LEGENDS ▹ the hunger games au

xiv

THE TRUTH

DAYS IN THE ARENA :
I

CORIOLANUS SNOW'S OFFER WAS NOT ONE KATNISS COULD REFUSE.

Her footsteps echoed as she stepped further into the president's chambers. As always, Katniss treated him as if he were a real snake, the most venomous kind. She moved carefully, her eyes locked on him, considering plans of escape.

But where was there to run? Nowhere.

Her nose registered the conflicting scents of roses and blood, only growing stronger now that just the plush rug separated them. There were roses in both of their lapels, and she noticed the president clutched a white handkerchief spotted with fresh blood.

Coriolanus Snow was not at all how he was depicted on the television screens; he was hunched over and frail, trembling with every choked breath. But even in his old deteriorated state, his snake eyes shone bright and cold.

When he first came to her home in Twelve, it had been jarring to see Snow surrounded by the comforts of a home rather than marble pillars and oversized flags. It was not jarring now. Katniss knew that none of the other mentors had such private audiences with the president. No one else seemed to understand that these things only meant one thing: she was in serious trouble.

And when she was, so was her family.

Peeta had wanted to come, but there was no point. Katniss knew that Snow would want no one but her. It had always been that way, and that wouldn't change even now that he had their children at the end of his noose.

There were numerous times throughout the past twenty—six years when she had been summoned to meetings with President Snow. These were their check—ins to ensure that the lie was still strong, the children were still performing, the districts were still believing.

But never had she been called to the Presidential Mansion before.

Here, now, while her children fought for their lives, Katniss had been brought into his home, the way he had slithered into her own these last years, hissing threats with his bloody, rosy breath.

Katniss carefully moved to the edge of the stiff plush couches, unsure what any of this meant. She was aware she looked haggard, unbrushed hair frizzy and untamed. Her finely pressed clothes hung and wrinkled while she sat uneasily in the chair. Her palms rested on the soft cushion and her fingers spread out, like she was preparing to bolt at any moment.

President Snow cleared his throat, lifting a frail hand over his shoulder, "Mrs. Katniss Mellark, you've heard of my granddaughter, Valeria..."

Katniss looked at her. A pale face with perfect features, though her pupils were so enlarged that her eyes seemed like black holes staring back. She did not have overly full lips as did her grandfather, but rather the lips of a snake, which was to say none. Thin, pink skin stretched too tight. Unappealing. Hiding viper fangs. Katniss looked away.

His voice was choked, as if thick with blood, "Like many girls in their youth, she used to be a mad fan of yours."

"But then I grew up," Valeria's lips tightened.

This time, Katniss did not look at her.

She was not interested in playing any more of Snow's games than she had to. She'd been summoned here and she would obey because refusal would only hurt her children more.