The Victors | ✓

10

I don't quite feel refreshed when I awaken the following day, but I feel better than I had yesterday. Effie guides me through some deep stretches in the sitting room after breakfast, and they soothe my aching muscles. Neither she nor Haymitch question my mood from the night before, and for that, I am grateful. I'm not sure what I would say if they did.

At ten, I have to be down at the Training Center for the individual sessions. We're all seated on a bench and called in one by one. No one comes back out, so I assume that they're sent out a different way. What they're worried about us sharing with the others, I'm not sure.

Our numbers dwindle until it's just me on the bench in that creepy hallway. (Seriously, I know that they have enough money to turn on more lights; what's the point of having on every third light? To creep me out? Because it works). The door opens, and Mercury pokes his head out. "Cornelia? It's your turn."

I stand and follow him into the Training Center. This time, part of the wall above has been opened to reveal a sitting area, where President Paylor sits. Around her are—

I nearly start swearing.

Rather than having Gamemakers up there (as it used to be), all of the Victors and mentors are on the dais, their eyes fixed on me. There are no encouraging smiles or nods of acknowledgement, not even from Haymitch and Effie. I don't realize I'm looking for him until my eyes land on Angel; he is making it a point to not look at me, and even from this distance, I can see a muscle in his jaw ticking. I look away from him and focus on the President. Unsure of what to do, I give a small bow. Then I turn and head for the swords.

I consider turning off and grabbing a spear or some knives—even a bow would look better than me making a fool out of myself like this—but with my drills still in my head and so many eyes on me, I slide into autopilot. It's the same unfeeling that got me through eight years of silence, and I welcome the familiarity of letting my muscles take over. Before I realize it, I'm sliding some sort of harness over my shoulders and hooking a spear to it. Then I grab the sword from yesterday.

I feint to one side, pretending to lunge that way before moving behind the dummy. I jam my knee into its right kidney and run it through with the sword, and then drop and roll as if being attacked from behind. I come up and thrust up through the jaw of another dummy, nearly separating its head from its neck, and fall back onto my butt as if someone is swinging at my head. I leave the sword and remove the spear, impaling the dummy behind me. I use the momentum from dislodging the spear to spin and stab another, then free my sword and hack at another. I spy a dummy farther away from the rest, and I leave my sword lodged in the stomach of another dummy.

Three steps into a run is all it takes, and I launch my spear at the far dummy. It runs him straight through the chest, and I fall back to pull my sword. I turn to face the dais, finished and ready for my dismissal.

The Victors are whispering amongst themselves, and I wonder what they're saying. One of them whispers something to the President, who nods, her eyes on me. She then looks to Angel and motions with her hand, and my heart sinks. What are they doing?

Angel pushes himself up and moves to the back, disappearing. I shift, waiting for permission to leave, but it doesn't come. Neither Haymitch nor Effie do so much as mouth a hint to me; Effie isn't even looking at me, and Haymitch seems more interested in whatever's in his glass.

Angel strides across the floor to me, his dress shirt replaced by a black t-shirt. There is nothing in his eyes. "They want to see you against a real opponent," he whispers as he passes. It sounds almost like a taunt.

I feel rooted to the spot.

This has to be a joke. It has to be. Not once did they have a tribute fight a Gamemaker or a mentor, back during the Games. Are they serious? Do they want to see me dead before they send me into the arena?