Sparks Fly

Chapter 23

Cinna's there to embrace me the moment we return. Neither him nor Portia seem surprised by the news, though they both look troubled when we tell them. Lunch makes me feel a bit better. Pheasant with a selection of jewel-colored jellies, and tiny versions of real vegetables swimming in butter, and potatoes mashed with parsley. Peeta goes with Portia, but not before he kisses me on my cheek, brushing his fingertips over my abdomen as he leaves. Haymitch disappears too, mumbling something about all the drinks in the world not being enough to get him through this year's Games.

"So, what are we wearing for the opening ceremonies?" I finally ask, trying to keep the subject off of my situation. "Headlamps or fire?" I know the chariot ride will require Peeta and me to be dressed in something coal related.

"Something along that line," he says.

When it's time to get in costume for the opening ceremonies, my prep team shows up but Cinna sends them away, saying they've done such a spectacular job in the morning, there's nothing left to do. They go off to recover, thankfully leaving me in Cinna's hands. Good. After the afternoon I've had, I don't think I can stand anything that might set off my emotions, and having to deal with three sobbing adults will do me no good. Cinna puts up my hair first, in the braided style my mother introduced him to, then proceeds with my makeup. I'm a little blotchy from the tears, but he covers it up flawlessly. He obscures my face with dramatic highlights and dark shadows. High arching eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, smoldering eyes, deep purple lips. The costume looks deceptively simple at first, just a fitted black jumpsuit that covers me from the neck down. He places a half crown like the one I received as victor on my head, but it's made of a heavy black metal, not gold. Then he adjusts the light in the room to mimic twilight and presses a button just inside the fabric on my wrist. I look down, fascinated, as my ensemble slowly comes to life, first with a soft golden light but gradually transforming to the orange-red of burning coal. I look as if I have been coated in glowing embers — no, that I am a glowing ember straight from our fireplace. The colors rise and fall, shift and blend, in exactly the way the coals do.

"How did you do this?" I say in wonder.

"Portia and I spent a lot of hours watching fires," says Cinna. "Now look at yourself."

He turns me toward a mirror so that I can take in the entire effect. I do not see a girl, or even a woman, but some unearthly being who looks like she might make her home in the volcano that destroyed so many in Haymitch's Quell. The black crown, which now appears red-hot, casts strange shadows on my dramatically made-up face. Katniss, the girl on fire, has left behind her flickering flames and bejeweled gowns and soft candlelight frocks. She is as deadly as fire itself, and ready to unleash her vengeance upon all who challenge her.

"I think... this is just what I needed to face the others," I say.

"Yes, I think your days of pink lipstick and ribbons are behind you. You're certainly not the same girl you were last year, and we're done with pretending you are," says Cinna. He touches the button on my wrist again, extinguishing my light. "Let's not run down your power pack. When you're on the chariot this time, no waving, no smiling. I just want you to look straight ahead, as if the entire audience is beneath your notice."

"Finally something I'll be good at," I say.

Cinna smiles, but it's somewhat half-hearted. He pauses for a moment. "You know I'm here for you if you need to talk. About anything."

I feel a pang in my chest, but I shove it down. Because if I let myself break down now, I know I won't be able to pull myself together, and I need to be composed for the the opening ceremonies. If not for my own sake, then for Peeta's. "Thank you," I say.

Cinna has a few more things to attend to, so I decide to head down to the ground floor of the Remake Center, which houses the huge gathering place for the tributes and their chariots before the opening ceremonies. I'm hoping to find Peeta and Haymitch, but they haven't arrived yet. Unlike last year, when all the tributes were practically glued to their chariots, the scene is very social. The victors, both this year's tributes and their mentors, are standing around in small groups, talking. Of course, they all know one another and I don't know anyone. And although I don't want to – and probably shouldn't – be left alone with my thoughts right now, I'm not really the sort of person to go around introducing myself, so I just stroke the neck of one of my horses and try not to be noticed. It doesn't work.