"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!" The voice of Claudius Templesmith, the Hunger Games announcer, hammered her ears.
She had less than a minute to get her bearings.
Then the gong would sound and the tributes would be free to move off their metal plates.
But move where?
Livia couldn't think straight.
The image of Cinna, beaten and bloody, consumed her.
Where was he now? What were they doing to him? Torturing him? Killing him? Turning him into an Avox?
Obviously his assault was staged to unhinge her, the same way Darius's presence in her quarters was.
And it had unhinged her.
All she wanted to do was collapse on her metal plate.
But she can hardly do that after what she'd just witnessed.
She had to be strong.
She owed it to Cinna, who risked everything by undermining President Snow and turning her bridal silk into mockingjay plumage.
And she owed it to the rebels who, emboldened by Cinna's example, might be fighting to bring down the Capitol at this moment.
Her refusal to play the Games on the Capitol's terms was to be her last act of rebellion.
So she gritted her teeth and willed herself to be a player.
Where are you?
She can still make no sense of her surroundings.
Where are you?!
She demanded an answer from herself and slowly the world came into focus.
Blue water.
Pink sky.
White-hot sun beating down.
About forty yards away was the Cornucopia, the shining gold metal horn.
At first, it appeared to be sitting on a circular island. But on closer examination, Livia could see the thin strips of land radiating from the circle like the spokes on a wheel.
She thought there were ten to twelve, and they seemed equidistant from one another.
Between the spokes, water.
Water and a pair of tributes.
That was it, then.
There were twelve spokes, each with two tributes balanced on metal plates between them.
The other tribute in her watery wedge was old Woof from District 8.
He was about as far to her right as the land strip on her left.
Beyond the water, wherever you looked, a narrow beach and then dense greenery.
She scanned the circle of tributes, looking for Peeta, but he must have been blocked from her view by the Cornucopia.
She caught a handful of water as it washed in and smelled it.
Then she touched the tip of her wet finger to her tongue.
As she suspected, it was saltwater.
Just like the waves Peeta and she had encountered on their brief tour of the beach in District 4.
But at least it seemed clean.
There were no boats, no ropes, not even a bit of driftwood to cling to.
