I think of the layers of protective armor in my Mockingjay outfit. But the pain came from somewhere. «Broken ribs?»
«Not even. Bruised pretty good. The impact ruptured your spleen. They couldn’t repair it.» She gives a dismissive wave of her hand. «Don’t worry, you don’t need one. And if you did, they’d find you one, wouldn’t they? It’s everybody’s job to keep you alive.»
«Is that why you hate me?» I ask.
«Partly,» she admits. «Jealousy is certainly involved. I also think you’re a little hard to swallow. With your tacky romantic drama and your defender-of-the-helpless act. Only it isn’t an act, which makes you more unbearable. Please feel free to take this personally.»
«You should have been the Mockingjay. No one would’ve had to feed you lines,» I say.
«True. But no one likes me,» she tells me.
«They trusted you, though. To get me out,» I remind her. «And they’re afraid of you.»
«Here, maybe. In the Capitol, you’re the one they’re scared of now.» Gale appears in the doorway, and Johanna neatly unhooks herself and reattaches me to the morphling drip. «Your cousin’s not afraid of me,» she says confidentially. She scoots off my bed and crosses to the door, nudging Gale’s leg with her hip as she passes him. «Are you, gorgeous?» We can hear her laughter as she disappears down the hall.
I raise my eyebrows at him as he takes my hand. «Terrified,» he mouths. I laugh, but it turns into a wince.
«Easy.» He strokes my face as the pain ebbs. «You’ve got to stop running straight into trouble.»
«I know. But someone blew up a mountain,» I answer.
Instead of pulling back, he leans in closer, searching my face. «You think I’m heartless.»
«I know you’re not. But I won’t tell you it’s okay,» I say.
Now he draws back, almost impatiently. «Katniss, what difference is there, really, between crushing our enemy in a mine or blowing them out of the sky with one of Beetee’s arrows? The result is the same.»
«I don’t know. We were under attack in Eight, for one thing. The hospital was under attack,» I say.
«Yes, and those hoverplanes came from District Two,» he says. «So, by taking them out, we prevented further attacks.»
«But that kind of thinking…you could turn it into an argument for killing anyone at any time. You could justify sending kids into the Hunger Games to prevent the districts from getting out of line,» I say.
«I don’t buy that,» he tells me.
«I do,» I reply. «It must be those trips to the arena.»
«Fine. We know how to disagree,» he says. «We always have. Maybe it’s good. Between you and me, we’ve got District Two now.»
«Really?» For a moment a feeling of triumph flares up inside me. Then I think about the people on the square. «Was there fighting after I was shot?»
«Not much. The workers from the Nut turned on the Capitol soldiers. The rebels just sat by and watched,» he says. «Actually, the whole country just sat by and watched.»
«Well, that’s what they do best,» I say.
You’d think that losing a major organ would entitle you to lie around a few weeks, but for some reason, my doctors want me up and moving almost immediately. Even with the morphling, the internal pain’s severe the first few days, but then it slacks off considerably. The soreness from the bruised ribs, however, promises to hang on for a while. I begin to resent Johanna dipping into my morphling supply, but I still let her take whatever she likes.
Rumors of my death have been running rampant, so they send in the team to film me in my hospital bed. I show off my stitches and impressive bruising and congratulate the districts on their successful battle for unity. Then I warn the Capitol to expect us soon.
As part of my rehabilitation, I take short walks aboveground each day. One afternoon, Plutarch joins me and gives me an update on our current situation. Now that District 2 has allied with us, the rebels are taking a breather from the war to regroup. Fortifying supply lines, seeing to the wounded, reorganizing their troops. The Capitol, like 13 during the Dark Days, finds itself completely cut off from outside help as it holds the threat of nuclear attack over its enemies. Unlike 13, the Capitol is not in a position to reinvent itself and become self- sufficient.
«Oh, the city might be able to scrape along for a while,» says Plutarch. «Certainly, there are emergency supplies stockpiled. But the significant difference between Thirteen and the Capitol are the expectations of the populace. Thirteen was used to hardship, whereas in the Capitol, all they’ve known is Panem et Circenses.»
«What’s that?» I recognizePanem , of course, but the rest is nonsense.
«It’s a saying from thousands of years ago, written in a language called Latin about a place called Rome,» he explains. «Panem et Circensestranslates into ‘Bread and Circuses.’ The writer was saying that in return for full bellies and entertainment, his people had given up their political responsibilities and therefore their power.»
I think about the Capitol. The excess of food. And the ultimate entertainment. The Hunger Games. «So that’s what the districts are for. To provide the bread and circuses.»
«Yes. And as long as that kept rolling in, the Capitol could control its little empire. Right now, it can provide neither, at least at the standard the people are accustomed to,» says Plutarch. «We have the food and I’m about to orchestrate an entertainment propo that’s sure to be popular. After all, everybody loves a wedding.»
I freeze in my tracks, sick at the idea of what he’s suggesting. Somehow staging some perverse wedding between Peeta and me. I haven’t been able to face that one-way glass since I’ve been back and, at my own request, only get updates about Peeta’s condition from Haymitch. He speaks very little about it. Different techniques are being tried. There will never truly be a way to cure him. And now they want me to marry Peeta for a propo?
Plutarch rushes to reassure me. «Oh, no, Katniss. Not your wedding. Finnick and Annie’s. All you need to do is show up and pretend to be happy for them.»
«That’s one of the few things I won’t have to pretend, Plutarch,» I tell him.
The next few days bring a flurry of activity as the event is planned. The differences between the Capitol and 13 are thrown into sharp relief by the event. When Coin says «wedding,» she means two people signing a piece of paper and being assigned a new compartment. Plutarch means hundreds of people dressed in finery at a three- day celebration. It’s amusing to watch them haggle over the details. Plutarch has to fight for every guest, every musical note. After Coin vetoes a dinner, entertainment, and alcohol, Plutarch yells, «What’s the point of the propo if no one’s having any fun!»
It’s hard to put a Gamemaker on a budget. But even a quiet celebration causes a stir in 13, where they seem to have no holidays at all. When it’s announced that children are wanted to sing District 4’s wedding song, practically every kid shows up. There’s no shortage of volunteers to help make decorations. In the dining hall, people chat excitedly about the event.
Maybe it’s more than the festivities. Maybe it’s that we are all so starved for something good to happen that we want to be part of it. It would explain why—when Plutarch has a fit over what the bride will wear—I volunteer to take Annie back to my house in 12, where Cinna left a variety of evening clothes in a big storage closet downstairs. All of the wedding gowns he designed for me went back to the Capitol, but there are some dresses I wore on the Victory Tour. I’m a little leery about being with Annie since all I really know about her is that Finnick loves her and everybody thinks she’s mad. On the hovercraft ride, I decide she’s less mad than unstable. She laughs at odd places in the conversation or drops out of it distractedly. Those green eyes fixate on a point with such intensity that you find yourself trying to make out what she sees in the empty air. Sometimes, for no reason, she presses both her hands over her ears as if to block out a painful sound. All right, she’s strange, but if Finnick loves her, that’s good enough for me.
I got permission for my prep team to come along, so I’m relieved of having to make any fashion decisions. When I open the closet, we all fall silent because Cinna’s presence is so strong in the flow of the fabrics. Then Octavia drops to her knees, rubs the hem of a skirt against her cheek, and bursts into tears. «It’s been so long,» she gasps, «since I’ve seen anything pretty.»
Despite reservations on Coin’s side that it’s too extravagant, and on Plutarch’s side that it’s too drab, the wedding is a smash hit. The three hundred lucky guests culled from 13 and the many refugees wear their everyday clothes, the decorations are made from autumn foliage, the music is provided by a choir of children
