accompanied by the lone fiddler who made it out of 12 with his instrument. So it’s simple, frugal by the Capitol’s standards. It doesn’t matter because nothing can compete with the beauty of the couple. It isn’t about their borrowed finery—Annie wears a green silk dress I wore in 5, Finnick one of Peeta’s suits that they altered— although the clothes are striking. Who can look past the radiant faces of two people for whom this day was once a virtual impossibility? Dalton, the cattle guy from 10, conducts the ceremony, since it’s similar to the one used in his district. But there are unique touches of District 4. A net woven from long grass that covers the couple during their vows, the touching of each other’s lips with salt water, and the ancient wedding song, which likens marriage to a sea voyage.
No, I don’t have to pretend to be happy for them.
After the kiss that seals the union, the cheers, and a toast with apple cider, the fiddler strikes up a tune that turns every head from 12. We may have been the smallest, poorest district in Panem, but we know how to dance. Nothing has been officially scheduled at this point, but Plutarch, who’s calling the propo from the control room, must have his fingers crossed. Sure enough, Greasy Sae grabs Gale by the hand and pulls him into the center of the floor and faces off with him. People pour in to join them, forming two long lines. And the dancing begins.
I’m standing off to the side, clapping to the rhythm, when a bony hand pinches me above the elbow. Johanna scowls at me. «Are you going to miss the chance to let Snow see you dancing?» She’s right. What could spell victory louder than a happy Mockingjay twirling around to music? I find Prim in the crowd. Since winter evenings gave us a lot of time to practice, we’re actually pretty good partners. I brush off her concerns about my ribs, and we take our places in the line. It hurts, but the satisfaction of having Snow watch me dance with my little sister reduces other feelings to dust.
Dancing transforms us. We teach the steps to the District 13 guests. Insist on a special number for the bride and groom. Join hands and make a giant, spinning circle where people show off their footwork. Nothing silly, joyful, or fun has happened in so long. This could go on all night if not for the last event planned in Plutarch’s propo. One I hadn’t heard about, but then it was meant to be a surprise.
Four people wheel out a huge wedding cake from a side room. Most of the guests back up, making way for this rarity, this dazzling creation with blue-green, white-tipped icing waves swimming with fish and sailboats, seals and sea flowers. But I push my way through the crowd to confirm what I knew at first sight. As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie’s gown were done by Cinna’s hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta’s.
This may seem like a small thing, but it speaks volumes. Haymitch has been keeping a great deal from me. The boy I last saw, screaming his head off, trying to tear free of his restraints, could never have made this. Never have had the focus, kept his hands steady, designed something so perfect for Finnick and Annie. As if anticipating my reaction, Haymitch is at my side.
«Let’s you and me have a talk,» he says.
Out in the hall, away from the cameras, I ask, «What’s happening to him?»
Haymitch shakes his head. «I don’t know. None of us knows. Sometimes he’s almost rational, and then, for no reason, he goes off again. Doing the cake was a kind of therapy. He’s been working on it for days. Watching him…he seemed almost like before.»
«So, he’s got the run of the place?» I ask. The idea makes me nervous on about five different levels.
«Oh, no. He frosted under heavy guard. He’s still under lock and key. But I’ve talked to him,» Haymitch says.
«Face-to-face?» I ask. «And he didn’t go nuts?»
«No. Pretty angry with me, but for all the right reasons. Not telling him about the rebel plot and whatnot.» Haymitch pauses a moment, as if deciding something. «He says he’d like to see you.»
I’m on a frosting sailboat, tossed around by blue-green waves, the deck shifting beneath my feet. My palms press into the wall to steady myself. This wasn’t part of the plan. I wrote Peeta off in 2. Then I was to go to the Capitol, kill Snow, and get taken out myself. The gunshot was only a temporary setback. Never was I supposed to hear the wordsHe says he’d like to see you. But now that I have, there’s no way to refuse.
At midnight, I’m standing outside the door to his cell. Hospital room. We had to wait for Plutarch to finish getting his wedding footage, which, despite the lack of what he calls razzle-dazzle, he’s pleased with. «The best thing about the Capitol basically ignoring Twelve all these years is that you people still have a little spontaneity. The audience eats that up. Like when Peeta announced he was in love with you or you did the trick with the berries. Makes for good television.»
I wish I could meet with Peeta privately. But the audience of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass, clipboards ready, pens poised. When Haymitch gives me the okay in my earpiece, I slowly open the door.
Those blue eyes lock on me instantly. He’s got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn’t fight to free himself, though, only observes me with the wary look of someone who still hasn’t ruled out that he’s in the presence of a mutt. I walk over until I’m standing about a yard from the bed. There’s nothing to do with my hands, so I cross my arms protectively over my ribs before I speak. «Hey.»
«Hey,» he responds. It’s like his voice, almost his voice, except there’s something new in it. An edge of suspicion and reproach.
«Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me,» I say.
«Look at you, for starters.» It’s like he’s waiting for me to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. He stares so long I find myself casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, hoping for some direction from Haymitch, but my earpiece stays silent. «You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?»
I know he’s been through hell and back, and yet somehow the observation rubs me the wrong way. «Well, you’ve looked better.»
Haymitch’s advice to back off gets muffled by Peeta’s laughter. «And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I’ve been through.»
«Yeah. We’ve all been through a lot. And you’re the one who was known for being nice. Not me.» I’m doing everything wrong. I don’t know why I feel so defensive. He’s been tortured! He’s been hijacked! What’s wrong with me? Suddenly, I think I might start screaming at him—I’m not even sure about what—so I decide to get out of there. «Look, I don’t feel so well. Maybe I’ll drop by tomorrow.»
I’ve just reached the door when his voice stops me. «Katniss. I remember about the bread.»
The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games.
«They showed you the tape of me talking about it,» I say.
«No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn’t the Capitol use it against me?» he asks.
«I made it the day you were rescued,» I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. «So what do you remember?»
«You. In the rain,» he says softly. «Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead.»
«That’s it. That’s what happened,» I say. «The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn’t know how.»
«We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then…for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion.» I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. «I must have loved you a lot.»
«You did.» My voice catches and I pretend to cough.
«And did you love me?» he asks.
I keep my eyes on the tiled floor. «Everyone says I did. Everyone says that’s why Snow had you tortured. To break me.»
«That’s not an answer,» he tells me. «I don’t know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers.»
«I was trying to kill all of you,» I say. «You had me treed.»
«Later, there’s a lot of kissing. Didn’t seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?» he asks.
«Sometimes,» I admit. «You know people are watching us now?»
«I know. What about Gale?» he continues.
