Ashe Illyrian, 15
Victor of the One-Hundredth, Fifty-Third Hunger Games
The landscape of Panem rushes past the train window, but Ashe isn't looking at it. In fact, there's only a sliver of landscape peeking in through the slit in the curtains. Ashe is sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, pencil clutched in her hand, blank paper staring her down. Her hand is poised like she's going to write, but there is nothing to write.
She thinks through her morning, searching for those little inane details that used to fascinate her so much. She takes care to gloss over the big parts—saying goodbye to her family, boarding the train, the victory tour—because there were so many details, weren't there?
Her pencil starts to shake as she tries to find something to write. What did she have for breakfast? She walked into town before she left; who did she meet? Brice has a cat; did she run into him anywhere?
It frustrates her so much she snaps her pencil in half. She used to remember this stuff. She has volumes of journals in a box back home, filled with little notes about nothing. The color of the trees. The name of her neighbor's new baby. The score she got on a math test.
She used to remember this stuff.
This stuff used to be important to her.
But as of late, the only thing Ashe can write about is her nightmares. They come every night, violent and bloody and grim and Ashe wakes up once again set ablaze.
Sometimes, her nightmares are almost silly. She'll be watching a replay of her greatest hits, but a star of a Capitol soap opera will be accompanying her. She prefers those dreams, because she can laugh at the absurdity and pretend the horror wasn't there.
Most of the time, though, her dreams are only the horrors she has seen, and perhaps those yet to come. They leave Ashe clammy, gray-faced, and pacing her room because if she stops moving she'll burn up again.
Ashe blinks at the paper several times, as if words may suddenly appear on it without her writing them.
She goes through her day again, this time picking out the memorable things rather than the mundane.
Meadow was acting oddly when they left Eleven. Ashe figures she's just nervous about leaving her daughter, but she's learned to never write things off.
Her escort's hair is now gold instead of silver. It seems like it's based on the fact that he's now mentored a tribute to victory.
There are Peacekeepers on the train. Ashe doesn't remember them being there last summer. She wants to think it's to protect the Victors from attack—but again, she knows better.
The curtains shift with the sway of the train, and a shaft of moonlight crosses over Ashe's face, reminding her of the hour. They'll arrive in District Twelve early tomorrow morning. Her speech is set for three in the afternoon, but she'll have to spend hours with her prep team getting ready. Then there will be a dinner in the Justice Building, and Ashe will have to spend the evening surrounded by people.
She'll need energy. But Ashe knows she won't be able to sleep tonight.
Being back on the train is only dragging her back to last summer. If she closes her eyes for too long and lets the feeling of flying across the tracks overtake her, she'll be back in the lounge with Meadow, Brice and Quinn, and she'll never come back.
So Ashe doesn't sleep tonight. She sits by the window and watches the moon cross the sky, blank paper resting in her lap. When her prep team descend upon her in the morning, they complain about her dark circles and heap on makeup to hide her sallow skin. Ashe lets them do what they like, absently scratching the scars on her arms.
Her stylist dresses her in a long coat with translucent sleeves. It's the first time Ashe has made a public appearance with the scars showing, and when she questions it, her stylist says, "It's a new angle. Don't these scars make you look fierce?"
Ashe wants to say, that's one way to put it, but decides to keep her mouth shut.
As soon as she is dressed and out of her bedroom, Meadow and Brice are on her constantly. They're both wearing smiles too bright to be real, and Brice is talking nonstop. Ashe figures it's simply Victory Tour jitters. This would be Brice's first as a mentor, after all.
District Twelve is just as sad and gray as she imagined. A crowd of disillusioned faces covered in coal dust stare her down as Ashe reads a card without hearing her words. She didn't know either of the tributes from Twelve. The girl—even now Ashe cannot remember her name—lasted a long time. And Ashe remembers the death of the boy vividly, even watching it second hand during the recap.
Some people glare at her. Ashe remembers hearing about riots in Twelve back in October. Peacekeepers were killed. Perpetrators were executed. Ashe is tired and she doesn't care.
There's a distinct sadness hanging over the dinner in the Justice Building, and it takes Ashe a minute to remember why. Kalina Nightingale passed in December, leaving District Twelve Victorless for the first time since the first decade of the Games.
It leaves Ashe briefly wondering who will mentor the tributes from District Twelve, but her question is answered before she can ask it.
"It's an honor, really," a lilting Capitolite voice says on the other side of the table. Ashe looks up from her lap and stares at the man, noting that he looks fairly normal for someone from the Capitol. His hair is brown, swept across pale skin and spilling into his bright orange eyes. There's a tattoo on his neck, some kind of swirl with two dots beside it. "I promise you, though, this has nothing to do with our brother's recent appointment to Master of Ceremonies, or our sister becoming a Gamemaker. Nothing at all."
Whoever he's talking to laughs, and Ashe says, "What's that thing on your neck?"
Her escort starts to berate her for having no manners, but the man chuckles and says, "It's a bass clef symbol. That's me. I'm Bass Cleff."
The man sitting beside him, who looks similar to Bass, aside from his unnaturally green eyes and differing neck tattoo, pipes up with, "And I'm Alto Cleff." He pulls his collar down, revealing his full tattoo, which looks a little bit like a backwards three.
"Who are you?" Ashe says rather harshly, uninterested in their tattoos.
"We've been appointed District Twelve's new mentors," Alto says, grin on his face. Like it's some kind of a prize. "It's really such an honor to be here, and to be working with District Twelve in this coming Hunger Games."
On Ashe's other side, Meadow is grimacing, looking like she wants to say something but is holding her tongue.
"We couldn't be happier," Bass agrees. "Everything is going great for the Cleff siblings this year!"
Their energy seems almost fake to Ashe, but everything about the Capitol seems fake to her.
"Why would your parents name you Bass?" Ashe asks, interrupting whatever they were talking about.
There's a momentary falter in their collective bravado, like they are unaccustomed to dealing with people who don't respect them. "It's because of our last name," Alto says. "Bass clef and alto clef are musical terms."
"So they named you puns?"
Alto and Bass exchange a glance. "Well, I suppose so," Bass says. "I never thought of it that way."
The rest of the evening passes slowly. Brice chatters her ear off, and for once Ashe can't be bothered to listen. She finds a couch in the dining hall, sits, and stares off at nothing until her escort appears to drag her back to the train.
She spends another sleepless night watching the moon go by, trying in vain to find something worth writing about.
…
District Ten smells like manure, blood, and dirt. Ashe gives another empty speech for tributes she never spoke to and pretends that District Nine isn't next.
At the dinner in the Justice Building, Celinda Oxford shows up drunk out of her mind and cusses at Ashe over crimes she didn't commit. Rhett Riley, Tierra Backenbriker and Salen Florence corral her with varying degrees of shame on their faces.
Ashe has no reason to feel guilty; she did not kill Celinda's tributes. She never even spoke to them. She couldn't remember their names if there a was a gun to her head.
Yet there is a certain guilt in her chest; guilt not for killing Celinda's tributes, but for outliving them.
Rhett pats Ashe on the shoulder consolingly, saying something empty about Celinda being drunk and saying this every year. Ashe nods as if she understands, as if it matters.
This dinner passes by even slower than District Twelve's, because Ashe is exhausted and everything is coated in molasses. Tierra leaves early with Celinda, and Salen retires shortly after, saying something about not being as young as he used to be, and District Ten apparently has a shocking few aristocrats. Ashe isn't particularly surprised. From what little she's seen, Ten is even more impoverished than Eleven.
It's dark and the wind is biting when they leave. The scars on Ashe's legs itch under her pant legs.
When she gets back on the train, Meadow stops her before she can disappear into her bedroom.
"Here," she says, shoving a pair of pills into Ashe's hands. At Ashe's questioning look, she adds, "They'll help you sleep."
Ashe moves to hand them back, but Meadow doesn't accept them. "Ashe, you look downright haggard. Get some sleep, for Panem's sake."
She is exhausted. Everything is fuzzy and off-kilter, and if she moves too much she loses her balance.
"Meadow—"
"Please, Ashe. Just do what we need you to," Meadow says, and she glances at the ceiling like she thinks someone is listening.
Ashe looks at her oddly and starts to say something again, but Meadow just repeats her plea.
She takes the pills. She dreams of Ainsley, always just around the next bend, out of reach.
…
Ashe wakes up in District Nine with Ainsley's blood on her hands. She stands before a crowd of invisible farmers and stares at Ainsley's face. She recites a speech with Ainsley's voice ringing in her ears.
There's four people standing on her platform. A man and a woman, who must be her parents, and two little boys. Each parent has one boy pulled against their side, and both of them are meeting Ashe's eyes. Ainsley's little brothers are both looking at the ground, and Ashe is pretty sure the younger one is crying.
She makes it halfway through her speech before her voice is too choked up for her to get any more words out. She stands there at the microphone, shaking hands clutching the cards too tight, trying to fight back her tears. Finally, she gets ahold of herself. She looks back the card, about to continue reading, and then she stops.
"Ainsley—" she says into the microphone, and the crowd reacts, seeming to know she's gone off book. "Ainsley, I'm sorry—"
Then her escort's hands are on her shoulders, dragging her away from the microphone. Meadow and Brice usher her into the Justice Building, and Ashe manages to hold it together long enough to excuse herself to the bathroom. She shuts the door behind her and slides to the ground, but somehow she doesn't cry. She clutches her hands around her shoulders and stares at the tile floor and pretends it's June and she's walking along a creek thinking about little random facts of life that no one else would remember and she doesn't know anyone named Ainsley. And for a beautiful, fleeting moment, Ashe is content.
There's a pounding knock at the door, and Meadow's muffled voices says, "Ashe, honey, are you almost done in there?"
Ashe gets to her feet. "I'm fine. I'll be out in a second."
(Meadow didn't ask her if she was okay. Ashe says it anyways.)
She follows Meadow back downstairs. Brice introduces her to District Nine's trio of mentors, and Ashe pretends not to see the dirty looks Gracyn and Iara are giving him. But no matter how she tries, she cannot miss the look in their eyes that says it shouldn't have been you.
Their third Victor, however, is quite a bit kinder. He won several decades back and retired from mentoring long before Ashe was born. She figures he must have had an unremarkable Games, because she doesn't remember ever seeing Marshall Ford on the reruns.
According to him, everyone calls him Doc. When she asks why, he answers, "Well, why do people call you Ashe?"
It's supposed to be a joke, but Ashe wants to say, "Because I burned up."
Instead, she smiles like she gets it now.
Still, she appreciates Doc. He isn't drunk. He isn't glaring at her. He isn't giving her empty reassurances. It's something she has sincerely missed ever since they set out on her tour.
Meadow hovers around her like a concerned mother. Ashe spends most of the night talking with Doc, but Meadow can't seem to leave them alone. She continually inserts herself in their conversation, and finally Doc seems to have had enough.
"Meadow, is there no one else here you'd like to talk to?" he says, a lot kinder than Ashe would have.
Meadow glares at him and says, "Don't worry, Doc. I'm just trying to keep Ashe safe."
"There's nothing here to protect me from," Ashe says. "Besides, I can protect myself. That's how I got here."
Meadow's got that too-bright smile again. "Well, it's late anyways. We should get back to the train. It's a long way to District Eight."
Ashe looks at her, then looks at Doc, and shrugs. "Sure."
Doc smiles at her as she leaves and all she can do is wonder why Meadow is afraid of her talking to him.
In fact, she wonders why Meadow has been acting so weird the entire tour.
(Maybe it has to do with Quinn.)
Ashe doesn't want to think about Quinn. She doesn't want to think about Lana, or Sterne, or Shad. She doesn't want to think about anything.
(Or maybe it has to do with what Lanai said, about the Districts and her being a martyr—)
She takes more pills that night, but it doesn't stop the nightmares.
…
District Eight is gray. The clouds are gray. The buildings are gray. Even the air smells gray. Ashe stands in front of another faceless crowd of exhausted workers and reads her card. There's Peacekeepers lining the enormous square and Ashe remembers something vague about riots and executions and destroyed factories.
She doesn't care. She's been home for six months and nothing has changed. She still wakes up every night from nightmares. The Games are still going on in the summer.
Ashe reads her card and ignores Lyndie's face across the square. The one she looks at is Navarro's, except when she looks at him she sees blood in his hair and a crater in his head. She forces herself not to sneer in the direction of his family—just a single woman standing with ramrod straight posture and a stormy look on her face.
She looks down at the card again. She's come to the end of the speech.
"The tributes of District Eight both fought valiantly for the honor of their home…"
She trails off, crumples up the card, and says, "Lyndie fought valiantly. Navarro deserved to die slower."
There's a sharp ripple through the crowd as they take in what Ashe said, and on the other end of the square, Navarro's mother starts to shout obscenities at the stage. The Peacekeepers descend upon her in one large, white hoard. Ashe's escort is back, pulling her away from the microphone again, and Ashe throws the crumpled up card into the crowd as a gunshot echoes across the square. Ashe pulls herself out of the escort's grip, stumbling toward the front of the stage, watching the crowd panic. The Peacekeepers lining the square leave their posts and raise their guns to corral the masses, and Ashe only watches. She clutches at the microphone stand, pleading with herself to find the words for this moment.
There are no words. There haven't been words since the Games ended.
The escort drags Ashe into the Justice Building, Peacekeepers materializing to guard the doors, and Ashe grabs the escort's shirt and cries, "What did they do? What just happened?"
More gunshots sound outside.
Her escort looks disturbed as he meets her eyes and says, "Don't worry about it, sweetie. Everything's fine."
She deliberately forgot his name after the Games, when he greeted her by congratulating her on her iconic final kill.
"Everything's fine," he repeats, putting his hands on Ashe's shoulders.
Ashe looks at him and says, "What did I do?"
He purses his lips and looks at Meadow and Brice. Meadow is nervously picking at her fingertips. Brice, for once, is silent.
"You went off book," the escort says finally. "You need to just read the cards."
"But the cards are meaningless!" Ashe exclaims. "Navarro didn't fight valiantly! It's all bullshit!"
"It isn't supposed to be meaningful," Brice says pointedly. "It's supposed to remind the Districts of the Games, Ashe. They don't care what you say. All they care about is that you're on the stage and their tributes aren't."
Meadow pales and whispers something to Brice, who doesn't seem to care.
Ashe stares at him. She wants to protest. She wants to say something. She wants to have something to say.
They forgo the dinner. The mayor presents her with a bouquet of sunflowers ("courtesy of President Renius—aren't they beautiful?") and takes several pictures with her as his side. Then he tells her that it's very sad they can't have a dinner tonight to properly celebrate her victory, but because of the unfortunate rebel attack this afternoon, it's best to get her out of Eight as soon as possible.
Ashe wants to say, "Is that what they're calling executions now?" but holds her tongue. Her words have gotten enough people killed today.
The train speeds toward District Seven, and Ashe watches the news. They rarely report on anything interesting, but there's little better on this late at night.
The official story is that someone tried to assassinate Eight's mayor and instead killed Navarro Lune's mother. It's a weak story. At least, it is to Ashe.
She doesn't take any pills. Instead she lies on her bed and watches Eris plummet to the ground until she passes out.
…
District Seven is a welcome change of pace. The towering forests feel a little bit like home. Before she steps up onto the stage, her escort—apparently his name is Wystan—pulls her aside, hands her the cards, and reminds her of the importance of not going off book.
Ashe simply bites her lip and accepts them. Eris deserves so much more than someone else's words.
The speech is short and Ashe spends it staring at Eris's wheelchair-bound sister. She wonders if Eris ever regretted volunteering. She's pretty sure she would have.
The mayor shakes her hand and congratulates her, and then she's whisked off the stage before anything bad can happen. It's probably a good thing. Ashe doesn't know.
She spends most of the evening chatting about inane things with Macy Barker. Her Games is one Ashe remembers well; she was eleven and had nightmares about being born a year earlier. It was funny, almost. That was the only time in her life she ever really considered the possibility of being Reaped. District Eleven has a big enough population that it was easy to right it off, to say it would happen to someone else. But that year—if Ashe had been twelve, if she had been born only three months before she was, she would have been in that pool. And she thought about it. She wrote about it. Yet that was it. That was the only time Ashe ever really, truly considered it. Of course, it was always there, a vague fear at the back of her mind that it just might be her. But it had always been so easy to convince herself that it would always be someone else.
Ashe looks up from her plate, realizing she checked out of the conversation ten minutes ago, and tries to tune in on whatever Macy is saying.
"And so Sprucen and I went into town, because we were sure we could find a biggest seed bell if we tried…"
This is something she would write about. Something mundane, someone else's story that Ashe only experienced by proxy.
Macy continues her story, and Ashe nods along like she was listening the whole time. There's a vase between them on the table with a single sunflower in it. It's small, way smaller than the ones they grow at home. It's drooping, unable to find the sun.
Ashe reaches out and takes it from the vase, causing Macy to trail off.
"Um. What are you doing?" Macy asks.
"It's my flower," Ashe says.
"Do you grow sunflowers in Eleven?"
"Sometimes," Ashe says absentmindedly. She tucks the flower into the pocket of her shirt. It droops even more now.
"Well, they're very pretty," Macy says. "We don't have a lot of flowers here. Just trees."
Across the room, someone starts yelling. Ashe looks up from the table and sees Meadow arguing with Cypress about something. She glances at Macy and says, "What's that about?"
Macy looks down, like she wants to say something. Instead she shrugs and goes back to her story.
When the night is over and they pile into a car to head back to the train station, Ashe bucks up the courage and asks Meadow what happened tonight.
"Oh, it's nothing!" Meadow says, voice an octave too high to be normal. "It was just a normal spat over nothing."
Ashe's face should tell her in no uncertain terms that she doesn't believe her.
It's another long night. Ashe sleeps in snatches, woken up by vague nightmares that she can't remember. It doesn't take her long to give up on trying to sleep. Instead she turns on the tv and watches a vapid Capitolite dating show. It's so mindless it allows her to stop thinking.
A year ago, Ashe would have been terrified of wanting to stop thinking. Her mind was all she had.
Now all she wants is a little peace and quiet.
…
District Six is the most depressing District yet. Not because of the tributes but because of the people. The buildings surrounding the square are stark, gray and uniform. The sky is filled with smog and the air smells like misery. The crowd is strung out and Ashe can only guess what substances they took before coming here.
She delivers another short, empty speech. It's another pair of tributes who had nothing to do with her. If she remembers correctly, both of them died in the bloodbath. In the six months that have passed since the Games ended, she has already forgotten both of their names.
(Once, shortly after she'd gotten back to District Eleven in August, Meadow had sat her down and told her about coping. She'd shown her a journal, where Meadow had researched each of the tributes in her Games and put together their lives on the page. Ashe couldn't understand it. As soon as she was out of the arena, she wanted nothing more than for the ghosts of the other tributes to leave her alone. She said as much, and Meadow said this was her way of banishing the ghosts. Ashe still doesn't get it.)
The dinner is quiet and awkward. Kasumi says something about Dixie being ill with what she calls "smogness", which Ashe gathers is a respiratory disease caused by the poor air quality. There's a distinct sadness in Kasumi's eyes as she says it. After a moment, she coughs and mumbles, "Most people in Six die young. If the drugs don't get them, the smog does."
One of the officials berates her for being rude, but Ashe gets it. Most people in Eleven die young, too. Field accidents are all too common, and they have little in the way of healthcare.
Kasumi mutters something about not wanting to be alone. Then she clears her throat and adds, "But hey, maybe this year will be Six's year. It could happen."
No one answers. It never seems to be Six's year.
That's how it is in several Districts. Some people only see one Victor from Twelve or Six in their lifetime. Eleven fares better, but none of them will ever reach the might of the Career Districts.
The dinner just sort of ends. Kasumi heads home to check on Dixie, the officials shake Ashe's hand, and then they're all back on the train.
Ashe falls asleep with another Capitol dating show on the background, grateful for at least one thing: she wasn't born in District Six.
…
District Five is weird. Ashe stares down Sterne's family and wishes she could tell them that he's alive. The guilt from knowing turns into a weight in her chest, which quickly becomes a pain. It sits in between her lungs for the entire evening, long after Sterne's family has gone home, reminded of their grief.
It's another boring night. Ave and Sol are nice enough, and Jay is friendly, but Ashe isn't in the mood for conversation. At least they get the hint and leave her alone.
There are sunflowers in vases lining the table again. Ashe asks an attendant about it, who cheerfully says, "Oh, they were sent by the Capitol. Beautiful, aren't they?"
Ashe wants to throw each of the vases at the wall and stomp the flowers into the dirt, but instead she just smiles and nods.
…
District Four is different than any of the districts before it. The people in the square are enthused, if not a little bit put out. Ashe can tell that this is a Career District—they're excited because a Victor is here, but not too excited, because she's an outlier.
The dinner actually feels like a party. There's a fair number of people there, and Chance and Alec steal the show. Ashe tries to talk to Arthur, but he shoos her away with a mumbled mention of going through a bad breakup. Saior spends an hour telling Ashe about the next book she's writing, and Ashe lies and says she's read her whole catalogue.
Ashe, despite herself, actually has an alright time. There are no sunflowers here; instead the centerpieces are seashells. The sight of them makes Ashe breathe a sigh of relief. At least the Capitol decided not to touch this one.
She dances with Chance and Alec, and she dances with Brice. The party continues into the early hours of the morning, and around two a.m. Wystan appears to shuttle them back to the train. Apparently, it's a long way to District Three. Ashe is pretty sure he just wanted to leave.
As soon as she steps back on the train, the good energy is drained from her body. She's left exhausted and almost ashamed.
Trying to take her mind off of everything, Ashe grabs her empty journal and tries to channel fourteen-year-old her. Plenty of things happened today. There should be plenty of things to write about.
Arthur broke up with someone. There were seashells on the table. Chance is thinking about proposing, but Alec can't know. Saior's next book is called They All Die At The End, but that's not public knowledge yet and Ashe isn't supposed to tell.
Still, the page remains empty and Ashe remains awake. Nothing changes.
…
Ashe blocks out District Three. Somehow it's harder to watch Lana's family mourn knowing she's alive than watch Ainsley's family mourn knowing she's dead.
…
If District Four was enthused, District Two is downright festive. There was a parade in the morning, and the partying is expected to last all night. Meadow and Brice get in the spirit, and they finally have genuine smiles on their faces. It makes Ashe hope that whatever is bothering them is over now.
But Ashe does not get in the spirit. It's impossible to. In the front rows of the crowd, she can see all of the Career trainees. They're muscled, bulky, tall, and grinning like Capitolmas came early. Ashe watches them all carefully and wonders which two of them will be slaughtering her tributes come July.
There's thunderous applause when Ashe finishes her speech, and the dinner is an absolute rager. She finds herself tucked away in a corner with Will Slade, who apparently doesn't like parties.
"Is it like this every year?" she asks.
Will laughs. "You should see what it's like when a Career wins. It's this, times one-thousand."
"Wow." Ashe fiddles with a loose thread on the cuff of her shirt. "So…why don't you like parties?"
"It's not so much that I don't like parties," Will says. "It's that Two doesn't like me."
"You just said they lose their minds over Career Victors."
"It's a long story," Will says. He swirls whatever drink he's holding and downs it in one go. "You know there's no hard feelings, right?"
"Huh?"
"For the fact that you won and our tributes didn't," Will says. "You didn't kill either of them. One of them wasn't going to win anyway. It's no big deal."
Ashe isn't entirely sure how to respond to that, but she tries anyways. "Thanks, I guess. That's more than District Ten gave me."
"Oh, Celinda," Will says with a laugh. "She's…always interesting."
"That's one way to put it."
"Ashe! What are you doing over here?" Meadow exclaims as soon as she sees Ashe.
"Just talking to Will," Ashe says. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"No, no, it's just…everyone's missing you on the dance floor!"
Ashe raises an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Of course! It's your party, after all."
Ashe doesn't believe her. She hasn't believed a word that's come out of Meadow's mouth since they left Eleven. She glances at Will and decides that now is not the right time to broach the subject.
The party goes even later than District Four's. It must be almost five a.m. by the time Ashe is in bed, and for once, she's too exhausted to think.
She's not too exhausted to dream, however.
…
The dress she wears in District One has a sunflower painted on the front. Several of the Victors compliment its beauty, and Ashe smiles and nods like she always does.
When she gets back on the train, she throws it out of the window. Only after it's gone does she wish she'd set it on fire first.
…
And then it's the Capitol. She's back in the towering Tribute Center, staying in her old room, and she doesn't sleep a wink.
In the morning, she meets Treble Cleff, the new Master of Ceremonies. He has a tattoo to match his brothers and neon blue eyes. In fact, his eyes are so bright Ashe swears to Panem they actually cast off light.
When they're on the stage together for the interview, Ashe feels like he's staring into her soul.
"So, I met your brothers recently," Ashe says after the greetings are over.
"Oh! Did you?"
"Yes, they're very…energetic," Ashe says.
Treble smiles and turns to the audience. "For those of you who don't know, my brothers have graciously taken over mentoring for District Twelve after Kalina Nightingale's tragic passing." There's a moment of silence as the Capitolites mourn, maybe, and then Treble says, "And you'll know it's them, because we've got matching tattoos!" He pulls down the collar of his suit to show his off.
Ashe hides her sneer behind a grin.
They talk about the mundanities of Ashe's life back home for a bit before the topic pivots to Ashe's talent.
She gathers her sleeves in her hands and says, "Yes, I've always loved writing. When I was younger, I used to write about anything at all. I have journals filled with pages of the little things I saw, the little things I experienced…like, "I saw a deer today" or "my neighbor is my partner in a school project"…" She trails off, uncertain of how to continue.
"And how about now?" Treble prompts. "What do you write about now?"
She considers it for a moment. "Well, unfortunately, I'm facing a bit of writer's block right now."
The audience makes sympathetic noises, as if they all understand what Ashe is going through. Ashe wants to tell all of them to shut the fuck up.
"That's truly too bad," Treble says. "I'm sure your writing is amazing."
"Well, I certainly hope so."
"And I'm sure once you get that wonderful brain of yours up and running again, we'll all be able to read your masterpiece! Isn't that right, folks?" Treble calls.
The audience roars in response, and Ashe doesn't think she'll ever write another word again.
…
The party with the Capitolites is the worst by far. Every single person in attendance wants to dance with her personally. She meets a whole host of Gamemakers, wealthy business owners, government officials, and socialites. "Meet" may not be the right word. They introduce themselves, shake her hand enthusiastically, and as soon as they're out of her line of sight she's forgotten their name.
Eventually, the party settles down for dinner. Ashe's table is centerstage with Meadow, Brice, Wystan and her stylist around her. Meadow is smiling too brightly again.
An Avox comes around and serves them drinks. The drink he hands to Ashe is neon green and gives off a weird smell. Ashe shoves it aside and decides to not imbibe anything unnaturally colored.
Luckily, the main course is the color of actual food. There is one thing Ashe will admit the Capitol has: incredible food. The meals served at the District dinners were on a spectrum from alright to actual garbage, so Ashe appreciates something edible this time.
The desert is better. Brice asks Ashe if he can have her drink. She doesn't understand why he would want to drink something that smells like piss, but lets him have it anyway.
Finally, the meal concludes. President Ezra Renius stands up to give a speech. Ashe watches him from a distance and thinks about how young he looks.
"Welcome!" he says, voice echoing through the hall. "We are all here tonight to celebrate the Victory of District Eleven's Ashe Illyrian!"
The hall erupts into applause. Ashe waves at Wystan's insistence.
"It takes so much courage and sacrifice to reach the place where Miss Illyrian is now," Renius continues. "I must commend her on her bravery, her cleverness, and her loyalty."
Loyalty seems out of place to Ashe. All she did in the arena was betray.
Maybe that's the point.
"Every year I am so happy to watch another tribute become a Victor, and Ashe is no exception. She truly deserves her Victory, and I trust that she will do what's right with what she's been given."
Ashe's stomach plummets to the floor. Her scars start to itch.
"Now, please join me in welcoming to the Victors' Hall of Fame, Miss Ashe Illyrian!"
The applause is thunderous once again, and Ashe digs her fingernails into her wrists.
"May she have a happy immortality," Renius concludes, and Ashe digs deeper.
"That's an odd thing to say," Meadow comments, as if it means nothing.
(You can't ignore it anymore, a voice in the back of Ashe's head whispers. You can't pretend he doesn't want to destroy you.)
Ashe shakes her head and turns off her thoughts until the dinner is over.
…
The ride up to floor Eleven is silent. Wystan heads to bed immediately, leaving the three Victors alone in the common area. Brice sits on the couch for a moment before he stands up and says, "I don't feel very good. I'm headed to bed."
"Good night," Ashe says.
"See you in the morning," Meadow says, and then it's just the two of them.
Ashe sits down at the dining table, weighing the pros and cons of what she's about to do. Finally, she says, "Meadow, what's been up with you recently?"
"Whatever do you mean?"
"I mean, that you've been trying to keep me from talking to half of the Victors, and every time you smile you like someone's just killed your kitten," Ashe says bluntly.
A muscle in Meadow's face twitches. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You can't deny it," Ashe says. "Brice is acting weird too—but it's you that's freaking me out. So tell me. What is going on?"
Meadow is silent for a long, tense moment. "You really haven't figured it out?"
"What?" Ashe demands.
"He threatened Floryn, Ashe," Meadow whispers. She leans across the table, as if to be as close to Ashe as she can be. The words hang in the little space between them, hidden by their proximity, and Ashe almost understands.
"Renius."
"Mm," Meadow says. "We've got to keep everything together, Ashe. For all of our sakes." She flaps her hands for a moment. "I thought I wanted this. I thought I wanted to be a part of all of this, but I was wrong. I was so wrong. I have to protect her, Ashe, and none of us can come between that."
(Lanai said that Ashe is the spark, the thing she's been looking for, and Renius wants to stamp the spark out. Of course.)
"I…" Ashe begins, uncertain of what to say.
She told Lanai she wanted no part in her rebellion. She told Lanai that she is no martyr.
And she meant it.
Didn't she?
Ashe bunches up her sleeves again and whispers, "I don't want anyone to get hurt."
It keeps her up all night. There's nothing to write about, like always, but Ashe tries anyway. If she could just put her thoughts on the paper, maybe they would start to make sense. Because everything in her head is so discordant she can't make any of come to a point. She paces the length of her bedroom until she's so tired the ground is blurry, and then she paces some more.
She just doesn't want to make things worse. It can't be that hard.
…
"Ashe, would you go wake up Brice? We're supposed to leave in fifteen minutes and he had better get his ass out here soon," Wystan says in the morning, when Ashe hasn't slept a wink and her brain is falling apart.
She goes to Brice's door without responding to Wystan's order. First she knocks and receives no answer. She opens the door and sees Brice still in bed, wrapped up in the covers. "Brice, c'mon. Get up. We're supposed to be on the train soon."
He doesn't move.
"Brice," Ashe repeats, stepping into the bedroom. It's odd. She doesn't remember Brice being a particularly heavy sleeper.
There's still no answer, so she reaches over and shakes him. It takes her a moment to register what's wrong.
He's cold. His eyes are open. He's dead.
(It was the drink, wasn't it? The drink that smelled weird, and Brice complaining of not feeling well—it was meant for her, wasn't it? Wasn't it?)
Ashe screams. She's been doing that a lot lately.
A/N: Sometimes, you just have to kill off some of your Victors.
Don't forget, submissions close on March Nineteenth!
-Amanda
