The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (A Hunger Games Novel) (The Hunger Games)
The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes: Part 1 – Chapter 6

Coriolanus relished the disappointment on Sejanus’s face, but not for long, because that would’ve been petty. “Look, Sejanus, you may not think so, but this is me doing you a favor. Think about it. What would your father say if he found out you’d traded the tribute he’d lobbied for?”

“I don’t care,” said Sejanus, but it didn’t sound convincing.

“All right, forget about your father. What about the Academy?” he asked. “I doubt trading tributes is allowed. I’ve already been slapped with one demerit just for meeting Lucy Gray early. What if I tried to trade her? Besides, the poor thing is already attached to me. Dumping her would be like kicking a kitten. I don’t think I’d have the heart.”

“I shouldn’t have asked. I never even considered I might be making things difficult for you. I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” Sejanus’s words began to spill out. “It’s just this whole Hunger Games thing is making me crazy! I mean, what are we doing? Putting kids in an arena to kill each other? It feels wrong on so many levels. Animals protect their young, right? And so do we. We try to protect children! It’s built into us as human beings. Who really wants to do this? It’s unnatural!”

“It’s not pretty,” Coriolanus agreed, glancing around.

“It’s evil. It goes against everything I think is right in the world. I can’t be a part of it. Especially not with Marcus. I have to get out of it somehow,” Sejanus said, his eyes filling with tears.

His distress made Coriolanus uncomfortable, especially when he valued his own chance to participate so highly. “You could always ask another mentor. I don’t think you’d have a problem replaceing a taker.”

“No. I’m not handing Marcus over to anyone else. You’re the only one I’d trust with him.” Sejanus turned to the cage, where the tributes had settled down for the night. “Oh, what does it matter anyway? If it’s not Marcus, it will be someone else. It might be easier, but it still won’t be right.” He collected his backpack. “I better get home. That’s sure to be pleasant.”

“I don’t think you’ve broken any rules,” said Coriolanus.

“I’ve publicly aligned myself with the districts. In my father’s eyes, I’ve broken the only rule that matters.” Sejanus gave him a small smile. “Thanks again, though, for helping me out.”

“Thank you for the sandwich,” said Coriolanus. “It was delicious.”

“I’ll tell Ma you said so,” said Sejanus. “It’ll make her night.”

Coriolanus’s own return home was somewhat marred by the Grandma’am’s disapproval of his picnic with Lucy Gray.

“To feed her is one thing,” she said. “To dine with her suggests that you consider her your equal. But she isn’t. There’s always been something barbaric about the districts. Your own father used to say those people only drank water because it didn’t rain blood. You ignore that at your own peril, Coriolanus.”

“She’s just a girl, Grandma’am,” Tigris said.

“She’s district. And trust me, that one hasn’t been a girl in a long time,” the Grandma’am replied.

Coriolanus thought uneasily of the tributes on the truck debating whether or not to kill him. They’d certainly demonstrated a taste for his blood. Only Lucy Gray had objected.

“Lucy Gray is different,” he argued. “She took my side in the truck when the others wanted to attack me. And she had my back in the monkey house, too.”

The Grandma’am held her ground. “Would she have bothered if you weren’t her mentor? Of course not. She’s a wily little thing who began to manipulate you the minute you met. Tread carefully, my boy — that’s all I’m saying.”

Coriolanus didn’t bother arguing, as the Grandma’am always took the worst view of anything she deemed district. He went straight to bed, dropping with fatigue, but couldn’t quiet his mind. He took his mother’s powder compact from the drawer of his nightstand and ran his fingers over the rose engraved on the heavy silver case.

Roses are red, love; violets are blue.

Birds in the heavens know I love you. . . .

When he clicked the latch, the lid opened and the floral scent wafted out. In the shadowy light from the Corso, his pale blue eyes reflected back from the round, slightly distorted mirror. “Just like your father’s,” the Grandma’am frequently reminded him. He wished he had his mother’s eyes instead, but never said so. Maybe it was best to take after his father. His mother had not really been tough enough for this world. He finally drifted off, thinking of her, but it was Lucy Gray, spinning in her rainbow dress, who sang in his dreams.

In the morning, Coriolanus awoke to a delicious smell. He went to the kitchen and found that Tigris had been baking since before dawn.

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Tigris, you need to get more sleep.”

“I couldn’t sleep, thinking about what’s going on at the zoo,” she said. “Some of the kids look so young this year. Or maybe I’m just getting older.”

“It’s disturbing to see them locked up in that cage,” Coriolanus admitted.

“It was disturbing to see you there as well!” she said, pulling on an oven mitt and taking a pan of bread pudding from the oven. “Fabricia told me to throw out the stale bread from the party, but I thought, why waste it?”

Hot from the oven, drizzled in corn syrup, bread pudding was one of his favorites. “It looks amazing,” he told Tigris.

“And there’s plenty, so you can take a piece to Lucy Gray. She said she liked sweet things — and I doubt there are many left in her future!” Tigris set the pan on the oven with a bang. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to do that. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m wound up tight as a spring.”

Coriolanus touched her arm. “It’s the Games. You know I have to do the mentorship, right? If I’m to stand a chance at getting a prize. I need to win that for all of us.”

“Of course, Coryo. Of course. And we’re so proud of you and how well you’re doing.” She cut a large slice of the bread pudding and slid it onto a plate. “Now eat up. You don’t want to be late.”

At the Academy, Coriolanus felt his apprehension melt away as he basked in the response to his recklessness the previous day. With the exception of Livia Cardew, who made it clear she thought he had cheated and should be dismissed as a mentor immediately, his classmates congratulated him. If his professors were not so openly supportive, he still received several smiles and subtle pats on the back.

Satyria took him aside after homeroom. “Well done. You’ve pleased Dr. Gaul, and that’s won you some points with the faculty. She’ll give a good report to President Ravinstill, and that will reflect well on all of us. Only, you need to be careful. You were lucky how it played out. What if those brats had attacked you in the cage? The Peacekeepers would have been bound to rescue you, and there could’ve been casualties on both sides. Things might’ve been quite different if you hadn’t landed your little rainbow girl.”

“Which is why I turned down Sejanus’s offer to trade tributes,” he said.

Satyria’s mouth dropped open. “No! Imagine what Strabo Plinth would say if that went public.”

“Imagine what he owes me if it doesn’t!” The thought of blackmailing old Strabo Plinth had definite appeal.

She laughed. “Spoken like a Snow. Now get to class. We need the rest of your record spotless if you’re going to go racking up demerits.”

The twenty-four mentors spent the morning in a seminar led by Professor Crispus Demigloss, their excitable old history professor. The class brainstormed ideas — beyond the addition of mentors — to get people to watch the Hunger Games. “Show me I haven’t been wasting my time with you for four years,” he said with a titter. “If history teaches you anything, it’s how to make the unwilling comply.” Sejanus’s hand went up directly. “Ah, Sejanus?”

“Before we talk about making people watch, shouldn’t we begin with the question of whether or not watching is the right thing to do?” he said.

“Let’s stay on topic, please.” Professor Demigloss scanned the room for a more productive answer. “How do we get people to watch?”

Festus Creed raised his hand. Bigger and burlier than most his age, he’d been one of Coriolanus’s inner circle since birth. His family was old Capitol money. Their fortune, largely in District 7 timber, had taken a hit during the war but had rebounded nicely during the reconstruction. His scoring the District 4 girl reflected his status quite accurately. High, but not stellar.

“Enlighten us, Festus,” said Professor Demigloss.

“Simple. We go straight to the punitive,” Festus answered. “Instead of suggesting people watch, make it the law.”

“What happens if you don’t watch?” asked Clemensia, not bothering to raise her hand or even look up from her notes. She was popular with both students and faculty, and her niceness excused a lot.

“In the districts, we execute you. In the Capitol, we make you move to the districts, and if you mess up again next year, then we execute you,” Festus said cheerfully.

The class laughed, then began to give it serious thought. How could you enforce it? You couldn’t send the Peacekeepers door-to-door. Perhaps some random sampling where you needed to be prepared to answer questions that proved you’d watched the Games. And if you hadn’t, what would an appropriate punishment be? Not execution or banishment — those were too extreme. Maybe some loss of privilege in the Capitol, and a public whipping in the districts? That would make the punishment personal to all.

“The real problem is, it’s sickening to watch,” said Clemensia. “So people avoid it.”

Sejanus jumped in. “Of course they do! Who wants to watch a group of children kill each other? Only a vicious, twisted person. Human beings may not be perfect, but we’re better than that.”

“How do you know?” said Livia snippishly. “And how does someone from the districts have any idea what we want to watch in the Capitol? You weren’t even here during the war.”

Sejanus fell silent, unable to deny it.

“Because most of us are basically decent people,” said Lysistrata Vickers, folding her hands neatly on her notebook. Everything about her was neat. From her carefully braided hair to her evenly filed nails to the crisp, white cuffs of her uniform blouse setting off her smooth, brown skin. “Most of us don’t want to watch other people suffer.”

“We watched worse things during the war. And after,” Coriolanus reminded her. There had been some bloody stuff broadcast over the airwaves during the Dark Days, and many a brutal execution after the Treaty of Treason had been signed.

“But we had a real stake in that, Coryo!” said Arachne Crane, giving him a sock on the arm from the seat to his right. Always so loud. Always socking people. The Cranes’ apartment faced the Snows’, and sometimes even from across the Corso, he could hear her bellowing at night. “We were watching our enemies die! I mean, rebel scum and whatnot. Who cares about these kids one way or another?”

“Possibly their families,” said Sejanus.

“You mean a handful of nobodies in the districts. So what?” Arachne boomed. “Why should the rest of us care which one of them wins?”

Livia looked pointedly at Sejanus. “I know I don’t.”

“I get more excited over a dogfight,” admitted Festus. “Especially if I’m betting on it.”

“So you’d like it if we gave odds on the tributes?” Coriolanus joked. “That would make you tune in?”

“Well, it would certainly liven things up!” Festus exclaimed.

A few people chuckled, but then the class went quiet as they mulled over the idea.

“It’s gruesome,” said Clemensia, twisting her hair around her finger thoughtfully. “Did you mean it for real? You think we should have betting on who wins?”

“Not really,” Coriolanus said, then cocked his head. “On the other hand, if it’s a success, then absolutely, Clemmie. I want to go down in history as the one who brought gambling to the Games!”

Clemensia shook her head in exasperation. But as he walked to lunch, Coriolanus couldn’t help thinking that the idea had some merit.

The dining hall cooks were still working with the reaping buffet leftovers, and the creamed ham on toast had to be the high point of the school lunch year. Coriolanus savored every bite, unlike at the original buffet, when he’d been so distraught over Dean Highbottom’s threatening manner that he’d barely tasted a thing.

The mentors had been instructed to gather on the balcony of Heavensbee Hall after lunch, ahead of their first official meetings with their tributes. Each mentor had been given a brief questionnaire to complete with their assignee, partly as an icebreaker, and partly as a matter of record. Very little information had been archived on previous tributes, and this was an effort to correct that. Many of his classmates had difficulty hiding their nerves as they headed over, talking and joking a little too loudly, but Coriolanus had gotten a leg up by meeting Lucy Gray twice already. He felt completely at ease, even eager to see her again. To thank her for the song. To give her Tigris’s bread pudding. To strategize over their interview.

The chatter died away as the mentors pushed through the swinging balcony doors and caught sight of what awaited them below. All signs of the reaping festivities had been stripped away, leaving the vast hall cold and imposing. Twenty-four small tables flanked with two folding chairs each were spread out in orderly rows. Each table bore a sign with a district number followed by a B or a G and next to it sat a concrete block with a metal ring on the top.

Before the students could discuss the layout, two Peacekeepers entered and stood guard by the main entrance and the tributes were brought in single file. The Peacekeepers outnumbered them two to one, but it was unlikely that any of the tributes could make a break for it, given the heavy shackles attached to their wrists and ankles. The tributes were led to the tables corresponding to their district and sex, directed to sit, and then chained to the concrete weights.

Some of the tributes drooped in their seats, chins almost on their chests, but the more defiant ones tilted their heads back and surveyed the hall. It was one of the most impressive chambers in the Capitol, and several mouths gaped open, awed by the grandeur of the marble columns, the arched windows, the vaulted ceiling. Coriolanus thought it must be a marvel to them, compared to the flat, ugly structures that were the signature style in many of the districts. As the tributes’ eyes traveled around the room, they eventually made their way to the mentors’ balcony, and the two groups found themselves locked in one another’s gazes for a long, raw moment.

When Professor Sickle banged the door behind them, the mentors gave a collective jump. “Stop eyeballing your tributes and get down there,” she ordered. “You only have fifteen minutes, so use them wisely. And remember, complete the paperwork for our records as best you can.”

Coriolanus led the way down the steps that spiraled into the hall. When his eyes met Lucy Gray’s, he could tell she’d been looking for him. Seeing her in chains disquieted him, but he gave her a reassuring smile, and some of the worry left her face.

Sliding into the seat across from her, he frowned at her shackled hands and gestured to the nearest Peacekeeper. “Excuse me, would it be possible to have these removed?”

The Peacekeeper did him the favor of checking with the officer at the door but then gave him a sharp shake of the head.

“Thanks for trying, just the same,” said Lucy Gray. She’d braided back her hair in a pretty fashion, but her face looked sad and tired, and the bruise still marred her cheek. She noticed him looking and touched it. “Is it hideous?”

“It’s just healing,” he said.

“We don’t have a mirror, so I can only imagine.” She didn’t bother to put on her sparkly camera personality for him, and in a way he was glad. Maybe she was beginning to trust him.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Sleepy. Scared. Hungry,” said Lucy Gray. “Only a couple people came by the zoo this morning to feed us. I got an apple, which was more than most but not exactly filling.”

“Well, I can help a bit with that.” He pulled Tigris’s packet from his book bag.

Lucy Gray brightened some and carefully unwrapped the waxed paper to reveal the big square of bread pudding. Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, no. You don’t like it?” he exclaimed. “I can try and bring something else. I can —”

Lucy Gray shook her head. “It’s my favorite.” She swallowed hard, broke off a bit, and slipped it between her lips.

“Mine, too. My cousin Tigris made it this morning, so it should be fresh,” he said.

“It’s perfect. It tastes just like my mama’s did. Please tell Tigris I said thank you.” She took another bite, but she was still fighting tears.

Coriolanus felt a twinge inside him. He wanted to reach out and touch her face, to tell her that things were going to be all right. But, of course, they weren’t. Not for her. He fumbled in his back pocket for a handkerchief and offered it to her.

“I still have the one from last night.” She reached for her pocket.

“We’ve got drawers full,” he said. “Take it.”

Lucy Gray did, dabbing her eyes and wiping her nose. Then she took a deep breath and straightened up. “So, what’s our plan today?”

“I’m supposed to fill out this questionnaire about your background. Do you mind?” He pulled out the single sheet of paper.

“Not a bit. I love talking about myself,” she said.

The page began with basic stuff. Name, district address, date of birth, hair and eye colors, height and weight, and any disability. Things got more difficult with family makeup. Both Lucy Gray’s parents and her two older siblings were dead.

“Is your whole family gone?” asked Coriolanus.

“I have a couple of cousins. And the rest of the Covey.” She leaned in to check the paper. “Is there a space for them?”

There wasn’t. But there should be, he thought, given how fractured families were by the war. There should be a place for anyone who cared for you at all. In fact, maybe that should be the question to start with: Who cares about you? Or even better, Who can you count on?

“Married?” He laughed, then remembered they married young in some of the districts. How did he know? Maybe she had a husband back in 12.

“Why? Are you asking?” said Lucy Gray seriously. He looked up in surprise. “Because I think this could work.”

Coriolanus felt himself blush a little at her teasing. “I’m pretty sure you could do better.”

“Haven’t yet.” A flicker of pain crossed her face, but she hid it with a smile. “I bet you’ve got sweethearts lined up around the block.”

Her flirtation left Coriolanus tongue-tied. Where were they? He checked the paper. Oh, yes. Her family. “Who raised you? After you lost your parents, I mean.”

“An old man took us in for a fee — the six Covey kids who were left. He didn’t much raise us, but he didn’t mess with us either, so it could’ve been worse,” she said. “Really, I’m grateful. People weren’t excited about taking in six of us. He died last year of the black lung, but some of us are old enough to manage things now.”

They moved on to occupation. At sixteen, Lucy Gray wasn’t old enough for the mines, but she didn’t attend school either. “I make my living entertaining people.”

“People pay you to . . . sing and dance?” asked Coriolanus. “I wouldn’t think district people could afford that.”

“Most can’t,” she said. “Sometimes they pool their money, and two or three couples get married the same day, and they hire us. Me and the rest of the Covey, that is. What’s left of us. The Peacekeepers let us keep our instruments when they rounded us up. They’re some of our best customers.”

Coriolanus remembered how they’d tried not to smile at the reaping, how no one had interfered with her singing and dancing. He made a note of her employment, finishing the form, but he had plenty of questions of his own. “Tell me about the Covey. What side did you take in the war?”

“Neither. My people didn’t take a side. We’re just us.” Something behind him captured her attention. “What’s your friend’s name again? The one with the sandwiches? I think he’s having trouble.”

“Sejanus?” He looked over his shoulder and back through the rows to where Sejanus sat across from Marcus. An untouched meal of roast beef sandwiches and cake languished between them. Sejanus was speaking entreatingly, but Marcus just stared fixedly ahead, his arms crossed, his whole being unresponsive.

Around the room the other tributes were in various stages of engagement. Several had covered their faces and were refusing to communicate. A few were crying. Some warily answered questions, but even they looked hostile.

“Five minutes,” Professor Sickle announced.

That reminded Coriolanus of another five minutes they needed to address. “So, the night before the Games begin, we’re going to get a five-minute interview on television in which we can do whatever we want. I thought you might sing again.”

Lucy Gray considered it. “I’m not sure there’s a point to it. I mean, when I sang that song at the reaping, that didn’t have anything to do with you all here. I didn’t plan it. It’s just part of a long, sad tale that nobody but me gives a hoot about.”

“It hit a nerve with people,” Coriolanus observed.

“And the valley song was, like you told me, maybe a way to get food,” she said.

“It was beautiful,” he said. “It made me feel like when my mother . . . She died when I was five. It made me remember a song she used to sing to me.”

“What about your daddy?” she asked.

“Lost him, too, actually. The same year,” Coriolanus told her.

She nodded sympathetically. “So, you’re an orphan, like me.”

Coriolanus didn’t like being called that. Livia had taunted him about his parentless state when he was small, making him feel alone and unwanted when he was neither. Still, there was that emptiness that most other kids didn’t really understand. But Lucy Gray did, being an orphan herself. “It could be worse. I have the Grandma’am. That’s my grandmother. And Tigris.”

“Do you miss your parents?” Lucy Gray asked.

“Oh, I wasn’t that close with my father. My mother . . . sure.” It was still hard to talk about her. “Do you?”

“A lot. Both of them. Wearing my mama’s dress is the only thing keeping me together right now.” She ran her fingers down the ruffles. “It’s like she’s wrapping her arms around me.”

Coriolanus thought of his mother’s compact. The scented powder. “My mother always smelled like roses,” he said, and then felt awkward. He rarely mentioned his mother, even at home. How had the conversation gotten here? “Anyway, I think your song moved a lot of people.”

“That’s nice of you to say. Thank you. But it’s not really a reason to sing in the interview,” she said. “If it’s the night before, we can rule food out. I’ve got no reason to win over anybody at that point.”

Coriolanus tried hard to think of a reason, but this time her singing would only benefit him. “It’s a shame, though. With your voice.”

“I’ll sing you a few bars backstage,” she promised.

He would have to work to persuade her, but for the moment, he let it drop. Instead he let her interview him for a few minutes, answering more questions about his family and how they’d survived the war. He found her easy to tell things to, somehow. Was it because he knew that all he recounted would vanish in the arena in a few days?

Lucy Gray seemed in better spirits; there had been no more tears. As they’d shared their stories, a sense of familiarity had begun to grow between them. When the whistle blew to signal the end of the session, she tucked his handkerchief neatly back into the pocket of his book bag and gave his forearm a squeeze of thanks.

The mentors headed obediently to the main exit, where Professor Sickle instructed them, “You’re to go to the high biology lab for a debriefing.”

No one questioned her, but in the halls they wondered aloud about the reason. Coriolanus was hoping it meant Dr. Gaul would be there. His neatly completed questionnaire was in stark contrast to the spotty efforts of his classmates, and this could be another moment for him to stand out.

“Mine wouldn’t speak. Not a word!” said Clemensia. “All I’ve got is what I had after the reaping. His name. Reaper Ash. Can you imagine naming your child Reaper and them ending up in the reaping?”

“There was no reaping when he was born,” Lysistrata pointed out. “That’s just a farming name.”

“I guess that’s true,” said Clemensia.

“Mine spoke. I almost wish she hadn’t!” Arachne practically yelled.

“Why? What did she say?” asked Clemensia.

“Oh, it seems she spends most of her time in District Ten butchering hogs.” Arachne made a gagging motion. “Yech. What am I supposed to do with that? I wish I could make up something better.” Suddenly, she stopped, causing Coriolanus and Festus to run into her. “Wait! That’s it!”

“Watch it!” said Festus, pushing her forward.

She ignored him and chattered on, demanding everyone’s attention. “I could make up something brilliant! I’ve visited District Ten, you know. It’s practically my second home!” Before the war, her family had developed luxury hotels in vacation destinations, and Arachne had traveled extensively in Panem. She still bragged about it, even though she’d been as Capitol-bound as anyone else since the war. “Anyway, I could come up with something better than the ups and downs of a slaughterhouse!”

“You’re lucky,” said Pliny Harrington. Everybody called him Pup to differentiate him from his naval commander father, who watched over the waters off District 4. The commander had tried to mold him into his image, insisting Pup have a crew cut and shined shoes, but his son was a natural slob. He dug a piece of ham out of his braces with his thumbnail and flicked it to the floor. “At least she isn’t afraid of blood.”

“Why? Is yours?” asked Arachne.

“No idea. She cried for fifteen minutes straight.” Pup grimaced. “I don’t think District Seven prepared her for a hangnail, let alone the Games.”

“You’d better button your jacket before class,” Lysistrata reminded him.

“Oh, right,” Pup sighed. He worked the top button, and it came off in his hand. “Stupid uniform.”

As they filed into the lab, Coriolanus’s pleasure at seeing Dr. Gaul again was dampened by the sight of Dean Highbottom stationed behind the professor’s table, collecting the questionnaires. He ignored Coriolanus, but then, he wasn’t particularly friendly to anyone else either. He left the talking to the Head Gamemaker.

Dr. Gaul poked at the muttation rabbit until the class had settled in, then greeted them with “Hippity, hoppity, how did you fare? Did they greet you like friends or just sit there and stare?” The students shot confused glances at one another as she retrieved the questionnaires. “For those of you who don’t know, I’m Dr. Gaul, the Head Gamemaker, and I will be mentoring your mentorships. Let’s see what I have to work with, shall we?” She flipped through the papers, frowned, then pulled one out and held it up before the class. “This is what you were asked to do. Thank you, Mr. Snow. Now, what happened to the rest of you?”

Inside he glowed, but he maintained a neutral expression. The best move now was to support his classmates. After a long pause, he spoke up. “I had good luck with my tribute. She’s a talker. But most of the kids wouldn’t communicate. And even my girl can’t see the point of making an effort at the interview.”

Sejanus turned to Coriolanus. “Why should they? What does it get them? No matter what they do, they’ll be thrown into the arena and left to fend for themselves.”

A murmur of assent came from the room.

Dr. Gaul peered at Sejanus. “You’re the boy with the sandwiches. Why did you do it?”

Sejanus stiffened and avoided her gaze. “They were starving. We’re going to kill them; do we have to torture them ahead of time as well?”

“Huh. A rebel sympathizer,” said Dr. Gaul.

Keeping his eyes on his notebook, Sejanus persisted. “Hardly rebels. Some of them were two years old when the war ended. The oldest were eight. And now that the war’s over, they’re just citizens of Panem, aren’t they? Same as us? Isn’t that what the anthem says the Capitol does? ‘You give us light. You reunite’? It’s supposed to be everyone’s government, right?”

“That’s the general idea. Go on,” Dr. Gaul encouraged him.

“Well, then it should protect everyone,” said Sejanus. “That’s its number-one job! And I don’t see how making them fight to the death achieves that.”

“Obviously, you don’t approve of the Hunger Games,” said Dr. Gaul. “That must be hard for a mentor. That must interfere with your assignment.”

Sejanus paused for a moment. Then he sat up straight, seeming to steel himself, and looked her in the eye. “Perhaps you should replace me and assign someone more worthy.”

There was an audible gasp from the classroom.

“Not on your life, boy,” Dr. Gaul chuckled. “Compassion is the key to the Games. Empathy, the thing we lack. Right, Casca?” She glanced at Dean Highbottom, but he only fiddled with a pen.

Sejanus’s face fell, but he didn’t argue back. Coriolanus felt he’d ceded the battle but could not believe he’d given up on the war. He was tougher than he looked, Sejanus Plinth. Imagine throwing a mentorship back in Dr. Gaul’s face.

But the exchange only seemed to invigorate her. “Now, wouldn’t it be wonderful if everyone in the audience felt as passionately about the tributes as this young man here? That should be our goal.”

“No,” said Dean Highbottom.

“Yes! For them to really get involved!” continued Dr. Gaul. She struck her forehead. “You’ve given me a marvelous idea. A way to let people personally affect the outcome of the Games. Suppose we let the audience send the tributes food in the arena? Feed them, like your friend here did in the zoo. Would they feel more involved?”

Festus perked up. “I would if I could bet on the one I was feeding! Just this morning, Coriolanus said maybe we should give odds on the tributes.”

Dr. Gaul beamed at Coriolanus. “Of course, he did. All right, then, you all put your heads together and figure it out. Write me a proposal on how this could work, and my team will consider it.”

“Consider it?” asked Livia. “You mean you might actually use our ideas?”

“Why not? If they have merit.” Dr. Gaul tossed the stack of questionnaires onto the table. “What young brains lack in experience they sometimes make up for in idealism. Nothing seems impossible to them. Old Casca over there came up with the concept for the Hunger Games when he was my student at the University, just a few years older than you are now.”

All eyes turned to Dean Highbottom, who addressed Dr. Gaul. “It was just theoretical.”

“And so is this, unless it proves useful,” said Dr. Gaul. “I’ll expect it on my desk tomorrow morning.”

Coriolanus sighed inwardly. Another group project. Another opportunity to compromise his ideas in the name of collaboration. Either have them cut entirely or, worse, watered down until they had lost their bite. The class voted on a committee of three mentors to draw the thing up. Of course, he was elected, and he could hardly decline. Dr. Gaul had to leave for a meeting and directed the class to discuss the proposal among themselves. He and Clemensia and Arachne were to convene that evening, but since they all wanted to visit their tributes first, they agreed to meet at eight o’clock at the zoo. Later, they’d go to the library to write up the proposal.

Since lunch had been substantial, he didn’t feel deprived by a dinner of yesterday’s cabbage soup and a plate of red beans. At least they weren’t lima. And when Tigris had scooped the last cupful into an elegant china bowl and garnished it with a few fresh herbs from the roof garden, it didn’t look too humble to offer to Lucy Gray. Presentation mattered to her. As for the beans, well, she was starving.

Optimism flowed through him as he walked to the zoo. Morning attendance may have been scanty, but now visitors were pouring in so quickly he wasn’t sure he’d get a spot up front at the monkey house. His newfound status helped. As people recognized him, they allowed him to pass and even told others to clear a path. He was no common citizen — he was a mentor!

He made straight for his corner, only to replace the twins, Pollo and Didi Ring, camped out on his rock. The pair embraced their twinship wholeheartedly, sporting identical outfits, hair buns, and sunny personalities. They cleared out without Coriolanus having to ask.

“You can take it, Coryo,” Didi said as she pulled her brother up from the rock.

“Sure, we’ve already fed our tributes,” added Pollo. “Hey, sorry you got stuck with the proposal.”

“Yeah, we voted for Pup, but no one backed us up!” They laughed and ran off into the crowd.

Lucy Gray joined him immediately. Even though he wasn’t dining with her, she devoured the beans after admiring how fancy they looked.

“Have you gotten any more food from the crowd?” he asked her.

“I got an old cheese rind from a lady, and a couple other kids fought over some bread a man threw in. I can see all kinds of people holding food, but I think they’re afraid to get too close, even though they’ve got these Peacekeepers in here with us now.” She pointed to the back wall of the cage, where a quartet of Peacekeepers stood guard. “Maybe they’ll feel safer now that you’re here.”

Coriolanus noticed a boy of about ten hovering in the crowd, holding a boiled potato. He gave him a wink and a wave of the hand. The boy looked up at his father, who nodded approval. He moved up behind Coriolanus, still keeping his distance. “Did you bring that potato for Lucy Gray?” Coriolanus asked.

“Yes. I saved it from dinner. I wanted to eat it, but I wanted to feed her more,” he said.

“Go on, then,” Coriolanus encouraged him. “She doesn’t bite. Mind you, use your manners.”

The boy took a shy step in her direction. “Well, hey there,” said Lucy Gray. “What’s your name?”

“Horace,” said the boy. “I saved you my potato.”

“Aren’t you sweet? Should I eat it now or save it?” she asked.

“Now.” The boy gingerly held it out to her.

Lucy Gray took the potato as though it were a diamond. “My. That’s about the nicest potato I’ve ever seen.” The boy blushed with pride. “Okay, here I go.” She took a bite, closed her eyes, and almost seemed to swoon. “Nicest tasting, too. Thank you, Horace.”

The cameras closed in on them as Lucy Gray received a withered carrot from a little girl and a boiled soupbone from the girl’s grandmother. Someone tapped on Coriolanus’s shoulder, and he turned to see Pluribus Bell standing there with a small can of milk. “For old times’ sake,” he said with a smile as he punched a couple of holes in the lid and passed it to Lucy Gray. “I enjoyed your act at the reaping. Did you write that song yourself?”

Some of the more accommodating — or possibly the hungriest — tributes began to station themselves up by the bars. They sat on the ground, held out their hands, ducked their heads, and waited. Here and there someone, usually a child, would run up and place something in their hands and then jump back. The tributes began to compete for attention, drawing the cameras to the center of the cage. A limber little girl from District 9 did a back handspring after she received a bread roll. The boy from District 7 made a good show of juggling three walnuts. The audience rewarded those who would perform with applause and more food.

Lucy Gray and Coriolanus resumed their picnic seats and watched the show. “We’re a regular circus troupe, we are,” she said as she picked bits of meat off her bone.

“None of them can hold a candle to you,” said Coriolanus.

Mentors who had been avoided before were now approached by their tributes if they offered food. When Sejanus arrived with bags of hard-boiled eggs and wedges of bread, all the tributes ran up to him except Marcus, who made a point of ignoring him entirely.

Coriolanus nodded at them. “You were right about Sejanus and Marcus. They used to be classmates in District Two.”

“Well, that’s complicated. At least we don’t have to deal with that,” she said.

“Yes, this is complicated enough.” He meant it as a joke, but it fell flat. It was complicated enough, and it got more so by the minute.

She gave him a wistful smile. “Sure would’ve been nice to meet you under different circumstances.”

“Like how?” It was a dangerous line of questioning, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Oh, like you came to one of my shows and heard me sing,” she said. “And afterward you came up to chat, and maybe we had a drink and a dance or two.”

He could imagine it, her singing somewhere like Pluribus’s nightclub, him catching her eye, connecting before they’d ever even met. “And I’d come back the next night.”

“Like we had all the time in the world,” she said.

Their musing was interrupted by a loud “Woo-hoo!” The tributes from District 6 began a funny dance, and the Ring twins got some of the audience to clap along in rhythm. After that, things became almost festive. The crowd ventured closer, and a few people began to converse with the captives.

On the whole, Coriolanus thought it a good development — it would take more than Lucy Gray to justify the prime-time slot for the interviews. He decided to let the other tributes have their moment and to ask her to sing at closing time. In the meantime, he filled her in on the mentors’ discussions that day and stressed what her popularity could mean in the arena, now that there was a possibility that people could send gifts.

Secretly, he worried about his resources again. He’d need more affluent viewers, who could afford to buy her things. It would look bad if a Snow’s tribute received nothing in the arena. Maybe he should make it a provision of the proposal that you couldn’t send your own tribute gifts. Otherwise, how could he compete? Certainly not with Sejanus. And there, by the bars, Arachne had laid out a little picnic for her tribute. A fresh loaf of bread, a block of cheese, and were those grapes? How could she afford those? Maybe the travel industry was picking up.

He watched as Arachne sliced the cheese with a mother-of-pearl-handled knife. Her tribute, the talkative girl from District 10, squatted right in front of her, eagerly leaning into the bars. Arachne made a thick sandwich but didn’t hand it right over. She seemed to be lecturing the girl about something. It was quite a speech. At one point, the girl reached through the bars, and Arachne withdrew the sandwich, drawing a laugh from the audience. She turned and flashed them a grin, shook her finger at her tribute, held out the sandwich again, and then pulled it away a second time, much to the crowd’s amusement.

“She’s playing with fire there,” Lucy Gray observed.

Arachne waved to the crowd and then took a bite of the sandwich herself.

Coriolanus could see the tribute’s face darkening, the muscles tightening in her neck. He could see something else, too. Her fingers sliding down the bar, darting out, circling the handle of the knife. He started to rise, opening his mouth to shout out a warning, but it was too late.

In one movement, the tribute yanked Arachne forward and slit her throat.