Chapter 66: The Truth in Lies
Streets leading to the Presidential Palace were deserted. No cars or people on sight. The only people she saw were the ones on the moving tall boards dotted around a few distance away from the palace.
The boards displayed brightly lit posters and banners with celebratory images for the Quell. With a range of changing flickering posters from the districts and some permanent ones for the returning victor.
Yet, the posters for the returning victors as tributes had been turned to shrines with decaying flowers worshiping their images.
Sera didn't expect that at all.
She pressed her face closer to the window of the car she was in and took in the images in front of her. They were shrines, alright. Dead and dried flowers along with candles littered those posters of the victors. Each with a different amount depending on their popularity.
Chaff's was barren and so was Wells and Leora's. She expected Johanna's to be the same and yet, she was wrong. Naturally, Finnick's had an abundance of gifts with Cashmere and Gloss closely following behind. But none of that came close to the joint tributes of Twelve.
The joining posters of Katniss and Peeta had flooded the footpath where the board stood. Flowers, candles and even bows were carefully placed in front of the brightly lit posters. Amid those tributes, she noticed a few flashes of golden birds.
Mockingjays.
Maybe that's why avoxes had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. They hurriedly dumped all the candles and flowers from the makeshift shrines into large metal cans that they dragged as they moved. The mockingjay pins and small prints were the first to go. Then it was the candles, the last were the flowers.
Nothing was left when she looked back. Everything had been swept and destroyed in a matter of seconds. But it was much clear to her that the majority of the Capitol didn't want this game at all.
They weren't baying for anyone's blood let alone for the ones they worshiped and coveted.
Perhaps, it was a sign that the Capitol's rebellion network had grown larger since last year. Not everyone could be so oblivious to the significance of the mockingjay pins and signs.
For as long as Sera could remember those birds were seen as signs of rebellion. Something that was born out of the control of the Capitol.
Sure, it was possible that the majority of Capitolites were blinded by Katniss' mask of a wide-eyed and earnest victor so in love with her partner. They were eager to mimic and throw around every symbol related to her. That could've been the other option.
She saw it with herself when she won. Capitolites wore flowers for over a year in the aftermath. Artificial and overly bright colored flowers. Her eyes still ached remembering how insane those capitolites were when it came to her: half in awe and half in anger.
"Watch your head." The door opened and a Peacekeeper stood at the side, waiting for her to get out.
With a quiet thanks, Sera climbed out and went straight towards the tall steps leading to the entrance. No one greeted her as she passed by. No one was there except Peacekeepers patrolling the palace grounds.
Standing under a halo of light was President Snow's secretary. A new one that Sera didn't recognise. Plain faced with sculpted blonde hair like the rest but there was a flicker of fear and apprehension in his eyes that gave him away, setting him apart from his predecessors.
Dim lights of the insides of the Presidential Palace guided Sera as he tried her best to follow President Snow's secretary. His frantic and hurried footsteps didn't help at all and every so often, Sera would lose track of him. If she didn't remember the path to the President's office, she would've gotten lost in the marbled maze.
The final interviews had barely ended and Sera had been dragged to Snow's office as if he'd just remembered her existence. She'd feel bitter if Plutarch hadn't sent her that bouquet but now she was wary.
"Miss Reza." President Snow's assistant hissed out from across the corridor in front of the President's door.
Plutarch appeared from the shadows, taking both Sera and Snow's assistant by surprise, his presence commanding attention. He dismissed Snow's assistant with a flick of his hand, his voice firm but polite. "President Snow is busy in a meeting with Minister Redcliff and Consul Redcliff. You're not needed here."
Snow's assistant glanced uncertainly between them. "I was ordered by—"
"I think Miss Reza knows the Presidential Palace much better than you do."
Giving a hesitant nod, Snow's assistant departed, leaving Sera and Plutarch alone in the corridor. Wordlessly, Plutarch led Sera to a sitting room just to the side of the long corridor.
Inside, it was the same marbled walls with tapestries from pre-war strung on the walls, preserved through the ages, all depicting stories lost to time.
"How have you been, Miss Reza?"
"I'm sure you can guess how I've been." She answered as he pulled her a seat.
Plutarch chuckled at her response like she'd said something funny. Sera didn't laugh. She raised her brow and tucked her chin under her hand, tilting her head slightly.
He didn't seem to notice her silent fury and judgment, instead he motioned to the set chessboard on the table. "Would you care for a game of chess to pass the time?"
Sera declined the offer, her tone polite but firm. "Thank you but I'll pass. I'm afraid the game won't be quick between us and I have lots to do."
"Ah," He clapped his hands and clasped them together. "It wouldn't, wouldn't it? You and I do like a long game, don't we? That's the common thread tying us together."
"I wouldn't say we're tied together."
"Oh but we are." Plutarch made the first move and the game had begun despite Sera's initial refusal. She didn't have a choice after all. "We both know we're all intertwined like a big ball of yarn."
"Maybe you should try knitting as a hobby if being a Gamemaker gets too much for you." She suggested dryly and moved her black pawn at the corner of the board. "I see you've been well. You've got yourself a whole new wardrobe and everything."
Predictably, Plutarch's face bloomed into a grin and he moved his bishop instead of another pawn. She called it. He did like his bishops over any other pieces on the board. She preferred her pawns instead. They were much more malleable.
"Well," He drew his hands back. "It's not everyday where a demoted—I'm sorry a retired Head Gamemaker is promoted back into a leading position and that too for the Quarter Quell. 75 years of games—it's something to celebrate."
"I'm sure it is." She pushed her knight forward and drew back. "You're practically glowing with happiness. I'm sure you saw the interviews and whatnot."
"I saw it all but I don't know if jubilant is what I'd say I'm feeling right now—bittersweet would be much more accurate. Ah, I had to use up something that I've been meaning to save for the 100th game but you know with the rocky ratings; it was record breakingly high last yet there's no guarantee it would be the same this year. I had to do something to keep the fire burning."
"Something?" Sera echoed.
"I'm just doing my job while you've been—" His gaze lingered on her hand, focusing on the ring on her ring finger. "Resting."
'Congrats.' His lips barely moved but she understood him nonetheless.
With a quick motion, Sera removed her ring and slipped into the pockets of her coat dress. "I wouldn't say I've been resting. Someone had to look after the trib—victors—the returnees. Ah, I don't even know what I should call them. What do you think I should call them?"
His gaze flickered with an unknown emotion. He let out a breath as he hastily moved his bishop forward, positioning it to take her pawn, not her knight.
"Does it matter?" He asked. "Have you managed to secure any alliances for your 'tributes'?"
"None." She answered that question but not the first. "Leora and…Julian wanted to do things their own way and I–we wanted to respect that—the same can't be said for the rest of the victors. So many alliances going on but there's a sense of overall unity there somewhere."
"We haven't seen something like that before."
"Not really."
Her mind went back seven years into the past and she was on the podium ready for the countdown to end. Her mind racing with anticipation at the bloodbath, she had plans; grab what she could and run for the snowy woods behind her. No one would catch up to her if she was in the woods and up in a tree.
At least that's what she thought. When the countdown ended, her fellow tributes hobbled down, only a handful sprinting forward. They all looked at each other in confusion, not in desperate malice. Each of them picked what they could before they all scattered like the wind.
Not even the careers bothered to attack. There was a strange understanding between them all in the early days of that game. Maybe a silent protest.
That understanding died once the arena became more and more dangerous with each passing day.
"Things were different during my games."
"I remember. No bloodbaths but you're naive to think these victors would pass up a bloodbath not when it's the easiest way to quicken the end."
"They expect things to be the same as their games, we both know the Quell will be different. They don't even know what's coming or," She left her pawn, sacrificing it and instead moved her own bishop to take his knight that hadn't left its home yet. "some do."
"Things need to speed up, full steam ahead."
Her suspicions were confirmed. Haymitch knew about the rebellion. Plutarch had approached him sometime before the interviews, probably himself or through Beetee. More likely that Beetee had been Plutarch's agent. It made sense why Haymitch came to her after the interviews had wrapped.
In the midst of the chaos that the ending of Caesar's show, Haymitch had managed to grab Sera before she'd been washed away by the crowd and asked for an informal alliance. She had declined and mentioned both Leora and Wells' reasons and left it at that.
It would've been easier if she did accept the alliance on behalf of Leora and Wells but there was no point. Almost all returning victors, even those who Plutarch probably didn't approach, had a feeling that something was in the air. Somehow, they could tell that the star-crossed lovers from Twelves were in the center of the storm.
Even without any coaxing some would easily lay down their lives to get the rebellion off the ground. She wasn't one of them, sure.
But she was surprised that Haymitch Abernathy of all people had agreed to this. Then again, for once in over two decades Haymitch actually looked alive and looked like he had something to lose.
Regardless of his ill will towards the entire game, he wanted—no, he needed Katniss and Peeta to win and to come back. Participating in the rebellion was a means to an end. The rebels needed those two alive and so did Haymitch. He cared for those two. They had similar goals and that was all.
Plutarch moved his queen with some difficulty, blocking the path of her bishop. He moved his queen earlier than she expected.
"You're getting impatient." She moved another one of her pawns forward, laying down the groundwork for a trap for his queen.
"And you're acting like we have all the time in the world." He leaned back and stared at the board, tapping his nails against the table. "When the perfect opportunity arises—and it did—you take it."
"I prefer to take things slow, one at a time." Sera nodded and moved her second bishop forward taking his queen. "A warning would've been nice."
His face twisted into annoyance at losing his queen so early into the game. It didn't really matter, he still had enough pawns left to replace his queen. "You don't get warnings in life. You have to roll with the punches and knowing you—you're already prepared for the worst regardless of whether you stayed or went."
"So you had nothing to do with the—"
"No." He answered before she could even mention the reaping and gave her a pointed look, reminding them where they were. "There are some pieces that I would rather not sacrifice."
"A piece?"
"I'm trying to be poetic."
"Ha, maybe in another life you could be a poet or philosopher."
Plutarch smiled. "I studied philosophy at University right before they stopped the course." He said. "So maybe in another life, you'd be right." He leaned forward and moved his pawn.
"I'm sure I would be." She moved one of her pawns forward, avoiding the paths of his bishop and knight.
His relaxed demeanor contradicted the tension that radiated from him, evident in the way his body was rigid, every movement calculated.
"Have you been in touch with your family back in Five?" He inquired, his tone casual but his eyes betraying a deeper concern.
Sera considered his question for a moment, her fingers hovering over her next move on the chessboard. "Yes," she replied calmly. "My sister had an accident while tending to some snapdragons. Nothing serious, but it's left her unable to manage things at home." She watched Plutarch closely, gauging his reaction. "Doesn't help that one of her kids is sick."
Plutarch's facade of ease cracked ever so slightly, a flicker of worry crossing his features. "And your brother?" he prompted, though his tone held a note of apprehension.
Sera's lips twitched into a rueful smile. "Too busy with his shifts at the power plant to help out," she explained. "I have a guess they've put him in a supervisory role now."
Plutarch chuckled tensely, his gaze flickering to the chessboard before returning to Sera. "Ah, the joys of climbing the ladder," He joked, though his words carried an underlying tension. "And in time for the beginning of Quell—the grand finale."
Grand finale.
His words rang in her ear, repeating itself like a broken record and she leaned back not to assess his moves but to study the entire board. She should've
"The other districts seem…pretty excited for the grand finale," Plutarch quipped, not waiting for her response. "I'm not surprised Five is overworking itself to the bone again—they are after all, the backbone of Panem. The power that moves this humble nation but they had some big shoes to fill in the past, don't you agree?"
District 13. It was obvious what he meant. He was in part admiring her district and in part mocking them for their shallow weakness. Admittedly, he was right.
Five was one of the better off districts out of the non-career districts along with Three. Neither of those two districts had any aspirations or desire to end up like Thirteen.
She didn't know about Three; growing up in Five, she'd been told always to keep her head down and stay quiet. A preservation tactic that had worked for years and led to nothing but sow seeds of animosity for the Capitol in the young.
Yet District 5's rebels, like pieces on a chessboard, were making their moves alongside the Capitol's preparations for the Games. That much was obvious now.
"I guess I was too busy wallowing to notice the preparations." Sera joked back. "Doesn't matter, I feel like it'll be a stormy season."
Plutarch nodded, dragging his rook forward now that the space in front of it was empty. He landed it straight in front of one of her pawns, not taking it. A clear warning. "Make sure to take shelter the ones you love from the storm."
"I'll keep that in mind."
In the silence that followed, the weight of their shared understanding hung heavy in the air. Sera's fingers hovered over the chessboard, her mind racing with possibilities.
She expected him to carry on the conversation to maybe mention Katniss' wedding dress that turned her from swan to a burning mockingjay and the sudden false pregnancy or even Finnick's public confession. He mentioned nothing of the interviews apart from a light reference to the ending. That was all.
All of that seemed trivial to the rebellion. He didn't care about it. Then what was the point? Was it all just—it was a distraction.
"I'd be very careful if I were you," She warned him, taking his rook, his sacrificial piece. "You're playing recklessly and who knows? You might end up the way I found you."
He chuckled, moving his bishop across the board and taking her pawn. "Wouldn't that be good for you? Getting back into the king's good graces."
The noise of her thoughts drowned out by the deafening silence that enveloped them, Sera's mind went momentarily blank.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered if Plutarch had misspoken and was about to offer a correction.
But instead, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady as he issued a warning. "If you're going to stay where you are then do yourself a favor and do what you've done best."
"You're not going to fare well if I do that."
"That's the idea."
Their match came to standstill, neither making a move and waiting for the other to say something, anything.
Sera had nothing but questions in her head and Plutarch didn't have anything left to say about the matter.
Before they could resume their match, they were interrupted by the arrival of Scarus, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "President Snow is waiting for you two."
Just like that, another game between Sera and Plutarch ended with no victors, only casualties.
"Close the door behind you, will you?" President Snow's voice was low and coldly detached.
Like the rest of the palace, the office was no different, the lights had been killed. In the center of the room, President Snow was silently watching it all from his desk, leaning over it with his shadowy form.
On the screen was Cashmere trying to buy sympathy from the capitolites in the audience, reminding them of what they were losing. Gloss was up next and like his sister, he played the same charade, subtly reminding them of how beloved each and every one of the victors were with extra emphasis on himself and his sister—they did need sponsors after all.
Sera wasn't surprised to see the final set of interviews on Snow's screen. No doubt he was already dissecting each and every one of the victors' responses to see if the ending was planned or was it a reaction to Katniss and Peeta.
It was almost disappointing how predictable President Snow was acting when it came to the star-crossed lovers. The fear she'd felt whenever she was around him and his cronies dissipated ever so slightly replaced by annoyance.
If he was really smart, he would've rejected Plutarch's suggestions and instead paraded the lovers as just another attraction for the games. But she could see now that it wasn't that President Snow was incredibly intelligent, he just had a lot of luck that his enemies were very stupid or maybe he just thought himself to be untouchable.
"He's not seriously questioning the legality of the games?" Plutarch joked. He'd already taken a seat in front of the screen in the center of the room without invitation. "Beetee was always the special one, don't you two agree?" He turned to Sera and a solemn Scarus who was standing by President Snow like his personal shadow.
Sera shrugged in response. "I don't know him well enough to comment on that." She replied, her voice measured and her face neutral.
"Seems like you don't know your fellow victors at all."
"No, I don't."
"That's a shame, you're not going to get another opportunity after this." Plutarch leaned back in his seat. "You must be disappointed."
Sera didn't say anything but she didn't pretend like she wasn't annoyed at Plutarch's silly questions. Something President Snow hadn't missed. "Are you talking to me, Head Gamemaker?"
"Who else?" He questioned. "You must be disappointed that Leora Shelley took the opportunity for you to be in the games again."
"Heavensbee." Scarus warned quietly.
Sera poked the inside of her cheek in response. "I'm so heartbroken." She stated plainly, ignoring Scarus completely.
"Leora Shelley should've been exempted." President Snow quietly remarked and a sudden chill took hold of the room as he rose and came down to sit in front of Plutarch. "No, she was meant to be exempted."
Like his shadow, Scarus followed him and stood behind him, guarding him. Plutarch raised his brow and tilted his head to the side. "On what grounds? She wasn't paralyzed like Porter Millicent Tripp."
"If anything Seraphine should've been accounted for an exemption." Scarus interjected, his cat-like eyes on her and she turned away.
"I didn't ask for your opinion, Consul." President Snow snapped, ignoring Sera like she was the vase decorating the room. "It is a shame that Leora Shelley stole your spot."
Sera frowned. "My spot?"
"Your spot." President Snow repeated loudly. "You could've been the victor of victors but Leora Shelley was greedy and stole that opportunity from you—that was your spot."
"I'd like to mention that more than a few people were looking forward to a potential return of Seraphine Reza." Plutarch chimed in. "Most people were hoping for a battle between you and Katniss Everdeen."
"There wouldn't be much of a fight."
"You never know." Scarus said to her. "I think you're a solid victor."
She bit her lips and looked down at the floor, hiding the sudden urge to laugh. Oh it was hilarious for him of all people to compliment her skills as a victor. She still remembered the day they'd met.
How he'd looked at her in disgust, thinking that she was the most unworthy victor to have been crowned since the conception of the games or how undeserving she was to have made it alive in one piece. She remembered it all.
That stupid hypocrite.
The only reason he'd changed his tune was because somehow he'd grown to obsess over her. He'd swear up and down that he loved her if she ever asked; she knew the truth.
"Compared to Miss Everdeen, I'm nothing." Sera kept her head down and waited for the laughter bubbling inside of her to subside. Only when the urge faded did she look up. "Not to mention, I would be a disappointment in the arena and I'd hate to disappoint everyone; this so-called battle of the underdogs would end before it began."
"I wouldn't be sure about that. You should have more confidence in your…skills considering what you've achieved." President Snow said and she wished the hard leather seat she sat on would crush her.
"I think her archery is better than my knife-throwing skills."
"If you relied on your…alternative skills you would have easily won." Blood rushed to her head and she nodded along. "Nobody would see you coming, certainly not…your allies."
Frost started to grow violently from the corners of the room as the chilling cold air suffocated her like a noose. She could hear silent accusing whispers of long dead and forgotten children in the distance.
"That wouldn't be fair." She found herself saying and watched as Snow's eyes lit up.
Oh, he was enjoying watching her squirm. He wanted her in the arena. He needed her there, his own personal pawn. Ally herself with Katniss out in the open and stab her in the back.
How predictable.
"Life's hardly fair." He breezily replied and snapped his fingers.
Two avoxes came in with a cart of tea and pastries. Sera's stomach churned seeing it. It was too late for teatime but he didn't seem to care.
"Those who can take whatever chances they can get make it to the top—that's how most of you victors came to be, isn't it?" She nodded. "Then I don't think it's unfair to give the people what they want—the true victor."
She was the rigged victor.
"People would be upset. I'm not that much of a popular victor." Sera replied and President Snow's face returned to its typical cold look. "I'm sure everyone is aware that I'm known more for the things I've done outside the arena than the inside."
Plutarch grinned. "I couldn't escape your charitable acts even if I tried."
Scarus leaned forward. "I think more victors could take note from Seraphine, keep their heads down and do their own jobs instead of questioning silly things…" He sneered at the image of Beetee on the screen. "Beetee Latier was spoiled and we shouldn't have allowed him to work in the Citadel."
"But alas, he has made countless breakthroughs."
"If that's all he's been doing at the Citadel." President Snow commented and Plutarch's smile died ever so slightly. "Consul, I'd like you to do—"
"I'll assemble a team and begin the investigation as soon as possible." Scarus finished before the President with an obedient bow of his head. "Have it wrapped before the game ends."
Plutarch sat up straight and focused—the changes were subtle and to an untrained eye would've been hard to spot yet Sera noticed the little changes and she wondered if Scarus or President Snow did too.
"Well, I'm sure whatever contributions he's made will be remembered by the rest of Panem." Sera interjected in an attempt to divert the attention of Plutarch and Beetee while easing the attention. "He is said to be brilliant. I wonder what he'll bring to the table."
Scarus frowned and leaned forward towards the President. "We might have to strengthen the boundaries for the arena."
"Finally a good suggestion." President Snow turned to Plutarch and commanded. "Strengthen the arena and make sure there are no mistakes. I need this Quell to be successful enough to eclipse the failure of last year."
"I'll keep that in mind." Plutarch noted it down, still very tense. "Though, I'm going to say this again, I am upset that I don't get to have you in another one of my games."
"Regardless, I can mentor another victor." She replied calmly.
In response, President Snow broke into a small grin and Plutarch laughed. Even Scarus snickered.
"Going by Leora's track record, you're more likely to have the fastest death on your hands than the victor of victors." Scarus quipped. His smug grin was disgusting to see. He, like everyone in the Capitol, knew of Leora's attempts on her life. Not only that, it was a joke to them that Leora Shelley wanted to die.
Sera shoved her hands into her pockets and kept her head down. "Then it would've made a difference between her and me." She retorted.
That seemed to kill the humor in the room and President Snow's eyes narrowed on her while Plutarch's lips drew into a thin line. Scarus had gone cold with fear. Sera was the only one who seemed to have an ounce of life and warmth in that room.
Plutarch cleared his throat and tried to move on, pointing to the screen but he paused. Finnick was on the screen. He gave Sera a discreet apologetic look before he began his act. "That's a moving poem. He probably has half of Panem wrapped around his finger."
"Try the entire nation." Sera played along.
"Are you one of them, Seraphine?"
President Snow moved his head, drummed his fingers in anticipation for her response. Scarus had a look on his face that screamed that he knew more than he let on.
Sera simply shrugged. "He is pretty." She remarked softly. "That's all…I can say."
"The moon and the sea." Scarus pointed to the screen. His cat-like eyes trained on Finnick's face, monitoring his gestures and words. "Quite the interesting choice of words, don't you think?"
Again Sera shrugged, sighing as she did so and feigning disinterest. The ring in her pocket felt heavy and so did the small necklace on her neck. Scarus was watching her now and so was President Snow.
"You know," Scarus rounded the seat where President Snow had sat and took a seat next to Sera, trapping her between himself and Plutarch. "I heard a rumor a couple years back."
"What rumor was that?" President Snow questioned, eying the two younger people in the room. "About Finnick?"
"And Sera-phine." Scarus replied calmly. "I heard the two were…involved."
Plutarch clapped his hands and covered his mouth, holding back his laughter. "I'm sorry but Seraphine being romantically involved with Finnick Odair sounds unbelievably hilarious. She just seems too…"
"Too what?" Sera asked.
"You know…you have this attitude—"
"I don't have an attitude."
"Are the rumors true?" President Snow asked calmly, a silent rage behind those words and his burning cold eyes. Plutarch's laughter faded and Scarus grinned lightly. "Are. The. Rumors. True?" He asked again slowly like he was talking to a young child.
"This is the third or maybe the fifth time I've been questioned about him." Sera swallowed, digging her nails into her palms. "I would never…I can't imagine being romantically involved with anyone—I'm not like the lovers of Twelve or anything. I'm not stupid."
"Then the rumors?"
Her mouth was left open and she smiled a plastic smile. "Are always part true and part false, embellished to entertain." She said. "I've met him a few times here and there, we spoke and people saw—stories spiraled out of that. Everyone in this room has witnessed a few of these 'meetings', they're hardly anything secretive and again we've had this talk before. It's not secretive or true."
"Not that we know of." Scarus chimed in. That stupid smirk still on his face. If Sera could use the pin Emilia and Eos had gifted her to skin him alive then and there with little repercussions, she'd do it. "For all we know, that little last poem was…for you."
"But we don't know that."
"You're right, we don't." He said, looking her straight in the eye and refusing to move.
With a few motions, the footage rewound itself and it was back to when Finnick was talking to Caesar about her.
"Ah, I just know the lucky gal watching this at home is crying her poor eyes out." Caesar remarked on the screen with a hand on Finnick's shoulder and the audience fell forward, thinking it was about them.
Finnick laughed sadly and looked backstage as if he was looking through the halls where she had been. She saw it all on the tall screens surrounded by her fellow victors turned mentors, most of them knew or had an inkling that it was her who was the subject of his bittersweet poem.
Their pitiful gazes were overwhelming, much less so than President Snow's suspicious gaze
She had tried to keep her face blank and her eyes void of all emotions. Yet somehow, Haymitch who had snaked his way to her side caught on. That was how he managed to gain an audience with her later. She hated how he managed to notice the little cracks.
"See Caesar, I think she's quite the opposite of what you'd think." Finnick joked.
"You mean she's not head over heels for you."
"One of the few people in Panem who actually makes me work for her heart, you know."
"She sounds like a good challenge." Caesar turned to the crowd who melted at Finnick's words, yelling that they too could be what he wanted. Pathetic sight for Sera. "But I'm sure she's got a soft spot for you."
"She definitely does." Finnick threw his head back and sat up straight with a fond smile. "I like to…pretend that she's had her eyes on me since the day we met. I know I had my eye since I saw her across the sea of people, she was…glowing…literally—that was nothing compared to how bright her eyes were."
Caesar's mouth dropped to the floor in shock. "No! I think I misheard but can you believe that, folks?" He looked around the studio in disbelief. "Sounds like Finnick Odair of all people had a little crush—a love at first sight situation. Now, I wish we had the time to talk about this because I would love to know who this mystery girl that had your attention since day one."
"I like to think I had her attention too, it's not a one-sided situation—though for the wrong reasons."
"And that was?"
Finnick laughed in response and the audience fell to the side in a daydream, wondering if they were that mystery girl. "I'd have to come back to tell you that story."
"Aren't you confident? I mean a few minutes ago, you were saying how good everyone is and now," Caesar slapped his knee. "This is why I like you. Heck, this is why Panem likes you—you're so…ah! I hope for the sake of all the maiden hearts and your true love—you come back safely."
"I hope so too." Finnick waved at the crowd who blew kisses at him. He pretended to catch a few, earning an eye roll from Sera both on the live and on the rewatch. He was something, alright.
Soon Finnick was led off the stage to the side by Caesar's team. He joined sweet old Mags on the side where his hand found hers and he leaned closer to her for comfort and support.
There was a slight sheen to his eyes, Sera hadn't seen the first time around but she could see it the second time around. His image was clouded with Scarus'.
Green was Scarus' face and red were his eyes. He suspected more than he let on and she could only he couldn't see the ring in the pockets of her dress coat.
"That sent the entire Panem into a catatonic state." Plutarch carried on, laughing to himself.
"Who do you think the mystery girl is?" Scarus questioned.
Plutarch said nothing at first then he changed his mind. "It could be one sided—makes it more…tragic."
"You can tell?" Sera turned to him and he nodded.
"I'm taking a guess but I have two names on my mind."
"Care to share it?" Scarus asked, more like pleaded.
President Snow even focused on him but with a small smirk, Plutarch rejected Scarus' request. "Tune in for the games and you'll all see."
The interviews continued, they seemed to pass in a blur of words and emotions. Each tribute left their mark on the audience in different ways.
Leora's interview was uneventful. Her casual dismissal of Finnick's supposed crush, eliciting a few chuckles from the crowd. She joked about the superficial love in the Capitol and how it's all pointless before laughing off and saying. "What do I know? I've never loved a man or…woman. Didn't have the time to—no one would let me and honestly, I'm glad I never did because I'd end up hating their guts after everything…you all showed me—I don't think I'd ever find anyone who could…love me the way you all did."
That caused Caesar to squirm uncomfortably in his seat and look to his staff behind the cameras. His skittish eyes went straight to the clock hiding behind the cameras. He quickly changed the topic and tried to bring up her volunteering.
Only for the middle aged victor's lips to twist into a sneer. Leora leaned closer to Caesar and the host almost pushed himself deeper into his seat as her spidery arms reached out for him. She told him and Panem straight that no one would miss her but she knew that they'd mourn Seraphine—Scarus repeated those words and his quiet husky voice overlapped Leora's bitter broken one, drowning her out.
And when Caesar tried to press for more. Leora crossed her arms, leaned back and went completely silent. The audience followed her every move with eager eyes and in equal silence. Caesar let out a sigh of relief when the timer went off and Wells replaced Leora.
Wells, in typical fashion, wasted no time in cutting through Caesar's facade. He addressed the audience with a biting sarcasm, questioning the very foundations of the Games and the society that glorified them. His rant, laced with bitter humor, struck a chord with those watching, eliciting both laughter and anger.
Scarus tried to speed past it but President Snow wouldn't let him. He raised his hand in a quiet command, pulling the young Consul back into his seat. He wasn't even looking at the screen or Scarus but rather at Sera. Both knew exactly what he was thinking about.
Both of District 5's victors shared the exact same sentiments as his critics. That wasn't a good look for Sera who pulled at her sleeve and kept her head low. "...I had no idea either of them would say anything of that sort." She said, almost pleading to the President. A lie. She predicted Leora's interview but Wells had caught her by surprise—no matter, she could use that to shield herself from any of his critiques.
"Have you actually been mentoring them?" President Snow calmly asked.
"Of course. I've never slacked off and I've always taken every little task seriously—you know that." She tried again. "I was blindsided. That was not part of my game plan for Leora. We were supposed to talk about her missing the Capitol and…her hobbies." Another set of lies.
Leora had no hobbies. Unless she talked about how she liked to try late night swimming with heavy stones or concrete blocks attached to her ankles.
"For now, I'll take your word for it." He'd keep a close eye on her and she wasn't going to get any special treatment. "I'll consider the years of service you put in and let this pass…for now."
"Thank you for your generosity."
The mood shifted dramatically when the morphlings took their turn. Both of them said roughly the same thing. Their interview was a surreal and an almost tragic affair; their words echoing Wells' sentiments about the futility of it all.
Sera shifted uncomfortably in her seat listening to them again. Here she was wallowing and pitying herself for days on end while her peers were just the same if not worse off than her.
But when Johanna took the stage, the atmosphere crackled with tension adding onto the tragedy. Her presence commanded attention as she brazenly provoked the crowd with her biting remarks. Sera watched with a mixture of admiration and apprehension at Johanna's unapologetic defiance. She'd picked up where Wells left off.
Regardless of Sera's personal feelings towards her, she did admire her reckless fearlessness. Maybe if Sera had nothing to lose, she'd spill the thoughts that had haunted her mind, poison her audience and followers. But unfortunately, she had too much to lose to ever make an uncalculated move like that.
President Snow remained silent throughout Johanna's interview, his inscrutable gaze fixed on the proceedings with an unsettling intensity. When he finally spoke, it was not to address Johanna's words, but to request tea from Sera with an air of casual indifference.
Suppressing a sigh of frustration, Sera complied with Snow's request, serving him tea with practiced efficiency while inwardly seething.
Johanna's words echoed through Caesar's entire show. It was joined by the voices of other victors, each adding their own perspective to the growing chorus of dissent. Seeder and Chaff fanned the flames further, their words adding fuel to the fire. The crowd reacted accordingly with justified anger, agreeing with the victors.
Even without looking at Plutarch, she could just feel his smugness radiating off his entire being. And she'd have to give credit where credit was due. He made a bold move that was paying off better than she'd have ever imagined. His years of experience did outweigh hers.
"Is…it just me or does this all feel a…little—"
"Rehearsed?" Scarus offered and she nodded, pleased that he took her bait. "Now that you mention it—it does all feel a little rehearsed. They're rehashing everything the others have said—"
"No," Sera waved him off. "They're adding on to each other's words like they knew exactly what they were going to say."
Plutarch pursed his lips but the corners of them lifted ever so slightly in an amused grin. He gave her a look that was asking her what she was doing. Why was she throwing her fellow victors down the tracks now? Sera ignored him.
And he took that as a way to quickly intervene before President Snow managed to. "They've known…each other for a long time." He pointed out. "I think you're overthinking this—Districts 1, 2 and 4 didn't mention their grievances."
"But they're the career districts." She reminded him, making a move forward and just like that, their match of chess began again. "Historically, career districts have barely ever complained about the games. They thrive off competition."
"And if you actually went back and looked again at their interviews—save for Enobaria and Brutus', Districts 2 and 4 were also against this Quell." Scarus added.
"Mags spent her time recalling her fond memories as a mentor while Finnick spent his time acting like a lovelorn fool and that's rebellious to you, Consul Redcliff?" Plutarch glanced at President Snow in disbelief. "Maybe it is to someone who's never been loved that's a sign of rebellion but for me, it's just his usual antics. He's a playboy heartthrob, that's his whole thing."
Scarus' face hardened and Plutarch turned to Sera. 'Was that your best move?' Not even close. She was just waiting and waiting for—
"They are repeating points—the same ones and adding on to each other," President Snow sat up straight and with a single motion, the screen leapt forward and enlarged itself. "Like Miss Reza pointed out, it's all rehearsed—"
"That's not what I said."
"You said it was rehearsed."
Caught off guard by his directness, Sera hesitated for a moment, her mind racing as she searched for a suitable response. Even with a clouded mind, he was still sharp as ever. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had just walked into a trap.
"I said it felt rehearsed…to me." Sera repeated what she'd said the first time around. Plutarch covered his mouth. "I didn't say it was rehearsed, it felt like it."
"There is no difference." President Snow stated firmly and turned away from her but her work was done. "I didn't expect Six to play along either."
Scarus nodded along. "Six has kept their head down for years and hasn't really been…conscious with the morphling epidemic and all."
"Restrict their flow of morphling until the games are over."
"I'll pass that along to the senate."
Snow's expression remained inscrutable, but there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes that sent a chill down Sera's spine. Scarus was the perfect hunting hound for him and it scared her to admit that. "Miss Reza," She almost jumped out of her seat when she heard him address her. "You rode the same train as the others, didn't you?"
"I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary." She paused. "Then again, I had to spend most of the journey in my room after I had some…problems with my breathing."
He clicked his tongue and shook his head in disappointment. "Make time to see Dr Jadewell and schedule the operation as soon as the game starts."
She tried to argue but with a single look, she was shut down. Sighing, she turned back to the screen where Caesar's frozen face stared back at them. President Snow didn't unpause the screen. He didn't even look at it.
Katniss Everdeen was next.
"I did notice something." Sera began with an eye on the screen. "On the way to the Presidential Palace, there were the poster boards for the victors—returnee and there were makeshift shrines by their images—candles, flowers, pins and paper posters and even some golden…jabberjays."
"Jabberjays?" Scarus echoed.
Plutarch shook his head. "Mockingjays," He clarified with a nod, his tone matter-of-fact. "I saw them too scattered underneath Katniss' makeshift shrines and there's plenty. It might a reaction to last year or tonight's interview." He let out a shaky breath and he grinned. "This year's shaping up to be the biggest games we've ever seen in the history of Panem."
"Or the worst." Sera muttered to herself.
"And why do you say that?"
Before Sera could respond, President Snow interjected with a dismissive wave of his hand. "If Miss Reza has something to say, she should speak up."
Taking a deep breath, Sera met Snow's gaze head-on, her resolve unwavering. "The timing of the Quell seems ill-timed," She began, her voice steady despite the underlying tension. "It should've taken place years down the line, if at all." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "...with the riots in the other districts and the clear anger from the Capitol citizens over this particular game. I don't know who chose it but...it's a recipe for disaster."
"It was my idea." Plutarch admitted with a hint of pride and feigned offense. "Are you saying that I made a mistake in planning the Quell?"
"Well, n-no. It's just—" She looked between the President and Scarus for help with Scarus moving immediately, only to be stopped by President Snow. "I don't think this is a good idea and—before you say it's because I might have some ill feelings towards the whole reaping—I don't really care about losing, winning or dying. I just—I'm thinking about the peace in Panem; looking at the bigger picture here. I'm sure you planned this out well with the permission of the President but," She paused to take a breath. "Seneca Crane also planned the game last year with the promise that it would be good and I'm not saying it was bad—we all know what happened last year."
President Snow's keen eyes narrowed on Plutarch, his suspicion growing with each word she uttered. Plutarch, too, seemed to sense the shift in atmosphere, though he maintained his composed façade, his gaze fixed on Sera with unwavering intensity.
When she finished, Plutarch's mask of indifference cracked for a quick second. Yet the mischievous twinkle in his eyes didn't disappear at all. "I can assure you all that I'm no Seneca Crane. I don't need last minute gimmicks to get the attention of the entire nation."
A quick snap of his fingers, President Snow resumed Caesar's show. Katniss glided on to the stage and President Snow nearly ripped apart the leather skin of his seat. Her white silk gown sent the already wreck of a crowd into a weeping misery. Loud sobs echoed through the entire stage and even the editing of Caesar's crew couldn't drown them out.
Their beloved star-crossed lovers were lambs to slaughter.
Now they could see what the games were really about. No glory in death.
And all it took was for their favorite dolls to be sent back to slaughter.
When the camera panned to Caesar, his eyes were moist and he was staring at the camera, lost. For once in his entire career he didn't know what to do or say.
It took him a second to recover but it was a second too late as the clock behind the cameras ticked away. He tried his best to control the crowd, struggling desperately to no avail. When he did gain some control, he asked Katniss if she'd like to say something.
A slightly different set of words compared to what he'd said to the others; he'd changed his script to accommodate the growing misery in the audience and stage.
Katniss instead begins to apologize, speaking about her wedding. Plutarch couldn't hold it and he laughed at the ridiculousness, looking back and forth between the screen and President Snow. But his laughter died the minute Katniss raised the sleeves of her heavy silk gown.
Gasps rung out through the screen as once again the girl on fire had begun to burn.
A storm crackled across the President's face as he let out a shaky quiet breath. His eyes were glazed over and if she focused really carefully, she could see the cracks appearing.
The swan had burned its feathers to become a mockingjay.
"A mockingjay." Plutarch gasped out and President Snow, asking. "Did you—"
He was quickly cut off with a glare. "That's not even the worst part." He said to Plutarch instead while on the screen Caesar tries to recover the situation. "Her partner is even more…bold."
Pulling at his collar nervously, Caesar tried to trivialize the symbol of rebellion as just another flashy costume. But the crowd had already absorbed what Katniss had said—they weren't stupid. Caesar knew that and quickly made mentions to Cinna.
"Cinna." President Snow repeated and turned to Sera.
"I don't really know much about him."
"You know something at least."
She pulled up her gloves. "I've heard that name here and there—stylist to District 12, fairly new and apparently requested to style Twelve." She recited from memory. "I haven't had the…pleasure to meet him face to face."
President Snow paused. "He made a request to style Twelve?" He repeated with a quick glance to Plutarch—President Snow didn't know about Cinna. Sera nodded. "I was told that most stylists and escorts make requests to not deal with Twelve."
Sera bit her lip. "I know. I heard the same thing from my personal stylist, Eos or Mabel—the District 5 stylist or maybe it was my assistant—I can't remember who exactly said it—I just remember hearing Cinna asked for Twelve."
"That should be impossible." Scarus said in disbelief. "New graduates employed by the Hunger Games Commission and the Citadel can't make requests—it's all supposed to be randomized according to availability."
Sera shrugged in defeat. "I'm just repeating what I heard."
"Unless, he had connections but I've never heard of someone called Cinna in the upper circles."
"Someone pushed the request through for him then." President Snow relaxed, the leather skin of his seat still intact when he moved his hands. "That's the only explanation or he gave him up his family name." He turned to Scarus.
"I'll ask the other consuls to start an investigation into the stylist."
Plutarch let out a sound of disbelief. "Sounds like he made a creative mistake and bit off more than he could chew, we should be allocating our resources into other things like maybe dealing with any critics of the games. I want to get this game started without a hitch."
"And an investigation of the game staff is dealing with the critics." Scarus pointed out.
"If that's what you believe then do it discreetly as possible." Plutarch replied. "I don't want any disruptions to the games."
"There won't be any disruptions." President Snow said. "We'll replace the staff with new graduates or call back veterans to ensure the games carry on without any issues. That way no final victor will go without a stylist team and an escort."
Plutarch nodded, accepting the compromise but Sera could see right through him then and there. He was going to sacrifice a few of his pieces. Anything to keep the game going. She kept quiet and made herself small, there was nothing to add unless she wanted to sacrifice a few of her pieces.
Cold ravaged the room suddenly when Peeta Mellark walked across the stage and President Snow ignored Scarus. He's a natural, a little like Finnick, Gloss and Cashmere, he played off Caesar's natural faux friendliness.
He started off great, calming the audience, pulling back the storm a little and lulling them into a false sense of pitiful peace but still reminding them that this wasn't his choice and his future had been stolen.
He didn't have to say that explicitly but the audience and people of the Capitol weren't completely braindead. They knew exactly what he meant just like Katniss. She had lit the match on the kindling that the other victors had built while Peeta was waiting to fuel the fire his partner had started.
"We're already married." Said Peeta quietly as if he was giving his condolences at a funeral.
"They're married?!" Plutarch was genuinely confused. "With what registration? Is that even possible?"
He got an answer as soon as he had said it with Peeta going in detail about how he and Katniss had eloped. They'd performed some District 12 marriage ritual with no witnesses but themselves. Not even Haymitch or Katniss' family.
A lie, Sera spotted the minute he said it live. A fairly sound but convoluted lie. If anyone didn't know a thing about them, they'd easily buy it but Sera was not one of them and neither was President Snow who seemed to find it furiously humorous at Peeta's audacity to lie like that.
There was no way Katniss Everdeen who'd thrown her own life away to save her sister would marry without her presence, not if she couldn't help it. Haymitch wouldn't miss it either. Everything Peeta was saying was a lie and Sera couldn't lie but she was enjoying Peeta's lies.
He was exceptionally good at thinking on his feet because even Katniss seemed taken aback, burying her face to hide her confusion and embarrassment.
The other victors on the extended stage were partly upset and partly confused and then there was a select few who had completely different reactions. Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria and Brutus were angry at the sudden shift in attention. On the other hand, Johanna, Leora, Chaff and Finnick were the only ones who found it a little entertaining, though Finnick hid it well; Sera could tell that he was so close to falling to the floor in a fit of laughter.
But what he said next was what really made Sera stop both times she'd heard it.
"—if it weren't for the baby."
That came close to breaking her mask. All she remembered at that moment was how every mentor and even the Peacekeepers guarding the door had poked their heads through to stare at a wide-eyed pale-faced Haymitch.
She had to give Peeta credit for that. She didn't expect him to use a baby to try and protect Katniss.
Getting the idea of it from a throwaway conversation was also something she was greatly impressed by. She didn't expect Peeta to remember Estelle's miscarriage let alone draw inspiration from it for an elaborate charade. Even Huxley was impressed by Peeta and Katniss and that itself was a feat.
She didn't expect anything from Peeta or Katniss at all. Yet both of them had played Caesar and the capitolites like a beautiful orchestral piece. A classic that would never be forgotten regardless of how true it was.
And like the mentors, President Snow and Plutarch had grown silent.
Scarus blinked and rewound the footage, playing it again, going back to check on Katniss. There was no sign of a pregnancy and yet, Katniss Everdeen was apparently with a child.
"She's with a child." Sera stated innocently drawing the fierce glares around the room. "I forgot to congratulate her." She clapped and smiled sweetly but she bit her lips and drew her face blank when President Snow looked at her.
Plutarch leaned back, his head spinning. "A child. A baby." He kept saying to himself and President Snow turned to the ground, reaching over to the glass table for a cup of tea to calm himself. "W-what do we do with this? Should we pull her from the game?!"
"We can't have a pregnant participant for the games." Sera added in softly.
"Exactly!" Plutarch rubbed his forehead, not of concern for Katniss' phantom child but rather at the headache Peeta had caused. Peeta had acted out of his set plans. "We can't…have a pregnant person in the games—we need to do something or—oh—this is exactly what I was afraid of—the games derailing before they began."
President Snow slammed the cup onto the table, cracking the glass. "There is no baby!" He said with calm anger.
Tilting her head to the side, Sera said quietly. "There's no baby."
"No," He breathed out in frustration. "If there was a child then she'd show signs."
"Well, I've heard from my sister that you don't show signs of pregnancy until much later so maybe she's in the early days…" She trailed off, noticing the rising redness on his face.
"Do you honestly believe that?" He asked with a deep breath and slowly paced out words, holding back his outburst. "Do you?" He repeated like he was talking to a stupid child. "I'm sure you have enough sense, knowledge and experience to tell if she's actually with a child or maybe you're just naively…stupid."
Sera drew back. "Well, I thought—"
"You thought? What? What did you think? That they were being genuine?!" He cut her off.
"I thought," Her eyes moistened and reddened as she lowered her head. "They were sad. They even wore their wedding outfits—"
"That I picked out for them—" He paused and shut his mouth, his rage swallowing up his words.
Just like Sera had predicted: President Snow did pick out Katniss and Peeta's outfits.
"There is no baby or marriage for them." President Snow stated and turned to Plutarch. "Make sure the games go off without any more issues." Then he stood up, Scarus following his every move. "Consul Redcliff, finish the investigations and arrange a task force to deal with any…disruptions across the Capitol and,"
He paused, looking around the room before his eyes settled on the final image of the last interviews. The victors all solemn with their heads held high and their hands united in their silent final protest.
"Arrange a personal guard for Miss Reza." He said, his eyes going back to Sera who was still on the sofa next to Plutarch. "You'll need it when you resume your usual activities at the clinic, hospital and orphanage starting tomorrow."
Sera stood up. "W-wait. I haven't needed a guard for years now. I don't need one now."
"Can we even afford to spend manpower on something so…trivial—no offense." Plutarch tried.
President Snow had turned his back to them, ready to dismiss them all. "That wasn't a question." He said.
"I can allocate some of the other consuls to do my work and resume my former position." Scarus offered, appearing next to Sera, his hand brushing against her back, sending a shiver of disgust crawling up her spine.
Sera's face turned pale. She stared pleadingly at the President who didn't even turn around to face her. "As long as you don't slack off." He didn't even look at her and he carried on. "You can consider it a late birthday gift."
Her throat tightened with a noose and her limbs felt heavy like they'd been tied with concrete blocks. She'd been shoved back into the same spot she'd crawled out of years ago.
President Snow dismissed Scarus and Plutarch with a wave of his hand. Sera stayed rooted to the marbled ground, unable to move forward.
Scarus reached out to escort her out but as they moved to leave, President Snow called out to Sera, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. "Miss Reza, stay behind. We still have a few more things to discuss."
She felt a knot form in her stomach, her mind swirling with a torrent of emotions. She watched the two men go and then she was left alone in the quiet and cold office alone with President Snow.
Ignoring her, he emptied his now-cold tea and paced around every five minutes like he was chasing something. His face was red as a rose and eyes to match. While she was still as the marble statues, waiting for him. He didn't speak to her or pay her any attention until it was just an hour shy of midnight.
Two hours of silence.
"I need you to resume what you did last year for Seneca Crane." He'd finally stopped and turned to his usual deathly pallid shade. "You remember what you did? Don't you? Surely, you're not that…empty-headed."
Sera nodded. "You want me to keep an eye on Hea—" President Snow stopped her, holding out his index finger to silence her.
An avox entered the room and Sera frowned. She'd seen her before. Long black hair and eyes, freckled pale skin and half-moon shaped eyes. She'd seen that avox before. Around Haymitch and at the Training Center.
President Snow threw his head back and stared at the painted ceiling, waiting for the avox to leave. She picked up and cleaned the table, slowing down her pace enough to linger but not enough for anyone to notice. But Sera and President Snow did notice.
Both of them focused on her, watching her hawkishly. Sensing their gazes, she quickened her pace and expertly cleared up, carting away the cart of tea and pastries. Then they were alone.
Sera waited for him to comment on the avox but he never did, instead motioning her to continue where she'd left off. "You want me to watch Plutarch Heavensbee and report his movements."
"And any meetings he has with your fellow mentors."
"Is that all? Sounds like the typical standard procedure."
One more look at the clock, she turned to dismiss herself, thinking she was done. But she wasn't. "One more thing," She looked over her shoulder. "Do you suspect Plutarch Heavensbee of anything?"
That was something she didn't predict. She figured Plutarch might have bought himself at least more time before triggering President Snow's suspicion but she was wrong. "Can…I be honest?" Her voice trembled with suppressed emotion.
"That's all I expect from you." He motioned her to answer.
With a shaky breath, she did just that. "I do—I might be paranoid or jaded but the way he's been acting lately and with how everyone reacted to the interviews, the reaping, the Quell—I can't help but think that Plutarch Heavensbee doesn't have the best interests of Panem to heart."
His face was a blank canvas, his gaze piercing. While she spoke stayed silent, his thoughts concealed behind a façade of composure. But cracks were appearing on his porcelain white face, his steely gaze was broken. He trusted Plutarch.
Sera swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "May I be excused, Mr President? It's getting late." She requested.
President Snow nodded, his features betraying little emotion. "You may leave." He granted dismissively. "And a happy birthday to you, Miss Reza. I hope you see many more years." He added as an insincere afterthought.