Adrienne
Things are peaceful at night. It’s strange; if I look at the sky, the rustling of the trees could be the waves back home. It’s not that much colder. The stars aren’t that much different either. I lean back, feeling the cold Cornucopia against my shoulder blades. The point stretches over me, gesturing to the horizon. I can trace the glittering patterns, various sea-beasts – that don’t exist, as I’m always telling Crispin – fish and boats with sails hoisted high, sailing the velvet sky. The moon washes everything in delicate silver.
It must be getting towards morning because vague orange threads are starting to weave through the dark out to my left. Not time to wake the others up yet. I must have been out here for three hours, at least, but I don’t feel in the least bit uncomfortable and from up here it’s almost impossible for anybody to sneak up on me.
Luxury and Diamond aren’t even arguing. That’s probably because they’re asleep. At least, last time I checked they were asleep. I wouldn’t put it past Luxury to stab Diamond in her sleep, and I don’t doubt that she’s got the ability to do it silently.
I shuffle forwards and lean over the rim of the Cornucopia to check that Crispin is still alive and still sleeping. Diamond and Luxury are huddled at opposite sides of the rim, right where they act as alerts; if somebody attacks and attacks them first, the noise will be enough to give the rest of us chance to arm up, and then maybe we’d be able to get some peace during the day. It’s funny, but they both sleep in the exact same position, knees pressed to their chests, heads tilted to the right. I suppress a small chuckle; they’d never admit it but they’re so alike that they could be sisters. I prefer Luxury, though. She had the guts to volunteer. She’s the one who got through the Tournament, the one who wanted it more. Diamond is just an elaborate tag-along. A good one, but still second best.
Both of them have weapons nearby but the blood on them is dry. I breathe out a small sigh of relief before I’d even realised I was holding my breath. A small weight flutters away from my heart.
Still, I check the rest of the upside-down picture in front of me. Huddled behind a selection of cardboard boxes containing the packets of food that we collected earlier, Claymore is asleep with his mouth hanging open, snoring a little. I note that; it might be useful if we ever split. Portia leans on his knees. She’s asleep or looking at the floor, I can’t tell. Either way, she’s clutching an elegant blade in her hand. She’s an odd one. Claymore told us her story, in-between threatening to dismember anybody who so much as attempts to attack her. We didn’t pay too much attention to the threats; Lux and I agree that we could both take Claymore on, if we needed to. The bottom line is that Portia trained to be a Peacekeeper, so I don't want to risk her bad side. No enemy should be underestimated, anyway.
Behind their little fort of boxes, Venus and Chase are dozing, resting back-to-back. Convenient if they’re attacked, though in the shell of the Cornucopia it just serves to show just how short Venus is. Her mouth is moving, talking to herself again even though she’s asleep, the gentle muttering bubbling behind Claymore’s snoring. I can’t tell what she’s saying, but it’s probably just needless babble, like almost everything else she’s said. How did she get through her Reaping Tournament?
That’s a good idea; Four should adopt that. It would stop our name being muddied by weaklings. We’re as much Careers as One and Two, or we should be anyway. I’m not belittling Elton, but there’s so many who would stand more of a chance than him. After this Games, nobody but his family will remember him.
Chase doesn’t look any less thuggish asleep, his squashed face frowning with some unpleasant dream. The pair of them are close, that’s obvious, but unless there’s some deep hidden bond they’re not as close as Crispin and I. Somewhere in Venus’ ramblings I think she’s mentioned at least two siblings, but it’s hard to tell when you don’t really listen. And they probably haven’t trained or worked together. They present themselves well, though Venus tends to twitch at all the wrong moments, and with their blonde looks and sharp eyes they’re not bad looking, especially not in Two. They’re an extra layer of protection, they’re not bad people and I hope that their deaths are painless and that they die together. But I barely even glance at them.
Elton is in a small ball, his face hidden from view. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking, and I can’t guess. I can only think that he was not that close to Wake, or maybe he’s still too stunned. He just stood there and let us hold him back, and though I’ve caught him glaring at Diamond and occasionally still moaning about his hair, he’s not going to do anything. Every time Diamond or Luxury look at him he’s turned pale and he’s barely said a word.
My eyes fix on a small explosion of tawny hair poking out of a sleeping bag and I smile. Crispin, once he’s comfortable, can sleep until he’s prodded. I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s overslept and I’ve had to charge into his room, wade across the mass of clothes on the floor and tug him awake so that we’re not late for training or work. He’s still alive, still okay. And sleeping soundly, of course. For a fleeting second it’s tempting to abandon the watch – nobody is going to attack us, and even if they do it’ll only be the end of Luxury and Diamond, if that – and curl up next to him, with the relaxing warmth of a friend. Even if he’s asleep, he’d at least be there. My friend, companion.
As if I needed any more motivation, it’s right there. Crispin will not die.
My stomach grumbles pleasantly. I don’t feel hungry or thirsty, even if my body says I am. I’m still running on adrenaline, the thrill of finally doing what I’ve dedicated my life to, and I don’t need to eat yet. I’ve tested myself before. Crispin and I tried once last year, just to see how far we could get without eating. I managed a day and a half, not including sleeping. Crispin managed eight hours. But I didn’t expect anything more, and his gentle teasing, stuffing his face while I tried to ignore him as usual, only did me good.
Satisfied that he’s safe, I sit back up, my feet dangling like I used to dangle them off the dock when I watched the men bring the boats in. I wanted to join them, to head far out until I couldn’t see the land anymore, until there was nothing but the endless glittering sea or the inky black of storms, to feel the wind and spray whipping through my hair. I could pull my weight on the boats no matter what they say. If necessary, I could evoke my father’s position. Peacekeepers are respected at home, even ex-Peacekeepers. People say that my father dropped a few rungs to marry my mother but it doesn’t show.
No; I’m getting too rose-tinted. What about the girls who laugh at me for my hair, for the distinctive District Two tint? Though they don’t matter. They’re not laughing now. And it didn’t matter even then because I’m proud of it. I look more Two than either of their tributes this year.
My hand is fiddling with the delicate gold locket that hangs around my neck. The district token that Crispin’s Uncle Caspian warned me about a week or so ago, while I was stroking his boat through the water. His face swims in my mind, a faded memory. Just thin, balding hair, bad teeth and Crispin’s I-know-I’m-right grin. Still, I’m glad he warned me about the gift, even if he didn’t say what it was, because as soon as I saw how obviously expensive it was, I’d flipped.
Crispin had just sat there and smiled his way through it, though he was trying not to look sad and I knew it was because he was worried it might be the last time he’d see me. Ironic, in the end, but of course we didn’t know that.
Looking at the gold in the silver-and-orange now, I’ll admit – reluctantly – that it is beautiful. I’ve never been one for jewelry and this somehow reflects that, just a plain and simple locket only just bigger than my thumbnail. The chain is almost more decorative. I run it through my fingers and the steady repeating links feel like a smaller, more delicate version of the nets back home. Somewhat surprisingly for jewelry, there’s no mermaids or fish or and of the various pixie creatures that Four seems so obsessed with sometimes. There’s no decoration on the front at all. It’s not too outlandishly shiny either, another thing that makes me grit my teeth, and a concept the Capitol women really need to get a grasp on.
I slot an already-grubby fingernail into the catch to flip it open, but my pride catches me first. I already know what it says inside; I just want to see it again. But I don’t want to let the Capitol see it. It’s for me, not for them, and besides, they’d only get the wrong idea, the soppy bunch. They wouldn’t get that it’s just a joke.
I frown up at the sky, trying to work out the time from the stars. Crispin was always better at this; I get too focused on the actual patterns and tracing out new ones. The best I can get is that it’s early morning, but I already knew that. The orange is starting to wash over now. At home the sunrise over the water is bright and brilliant, the sand shimmering from the moment any rays of sunlight touch it, the horizon hovering in anticipation of a new day and the water beaming out orange and purple, the waves rippling into shore.
Here, only the sky is lighting up.
Anyway, it’s early morning. The Capitol won’t be awake, and anything happening is happening elsewhere. The cameras aren’t on me.
The locket pops open, and in the dim light I run my fingertip over the words inside it.
To Ade, the light of my life
A joke, that’s all. It’s Crispin mocking the intense oversentimentality that they kept trying to drag out of us in the interview, and he’s laughing at my dark hair and dark eyes, and teasing the fact that I told him not to get me anything at all because I’m coming home.
That doesn’t mean there’s no sentiment behind it.
The sudden whirlwind urge to shake Crispin awake and hug him takes me by surprise, but I'll let him be. He's a man; he needs his sleep. And besides, there's no room for sentiment here. I want the Capitol to sponsor me because they think I can win, not because they feel sorry for me. I don't want to be known as one half of a pair. I'm not. I'm a person in my own right and I don't need to be defined by somebody else.
There's always one. Every year there's always one, usually a girl, who turns up and simpers about her boyfriend back home and who just makes me wish the Careers will deal with her quickly. Usually they do. It doesn't make you stronger, it just makes you look like a wet blanket, an easy target.
In my head, the memory of Crispin's Uncle Caspian laughs, leaning back at his oars as the water glints off them, as Crispin himself dangles his hand in the water and whispers to him "Now you've done it! She'll be going until we get back to shore."
To Ade, the light of my life.
For the first time, in the sunrise of the first morning in the arena, with Claymore snoring and Venus talking to herself and Crispin curled up asleep below me, I feel like I should have given him a joke back.
Around us all, secluded in our little camp, the trees keep waving. I snap the locket shut and slip it back under my shirt just as Luxury appears in my sight-line, stretching her limbs out in the rising sun.