A Circus of Eagles [An HG Fanfic]

Models - Columbia

Columbia

Titan stirs against me.

Night watch. It's not as bad as I thought. It's almost peaceful, with the dark hiding the graves and the fog hiding the rest of the arena and Titan and I up here, on the top of the Cornucopia so that we can see anybody who encroaches on the circle of pedestals. I don't even find the glowing numbers that chilling anymore. It's strange without Caitlin snuffling in her sleep, Thalia's gentle snoring, Syl counting, but I could get used to it. I could almost pretend I'm posing, that there's cameras on us, that all we're doing is our jobs. It makes it easier, I guess.

And I'm only sitting so close because the arena is cold and Titan isn't. That's all.

His arm is around me to keep my shoulders warm, because if your shoulders are warm your body is tricked into thinking the rest of you is too. The instructor told us that. If there's water, and it's cold, keep your shoulders under. That's the only reason I'm allowing it. The only reason.

And the rest?

Well. Riff. There's only ever been Riff. One pair of arms, one smile, one kiss. I can't say it's boring, but. There's nothing like impending death for making you want to live, except I'm not going to die. I'm Columbia Germanis and I, like Mother told me, will do whatever it takes.

And if that means winding Titan Iliant around my little finger to stop him taking a knife to my throat, that's what I've got to do.

That's all. That's it. For every action, an excuse. No, a reason. For every kiss and every touch, an explanation. I can forget that I wasn't thinking. If I say it aloud enough, perhaps Mother will forgive me; she has a forgiving heart. Perhaps Father, who made the same mistake, with forgive me too. Perhaps Riffton...except I know that he never truly will. No explanation will ever be good enough. You can feel sick with guilt; I never knew that before. Except I've got nothing to feel guilty for.

Except I have.

The moon is nearly at its highest point, a faint silver coin hidden behind a bank of cloud. I nudge Titan, to get him to wake up. His eyes open blearily. Blue and green and gold, the colours subdued by the darkness. They are eyes that know how to lie, but in these few seconds after waking, when he isn't sure where he is, they are perfectly clear of all guile and vanity, and when he remembers I see the fear in them too. I might be the only person to see it.

"It won't be long before the pictures," I tell him.

"Syl," he says. There's the smallest of frowns across his forehead, a flicker of sadness.

"And the other two."

"Just the two? I didn't miss any?"

That's not really what he's asking. "Caitlin and Thalia must still be alive," I say, and I don't know if the idea makes me happy or sad. Too much nice, that's the problem. There was too much nice, too much talk. Caitlin had grown on me. Thalia too. If it's my life or theirs I won't hesitate, but at the same time, I don't want them to die. But this is the Games, and that's what people do.

Still. I imagine Caitlin, her teasing, her facial expressions all just too much, her way of assessing you with one quick glance. I imagine Thalia wearing a second-hand smile, always a touch uncertain, always a little bit shy. Caitlin desperate, scrabbling at the Avox's arms, her dazed face as I threw her the bow, the way she didn't look back. Thalia stumbling over her own feet as she ran. And my heart feels heavy in a way it never did during the rebellion.

Titan tucks a strand of escaping hair back behind my ear, making me shiver. "Someone else will deal with them," he promises. That's how our world worked. Someone else dealt with things. We just posed and smiled and answered questions.