#So I traded him a chunk of wood for the bucket

[questioningdragons]

Me: *cannot convince myself to do anything for hours on end*

Also me: *goes outside to read and crochet and generally enjoy the warm day; ends up pulling weeds for an hour of my own volition*

[justnerdthings]

Frigid Heart Ch. 4

F!Reader x Bi-Han

Okay. I'm not feeling so well, so this chapter might not seem as well written as the others. But, I'm also not so great with action. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

@poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @whitelotusfighter @icy-spicy @crazytxgradstudent @d-taslim @bihansthot @legends-of-apex @lillikue @missroro

Bi-Han was chopping wood when you returned late in the afternoon. The girls were still talking when you left, and you were sure they were still talking as you walked towards your master. Thema had braided your hair. She’d weaved in some blue flowers to match Sub-Zero’s robes. Cho had painted your lips a deep red. Suki had made-up your eyes. And Margita? She’d shown you how to properly carry yourself.

Snowflake had beamed at your finished look. “You’re so pretty!” She’d told you. Snowflake was sure once the scars faded, that you’d quickly catch the eye of the Grandmaster, himself. But when the girls had told you what the Grandmaster did with his girls… You weren’t so sure you wanted your scars to heal.

Bi-Han looked up as you came into view. You could see his brow furrow at you, as if he hadn’t recognized you, but it quickly faded as you stepped closer. You caught the slightest hint of him fighting a smirk before he turned away, back to the wood. “Did you enjoy yourself?” He asked before swinging his axe down, easily splitting the wood. You eye’d the odd colored axe for a moment before you realized it was made of ice, just like his blade from yesterday.

“Yes,” you answered plainly. “I’d never been to a hot spring before.”

“Well, now you can’t say that,” he said, setting up another log. “I see you’ve met Cyrax’s servant.”

You blinked and reached for your braid that was draped over your shoulder. You ran your fingers over it gently and admired the small flowers. A reddish hue painted your cheeks as you remembered something Thema had told you. “Do you… Like it, Master?”

Bi-Han swung his axe again. The wood split just as easily as the last and fell off the block. “It looks nice,” he told you without looking back at you.

You didn’t mind that he hadn’t looked at you again. It actually took some of the pressure away. But his answer still made a sheepish smile come to your face.

“I shot some grouses earlier—” He’d begun.

“I’ll get right to them!” You interrupted, a bit too zealous. Your blush darkened when you caught him glance over his shoulder with a raised brow. He chuckled and looked back to his growing wood pile.

“Do that,” he told you.

You gave him a quick bow before hurrying off behind the house.

Two large grouse hung outside. Heads severed. A puddle of blood was below them. They’d been bled out. But that was the most Bi-Han had done with them. The rest was for you to handle.

Your sleeves had been tied up to avoid staining them. You’d have to ask about getting more clothes. Ones that were more practical, preferably. You didn’t want to ruin such nice clothes, even if they did seem plain and simple to everyone else.

With the grouses plucked and cleaned, you’d placed them both in a wide pot with several herbs. What vegetables you’d found were chopped and thrown in with them. A lid covered the pot before you carried it over to the hearth and carefully placed it. Soon enough it would be ready to eat. You would clean your mess for now.

You’d made quick work of the kitchen. Outside, you collected the bucket of feathers. Those could be used. Padding in armor. A pillow. Trading. They had use. You secured a lid on the bucket and set it aside carefully.

A deep, echoing growl had caught your attention. You knew that sound…

The sounds of horns alarmed the village. Your heart pounded and raced as voices shouted in the distance. Heavy thudding was coming closer. Monstrous snarls filled the forest. Bi-Han came around the house, looking in the direction of the commotion.

“Get inside,” he told you as he walked past you.

“Master—”

“Get inside!” he ordered as he ran into the forest.

You stepped back and towards the house, but stopped at the door as you heard blood curdling screams. Assassins from the village went charging after the screams. Trees fell in the distance, the cracking of their trunks sent shivers up your spine. You knew of only one beast that could snap trees in half with little effort and make hardened warriors cry in fear.

Ice beasts.

Your heart skipped a beat as the shouting grew closer. The ground beneath your feet was starting to shake with each step that beast made. No… Beasts. There was more than one.You jumped the next second as the treeline began to collapse in front of you.

A beast broke through a line of assassins with a mighty roar. Ice shards were sent flying in every direction. You ducked out of the way.

A large chunk of ice lodged itself into the wall of Bi-Han’s house. Your eyes grew at the sight. It’d only just missed you. The chill of adrenaline rushed through you as you looked back to the beast. It was quickly joined by another and you could still hear fighting deeper in the forest. Had it been a whole herd?

The two beasts stormed the village. Palace guards were pouring out. Servants were running for their lives. Just those two ice beasts were enough to destroy the courtyard. Assassins were being torn apart. The snow white coats of the ice beasts were stained red with blood. You were frozen in fear. You’d never seen such brutality. In your old village, ice beasts never attacked like this. One would appear in a fit occasionally. But they were quickly tamed. The Snow Ninja clan was gifted with being able to tame such beasts.

Lily had come out of the palace, blade in hand, the Grandmaster at her side with two blades in his hands. They wore matching armor as they watched their guards get thrown around like toys. More ice beasts broke through the treeline, charging into the village with such ferocity you hadn’t seen. You quickly moved to take cover as you watched the chaos.

Was this a common occurrence? Did the Lin Kuei often fight with the ice beasts? Did the ice beasts often attack the Lin Kuei with no warning? Both the Grandmaster and Lily charged into battle. Lily took every chance she could get to guard the Grandmaster. She reminded you of a female wolf guarding her alpha, putting herself between the beast and the Grandmaster, protecting his weak spots as they fought off one of the beasts.

Off to the side, smoke had begun to fill the village. You recognized it. It was the same kind of smoke that had covered your old village and blinded your old clan. It creeped along the ground and quickly engulfed the beasts to disorient them, leaving the Lin Kuei to freely attack with the new advantage. Explosions rocked the village. The ninja in red who you’d known as Sektor was firing hand cannons. The yellow ninja, Cyrax, was appearing and disappearing out of thin air around the battlefield.

A blue blur whipped by you. You recoiled and ducked behind the stone wall as ice crystals rained over you. A strong hand gripped your arm and pulled you away just in time as a beast’s foot came down and destroyed the spot of ground you’d been hiding in.

“Get out of here.” You turned to see it was Tundra who had saved you. But your brows knotted and you looked back. If Tundra hadn’t been the blue blur thrown past you…

Sub-Zero pushed himself up with a strained growl as the beast came barreling toward him. Your heart was about to jump right out of your chest. You looked back to Tundra with panic in your eyes. “You have to help him!” You screamed.

“Get out of here!” Tundra shouted. His eyes then shifted and he pulled you behind him. A wall of ice grew in front of him as a bolder came flying for the two of you. As it crashed into the ice wall, the ice cracked, only just barely able to hold back the attack. You ran. But not away.

“What are you doing!?” Tundra called after you as you ran around his wall and into the chaos. You grabbed a dead assassin’s sword as you ran for Sub-Zero. Blood was staining his clothes as he struggled to keep what surely was the alpha beast at bay. Bi-Han’s attacks were thwarted one after the other. He was pushed onto the defensive. Ice walls grew all around him, only to be knocked down by swings of the beast’s fists.

You did what you’d saw Lily do. You’d done what you were raised to do in your old village. You slid to a stop in front of an injured Bi-Han, facing the beast yourself. You couldn’t see Sub-Zero’s reaction, but he hadn’t shouted for you to leave like Kuai had. Your eyes locked on the beast’s. It swung a giant fist down and you jumped back to avoid it. Ice beasts were huge and powerful. But they were slow and dumb. This one had a strange look in its eyes. Something wasn’t right. You could feel it.

More attacks came from the beast. You dodged each one until you felt yourself back into Bi-Han. He grunted. He was leaned back against a tree. His breath was heavy in your ear as you stood your ground. The beast reached and grabbed the tree. The tree was pulled up from the ground, roots and all, and was tossed aside like a simple stick. You fell back with Bi-Han to the ground. As a massive foot was lifted, you threw your sword.

The beast let out an ear rupturing roar as the blade speared deep into its foot. Someone was grabbing you. You looked back to see Tundra again. His arm was wrapped around his brother as he tried to lift him and you to your feet. He swung you both around the next second. Another ice wall shot up from the ground as the beast sent its fist down. But the wall didn’t hold. It shattered, ice shards being sent in everywhere. You covered your face with your arms. What in the world had gotten into these ice beasts. They had usually been so peaceful in your old village.

You caught the strange eyes of the beast again. Your stomach sunk as a feeling of desperation came over you. You pushed past Kuai and rose to your feet. The beast roared at you as you stepped closer in defiance. Your eyes were locked on the beast’s. It seemed to take it as a challenge to its dominance. It slammed a fist into the ground, shaking everything around you. You managed to keep your footing as you stared down this abomination. “No.” You told it, stepping closer.

The beasts huffed, steam filling the air. It roared, sending icy spittle at you. You didn’t budge even as the tiny shards of ice stung your face. “No!” You shouted.

Another roar shook the trees around you. This beast seemed to be having trouble dealing with your defiance. Despite its injured foot, it backed up only a single step as it snorted. “NO!” You screamed with every ounce of air from your lungs.

The beast recoiled, stepping back further. You stepped closer. The beast dropped to all fours to support itself and raised its injured foot up. Its head shook as if trying to shake something off. You stepped closer. It grunted and snorted, unsure of your intention and kept backing away. You could hear Kuai trying to coax Bi-Han--trying to awaken him. Bi-Han must have passed out. You hoped, at least, that he’d only passed out. What would happen to you if he died? Your jaw hardened as you kept moving towards the beast.

It howled. The sudden cry jolted you, but you didn’t back away. You fought every instinct your body was screaming at you to turn and run. You kept your eyes right on the beast’s eyes and watched as clarity began to spread through them, like some veil had begun to lift.

The howl had signaled the rest of the ice beast to cease their attacks. Some were killed at the first sign of forfeit. Some were trapped. The rest had been given caution as they fled the village.

You were so close to the alpha now. You reached out as it lowered itself to your level. Those massive eyes turned the most brilliant shade of blue as they watched you. Your breath hitched when your hand finally touched, and rested, on the beast’s face. Your blood was roaring in your ears and your heart was shaking your whole chest as you stood there. The beast was heaving chilled breaths. Whatever spell this beast had been under, it seemed to have waned.

You let out a slow, calm breath as you stepped closer and placed your other hand on the beast. Your fingers combed through its thick fur. Oh, how you missed the feel of ice beast fur. So thick and coarse… But so warm when made into blankets or clothing. It backed away and you noticed it winced.

Its foot.

Slowly you broke eye contact with the beast and moved around it, letting your hand trail along its fur as you moved towards the injured foot. It snarled and you looked back to its eyes. It huffed, then moved to sit on the ground. You reached for the blade stuck in its foot and in one quick yank, pulled the blade clean out.

The beast howled again and pulled its foot away, guarding it.

Assassins had come running, shouting and readying their weapons. They were going to kill this beast. You couldn’t let that happen. You backed away from it and looked into its fearful eyes. “Go,” You told it.

You didn’t have to tell it twice. The beast quickly rose and took off deep into the forest. You then moved back to Kuai and Bi-Han as the assassins came. Bi-Han’s eyes were still closed. Kuai was watching you in disbelief as you dropped to your knees next to him. Bi-Han’s wounds were filled with ice, keeping them from bleeding.

“What happened?” the Grandmaster asked as he made his way to the front of the crowd. Kuai reluctantly shifted focus from you to his master. “He’s been injured.”

The Grandmaster stepped closer to get a better look. His expression was hidden behind his mask, but his eyes showed a level of sadness. He caught your eyes the next second, lifting a brow before they shifted to the sword in your hand, coated in blood. You quickly released the blade and averted your eyes.

“It was not her doing,” Kuai answered to your defense. “She… helped.” He seemed to have some trouble admitting that you had stepped in. Or maybe he was just confused with how you managed to subdue an ice beast.

“Someone bring Sub-Zero to the palace,” he ordered no one in particular. “Have him treated before the others.” Kuai helped a fellow assassin carry his brother away. The other assassins had begun to thin out and assess the damage to the village. You were alone on the ground with the Grandmaster’s eyes weighing heavy on you.

“You. Girl.”

You looked up to the Grandmaster slowly, not wanting to make any sudden moves.

“Where did you get that blade?” He demanded of you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I took it from one of your dead. My apologies, Grandmaster. I only wanted to help my Master.”

His eyes searched you before he was joined by a limping Lily. Her eyes fell on you and filled you with dread instantly. But to your surprise, and Lily’s, the Grandmaster had sheathed one of his swords and stepped forward. He offered you his bloodied hand. You froze. Your eyes shifted from his hand, to his face, then to Lily’s deeply baffled expression. “Come,” the Grandmaster said. You looked back to him, then his hand. It wouldn’t be wise to refuse the Grandmaster...

You took his hand.

[cosmicallybrownie]

a sun swallowed by darkness

Part I (Part II, Part III) 

Pairing: Natan

Warnings: blood, violence, swearing, smut in future chapters

Word Count: 5600

Summary: The king’s daughter was captured by a band of pirates hungry for ransom money and information about the kingdom. In a dark cell tinged with uncertainly and fear, Natalie’s interrogator, Lucifer, was tasked with coaxing information from her. 

This fic is for @astarisms!! She won first prize in my giveaway and this fic accidentally ran away from me. 

The deafening scrape of wood against wood jarred Natalie out of her thoughts, and she tried to slow her breathing when she caught the telltale sight of black colors flying above the attacking ship. Her father had assured her that the short jaunt across the wide expanse of ocean would be brief and uneventful, but the current situation was wiping away all hope of his promises.

Natalie was returning from brokering peace with a nearby kingdom that was eager to sink its claws into her father’s land, but her proposed treaties of trade that were laced with heavy generosity soothed their war hungry leaders. The politics had left the princess tired and eager to return home, and Natalie had left on the very next nondescript sailing vessel that docked bearing her father’s flag.

 The small ship was no grand prize, and so far, the waters had been calm. Natalie had spent the majority of her time below decks, penning letters to the contacts she had made and noting all the tactics the nobles had bargained with. The expanse of the ocean around her made her feel lost and small, and she was eager to have her feet on the solid ground once again.

 However, the present situation seemed to offer another obstacle to her journey home, this time in the form of pirates, rather than the pompous nobles she had spent weeks trying to make dealings with. She watched as ropes manned by bulks of men heaved the trading vessel closer and closer to the looming pirate ship, and for a moment Natalie forgot to feel fear.

 When the first pirates threw their bodies onto the safe haven of her ship, Natalie suddenly became all too aware of her fear.

 Her rough handling up the stairs had Natalie torn between shouting curses at the man, and whimpering in fear over what he would do to her. The brute that hauled her onto the deck shoved her into the lineup of the crew of the shipping vessel, or what was left of them. Several bodies littered the deck, bleeding into the bleached wood and groaning as the last minutes of life was drained from them.

 With them was the ship’s captain, the gentle gray man who had helped Natalie settle in, and a choked gasp escaped her lips when she saw him, pale and dead, amongst the chaos. His thin lips were suspended open in a warning that would never come.

 Then a man Natalie assumed to be the captain of the pirate ship stepped forward. He was remarkably pretty for a pirate, and his blue eyes caught the reflections of the waves that surrounded him. His dark blue coat swept behind him when he walked down the line, the movement full of deadly grace. Malice burned in his expression when he stopped in front of Natalie, ignoring the rest of the men around her.

 “The king’s daughter. I heard you were far from home, princess.” He grabbed a strand of her hair, “I’ve heard talk that your red hair grants miracles.”

 “N-no.” She wished she didn’t sound so weak, but Natalie didn’t dare breath for fear of invoking more anger.

 “Of course not, but I’d rather be granted a ransom that wishes.” He dropped her hair and circled Natalie like a hungry predator, “A rich ransom, I’m sure, could be bartered for the king’s daughter.”

 His gaze raked down her body hungrily and Natalie fought to keep still under the scrutiny. She didn’t want to appear weak by shrinking under the weight of his inspection, but the malevolent grin teasing the corners of his mouth dripped with danger.  

 His tongue skirted along his lower lip, and Natalie dropped her gaze from him. She could hear him click his tongue, and then his finger was under her chin, tilting Natalie’s face up towards him. A golden tooth sparkled in the sunlight, matching the hoops in his ears, and Natalie recoiled from the foul smell of him that washed over her from their proximity.

 Something dark glimmered in his eyes, and he gestured vaguely over his shoulder to his crew, “Take her. Kill the rest.”

 “No!” The protest was torn from Natalie’s lips as another man tossed her over his shoulder, disorientating her in the motion. She could hear steel tearing through flesh and the screams of her father’s men as their lives ran red around them. The sight of the ashen navigator’s face on the deck made Natalie’s stomach turn, but her screams were lost among the crews’ as she was hauled towards the unknown of the pirate ship.

Natalie’s voice had long since gone hoarse from unanswered screaming, and the heave of the boat below her feet had her bent over the bucket in the corner more than once. The brig was dark, and Natalie had no sunlight to gauge how long she had been in the cage. Her hands dug into the metal bars, and the slippers on her feet stuck to the floor of her cell.

 She didn’t want to think about what was coating it.

 The whole area smelled like the overwhelming stench of death, and she shuddered at what – or who – could be hidden in the corners of the room, obscured by the dark. With one more pitiful shake, Natalie stepped away from the bars, trying to keep her breathing shallow to avoid the smell.

 The hot press of tears behind her eyes was interrupted by the sounds of boots scuffing, then the angry tilt of voices grew closer. Lanterns held up by faceless men illuminated the brig, and Natalie scrambled up from her lean against the wall just in time to meet the captain. The fire from the candles caught in his curls and he unlocked the heavy latch with practiced precision.

 She wondered how many people he had held captive down here.

 “Bring her to the deck,” was his simple command, and grunts of affirmation passed among the men.

 She felt large hands grab her arms in bruising grips, and they shoved her gracelessly towards the stairs in the corner. Natalie drank in the expanse of sky above her when she was finally above deck again, gasping in deep breaths of fresh air. She felt like she could finally breathe again, despite the choking presence of the men.

 The sunset dusted the horizon, casting its light on a tall man that stood next to the captain. He was in every way the captain’s opposite, taller and broader, with dark features that contrasted Michael’s bright ones. His whole frame radiated power, and Natalie found herself afraid of what his presence could mean.

 Michael smiled down at Natalie in the dangerous way that only a cocky man was capable of, and the man beside him stood so still that Natalie might have thought he was made of stone.

 “Thought I’d introduce you proper, Lucifer. This is our very own princess.” Michael made a show of shoving Natalie towards Lucifer, laughing when she flinched at his touch.

 Lucifer’s expression betrayed nothing, not even curiosity as he assessed the girl, nodding, “I’m sure she’ll be easy to break, Michael.”

 Michael huffed a noise of amusement but shook his head, “Now don’t be too rough on her, she’s full of all sorts of information we need.” He patted Natalie’s cheek, “Isn’t that right, princess?”

 Natalie looked up at Michael with so much hatred in her expression that Lucifer was almost impressed, but he was careful to conceal it. After all, as the ship’s first mate and interrogator, it would be disastrous to show any tells.

 “So I’m to prod her for information?” Lucifer already knew what his brother wanted, but it was better to receive verbalized confirmation than risk the captain’s violent disapproval when he was denied his desires.

 “Prod away, first mate.”

 The brothers exchanged a sharp nod and grasped each other’s forearms before turning to their own business. Lucifer took Natalie’s arm and lead her back down the stairs, back to what Natalie swore was her own Hell, and as a man named for the devil himself as her guide, it might as well be.

­

After letting Natalie spend a lonely night in a humid cell, Lucifer found her again in the morning. He came carrying a lantern and she had never been so thankful to see light. The flickering candle caught on every dangerous curve of Lucifer’s face, but his expression remained as emotionless as yesterday.

 Before he could even ask a question, Natalie shouted, “My father will be looking for me. He has men in all corners of the ocean who are trained to find and destroy pirates.” She spat the last word like a curse, anger furrowing her brow.  

 “Your ship wasn’t scheduled to arrive for another fortnight.” Something like triumph curled his lips, “He cannot miss you if he doesn’t know you’re missing, and I’m sure he won’t since none of the crew harboring you survived.”

 “When my father finds me, none of you shall survive.”

 The shouted threat did nothing to Lucifer’s disposition, and instead he leaned closer to her, grabbing the bars on her cage, “They died because of you, you know. All those innocent men, slaughtered like sacrificial lambs for you, princess.”

 Natalie matched Lucifer’s quiet, intense tone, staring into his eyes that seemed more gold than brown, “I did not kill them. Their blood is not on my hands, it’s on yours. Murderer!”

 Amusement played across Lucifer’s face, and he stepped back from the bars to pull something from the bag he carried down with him, “Here is paper and charcoal. When I return, I expect the names of ships in your father’s fleet.”

 And with that, he left, leaving the lantern with her.

 She did not make a list as requested, and Lucifer stormed out of the brig, his silence deafening. He took the lantern, leaving her with a stale chunk of break and the hard press of loneliness.

 The flash of a lantern had Natalie scrambling to her feet, and before Lucifer could even set it down, she was against the bars, her tone demanding, “I want a bucket of water and clean clothes.”

 “Quite a request from a prisoner,” Lucifer said, leaning his weight against the old iron bars. They groaned under him, but he didn’t seem afraid that they would give.

 “I’m a princess,” Natalie offered in way of explanation. “It’s been three days, and the smell down here is enough to drive me mad.”

 After taking his time glancing around the brig, Lucifer returned his gaze to Natalie, “Have you ever considered that maybe that’s the point, princess? You aren’t supposed to be comfortable.”

 “If I was more comfortable, I might be able to remember the names of the fleet.” She lifted the end of her sentence, and it was almost teasing in its lightness.

 Lucifer was not entertained by her attempt at games, and looked pointedly down at her, “I’m not very inclined to believe you. You haven’t exactly been an obliging prisoner.”

 “I promise.” Natalie said, almost like a plea. Her fingers brushed against his when she gripped the bars below his hands, “I’ll make you the damn list if you let me wash myself.”

 He lowered his face to hers, “Promises mean nothing to pirates, princess. You need to offer me something better than words.”

 “Oh, just give me the damn parchment.” Natalie conceded, pushing his hands off the bars and crossing hers over her chest.

 “’Atta girl.”

 Lucifer’s sudden presence caught Natalie off guard, as she was too engrossed in her sorrows to notice the lantern light the space around her. She hurried to her feet and wiped the tears from her eyes roughly, feeling the grit of sand on her skin scratch her cheeks. He had come bearing a bucket of warm water and a pile of something she assumed were clothes, and her eagerness to wash herself beat out the tears that threatened the corners of her eyes.

 The leftover emotional display made Lucifer’s eyebrows draw together in a look Natalie knew couldn’t possibly be concern, and she turned away from him. When she did not acknowledge him, Lucifer fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the cell door. He left the water and the clothing on the floor and left her alone without a single word.

 While she scrubbed grime and sand from her skin, she had never been so grateful for the lantern, and for silence. The linen shirt Lucifer had brought her almost stunk worse than the tattered dress Natalie had arrived in, and the breeches were hopelessly big on her, but she was grateful for them all the same. The new clothing almost felt like a layer of armor against Lucifer’s prodding questions about her father’s navy and reserves.

 She watched the candle in the lantern flicker until there was nothing left of it, and its own wax was its undoing.

 It seemed Natalie had just fallen asleep when she was being woken up again. Her back ached from too many nights on the hard floor, but at least now her old dress separated her from the sticky unknown of the floorboards.

 Lucifer’s features were an unwelcome sight as she blinked sleep from her eyes, despite the handsomeness of his jawline and expression.

 “Good morning, sunshine,” he greeted, his tone loud and uncharacteristically happy. A metal cup in his hand was filled with a brown liquid, and he banged it against the metal bars in Natalie’s face, as if he hadn’t done enough to wake her. “I see you’ve changed.”

 “These clothes hardly smell better,” Natalie said, her tone groggy from sleep.

 “I wouldn’t expect them to, considering the previous owner died in those rags.” Lucifer took a calm drink while Natalie gasped in indignation.

 “You’re sick,” Natalie spat, and shuddered at the implication of his words. She was sure he was employing another one of his tactics to get information out of her, but the cold impression of death still weighed on her skin.

 Lucifer blew out the lantern and kicked the bars by her feet, “At least my clothes are my own, princess.”

“That’s enough for tonight,” Lucifer finally grunted after what seemed like an eternity of questions. He wanted to know details of her father’s navy that Natalie had never learned, numbers that didn’t concern her, and information about names she didn’t recognize.

 Once in his frustration, Lucifer had struck the bars and hissed something about a useless girl that had Natalie scampering away from his intimidating form. She had bit her lip so hard to hide her whimper that she tasted blood.

 When he summoned her back into the light, his expression had softened when he handed her a handkerchief. It was the cleanest thing she had seen since being trapped on the damned ship, and she was almost afraid to dirty it with her blood.

 “Tell me about your brother, princess.” Lucifer tried again, his tone so gentle she didn’t recognize it.

 Natalie drew in a sharp breath when she pressed the cloth to her bleeding lip, “You first.”

 Lucifer let out a bark of laughter, and complied, to Natalie’s surprise, “You’ve met him, the captain. Michael’s a real piece of work, and a right bastard in all senses of the word. Good ol’ Dad always tried to explain me and Michael’s differences away based on our mums.”

 “And who were your parents?” Natalie asked, curiosity beating out her caution.

 Something dark passed over his face, “Never knew me mum, probably some port lass he didn’t have the gall to pay for. And I’m sure you’ve heard of my father. Called himself Jehovah and fancied himself ordained by the divine powers to rule the seas.”

 Natalie felt the blood drain from her face at the mention of Jehovah. ‘The Maker of Death,’ they called him in the ports, a name so feared it was whispered as though he might hear. He was known for his extensive reach across the blue seas, and for his extreme cruelty. No one that set foot on his ship had survived, and he killed all he came across, marking their bodies as his victims with two bloody lines carved into their necks.

 “Where,” Natalie gasped, breathlessly, “Where is he now?”

 Lucifer shrugged and turned away from her, snuffing out the lantern as he did, “I killed him.”

 “Don’t,” Natalie practically begged, the sound of her own voice shamefully desperate in her ears.

 Lucifer paused, turning towards Natalie with an eyebrow cocked high. The look was purposefully dashing, as though he’d been waiting all this time for Natalie to beg him for something besides her freedom.

 “Don’t what?” He asked, like he was playing a game with a caged animal. His tone was dark and dangerous, and Natalie swallowed the fear that was threatening to rise.

 “Don’t take the lantern. Please, the darkness will drive me mad.” She could no longer gauge the passing of time and days, and the deafening darkness unsettled her to the deepest points of her soul. Sometimes she swore the warm creatures running around her feet were her own imagination leeching out into the darkness, and she couldn’t stand the uncertainty.

 Lucifer watched Natalie for a passive moment, searching for any insincerities hidden in her open features. She was completely at his mercy, but she could have wept when he removed the candle from the lantern and jammed it into a metal fixing in the wall.

 She might be alone, but at least she had a break from the darkness.

  The next morning a small candle and a few matches were delivered with Natalie’s breakfast. She burned the tapered wax until nothing remained.

 Her following meal consisted of bread, and another candle.

  Natalie was already anticipating Lucifer’s arrival from the sound of footsteps, but it was Michael who opened the door to the brig and stood before Natalie. His gold earrings winked at her in the candlelight, and he unlocked the door smoothly before inviting her out in a broad, sweeping motion. More men followed him in, and she could feel fear creep down her spine like cold water.

 Natalie stepped forward cautiously, scanning the faces of the men Michael brought with him for Lucifer. She couldn’t identify anyone in the darkness, and the search was made useless when Michael snuffed out the candle burning on the small stool in her cell with his fingers. He tutted a reprimand when he carried it out with him, and his fingers dug into the skin of her arm harder than necessary when he shoved her up the stairs.

 The aggressive rays of the sun felt like needles when Natalie squinted in the light of day. It had been far too long since her skin had known the sun, and she looked pale and sickly under its careful regard. Her vivid green eyes were hazy when she looked around, and the implications of her break from the brig were frightening.

 Had her father learned of her kidnapping? Had he refused to pay the ransom? Were they leading her up to kill her after all?

 The bloody scenarios blurred together in her mind and she felt a shudder of panic wash over her from being uninformed. Being left in the dark, in all manners of the expression, was wearing on Natalie, and for once since she set foot on the damned ship, she wanted to know what was happening.

 A nameless man wrapped splintering ropes around Natalie’s wrists and she winced at the pain before gathering her strength to shout, “What? What do you bloody want from me?”

 A wry smile curved over Michael’s lips and he strolled towards her, but his attention was drawn to a door being thrown open. The old wooden door groaned under the motion, and Lucifer stormed out, anger playing clearly on his face. A long black coat was thrown over his usual loose white shirt, and he stalked aggressively over to Michael.

 Lucifer’s eyebrows were knit together violently as he stabbed a finger into his brother’s chest, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Michael?”

 The captain stepped back from his brother and dusted his hand over his chest, mindful of the gold chains handing there, as if he was brushing away the memory of Lucifer’s touch. The footfalls of his boots seemed deafening when he stalked back towards Natalie to stand behind her and shove at her shoulders so hard that she fell to her knees.

 “Why, Lucifer, I’m merely showing our princess the view,” Michael explained, smiling like the dashing rogue he pretended to be.

 Natalie’s shoulders curved in as she tried to make her tiny frame even smaller, and Lucifer could see the redness that had already started to form around her wrists. Something red hot bloomed in Lucifer’s lungs when Michael knelt and grabbed Natalie’s face, forcing her to look at him.

 “Bet you’ve never seen anything as breathtaking, have you, princess?” Michael leered, watching Natalie grow more uncomfortable.

 Her words were venom when she spoke, “I’ve never seen anything uglier in my life.”

 She could have offended Michael less by spitting on his shined boots, and his bruising grip on her face tightened enough to reopen an old cut on her cheek, “You insolent little –“

 “Enough!” Lucifer shouted over the swell of the sea and Michael’s rage, “She’s my prisoner, and I’ll see to how she’s treated.”

 Michael stood at the outburst, roughly dragging Natalie to her feet as well, “Are you forgetting who the captain is, little brother?” His tone was condescending, and Lucifer’s lip curled at the insult.

 “You wear that title like you earned it.” Lucifer said, shoving Michael aside and standing between his brother and Natalie, “I haven’t forgotten who drove the blade through our father’s heart, and neither has the crew.”

 Lucifer’s hands were far gentler than Michael’s when he escorted Natalie back below decks, and when he locked the door to her cell, she didn’t miss his sigh of resignation.

 “Thank you,” Natalie finally said after the silence had stretched on far too long.

 Lucifer sighed and leaned his back against the bars, not looking at Natalie, “You don’t owe me your thanks, princess.”

 He left the lantern in place when he turned to leave, and he almost missed her soft, “I know,” amidst the squeaking floorboards of the stairs.

 A broad man named Ipos informed Natalie that the ship had made port, and Lucifer had gone ashore to spend his night with brandy and women he wouldn’t remember the faces of. Her solemn nod was met with a relaxed laugh, and the man handed her a deck of cards.

 “Nothing worse than an empty ship, and I doubt you’d like to be alone either.” The simple statement was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes, and Natalie nodded rapidly, not trusting her voice to speak. “Well then,” the man continued, “Shuffle those while I search for another candle or four, too bloody dark down here to tell my aces from spit.”

 They passed cards between bars for what felt like hours, and for the first time Natalie had something to think about other than her mortality when she sat in her familiar cage.

 Lucifer leaned his pounding head against the cool bars of the brig and groaned, leaving Natalie with a large grin on her face.

 “Heard you got some use out of those land legs,” Lucifer tapped on the bars in response and Natalie continued, “Maybe a little too much.”

 He let out a heavy breath and straightened, “Heard you cheated Ipos into half rations for a week, as he’ll be bringing you his bread every day.”

 “I did not cheat!” Natalie practically shouted, bringing her face close to Lucifer’s, “I won fair and square. And I wouldn’t have to ask for it if you didn’t have me going hungry every day.”

 “Prison isn’t pleasant, princess.” Lucifer almost sang, his face level with Natalie’s and she let out a huff at his words.

 “You’ve used that line before.”

 He brushed a finger along the outside of her petulantly folded arms, “And I see you’ve definitely taken it to heart.”

 She hummed in response before returning to her stool in the corner, “Any time you want to send Ipos by, he would be most welcome. He was much nicer than you.”

 Lucifer pushed away from the bars harshly and sent a withering glare Natalie’s way, then stomped up the steps mumbling something she didn’t catch. She frowned at the spot he had practically ran from, and wished he hadn’t left so soon.

Lucifer handed the dried meat to Natalie through the bars of the cell discreetly, and the pinched look of concentration written in his brow compelled her to silence. The gesture was not unwelcome, and Natalie feared he would take it back if she spoke.

 The kindness almost made her rethink her planned course of action for the evening.

 Almost.

 He didn’t waste his time on questions for which she had no answers, he just leaned his shoulder against the dirty cell that had caged Natalie for too many days to count, and watched her.  To Natalie’s credit, she did not shrink under the inspection. Instead, she watched the candlelight play shy on his face, lighting up his features and casting dark shadows on the sharp angles of his jaw. His eyes reflected gold in the darkness, and they read intensity in the color.

 The corner of Natalie’s lips turned up, and Lucifer stood abruptly, almost upending the lantern next to him in his haste. A sharp gasp of surprise was stolen from Natalie’s throat at the motion, and he paused long enough for her to reach for him through the bars.

 “Don’t go,” she begged, grabbing a handful of the loose linen shirt that Lucifer wore, like it was her only lifeline to the world.

 He froze in response, his lips parting as if to speak, but he still said nothing. Instead, he settled his hand over Natalie’s, and she could have groaned at the mere warmth of him compared to the cold that had settled in her bones from the chilled cell. The contact alone could have buckled her knees, and after knowing nothing but hardness and the bite of loneliness for too long, she ached to lean into the touch.

 So she did, for just a moment, Natalie let herself enjoy the quiet relief of another person. She carefully schooled away the relief after a breath, and hoped her eyes were wild and convincing enough to warrant pulling him closer. Their chests brushed through the bars and Natalie squeezed his hand while her other hand reached towards his pocket to take the key she knew would be there.

 His eyes were fixed on hers when she felt the cold metal of the key against her fingertips, and with it tucked against the palm of her hand, she slid a finger up Lucifer’s firm chest. It was as if he was carved from breathing stone, but when Natalie took her bottom lip between her teeth he came back to life.

 Lucifer practically threw himself away from the bars, curling his fingers into fists at his sides with a sharp exhale. “I-I’m going, princess.”

 Lucifer paced the floor of his cabin that night, cursing Natalie until his fingers stopped tingling.

 The key slide soundlessly into the lock, and Natalie twisted it gratefully until the latch released. She stumbled when the door swung open, her cheek still pressed up against the bars in her efforts to reach the padlock. The whine of the door opening had Natalie tensing and staring up at the darkness, waiting for Michael to come punish her, his smile as sharp as a sword.

 She waited for several heartbeats, and when no one came, she crept out of the cell, following the familiar path she had seen Lucifer take countless times. The door to the deck was heavy when she swung it open, and her muscles strained in protest after their period of disuse.

 The sweet nighttime air filled her lungs before she even saw the sky, but it was enough to bring hot tears to her eyes. Natalie blinked them away quickly so she could look up to the navy sky, countless stars blinking down at her, sworn to secrecy. The deck was cold under her bare feet, but she had grown accustomed to the sway of the ship below her, and she made her way to the edge carefully.

 The sea was violent below her, spraying heavy gusts of salt water up at her face, but Natalie welcomed it so wholly that she had to clasp a hand over her mouth to keep her giggles from spilling out into the night air.

 She hadn’t really considered what she would do when she had escaped, the darkness of the night obscured the horizon, but she doubted they were close to land. The air around her was colder than the humid brig, and the ocean spray was enough to make her shiver, so jumping overboard and swimming seemed out of the question.

 Keeping her eyes on the canting waves seemed like her only option for the moment, and she almost wished for a siren to pop out of the water and sing her sage advice about escape. The tides offered no such luck, and Natalie sighed, resting her elbows on the edge and leaning against the side. Exhaustion crept up her spine like a shudder, and the sudden press of warm hands against her shoulders startled Natalie so violently that she feared she might tumble overboard.

 After the initial shock, Natalie opened her mouth to protest, but she spun and looked into the wild eyes of Lucifer, who quickly pressed his fingers to her lips to silence her.

 His voice was rough when he lowly said, “Watchman’s asleep in the crow’s nest, best be glad you didn’t wake him.”

 After a beat, he dropped his hand from Natalie’s face, but kept the other wrapped around her waist. She told herself she would have shoved him away if not for the cold. Somehow he emitted heat, even in the cold night air with a loose shirt that exposed the languid line of his neck to his chest.

 “I feel like I can breathe for the first time,” Natalie admitted, not caring that she was leaning into Lucifer once again. The night and adrenaline had collapsed on her, and his thick arm around her waist kept her grounded.

 Lucifer sighed, a long sound in the empty air, “Whenever you want to come up during the night, tell me, princess. I’ll take you.”

 “I’m dying to see the sun, Lucifer.” The honesty of her admission made Lucifer’s throat tight and he frowned. Of course she did, a vibrant girl like Natalie couldn’t be kept in cage. The poor girl would wither away into nothing.

 “I know, but if Michael sees you…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought, but Natalie understood the dangers in the mere implication, and all the protests turned to unshed tears she would bury later.

 For now, Natalie’s focus was on the sky, drinking in the constellations like she might never see them again, “I forgot how beautiful it is.” The sight of the sky unfolding in stars like a treasure map made Natalie ache with homesickness, and she felt so small beneath its reach that she feared the vastness would swallow her whole, and there would be none left to mourn her.

 A shudder tore through Natalie’s slight frame, and Lucifer wrapped his arm tighter around her. His voice was quiet when he asked, “Are you afraid of me?”

 Natalie turned towards the sea, watching the waves crest quietly, and after a long moment she sighed, “No.”

“How did you get that scar?” Natalie asked, trailing her fingertips along a raised patch on Lucifer’s forearm.

 “Tell you what, princess,” Lucifer said, dragging the chair over to the front of Natalie’s cell, “I’ll tell you a story, and in exchange you answer a question for me.” He sat down heavily in the chair, leaning back in a show of casualty. His knees were close enough to the iron bars that the fabric of his breeches brushed along them when he bobbed his knees.

 She sat across from him, iron bars and eternity separating them, and nodded.

 “This scar,” Lucifer began, leaning forward on the opposite elbow so he could display the mark clearly, “this is from my early days of swordsmanship. Michael and I would spend hours above decks, performing drill after drill, as ordered by dear old Dad.” The momentary humor in Lucifer’s face faded into something darker, something sadder. Natalie absently stroked her thumb over the white scar while he spoke, soothing a wound Lucifer forgot was still hurting.

 “He would punish Michael when I bested him, telling him that he was the older son and should be able to land killing blows on me with ease. I got in one too many hits one day, and Dad dug his fingers into a cut on Michael’s shoulder and called him weak, so the next time Dad called the start, I let my form go sloppy. I let Michael dig the iron sword into my arm deep enough to make me fall to my knees, and Dad smiled.” He ended the story with a dry laugh that spoke volumes of heartbreak, and Natalie’s face was pinched with concern at the dismissal.

 “I’m so sorry, I didn’t –“ Natalie apologized, regret pooling at her feet for being bold enough to ask. Lucifer’s warm hand momentarily covered Natalie’s on his scar, and he met her gaze, resolution melting Natalie’s guilt.

 “Now,” Lucifer sighed, reclining once again in the groaning wooden chair, “how heavily are the store rooms underneath the castle guarded?”

[readbookywooks]

PART I "THE SPARK"

1. I clasp the flask between my hands even though the warmth from the tea has long since leached into the frozen air. My muscles are clenched tight against the cold. If a pack of wild dogs were to appear at this moment, the odds of scaling a tree before they attacked are not in my favor. I should get up, move around, and work the stiffness from my limbs. But instead I sit, as motionless as the rock beneath me, while the dawn begins to lighten the woods. I can't fight the sun. I can only watch helplessly as it drags me into a day that I've been dreading for months. By noon they will all be at my new house in the Victor's Village. The reporters, the camera crews, even Effie Trinket, my old escort, will have made their way to District 12 from the Capitol. I wonder if Effie will still be wearing that silly pink wig, or if she'll be sporting some other unnatural color especially for the Victory Tour. There will be others waiting, too. A staff to cater to my every need on the long train trip. A prep team to beautify me for public appearances. My stylist and friend, Cinna, who designed the gorgeous outfits that first made the audience take notice of me in the Hunger Games. If it were up to me, I would try to forget the Hunger Games entirely. Never speak of them. Pretend they were nothing but a bad dream. But the Victory Tour makes that impossible. Strategically placed almost midway between the annual Games, it is the Capitol's way of keeping the horror fresh and immediate. Not only are we in the districts forced to remember the iron grip of the Capitol's power each year, we are forced to celebrate it. And this year, I am one of the stars of the show. I will have to travel from district to district, to stand before the cheering crowds who secretly loathe me, to look down into the faces of the families whose children I have killed... The sun persists in rising, so I make myself stand. All my joints complain and my left leg has been asleep for so long that it takes several minutes of pacing to bring the feeling back into it. I've been in the woods three hours, but as I've made no real attempt at hunting, I have nothing to show for it. It doesn't matter for my mother and little sister, Prim, anymore. They can afford to buy butcher meat in town, although none of us likes it any better than fresh game. But my best friend, Gale Hawthorne, and his family will be depending on today's haul and I can't let them down. I start the hour-and-a-half trek it will take to cover our snare line. Back when we were in school, we had time in the afternoons to check the line and hunt and gather and still get back to trade in town. But now that Gale has gone to work in the coal mines - and I have nothing to do all day - I've taken over the job. By this time Gale will have clocked in at the mines, taken the stomach-churning elevator ride into the depths of the earth, and be pounding away at a coal seam. I know what it's like down there. Every year in school, as part of our training, my class had to tour the mines. When I was little, it was just unpleasant. The claustrophobic tunnels, foul air, suffocating darkness on all sides. But after my father and several other miners were killed in an explosion, I could barely force myself onto the elevator. The annual trip became an enormous source of anxiety. Twice I made myself so sick in anticipation of it that my mother kept me home because she thought I had contracted the flu. I think of Gale, who is only really alive in the woods, with its fresh air and sunlight and clean, flowing water. I don't know how he stands it. Well ... yes, I do. He stands it because it's the way to feed his mother and two younger brothers and sister. And here I am with buckets of money, far more than enough to feed both our families now, and he won't take a single coin. It's even hard for him to let me bring in meat, although he'd surely have kept my mother and Prim supplied if I'd been killed in the Games. I tell him he's doing me a favor, that it drives me nuts to sit around all day. Even so, I never drop off the game while he's at home. Which is easy since he works twelve hours a day. The only time I really get to see Gale now is on Sundays, when we meet up in the woods to hunt together. It's still the best day of the week, but it's not like it used to be before, when we could tell each other anything. The Games have spoiled even that. I keep hoping that as time passes we'll regain the ease between us, but part of me knows it's futile. There's no going back. I get a good haul from the traps - eight rabbits, two squirrels, and a beaver that swam into a wire contraption Gale designed himself. He's something of a whiz with snares, rigging them to bent saplings so they pull the kill out of the reach of predators, balancing logs on delicate stick triggers, weaving inescapable baskets to capture fish. As I go along, carefully resetting each snare, I know I can never quite replicate his eye for balance, his instinct for where the prey will cross the path. It's more than experience. It's a natural gift. Like the way I can shoot at an animal in almost complete darkness and still take it down with one arrow. By the time I make it back to the fence that surrounds District 12, the sun is well up. As always, I listen a moment, but there's no telltale hum of electrical current running through the chain link. There hardly ever is, even though the thing is supposed to be charged full-time. I wriggle through the opening at the bottom of the fence and come up in the Meadow, just a stone's throw from my home. My old home. We still get to keep it since officially it's the designated dwelling of my mother and sister. If I should drop dead right now, they would have to return to it. But at present, they're both happily installed in the new house in the Victor's Village, and I'm the only one who uses the squat little place where I was raised. To me, it's my real home. I go there now to switch my clothes. Exchange my father's old leather jacket for a fine wool coat that always seems too tight in the shoulders. Leave my soft, worn hunting boots for a pair of expensive machine-made shoes that my mother thinks are more appropriate for someone of my status. I've already stowed my bow and arrows in a hollow log in the woods. Although time is ticking away, I allow myself a few minutes to sit in the kitchen. It has an abandoned quality with no fire on the hearth, no cloth on the table. I mourn my old life here. We barely scraped by, but I knew where I fit in, I knew what my place was in the tightly interwoven fabric that was our life. I wish I could go back to it because, in retrospect, it seems so secure compared with now, when I am so rich and so famous and so hated by the authorities in the Capitol. A wailing at the back door demands my attention. I open it to find Buttercup, Prim's scruffy old tomcat. He dislikes the new house almost as much as I do and always leaves it when my sister's at school. We've never been particularly fond of each other, but now we have this new bond. I let him in, feed him a chunk of beaver fat, and even rub him between the ears for a bit. "You're hideous, you know that, right?" I ask him. Buttercup nudges my hand for more petting, but we have to go. "Come on, you." I scoop him up with one hand, grab my game bag with the other, and haul them both out onto the street. The cat springs free and disappears under a bush. The shoes pinch my toes as I crunch along the cinder street. Cutting down alleys and through backyards gets me to Gale's house in minutes. His mother, Hazelle, sees me through the window, where she's bent over the kitchen sink. She dries her hands on her apron and disappears to meet me at the door. I like Hazelle. Respect her. The explosion that killed my father took out her husband as well, leaving her with three boys and a baby due any day. Less than a week after she gave birth, she was out hunting the streets for work. The mines weren't an option, what with a baby to look after, but she managed to get laundry from some of the merchants in town. At fourteen, Gale, the eldest of the kids, became the main supporter of the family. He was already signed up for tesserae, which entitled them to a meager supply of grain and oil in exchange for his entering his name extra times in the drawing to become a tribute. On top of that, even back then, he was a skilled trapper. But it wasn't enough to keep a family of five without Hazelle working her fingers to the bone on that washboard. In winter her hands got so red and cracked, they bled at the slightest provocation. Still would if it wasn't for a salve my mother concocted. But they are determined, Hazelle and Gale, that the other boys, twelve-year-old Rory and ten-year-old Vick, and the baby, four-year-old Posy, will never have to sign up for tesserae. Hazelle smiles when she sees the game. She takes the beaver by the tail, feeling its weight. "He's going to make a nice stew." Unlike Gale, she has no problem with our hunting arrangement. "Good pelt, too," I answer. It's comforting here with Hazelle. Weighing the merits of the game, just as we always have. She pours me a mug of herb tea, which I wrap my chilled fingers around gratefully. "You know, when I get back from the tour, I was thinking I might take Rory out with me sometimes. After school. Teach him to shoot." Hazelle nods. "That'd be good. Gale means to, but he's only got his Sundays, and I think he likes saving those for you." I can't stop the redness that floods my cheeks. It's stupid, of course. Hardly anybody knows me better than Hazelle. Knows the bond I share with Gale. I'm sure plenty of people assumed that we'd eventually get married even if I never gave it any thought. But that was before the Games. Before my fellow tribute, Peeta Mellark, announced he was madly in love with me. Our romance became a key strategy for our survival in the arena. Only it wasn't just a strategy for Peeta. I'm not sure what it was for me. But I know now it was nothing but painful for Gale. My chest tightens as I think about how, on the Victory Tour, Peeta and I will have to present ourselves as lovers again. I gulp my tea even though it's too hot and push back from the table. "I better get going. Make myself presentable for the cameras." Hazelle hugs me. "Enjoy the food." "Absolutely," I say. My next stop is the Hob, where I've traditionally done the bulk of my trading. Years ago it was a warehouse to store coal, but when it fell into disuse, it became a meeting place for illegal trades and then blossomed into a full-time black market. If it attracts a somewhat criminal element, then I belong here, I guess. Hunting in the woods surrounding District 12 violates at least a dozen laws and is punishable by death. Although they never mention it, I owe the people who frequent the Hob. Gale told me that Greasy Sae, the old woman who serves up soup, started a collection to sponsor Peeta and me during the Games. It was supposed to be just a Hob thing, but a lot of other people heard about it and chipped in. I don't know exactly how much it was, and the price of any gift in the arena was exorbitant. But for all I know, it made the difference between my life and death. It's still odd to drag open the front door with an empty game bag, with nothing to trade, and instead feel the heavy pocket of coins against my hip. I try to hit as many stalls as possible, spreading out my purchases of coffee, buns, eggs, yarn, and oil. As an afterthought, I buy three bottles of white liquor from a one-armed woman named Ripper, a victim of a mine accident who was smart enough to find a way to stay alive. The liquor isn't for my family. It's for Haymitch, who acted as mentor for Peeta and me in the Games. He's surly, violent, and drunk most of the time. But he did his job - more than his job - because for the first time in history, two tributes were allowed to win. So no matter who Haymitch is, I owe him, too. And that's for always. I'm getting the white liquor because a few weeks ago he ran out and there was none for sale and he had a withdrawal, shaking and screaming at terrifying things only he could see. He scared Prim to death and, frankly, it wasn't much fun for me to see him like that, either. Ever since then I've been sort of stockpiling the stuff just in case there's a shortage again. Cray, our Head Peacekeeper, frowns when he sees me with the bottles. He's an older man with a few strands of silver hair combed sideways above his bright red face. "That stuff's too strong for you, girl." He should know. Next to Haymitch, Cray drinks more than anyone I've ever met. "Aw, my mother uses it in medicines," I say indifferently. "Well, it'd kill just about anything," he says, and slaps down a coin for a bottle. When I reach Greasy Sae's stall, I boost myself up to sit on the counter and order some soup, which looks to be some kind of gourd and bean mixture. A Peacekeeper named Darius comes up and buys a bowl while I'm eating. As law enforcers go, he's one of my favorites. Never really throwing his weight around, usually good for a joke. He's probably in his twenties, but he doesn't seem much older than I do. Something about his smile, his red hair that sticks out every which way, gives him a boyish quality. "Aren't you supposed to be on a train?" he asks me. "They're collecting me at noon," I answer. "Shouldn't you look better?" he asks in a loud whisper. I can't help smiling at his teasing, in spite of my mood. "Maybe a ribbon in your hair or something?" He flicks my braid with his hand and I brush him away. "Don't worry. By the time they get through with me I'll be unrecognizable," I say. "Good," he says. "Let's show a little district pride for a change, Miss Everdeen. Hm?" He shakes his head at Greasy Sae in mock disapproval and walks off to join his friends. "I'll want that bowl back," Greasy Sae calls after him, but since she's laughing, she doesn't sound particularly stern. "Gale going to see you off?" she asks me. "No, he wasn't on the list," I say. "I saw him Sunday, though." "Think he'd have made the list. Him being your cousin and all," she says wryly. It's just one more part of the lie the Capitol has concocted. When Peeta and I made it into the final eight in the Hunger Games, they sent reporters to do personal stories about us. When they asked about my friends, everyone directed them to Gale. But it wouldn't do, what with the romance I was playing out in the arena, to have my best friend be Gale. He was too handsome, too male, and not the least bit willing to smile and play nice for the cameras. We do resemble each other, though, quite a bit. We have that Seam look. Dark straight hair, olive skin, gray eyes. So some genius made him my cousin. I didn't know about it until we were already home, on the platform at the train station, and my mother said, "Your cousins can hardly wait to see you!" Then I turned and saw Gale and Hazelle and all the kids waiting for me, so what could I do but go along? Greasy Sae knows we're not related, but even some of the people who have known us for years seem to have forgotten. "I just can't wait for the whole thing to be over," I whisper. "I know," says Greasy Sae. "But you've got to go through it to get to the end of it. Better not be late." A light snow starts to fall as I make my way to the Victor's Village. It's about a half-mile walk from the square in the center of town, but it seems like another world entirely. It's a separate community built around a beautiful green, dotted with flowering bushes. There are twelve houses, each large enough to hold ten of the one I was raised in. Nine stand empty, as they always have. The three in use belong to Haymitch, Peeta, and me. The houses inhabited by my family and Peeta give off a warm glow of life. Lit windows, smoke from the chimneys, bunches of brightly colored corn affixed to the front doors as decoration for the upcoming Harvest Festival. However, Haymitch's house, despite the care taken by the grounds-keeper, exudes an air of abandonment and neglect. I brace myself at his front door, knowing it will be foul, then push inside. My nose immediately wrinkles in disgust. Haymitch refuses to let anyone in to clean and does a poor job himself. Over the years the odors of liquor and vomit, boiled cabbage and burned meat, unwashed clothes and mouse droppings have intermingled into a stench that brings tears to my eyes. I wade through a litter of discarded wrappings, broken glass, and bones to where I know I will find Haymitch. He sits at the kitchen table, his arms sprawled across the wood, his face in a puddle of liquor, snoring his head off. I nudge his shoulder. "Get up!" I say loudly, because I've learned there's no subtle way to wake him. His snoring stops for a moment, questioningly, and then resumes. I push him harder. "Get up, Haymitch. It's tour day!" I force the window up, inhaling deep breaths of the clean air outside. My feet shift through the garbage on the floor, and I unearth a tin coffeepot and fill it at the sink. The stove isn't completely out and I manage to coax the few live coals into a flame. I pour some ground coffee into the pot, enough to make sure the resulting brew will be good and strong, and set it on the stove to boil. Haymitch is still dead to the world. Since nothing else has worked, I fill a basin with icy cold water, dump it on his head, and spring out of the way. A guttural animal sound comes from his throat. He jumps up, kicking his chair ten feet behind him and wielding a knife. I forgot he always sleeps with one clutched in his hand. I should have pried it from his fingers, but I've had a lot on my mind. Spewing profanity, he slashes the air a few moments before coming to his senses. He wipes his face on his shirtsleeve and turns to the windowsill where I perch, just in case I need to make a quick exit. "What are you doing?" he sputters. "You told me to wake you an hour before the cameras come," I say. "What?" he says. "Your idea," I insist. He seems to remember. "Why am I all wet?" "I couldn't shake you awake," I say. "Look, if you wanted to be babied, you should have asked Peeta." "Asked me what?" Just the sound of his voice twists my stomach into a knot of unpleasant emotions like guilt, sadness, and fear. And longing. I might as well admit there's some of that, too. Only it has too much competition to ever win out. I watch as Peeta crosses to the table, the sunlight from the window picking up the glint of fresh snow in his blond hair. He looks strong and healthy, so different from the sick, starving boy I knew in the arena, and you can barely even notice his limp now. He sets a loaf of fresh-baked bread on the table and holds out his hand to Haymitch. "Asked you to wake me without giving me pneumonia," says Haymitch, passing over his knife. He pulls off his filthy shirt, revealing an equally soiled undershirt, and rubs himself down with the dry part. Peeta smiles and douses Haymitch's knife in white liquor from a bottle on the floor. He wipes the blade clean on his shirttail and slices the bread. Peeta keeps all of us in fresh baked goods. I hunt. He bakes. Haymitch drinks. We have our own ways to stay busy, to keep thoughts of our time as contestants in the Hunger Games at bay. It's not until he's handed Haymitch the heel that he even looks at me for the first time. "Would you like a piece?" "No, I ate at the Hob," I say. "But thank you." My voice doesn't sound like my own, it's so formal. Just as it's been every time I've spoken to Peeta since the cameras finished filming our happy homecoming and we returned to our real lives. "You're welcome," he says back stiffly. Haymitch tosses his shirt somewhere into the mess. "Brrr. You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime." He's right, of course. The audience will be expecting the pair of lovebirds who won the Hunger Games. Not two people who can barely look each other in the eye. But all I say is, "Take a bath, Haymitch." Then I swing out the window, drop to the ground, and head across the green to my house. The snow has begun to stick and I leave a trail of footprints behind me. At the front door, I pause to knock the wet stuff from my shoes before I go in. My mother's been working day and night to make everything perfect for the cameras, so it's no time to be tracking up her shiny floors. I've barely stepped inside when she's there, holding my arm as if to stop me. "Don't worry, I'm taking them off here," I say, leaving my shoes on the mat. My mother gives an odd, breathy laugh and removes the game bag loaded with supplies from my shoulder. "It's just snow. Did you have a nice walk?" "Walk?" She knows I've been in the woods half the night. Then I see the man standing behind her in the kitchen doorway. One look at his tailored suit and surgically perfected features and I know he's from the Capitol. Something is wrong. "It was more like skating. It's really getting slippery out there." "Someone's here to see you," says my mother. Her face is too pale and I can hear the anxiety she's trying to hide. "I thought they weren't due until noon." I pretend not to notice her state. "Did Cinna come early to help me get ready?" "No, Katniss, it's - " my mother begins. "This way, please, Miss Everdeen," says the man. He gestures down the hallway. It's weird to be ushered around your own home, but I know better than to comment on it. As I go, I give my mother a reassuring smile over my shoulder. "Probably more instructions for the tour." They've been sending me all kinds of stuff about my itinerary and what protocol will be observed in each district. But as I walk toward the door of the study, a door I have never even seen closed until this moment, I can feel my mind begin to race. Who is here? What do they want? Why is my mother so pale? "Go right in," says the Capitol man, who has followed me down the hallway. I twist the polished brass knob and step inside. My nose registers the conflicting scents of roses and blood. A small, white-haired man who seems vaguely familiar is reading a book. He holds up a finger as if to say, "Give me a moment." Then he turns and my heart skips a beat. I'm staring into the snakelike eyes of President Snow.