Counting them up on my fingers. One, two—Mitchell and Boggs lost on the block. Three—Messalla melted by the pod. Four, five—Leeg 1 and Jackson sacrificing themselves at the Meat Grinder. Six, seven, eight—Castor, Homes, and Finnick being decapitated by the rose-scented lizard mutts. Eight dead in twenty-four hours. I know it happened, and yet it doesn’t seem real. Surely, Castor is asleep under that pile of furs, Finnick will come bounding down the steps in a minute, Boggs will tell me his plan for our escape.
To believe them dead is to accept I killed them. Okay, maybe not Mitchell and Boggs—they died on an actual assignment. But the others lost their lives defending me on a mission I fabricated. My plot to assassinate Snow seems so stupid now. So stupid as I sit shivering here in this cellar, tallying up our losses, fingering the tassels on the silver knee-high boots I stole from the woman’s home. Oh, yeah—I forgot about that. I killed her, too. I’m taking out unarmed citizens now.
I think it’s time I give myself up.
When everyone finally awakens, I confess. How I lied about the mission, how I jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge. There’s a long silence after I finish. Then Gale says, «Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow.»
«You knew, maybe. The soldiers from Thirteen didn’t,» I reply.
«Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?» Cressida asks. «Of course she didn’t. But she trusted Boggs, and he’d clearly wanted you to go on.»
«I never even told Boggs what I planned to do,» I say.
«You told everyone in Command!» Gale says. «It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay. ‘I kill Snow.’»
Those seem like two disconnected things. Negotiating with Coin for the privilege of executing Snow after the war and this unauthorized flight through the Capitol. «But not like this,» I say. «It’s been a complete disaster.»
«I think it would be considered a highly successful mission,» says Gale. «We’ve infiltrated the enemy camp, showing that the Capitol’s defenses can be breached. We’ve managed to get footage of ourselves all over the Capitol’s news. We’ve thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us.»
«Trust me, Plutarch’s thrilled,» Cressida adds.
«That’s because Plutarch doesn’t care who dies,» I say. «Not as long as his Games are a success.»
Cressida and Gale go round and round trying to convince me. Pollux nods at their words to back them up. Only Peeta doesn’t offer an opinion.
«What do you think, Peeta?» I finally ask him.
«I think…you still have no idea. The effect you can have.» He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a sitting position. «None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow.»
I don’t know why his voice reaches me when no one else’s can. But if he’s right, and I think he is, I owe the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it out on the floor with new resolve. «Where are we, Cressida?»
Tigris’s shop sits about five blocks from the City Circle and Snow’s mansion. We’re in easy walking distance through a zone in which the pods are deactivated for the residents’ safety. We have disguises that, perhaps with some embellishments from Tigris’s furry stock, could get us safely there. But then what? The mansion’s sure to be heavily guarded, under round-the-clock camera surveillance, and laced with pods that could become live at the flick of a switch.
«What we need is to get him out in the open,» Gale says to me. «Then one of us could pick him off.»
«Does he ever appear in public anymore?» asks Peeta.
«I don’t think so,» says Cressida. «At least in all the recent speeches I’ve seen, he’s been in the mansion. Even before the rebels got here. I imagine he became more vigilant after Finnick aired his crimes.»
That’s right. It’s not just the Tigrises of the Capitol who hate Snow now, but a web of people who know what he did to their friends and families. It would have to be something bordering on miraculous to lure him out. Something like…
«I bet he’d come out for me,» I say. «If I were captured. He’d want that as public as possible. He’d want my execution on his front steps.» I let this sink in. «Then Gale could shoot him from the audience.»
«No.» Peeta shakes his head. «There are too many alternative endings to that plan. Snow might decide to keep you and torture information out of you. Or have you executed publicly without being present. Or kill you inside the mansion and display your body out front.»
«Gale?» I say.
«It seems like an extreme solution to jump to immediately,» he says. «Maybe if all else fails. Let’s keep thinking.»
In the quiet that follows, we hear Tigris’s soft footfall overhead. It must be closing time. She’s locking up, fastening the shutters maybe. A few minutes later, the panel at the top of the stairs slides open.
«Come up,» says a gravelly voice. «I have some food for you.» It’s the first time she’s talked since we arrived. Whether it’s natural or from years of practice, I don’t know, but there’s something in her manner of speaking that suggests a cat’s purr.
As we climb the stairs, Cressida asks, «Did you contact Plutarch, Tigris?»
«No way to.» Tigris shrugs. «He’ll figure out you’re in a safe house. Don’t worry.»
Worry? I feel immensely relieved by the news that I won’t be given—and have to ignore—direct orders from 13. Or make up some viable defense for the decisions I’ve made over the last couple of days.
In the shop, the counter holds some stale hunks of bread, a wedge of moldy cheese, and half a bottle of mustard. It reminds me that not everyone in the Capitol has full stomachs these days. I feel obliged to tell Tigris about our remaining food supplies, but she waves my objections away. «I eat next to nothing,» she says. «And then, only raw meat.» This seems a little too in character, but I don’t question it. I just scrape the mold off the cheese and divide up the food among the rest of us.
While we eat, we watch the latest Capitol news coverage. The government has the rebel survivors narrowed down to the five of us. Huge bounties are offered for information leading to our capture. They emphasize how dangerous we are. Show us exchanging gunfire with the Peacekeepers, although not the mutts ripping off their heads. Do a tragic tribute to the woman lying where we left her, with my arrow still in her heart. Someone has redone her makeup for the cameras.
The rebels let the Capitol broadcast run on uninterrupted. «Have the rebels made a statement today?» I ask Tigris. She shakes her head. «I doubt Coin knows what to do with me now that I’m still alive.»
Tigris gives a throaty cackle. «No one knows what to do with you, girlie.» Then she makes me take a pair of the fur leggings even though I can’t pay her for them. It’s the kind of gift you have to accept. And anyway, it’s cold in that cellar.
Downstairs after supper, we continue to rack our brains for a plan. Nothing good comes up, but we do agree that we can no longer go out as a group of five and that we should try to infiltrate the president’s mansion before I turn myself into bait. I consent to that second point to avoid further argument. If I do decide to give myself up, it won’t require anyone else’s permission or participation.
We change bandages, handcuff Peeta back to his support, and settle down to sleep. A few hours later, I slip back into consciousness and become aware of a quiet conversation. Peeta and Gale. I can’t stop myself from eavesdropping.
«Thanks for the water,» Peeta says.
«No problem,» Gale replies. «I wake up ten times a night anyway.»
«To make sure Katniss is still here?» asks Peeta.
«Something like that,» Gale admits.
There’s a long pause before Peeta speaks again. «That was funny, what Tigris said. About no one knowing what to do with her.»
«Well,we never have,» Gale says.
They both laugh. It’s so strange to hear them talking like this. Almost like friends. Which they’re not. Never have been. Although they’re not exactly enemies.
«She loves you, you know,» says Peeta. «She as good as told me after they whipped you.»
«Don’t believe it,» Gale answers. «The way she kissed you in the Quarter Quell…well, she never kissed me
