Sometime around the third day of training, Katniss and Peeta started going around looking for more sponsors after hearing "I'm going to die in this arena" from their lovely daughter. Ashter was tired from training, Haymitch had decided to drink. So Azalea Mellark was left to have dinner alone with Ryan.
"Your parents think you should be our main tribute," Ryan called at one point as they ate pork with plums.
"I can try to save Ashter. As you say," Zea smiled. "Hey, you've been here all day, haven't you? By any chance..."
"First, don't think that if Haymitch doesn't do anything, we're all following suit. Second, no, your boyfriend didn't call." Ryan raised his dark eyes to her. "By the way, do you think it's wise to talk to him? He's a gamemaker now. They could accuse us of some kind of fraud or... I don't know, something like that."
Azalea frowned. "No, I don't think—"
"Then think. Look. I agree that our main tribute can't be a 13-year-old kid. So our chances are with you, Mellark. Your parents love you too much to they say some things. Well, here's the truth. Everyone in that arena will go after you first." Ryan studied her face as she wondered what to say to him. "I know we went after the Stafford boy. They're going after you - the kids of the winners - because you have the most sponsors. If they killed you, they'd probably take your sponsors."
Azalea sighed. "I have a plan." I don't need you, that's how it should have sounded. Because Ryan had won his Games by treachery. And if he could fool the Careers, he could fool her.
Azalea knew she should trust him - he was her mentor. But Finnick didn't trust him. Johanna didn't trust him. Her parents didn't discuss the matter often, but they didn't trust Ryan. Beetee didn't trust him - and he was the smartest person Azalea knew. And since they didn't trust Ryan... Azalea was pretty sure she shouldn't trust him either.
She studied Ryan's face. "You... won your Games by cheating, didn't you?"
He smiled at her. "Considering something like that? Not enough time has passed to use it. Why don't you try Johanna Mason's strategy?" Ryan leaned over the table. Azalea leaned back in her chair. "Thought about it, huh, little one? But you're smart. Something your parents prefer to ignore. I can get you an alliance with District 2."
"I don't think you heard me," Azalea tried to put on the coolest smile possible. "I have a plan. I also have a mentor. You focus on your other tribute."
***
Azalea was sitting in her room looking through some old magazines when the door opened. She sighed without looking up from the stupid article she was reading. "Thanks, but I don't need anything, Jill."
"I have no idea who Jill is..." Azalea jumped off the bed into Aeneas' arms before he could even finish his sentence. He winced slightly before grabbing her so hard he must have cracked one or two of her ribs. "Hello mischief," he whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry I didn't show up yesterday," Aeneas stroked her head.
"Are you okay?" her voice trembled and she hated herself even more.
Neas was the only one Azalea could cry in front of. Behind closed doors, in a windowless room, of course. The only person he could say anything to; who listened and understood; who hadn't forced her to do anything.
Aeneas pushed her away from him slightly - just enough so he could see her face, just enough so she could see his. "Me? Am I okay? Zea, seriously?! Are you okay?" He ran a hand through her hair. "Aph and Es said you were pretty quiet the other day. Are you okay?"
As good as a drowned man was. As good as a dying cat was. No no. Actually, she was fine. Because she was Azalea Mellark, a hunter as well as a performer.
Of course it was good. That was her game. All her life she had been waiting for something - not impatiently, but something. Death, she thought often. But then she would see her parents in the early mornings, she would see Esme - sitting, shivering at her desk. And Azalea knew there were worse things than death. This existence they led, haunted by the memories of the arena.
Zea made a face. "Okay, okay, okay," she smiled. The next moment the smile disappeared. "Shit, what are you doing here?!"
The smile disappeared from Aeneas' face. "Wow, I can feel the love." Neas stared at a curl that fell down her shoulder. "I may have bribed the lady at the front desk to let me in and delete the camera footage for tonight, but... hey, I'm here!"
Azalea laughed. Her eyes filled with tears and before she could even hold back, Azalea started to cry. She covered her face with her hands.
Aeneas' cold hands grabbed her wrists, trying to pull them away from her face. "Zea," Neas whispered. "Hey, my lady... Look at me please."
My lady... that was nice. It was nice to be called that - like she was important, like she was powerful. As if Azalea Mellark wasn't just some whore in the eyes of all of Panem. As if she wasn't just some lucky student studying at the Capitol who knew Neas simply because her mother would start a rebellion otherwise.
"Why are you crying?" Neas's thumb caressed her cheek, wiping the tears away as his eyes scanned her now pale face.
"Because I will die in this arena," Azalea's shoulders shook even more violently. She bit her lower lip and looked up at the lamps and their burning light. "I'm going to die and no one will... Neas, I'm going to die!"
Aeneas did not laugh. He just kept stroking her face, just kept staring into her face, into her eyes as she kept crying because her world was ending in this damn arena - she was either going to die or spend the rest of her life as another toy to President Snow...at least while Aeneas was standing in for him.
"Hey, look at me," Neas smiled at her so softly, so tenderly, that Azalea felt even more helpless, even smaller and worthless. She bit her bottom lip before another wave of tears appeared on the horizon. "You will not die. Did you understand me?! You won't die in this fucking arena. Because it depends on me. And because it's up to me, all the other tributes in that fucking arena will die and you will emerge victorious!"
Azalea shook her head. "No...they might...they'll me..."
"They'll die before they ever get to you. Azalea, I spent my life as your best friend and I won't let anyone take you away from me."
Azalea blinked against his face. "Neas?"
"Yes?"
"I... I... can I kiss you before I die?" she bit her lower lip. "I know... I know it's stupid, but I've never kissed anyone, and I don't want to die like this. Please, if you don't want to, then I'll go and ask Adrian or one of the younger winners, but – please – don't..."
Aeneas put his hand over her mouth to stop all the gurgling. "I will kiss you. But I'm not going to kiss you in this hotel room while you're desperate and thinking about death," he gave her a small smile. "I'll kiss you when you leave the arena. I'll kiss you under the moonlight, in the meadow in District 12, while thousands of fireflies fly around us and you feel like the fucking night sky has come down to earth. Because it's the perfect first kiss. And you will get it.''
***
For the next few days, Azalea was unable to train. Not in the right sense of the word. Yes, he knew plants. Yes, there was a fire. Yes, she did absolutely everything that was required of her, but she didn't put an iota of thought into her actions.
She was thinking about the perfect kiss.
And how to ask her mother how it feels. Or maybe whether to ask her mother anything at all. After that weird speech she'd given her the night of the family dinner, Azalea talked more with her father, who was running around looking for sponsors, for whom sex wasn't the most important thing.
"Are you okay?" Asther asked her as they waited for their one-on-one sessions with the gamemakers. "You're distracted."
Azalea smiled at the boy. "Just a little."
Ashter frowned slightly. "Then focus. In the arena, distraction is the difference between life and death, and I think..." he looked around and lowered his voice, even though it was only him and the two District 11 tributes left, who had chosen to huddle together in a corner of the waiting room, focused on a in another. "I think you will win."
Azalea laughed. "Maybe you'll win," she nudged him lightly. "After all, I've been very distracted lately."
"Azalea...I..." Ashter licked his lips. "We all know what will happen in this arena, especially you. You are smart. Do you really think there's anyone out there who would believe that the mentors—who watched you grow—wouldn't drop everything just to get you out of the arena?''
She shook her head. "This is another thing. Ashter, there are at least five children under the age of 14 in the arena. District 2 is trained for this, but... you're children. You don't deserve this." She looked at the tributes from District 11. "You know that every year Seeder writes letters to their families? She apologizes for not being able to save their children. But what could she do?"
"So do your parents," Azalea turned to Ashter. "My sister was at the Games with Ryan. Your mother came to us to apologize. Mom... well, now you've lost us both."
"Do you... Ashter, do you want to win?"
She wasn't even thinking when she said that simple sentence. She wasn't even thinking when she offered to trade her life for his. And she really preferred not to think. Because if she allowed herself to think, it would have crossed her mind what would have happened to Ashter just a few years after winning those stupid Games; her mother, who would probably lose her brothers too in another year at the Games, would appear in her mind; her grandfather would appear in her mind, who would not bear this; Aeneas would appear in her mind, along with Aphrodite and Esme—broken by her absence.
However... Azalea was willing to die so he could get out of the arena. Ashter was a much better man than she was.
Only then his eyes found hers. "You... you're offering me to die so I can go back to District 12?" She nodded. "No thanks." Azalea opened her mouth but he stopped her. "Don't try to argue, please. You... Azalea, you see the way the Capitol views you as an asset. And it is like that. But not in the Games. You can change things. For the better. Forever." Ashter smiled and looked at the girl from District 11. The boy had already been invited inside.
"And... you... aren't you afraid you're going to die?"
"Maybe a little," Ashter shrugged. "However, my sister told me one thing. Before he left. When she's scared, she takes a deep breath and lists in her head the names of everyone who loves her. Because that way she's not alone against the terrible."
Azalea smiled and stroked his head. "You brave little boy."
"Come on, Azalea. I'm only two years younger than you," he nudged her lightly with his hand. "Can you promise me something?" they were now alone. "When you get home, go to the Meadow. My sister's grave is there. Leave the locket I wear as a talisman under the big tree over there—under the willow... And then... just change the world, okay?"
***
Azalea entered the gamemakers last as the female tribute from District 12. She saw familiar faces – she saw Aeneas and a few more of the men whose children attended the same school as her – she saw strangers. Only Aeneas' eyes were on her.
"Miss Mellark," the head gamemaker called. "Come to us if you want."
Azalea's feet sank into the floor. "Sir?" Her heart was pounding. She? Should she go to them? Had she heard right? Her eyes met Aeneas's, but he too had frowned.
"Is this a good idea, Plutarch?" asked one of the other – familiar – gamemakers. "The girl is a tribute."
"The girl grew up in the Capitol," emphasized the head gamemaker. "You study at the Academy, don't you Miss Mellark?" Azalea nodded. "Then come to us, we don't bite. In fact, at least in my humble opinion, we are very good people." He gave her a warm smile.
"Sir, this is my one-on-one session," Azalea said slowly, savoring every sound as if it were one of those cakes Effie bought from the nearby bakery on bad Fridays. "Shouldn't..."
"You should, Miss Mellark. But you are an original case. You are neither from any District nor from the Capitol. You are the best of both worlds," He smiled at her. "Please come to us." Azalea nodded. Shit, maybe it was a good idea to talk to her mom. Plutarch nodded as well. "See the door? Through it, up the stairs."
Azalea followed his directions and in less than a minute she was in full view of the gamemakers. She smiled at them and took Aeneas' accepted hand to join him on the small black couch in the center of the room. She sat up, resting her knee on her best friend's. "Um... excuse me, but... shouldn't I... show you my skills?"
Plutarch laughed. "Miss Mellark, we know perfectly well how you shoot, how you run, how you swim, how you jump, how you deal with snares, how you recognize plants." We know - from your grades in the Academy - that you can do each of these things flawlessly. So we all think - I'm sure - that your session would be a waste of time, right?" he looked around at the gamemakers around him.
Most of them nodded almost immediately. The others hesitated for a second or two, but nodded. "Are you hungry?" asked a female gamemaker. Azalea shook her head. "Oh, well then. Well... you're here anyway, why don't we talk about something fun?"
Something fun. Azalea looked at Aeneas. After only a stupid second of wonder, she smiled. "I heard we're going back to school early this year," she scanned the faces of her classmates' parents. "For the... races."
"Oh, they're doing competitions this year too!" snorted one of the older gamemakers. "Every year the same. They call you at least a month in advance, make you run, shoot, as if you are tributes! Someone needs to talk to the Academy."
I'm a tribute, she wanted to tell them, but just nodded. "I completely agree, sir. This is exactly what Aeneas and I discussed last week on the phone." Azalea dropped her hands in her lap.
"Which team are you on, Miss Mellark?" asked another of the gamemakers, the father of a girl in Aeneas' class. She... Azalea thought the girl's name was Aurelia. "I heard from my wife that you're in the competition, but I can't remember which team."
"The Blue Snakes," Azalea scanned the faces of the gamemakers around her just to see the nods of approval. "I am mostly involved in shooting and athletics, but sometimes I play tennis."
"Ah, like our President Snow!" remarked Plutarch. "How nice. And you, Aeneas? Are you following in your grandfather's footsteps in the Serpents?" everyone in the room turned their attention to Neas, Azalea gave him a slight – barely perceptible – nudge with her foot.
"Of course," Neas shrugged. "That's why the team has won in recent years, my friends. Because me and Azalea are in it." He leaned back, his hand resting on the back of the couch, just behind Zea.
"You're just about ready to be Panem's first couple!" the female gamemaker from a moment ago clapped her hands. "Oh, especially now. Victor and Gamemaker. A girl from District 12 and a boy from the Capitol. Can you imagine the titles?" she looked around the room, which had become unusually quiet. "It would unite our country once and for all."
"But that's not the point, is it?" called Aurelia's father. "We did not start the Dark Days."
"Lysander," Plutarch called edifyingly. "This is not the place."
"Why? Because she's from District 12. My dear," Lysander turned to Azalea, "is that dirty place your home? Is that where your loyalty lies?" He laughed. "When you win, let's face it, you're not going back there. You'll stay a few more years, long enough to get rid of your parents and come live here. Better than starting a riot, anyway."
Azalea licked her lips in the silence that followed. The silence that Plutarch decided to break. "Excuse him Miss Mellark, he is too drunk. Um...why don't we talk about your score?"
Azalea smiled and stood up from the couch. "I suppose, sir, that you might make it up yourself. You have seen my grades after all. Sir," Azalea turned to Lysander. "I'm grateful for any opportunity the Capitol offers me, but I might consider going home. In District 12. There's no room for a baker in the Capitol." And she started for the door. Before turning around. "Thank you for the honor of speaking with you, ladies and gentlemen. It was very... educational."
***
Azalea had her head resting on her mother's lap, who was gently caressing her head. "It's not that bad," Katniss told her softly as Haymitch refilled his glass for the fourth time since Azalea had come home with the story of her meeting with the Gamemakers. Peeta was biting his bottom lip with a fist against his lips, his eyes shining.
"I'm going to die in the arena, you guys know," Azalea buried her face in her mother's lap. "I will die and no one will mourn me!"
"Oh princess, don't! I'll mourn you!" Haymitch sprawled out in one of the armchairs next to Peeta. "Okay, I want to ask something. Katniss, this question applies to you too! Is it a family trait to go in and just pretend to be genius in front of the gamemakers when they decide to help you out? You, sweetheart," he turned to Katniss, "shooting them. They were going to give you a good result, not one to come after you with. And you," Haymitch turned to Azalea, "telling them you're not from the Capitol when they could give you whatever the hell you want!"
"Haymitch," Katniss sighed. "Things are not that simple. They can't give her a 12 or an 11 or... They can't. That way, the kids of District 2 will go—"
"They'll go after her anyway, sweetheart!" Haymitch brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. "She's your daughter."
Someone's daughter. Well done to Azalea Mellark! She finally achieved something on her own in this life. Oh no. Wait. She was the daughter of her parents, the daughter of Katniss and Peeta Mellark.
She sat down on the sofa. "I think they'll give me a 12. After all, they can't admit to raising anything less than perfect." Azalea scanned the faces of her parents, of Haymitch. "So...sponsors?"
"Three. There are also two potentials who said they would only support you if you left Ashter," her father leaned forward. "It's now or never, cookie. The boy will die. You know it."
Hell, everyone knew it. These Games would be uninteresting to absolutely everyone. 90 years had passed since the beginning and the same thing always happened - the children from the poor Districts died almost immediately, together with the children under 14-15 years of age. In most cases, it was someone from Districts 1, 2, or 4.
"No," Azalea shook her head. "We're... counting on it."
Maybe he knew what he was doing. Maybe he didn't know. The only important thing was that now... now something was happening. And a clear result of that thing was her participation in the fucking Hunger Games.
Azalea took a deep breath, opened her mouth and...
"I have too bad news! Bad, bad, bad!" the four heads turned towards the open door of the living room. Effie entered the room in all her pink self, throwing her arms in every possible direction. Her lips pursed as she studied their faces. "I heard you met the head gamemaker," she said the moment her eyes landed on Azalea.
"Yes. Something like that was... my one-on-one session," Azalea looked at Haymitch and his half-empty glass. "Can I?"
"No!" Effie squealed before anyone else could answer. "Azalea Dahlia Mellark, do you know what it means to be able to sit down with the gamemakers and talk to them like you were first friends?!"
"Actually I know, Effie. All the kids in that damn arena are bound to die because I was raised here!" Azalea stood up from the couch and laughed. "Also, of course, it means that I - according to them - will not be able to do anything else with my life but come here and marry some rich man. Because, hey, that's what a girl from a rowdy place like District 12 needs! But you're all forgetting one small detail - I'm not from District 12. Nor am I from the Capitol, as the Head Gamemaker was kind enough to point out!"
Effie blinked at her, "Done with this... outburst or is there more, young lady?"
Zea shook her head. "No no. Just one last thing and I'm done with this outburst, Effie," she took a few steps towards the District 12 escort – a woman who had taken care of her morning and night, day and night, while she studied at the Capitol. "I hate this place from the bottom of my fucking soul. And I'd love to see it all burn." Azalea turned to the other three in the room, whose faces were pale. She bowed theatrically. "Have a nice evening and may the odds always be in your favor!"
As she walked to her room, Azalea heard Haymitch's harsh laugh. "Teenagers," he had addressed Effie, Azalea was sure of that. "There's nothing to be done, get over it."