare of the anthem drew to a close, Bethia Apheleot's grinning face overtook the projection. She wore a different wig than yesterday, a silvery blue thing. Maybe she had to throw the last one out. Stood too close to the stage and got blood all over it. The thought amused him enough that Dagmara shot him a quick side-eye.

"Welcome!" Bethia crowed, her smile somehow plastic yet genuine at the same time. "Warmest welcomes to you, my beloved Panem, from the heart of District Two! Now, I doubt we'll have quite the eventful time we did in One, but never fear, my dears, we've got quite the special guests for you today! Some of you may recognize the room behind me from last year, and—" she chuckled, somehow without moving her lips— "I'm sure none of us are surprised to be back at the Pyke manor!"

The camera panned over to her guest, seamlessly refocusing on the pair. "Iago Pyke, my darling, it sure is lovely to see you again!"

"You too, Ms. Apheleot."

'Makers bless him, there wasn't an ounce of fear on Iago's face. If Oberon didn't know his son, didn't catch the semi-concealed dark circles under his eyes, he might have actually believed it. By the way Dagmara's crossed knee bumped into his leg, she saw it too, and Oberon's heart wrenched.

How he hated moments like this, the visual proof that his family would never be whole again.

"—your parents with us too, back at the Capitol! Isn't that exciting?"

Oberon snapped out of his head in time to greet them with a curt wave. Dagmara matched his movement, and Iago's television smile flickered. Say something, goddammit. "Hey, kiddo. Holding down the fort okay?"

"Oh, it's just peachy," Iago sneered. "What do I even have to worry about when Venatrix has such a wonderful mentor?"

…Right. At least his own television face had many more years of practice.

Oberon caught a glimpse of pearly teeth in the interviewer's grin. "Well, that's certainly a word for it," she tittered, and Oberon forced the muscles in his jaw to remain relaxed. "Do you disagree then, Iago, with some of the decisions your father's been making as a mentor? Namely, I imagine, the fact that Venatrix herself hasn't received a single sponsor gift?"

Iago pursed his lips. "Well, I suppose it doesn't really matter, does it?" he said finally. "She's going to win either way, so..." He shrugged, and Oberon breathed a quiet sigh of relief that he actually listened to Dagmara's text message regarding this potential question.

"Naturally," Oberon added on. "We can't wait to bring her home." Subtly he nudged Dagmara's elbow and she echoed the sentiment.

"Is that so?" Bethia quirked a manicured brow, and he could practically see the gears turning behind her unnaturally-turquoise eyes at the perfect segue. "Before the Games, she was our top pick for Victor, yes, but currently, Venatrix stands at fourth place amidst the rankings, just behind Patience Glasshooke of—"

"The Four girl?" Iago cut in. "She can barely walk!"

If Bethia was put-out by the interruption, she didn't show it. "Yes, indeed," she agreed. "But as we've seen, Venatrix's unfortunate injury makes it rather difficult for her to fight."

Oberon jumped in before Iago could spit out whatever bullshit had clearly just come into his brain. "What those numbers fail to capture is her determination. As someone who's known Venatrix for her entire life, it's impossible to miss. She's been through, what, two encounters since her injury? No, she hasn't made any kills since then either, but what we're seeing here is caution. Venatrix knows her limits. She's playing to win."

The interviewer hummed, frustratingly neutral. "That may be true. However, I don't think it's a stretch to say that Venatrix wouldn't have made it this far without her lovely little alliance, don't you think? We really do adore them back in the Capitol!" She clutched a hand at her gaudy no-doubt-expensive necklace in some sort of fake emotion. "Such sweethearts. Lethal, too. But, I'm curious, as her family, what do you think of it all? Especially—" she waggled her eyebrows— "her little romance with Miss Fonesca of District One."

"I think," Iago started loftily, "she should change her name to Venatrix Dyk—"

"Iago!" Dagmara snapped.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning impishly. Clearly amused, the interviewer turned to face the camera, effectively pointing her next question towards himself and Dagmara. "But yes, back to the question, what do you think of your daughter being in a relationship with another girl?"

Oberon and Dagmara exchanged a subtle look. He had his thoughts about arena "relationships"— bonds borne of necessity and desperation in nature— but he had no doubt the Capitolite was trying to bait him into something with the way she emphasized girl. It was her job, after all.

He shrugged. "Mariposa's gender isn't the issue here."

"Well, that's a relief, I'd say!" She waved a hand, chuckling easily. "Some districts can be so backwards when it comes to things like that. If I may ask, then, what is the issue?"

Oberon raised a wry brow. "The Hunger Games, Bethia." Moron. "But I wouldn't say I'm worried," he amended quickly. "I know Venatrix is well aware that her alliance— and, uh, relationship— are temporary assets on her journey to Victory."

If Trixie ever goes back to watch this, she'll kill me for that alone, he thought grimly. But he'd take that over the alternative.

In the corner of his eye, Oberon caught movement from the wings, behind the curtains. Callithyia. So they'd let her backstage after all. She made a squeezing motion with her hand, and Oberon frowned internally until she clasped her hands together and he got the hint, taking Dagmara's hand in his. She reacted with what was supposed to be a confident smile.

On the shared screen, the interviewer cooed at the gesture; Iago made a face. Unfortunately, the movement seemed to draw Bethia's attention to his injured arm.

"Mr. Pyke, forgive me for not asking sooner—" (Not likely)— "but what happened to your arm there? That looks quite serious."

"Ah, just a stress fracture," Oberon said. "Doctor said I should cut back on the, uh, push-ups."

Iago snorted. "Interesting," Bethia attempted. He could practically see Callithyia face-palming, but he didn't have the heart to look. "Well, I wish you a speedy recovery, Mr. Pyke." He gave a curt nod of thanks. "I think I speak for all of the Capitol when I say that we've grown rather fond of the family aspect of the Games that you Pykes have brought to us in recent years. Dagmara was the first tribute you brought to Victory, and look at you all now!

"Though, in light of the recent situation in District One, that does bring some suspicion..."

Oberon was beginning to feel the strain of his smile. "...I'm sorry?"

"You served as her mentor, correct? There's merely some curiosity about your methods there, and how your relationship... started."

What?

His mouth opened, but no words came out. Is she… accusing me…? Are you fucking kidding me?

Nevermind the sheer hypocrisy of these Capitolite bastards — as if there hasn't been enough of that within the past twenty-four hours — the audacity of even insinuating such a thing… Fucking rich, really, considering how obsessed they were when we first started dating. How they felt entitled to every little goddamn detail of his and Dag's relationship. He'd despised the microscope of their adoration then; now, Oberon feared he might break under the weight of their scrutiny. Begging them not to look closer, for a shred of privacy, would only be futile.

And damning… For all he knew, Apheleot was put up to this in order to give Dagmara a publicly acceptable reason to divorce him. As if getting our children killed isn't enough.

His thoughts raced a mile a minute, but none of them made it past his lips.

Through his stunned shock, Iago's snide response only faintly registered— "District One? Lady, what the hell are you on about?" — met with the interviewer's insipid chuckle.

"Oh, now, surely, we all—"

"What a stupid question."

Oberon nearly flinched at his wife's sharp voice. "Speak openly, Ms. Apheleot," she demanded, "or don't speak at all."

Words to live by, the best example of which was sitting right next to him.

"Ahem—of course," Bethia backtracked, apparently unwilling to speak openly.

"By all means," Dagmara continued stonily, "feel free to dig through the years' worth of interview footage of my husband and I on your own time, but whatever kind of accusation you're trying to make is unappreciated and highly irrelevant to the fact that our daughter remains among the seven tributes still alive in this arena. Do you have any pertinent questions?"

Though she kept her voice level, Oberon could hear Dagmara's anger in the sharp huff of her breath, the rigid effort in her shoulders.

Bethia's posture was stiff as a mannequin. "Yes, ah, my apologies. I do believe we're almost out of time, so there's one more thing I'd like to ask the younger Mr. Pyke here." She placed a light claw on Iago's shoulder. "What has it been like, watching both of your sisters in the arena?"

"A lot," he admitted. "…to live up to." He plucked the microphone from her hands, his stare intense and his grin almost feral. "But I promise you, when it's my turn, I'll give you even more."

It was all Oberon could do to keep his mask in place as Bethia signed off the interview. The minute the cameras stopped rolling, it dropped; his head sagged forward, resting heavily in his hands as he tried to process everything that had just fucking happened.

By the time he looked up, Dagmara had already gone.


One thing to be said about waking up in a tangle of limbs was the fact that it kept the three of them warm, even after their little fire went out sometime in the night. Despite the hard ground, Venatrix only registered the softness of Mariposa's hair beneath her chin, the girl's even breath warming the skin of her collar. The uninjured side, mercifully. Mariposa had fallen asleep squarely between herself and Percy, though at some point, she must've shifted in her sleep, throwing her legs across Percy's chest; still fast asleep, the Two boy now unknowingly cuddled her fur-covered boots. Between them, the cat had squeezed itself into a tight ball.

Venatrix suppressed a grin, then a yawn, though she couldn't snuff out the flash of old memories of falling asleep in a similar pile with her siblings. Somewhere back home, her parents must have a photo.

Belatedly, she realized they'd forgotten to set up a night's watch. We're lucky to wake up at all, Venatrix thought passively, though she didn't have the energy to dwell on it.

Shifting carefully so she didn't wake her sleeping allies, Venatrix scooted into an upright position, yawning again as she stretched out her stiff muscles. The sharp knife of her broken bone drew her lips into a scowl. It's not getting better. If anything, the stiffness was only growing worse, more permanent the longer this went on. There's only one way it'll get better, and you know that.

(How pathetic it would be, to die like this.)

A soft, sleepy groan emanated from the mass of blonde hair covering the bedroll, proving Venatrix's efforts futile. "Hey, Mari," she greeted.

The other girl blinked blearily at her, as if the night's sleep hadn't done a thing to get rid of her exhaustion. Venatrix couldn't blame her. The movement seemed to rouse Percy, as well as their furry friend. His loud yawn filled the tent; it morphed into a cough as Mariposa shifted to her knees, crawling towards the entrance of the tent. Venatrix caught the word, "bathroom," before she stumbled outside.

A chill came in her place, and Venatrix set out to restart the fire while Percy shook the sleep from his eyes with a sniffle. "Venatrix," he said, voice low.

It took a few tries for the spark to catch on to the kindling. Only then did she look up.

"You need to apologize to her."

Venatrix pressed her lips together. "I know," she said, feeding a few twigs into the licking flames.

How much worse had she made Mariposa feel, yelling at her on top of it all? It wasn't her fault, you idiot. How could you even act like it was? Guilt swam in her gut, along with the familiar nausea at the thought of yesterday's events. They'd taken the rest of the day slowly afterwards, putting more focus than necessary on the basic tasks they needed to survive, and yet they'd forgotten a night guard. You can't be so foolish, the internal critic that carried her father's voice said, and expect to live.

Mariposa's quiet return cut it off.

Percy sent her a pointed look, and Venatrix spent the next few minutes trying to figure out how to breach the topic while he prepared breakfast— the last of their rabbit meat, it seemed. Her eyes narrowed when he coughed again. "Hey, not on the food."

"I'm not!"

She hummed in disbelief, but accepted the food anyways; not like they had any other options. They ate in silence broken only by Percy's sniffles and Charcoal's loud, pleading meows. The warmth of the fire steadily began reheating the tent, though Venatrix noticed little shivers traversing Mariposa's shoulders. Wordlessly, she pulled one of the discarded cloaks around the other girl. Mariposa gave her a small smile.

"You should eat more," Venatrix said, frowning as she tossed the cat a strip of jerky.

Mariposa shrugged. "I'm just not really that—"

"Doesn't matter. It's the Games." Again, she caught Percy's glare in her peripheral, and Venatrix softened her tone. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"I know."

The sound of Mariposa's chewing filled the air for long enough that it was clear she struggled to get it down, but she managed. She sent Percy a smile of thanks; more of a grimace, really. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, and Venatrix scooted closer, hoping Mariposa might take comfort in her presence.

But the One girl remained hunched over, arms wrapped around her knees.

Venatrix met Percy's eyes again. His look was insistent, flicking between her and Mariposa, but Venatrix's tongue felt frozen to the roof of her mouth.

Seemingly oblivious to the unspoken conversation going on over her head, Mariposa's stare never left the flames, though her fingers periodically stroked the cat in her lap— maybe that was why it caught Venatrix off-guard when she spoke.

"Tell me about your sister."

Venatrix swallowed. "What about her?"

"Anything, really. I don't know, I never had a sister." She turned to Venatrix, her head tilted. Inquisitive. Endearing. "What was it like?"

Venatrix pursed her lips in thought. "Like… having a shadow. That never shuts up."

The ghost of a smile twitched at Mariposa's lips. She stayed quiet, though, waiting for Venatrix to continue.

"She just had so much energy. It never stopped— there was always something for her to be excited about." Venatrix smiled at the image in her head. "She was a handful, sure, and most of the time I was the one cleaning up after her. But I don't— she was my handful. I'd give anything to do that again, y'know?" Mariposa nodded, but Venatrix wasn't sure if she fully understood. The train of thought circled around to the pouch at her hip, and Venatrix struggled with the tie, pulling out her tiny statuette. "This was hers." She held it out for Mariposa and Percy to see. "Ah, I don't know if you want to touch it though," she said when Mariposa reached out her hand. "She used to chew on it when she was nervous. Or losing."

Mariposa blinked down at the game piece. "This is from that board game, right?"

"Capitolopoly, yeah. She loved it."

"She was freaky good at it too," Percy added.

"You knew her?"

"Yeah. Trix and I were friends back home, remember?"

Venatrix huffed. "I think she liked Percy better than me sometimes."

"Oh, that's not true."

"Sure it is. Sometimes she'd get so mad at me... I don't even remember why. Probably 'cause I wouldn't let her sleep on my floor."

Mariposa frowned. "Your floor?"

"Yeah. Well, it started when I'd wake up to find her sleeping next to me in my bed, and I'd um." Venatrix scratched at the bandage on her neck, suddenly remembering that her parents were probably listening in. "I would kick her off onto the floor. She got the hint, but then I'd wake up and immediately trip over her blanket nest. I would get so annoyed by it..." What she wouldn't give to trip over her sister again. Venatrix dug her teeth into her lip, swallowing down the lump in her throat. "The last time— the last time she did that, it was back in February, I think, before— before her Games. She— god, I was so mean to her."

Venatrix didn't bother suppressing her groan of annoyance at Bellara's silhouette in her door frame, oversized comforter in tow. "Bell-ara—"

"Pleeease? I spent the last few days out in the cold, you know."

Venatrix's groan was a half-growl.

"Don't you want to hear about the Mocks?"

"I already know how they work."

Bell took that as an invitation, plopping her bedding at the edge of Venatrix's bed. "Yeah, but you didn't see me kick Hela's ass. Seriously, she sucks so bad. She just— it's not fucking fair! Everyone knows I'm way better than her!"

"Oh, that's what's not fair?"

Bellara glanced up at her, eyes round in the moonlight. Nobody could ever resist that look.

It only made Venatrix angrier.

"I have to wait a whole other year—"

"So? It's not that big—"

"It was supposed to be me!"

Bellara blinked back at her, startled by the sudden volume of Venatrix's voice. "You know what," she said after a beat. "I think you're just jealous, actually. Because you know I could win."

An unkind laugh slipped through Venatrix's teeth before she could stop it. Not that she would. "Please, Bellara," she sneered. "You're not ready to volunteer, and honestly? I doubt you ever will be."

For a second, Venatrix almost thought she saw the beginnings of tears glistening in her sister's eyes.

But Bell only let out a stiff exhale, gathered her things, and left.

The next morning, their father almost tripped over her on his way downstairs.

"Percy." Venatrix turned to her friend. "How many days has it been?"

"In the arena? Eleven, I think."

It took Venatrix a little longer than it should to realize the date, how many days it must've been since Reaping day. "One year ago, then. It's been one full year since she died."

It didn't feel real. It should, but the thought itself made Venatrix want to throw up.

I...I apologized to her. I know I did.

(You really think it matters? Dad was right when he said it's your fault.)

(That's what happens when you let the wolf out of your chest. No amount of regret can take back the bite.)

"Here." Percy's voice cut through her thoughts; he'd pulled out the bag they'd gotten yesterday. "There's three mallows left. In Bellara's honor."

A brief smile flickered across Venatrix's mouth as she wiped the dampness from her eyes. "She'd like that."

He passed them around on twigs. Venatrix held hers over their tiny fire; sporadic tongues of flame bloomed like orange flowers from the dissipating pile of kindling. They'd need to add more soon, or let it die forever. Once the outside of her marshmallow turned to blackened goo, Venatrix pulled it back, blowing on the candy. Hungry as she may be, the thought of eating it made her stomach turn. Nevertheless, she forced it between her teeth— she could practically hear her sister's ribbing in her head. Too sad to eat a marshmallow? Tch, couldn't be me.

Venatrix swallowed, clearing her throat of the gooeyness. "I just hope she knew I was rooting for her. That I— I wanted her to come back."

"I'm certain she did," Percy said gently.

Mariposa said nothing, content to listen quietly. To watch.

"Mariposa."

She didn't flinch at Venatrix's voice.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you yesterday." Shame laced through her words; Venatrix's head bowed from the weight. "I just didn't understand... But it doesn't matter. It was cruel of me, and you didn't deserve that."

Mariposa shrugged.

"No— you didn't. I get— I get mean, sometimes, when I don't understand something. But you're the last person that deserves to deal with that—that side of me." Her eyes flicked towards Percy, who was more than familiar with it himself, before returning to the One girl. "I don't want you to think... I mean, you know it's not your fault right? That he took advantage of you?"

Silence. Then a stiff nod. "Yeah. I know. But—" she scoffed— "you really think they'd take my word over his?"

"You never know," Percy said. "We are on television right now."

Mariposa only huffed again.

Venatrix took it as a clear sign to drop the topic. "Come on, we should get moving today. Before they make us."

Nobody dared argue with that, and in a few minutes, they had the campsite packed, the majority of their supplies resting on Percy and Mariposa's shoulders. Venatrix set off in front, eyes peeled for any signs of danger, be it tributes or unstable ground. Given that no one had attacked them in the night, nor been drawn in by the previous day's shouting, Venatrix expected a clear path, but one could never be too careful. They cut a downward trajectory, angling along the river. The land complied, gracing them with a gentle slope that guided them gradually to lower ground. Venatrix kept them within the trees, the shoreline merely a distant flash of grey amidst white snow, black trunks, flecks of red.

She didn't realize she'd slowed down until she caught glimpses of her allies, fanned out between the trees ahead of her. Sharp clouds of breath wheezed from her lungs; Venatrix brushed her hair out of her face, steeling her shoulders— and then winced as a wave of pain shivered down her body. Fuck. When the static cleared from her eyes, Mariposa's unmoving figure lingered, concern in her distant features. Venatrix flashed her a thumbs-up, forcing her legs to bring her closer to her ally. "'M fine," she huffed in response to Mariposa's furrowed brow. They continued after Percy at a slower pace.

When they passed the set of bags he'd been carrying, discarded in the snow, Venatrix frowned. She dragged Mariposa to a stop, jerking her chin. His footsteps continued, though tighter together, weaving an indecipherable pattern. Venatrix had half a mind to draw her sword, but they kept walking.

Her partner hadn't gotten too far ahead; bow drawn, Percy appeared to be focused on something they couldn't see.

He caught sight of them, holding up a hand and placing a finger to his lips.

Venatrix obeyed. Silently, she drew the first weapon she found on her belt— her knife. In her peripheral, Mariposa did the same.

Percy's gaze returned to his target. Steadily, he drew back the bow… and unexpectedly, he slackened. His draw arm flew up to cover his mouth, and Venatrix winced as he attempted — poorly — to stifle a sneeze.

The sound startled whatever he'd been hunting. Movement shook the leafless undergrowth, and Venatrix recoiled in surprise when a rabbit practically ran right over her toes. Instinctively, she flung her knife; it missed, badly, not to mention the jolt of pain that shot across her collar. Venatrix let out a groan, echoed by Percy's muttered curses. "So much for dinner," he scowled.

Venatrix felt her stomach tighten. We really could've used that rabbit.

"Do we want to keep going?" Mariposa asked. She pressed something into Venatrix's hand— her knife. Venatrix mumbled her thanks.

Percy shrugged, pointing to a nearby pair of fallen trees that offered some cover. Fresh dirt and forest mulch scored the ground around them; the work of those groundquakes, Venatrix assumed.

By the time they finished pitching their campsite, meager fire and all, a chiming white parachute descended into Percy's lap. His eyes lit up, only to deflate when he pulled out a medium-sized loaf of bread. "That time of the Games, huh." He sighed, breaking it in half, and each half further into thirds. "Well, on the bright side, at least we've made it this far. And thank you," he tacked on hastily.

Mariposa crouched down by the fire, offering a piece of bread to Charcoal. The cat gobbled it up, meowing loudly for more. Mariposa's lips pressed together. "This isn't healthy for him…" Her baleful gaze turned towards the grey sky. "Doesn't anyone want to make sure Charcoal gets some real food? He's just a little kitty, after all."

Venatrix bit her lip to hide her snort. To her surprise, another parachute immediately tinged through the air, complete with a few strips of meat — warm, aromatic, fresh meat — and a note from Alecto that said, "For cat ONLY."

So they'll feed the cat, but not us… Assholes.

With a carefully neutral expression, Mariposa set the food in front of the cat. The three tributes watched intently as he scarfed down the meat; the meal barely lasted him thirty seconds. Venatrix counted.

As soon as he finished, Charcoal let out another impudent mewl. Percy shook his head. "Unbelievable."

Tucking her remaining share of bread away in her pack, Venatrix took a quick inventory while Percy asked Mariposa about her token.

Bedroll. Hunting knife. Tiny metallic Arabella Fairfax. The smallest scrap of gauze…

"It's kind of stupid," Mariposa said.

Venatrix glanced over to see the glittering pink butterfly charm the One girl held out to Percy. Her own hand scraped at the bottom of her bag, pulling out a handful of loose nuts. Not bad.

And her sword, of course.

"No it's not," Percy encouraged her. "If it's important..."

"It's not, really."

As they chatted, Venatrix carefully shrugged off her sweater, aiming for her bandages.

"Oh. Where did you get it?"

She barely had time to fear that it might have been a gift from her trainer before Mariposa said, "I, uh, stole it."

Percy's eyes went wide. "You what?"

"You cannot possibly be getting on my ass for that."

"Yeah, come on Percy." Venatrix grinned, discarding the sweater. "Don't be such a square."

He raised his hands in surrender.

Venatrix's went for her shoulder, slowly peeling off the wraps. Her fingers shook from exhaustion, from the cold, but she ignored it in favor of listening to her ally.

"It was just a little worthless thing," Mariposa shrugged. "I got caught anyway." At Venatrix and Percy's confused expressions, she elaborated. "Some of the girls at the Ac—at school dared me to lift it while we were out at the boutiques. …Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure they're the ones who ratted me out." She frowned. "Whatever. The shopkeeper let me off easy, and I still got the charm, so joke's on them."

"Wow, that's... harsh," Percy said. Venatrix grunted in agreement. "I mean, some of our classmates were assholes, but they never pulled that kind of shit."

"No, they just tried to murder us," Venatrix said bluntly, and Percy snorted. Her attention had drifted back to her shoulder, though, the last of the dirty bandages discarded.

It's been a while since she looked at the wound. At the sight of it, Venatrix almost wished she could take it back. Her stomach churned at the angry skin straining against the stitches, the whitened lump standing out even more against it. Reaching outside, she soaked the gauze in snow before pressing it against the wound to scrub away the dried blood and pus.

Even the gentlest touch was agony. Still Venatrix gritted her teeth against the spots of color bursting in her vision. When she blinked them away, Mariposa had taken the gauze from her, halfway through rewrapping the wound already. "Leave it be, Vee."

"Needed to be cleaned." Not that they really had the supplies. "What about that… stuff?"

"The disinfectant or the painkillers? …They're both gone anyways."

Venatrix grunted, unsurprised. The arena would bring her no relief, only challenge after challenge. If she could barely overcome this one, what chance in hell did she have at Victory?

Outside their shelter, the sky dimmed, a color indecipherable from the distant river. An almost-easy silence fell over her companions, easy as they could get in a place like this. After the nighttime aurora — no new faces, as she figured — Venatrix insisted on taking the first watch despite the protests of her allies, and eventually they conceded. Their breaths gradually evened to quiet snores, drowned out by the whistling wind.

As tired as she was, Venatrix's thoughts raced too quickly to be in danger of nodding off. While her eyes scanned the darkened trees, the shadowy underbrush, the swirling clouds, her head spun with the attempt to view her position objectively. What would her father be pointing out to next year's class about her injury? Her alliance? Her narrative?

She couldn't tell how much time had passed – five minutes? Five hours? — before something more corporeal joined the windsong.

Venatrix stiffened. The howl came again before she could scramble to her feet, sword drawn by the time she realized it was far too distant to be an immediate problem. Still, the tension didn't fade from her body. Percy's head poked out of the tent just as the next yowl rang clear through the air, no closer but no further away. Wordlessly, he took her place, nodding for her to head back into the tent. "Hey— breathe. You're okay," he whispered; Venatrix hadn't realized she'd been gasping for air. "It's not going anywhere."

"I-I-It could," she stammered. Pathetic. God, you're so pathetic.

"That's what I'm here for," he said all-too-confidently.

Maybe it was stupid to actually be reassured by that, but Venatrix merely nodded. She crawled into the tent, finding Mariposa's warmth in the darkness; how the One girl slept through these incessant howls, Venatrix would never know.

Despite her guardian just outside, Venatrix never fell asleep. She couldn't rid herself of the feeling that they'd never let her out until she faced the wolf, and won.


At some point, the howling stopped.

It was hard to tell for sure— the echo of it rattled between Venatrix's ears, almost loud enough to convince herself it still lingered. The gradient of morning came with its own headache behind her eyes. Percy could see it on her face, judging by the concern that pinched his brow.

Venatrix waved him off, inhaling the remainder of her bread from the previous day. She never expected to rest well in the arena, but it was another thing to live through it. Even dunking her head in a snowdrift had minimal effect, aside from a new chatter in her teeth; in the very least, it brought some semblance of mirth to her allies' faces.

It didn't last; rather than spend another day sitting on their asses, Venatrix outlined a set of weapons drills and sparring routines for them to follow.

Percy shot her an incredulous look. "Trix, we're already in the Games."

"And I'm not a leftie," she shot back. "Find any more rabbits lately?"

With a grumble, Percy stalked off to hunt. Drawing her sword, Venatrix slid into a pattern of warmup strikes, awkward at first between her non-dominant hand and the flickers of pain caused by the movement, but gradually, it became something she could work with. Next to her, Mariposa matched her timing so they moved in unison, bar the One girl's second sword. Once they finished the set, they transitioned into gentle sparring while Charcoal watched curiously from atop one of the fallen trunks.

Around late morning, Percy returned, empty handed and looking dejected about it. He watched their matches in silence, reaching absently over to pet the cat.

Venatrix opened her mouth to say something, but a tremor beneath her feet cut her off. All three tributes stiffened. Instinctively, they clumped together under the shelter of a sturdier tree than the pair they'd camped under. The rattling grew in strength; stiff trunks creaked and swayed, and Venatrix clamped her teeth shut for fear of biting off her tongue.

But she heard no grinding rock to herald their immediate demise. Eventually, the earth calmed.

In its place, a loud bullhorn sounded through the air.

"Greetings, my remaining tributes. As your numbers dwindle, so do your supplies. But the Capitol is generous as ever— tomorrow, we invite you to a feast in honor of your accomplishments in staying alive.

"Come to the riverbank at midday if you wish to enter the land of the Gods."


true vengeance 151 . weebly . com


A/N: Hi all ! We are back to monthly updates, at least until I finish stockpiling the whole fic which will be ... a while lol. oops. /wonders why i struggle to write 2 chaps per month/ /writes like 6k chaps/ yeah... Anyways, not much to say here other than yes I am also kicking Iago in the shins rn. Repeatedly. Well.. see y'all soon, I guess !

- Nell