Jeopardy: The Fourth Quarter Quell

Feast - Claymore

Claymore

We're ready. I have an arrow notched up, bow held waiting. There's between fifteen minutes and an hour left until the feast begins, but it's almost certain that one or two will try to turn up early and get a head start.

Not on us they won't.

Portia is still pacing. She doesn't want to be here - she's done her best to make me aware of that -  and it's bothering her. Her face is very deliberately expressionless, though occasional a twinge of pain darts across it. Or that could just be the light. I've given up on asking if she's okay. She'll only snap at me.

I keep having to remind myself that it's not my fault she's hurt. I'd suggested hunting the girl down, stealthy and quiet, but she'd given me her best glare, said that wasn't fair on her and stormed off to deal with it herself. It was her, not me, who didn't realise that the girl had an axe and wasn't afraid to swing it.

Well, she won't be swinging it anymore. She was a minor impediment, and now she is dead. And I - we - are only seven tributes away from winning this. And then I'll be right once and for all.

The seconds tick past. The red light from the beam casts a glow over everything so that it's actually easier to see anything moving in the shadows, not like there's anything to see anyway. Just trees, no tributes. The ground is badly chewed up, presumably the result of the earlier rumbling, and something about the roughness reminds me of some of the terrain back home. It's not worth much thought. It's almost boring.

Except…

A figure weaves from out of the trees, mace twirling in the air. She’s got rid of the hat and she looks a lot thinner, or maybe that’s just the effect of the red light, but it’s still obviously Lux. There’s no sign of Diamond. Behind me, Portia hisses and drops into a crouch.

The feast starts now.

I bring the bow up, ready to shoot if she sees us, holding my breath in so that my aim is perfect. But even though she looks straight at us, it's only for a moment and then her head has swivelled the other way. Then she's sneaking on, out of range. For a second I'm confused, but then it becomes obvious; she's heading for the Corncopia.

Portia's hand is tight on my shoulder before I even begin to stand up.

"No."

I turn to look at her. She's staring straight ahead, the red light covering up the fact that she's probably gone very pale, her jaw clenched and her eyes narrow. Concentrating. Thinking. Admirable in certain situations, as we were always being told, but sometimes you've got to use your instincts, and mine say to go after Luxury. A kill like that would send sponsors wild and get rid of the main opposition. None of these others could even get a touch on me. Portia won't like this reasoning, though.

"She's in the most strategic place," I counter.

From the Cornucopia comes a dull clanging sound, followed by a short female scream. We pause for a second, but there's no cannon. Luxury is still alive. Nobody else emerges from the horn.

"No," Portia repeats, "She'd be able to see us coming and prepare."

"I could -"

"No. Not on my life." This is accompanied by one of the glares that I'm becoming all too familiar with now. They're starting to lose their impact, and I ignore it. Her hand is almost painfully tight on my shoulder.

That's settled, then. I can take on Lux, easy as anything, but I'd rather have Portia there just to make things even easier still. Though it stings, I have to back down.