Book 2: The Victors

014

This information tells Isla that despite being one of the first to rebel, District Eleven is still under strict command of the Capitol. At least in production. Likely, they've had an increase in restrictions and additional peacekeepers sent in, just like District Four.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure of having dinner with the President? I thought you'd be far too busy these days." Isla asks, flickering her glance upwards to watch as Snow slowly finishes chewing his food.

He smiles once more, almost entertained by her question. "The citizens of Panem have not heard of the status of your condition, likewise with Johanna. They've seen Peeta, and I recently released a statement letting the people know that Enobaria is alive and well. Living in the Capitol, and impatiently waiting for life to return to normal." He starts, wiping the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin.

"I have not made a public release on you, as you are still hanging in the balance. Depending on your compliance from this day forward, will predict the type of statement I have to make. Your rescue from the arena was not televised. As far as the people know, you burned in the debris of the arena."

Isla takes a shaky breath. Everyone thinks she's dead, or at least fighting to stay alive in a hospital ward. This gives Snow full control over her destiny. The country isn't waiting on her next catalogue shoot, or fawning over her appearance at parties. They wouldn't know any different if he shot her right here, right now.

"Well, I think we'd better announce my survival then, and where I stand in all of this." Isla hates every inch of the man that sits before her, but, she has to appear to be on his side. On the Capitol's side.

The President chuckles, nodding his head. "Yes, I think your image could be very... useful. However, I know you have an animosity against me and the duties of a victor." Isla's heart nearly stops. He still hasn't given up the one thing she refused to do two years ago. What ended in her mother's death.

"Sir-" She shakes her head, but he holds up a finger to silence her.

"Let me finish. I know what you want to answer. But I sincerely advise you take time to think about your decision this time. Your father has been extremely concerned about your well-being, but he left for a hauling trip this morning. It would be a shame." He shakes his head, clearly disappointed at the thought. "Such a waste."

Isla hates her father. He isn't much leverage over anything. "I don't care much for him. You know that. And if I die, and he has to live with that, good."

"Hm." Snow raises his brow at her response. "I suppose you're right." He places his napkin on his plate, sips from his glass, and makes to stand up.

Isla joins him, holding his gaze as he approaches her. She smells the familiar scent of the rose, mingled with the iron of blood. She can't help but find it ironic how someone with so much blood on their hands can somehow manage to also smell like the red liquid.

"His boat won't be returning tomorrow evening. You have until then to decide if your life is worth more than your pride. This is about more than just doing favours. This is about maintaining the balance." He turns and enters the elevator. His lips curl up behind his beard at the sight of her stunned expression. The doors close, and Isla is left with a sinking feeling within the pit of her stomach.

She's already condemned her father to death. There's no taking that back now. He's useless to Snow alive, but the President knows his death might unlock something within her. Her childhood. The love she used to hold for the man that raised her. Still, she can never forgive her father for making her a part of all of this in the first place. She feels for his death, but it only drives her even more.