The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes: Chapters 11–15

Coriolanus guessed she was just peeved about losing her strapping tribute.

“Let’s consider for a moment that the war is a constant. The conflict may ebb and flow, but it will never really cease. Then what should be our goal?”

Coriolanus felt any attempt to dethrone Dr. Gaul would be futile, but he adopted a sympathetic manner.

Known for his discretion, Pluribus remained one of the few people Coriolanus didn’t need to pretend to be wealthy around. He knew the Snows’ situation but never blabbed about it or made the family feel inferior.

The loving way she handled the guitar, as if it were a sentient being, gave him a hint of a past so unlike his own he had trouble imagining it.

After a jaunty rendition of the anthem played, Lucky welcomed the audience to a brand-new Hunger Games for a brand-new decade, one in which every Capitol citizen could participate by sponsoring the tribute of their choice.

Coral, Festus’s District 4 girl, made a case for her ability to handle a trident, a weapon that was typically available in the arena. She demonstrated with an old broomstick, wielding it in a sinuous fashion that left little doubt of her expertise.

Coriolanus had heard her sing dozens of songs over the past few days, full of everything from the beauty of springtime to the heart-wrenching despair of losing her mama. Lullabies and toe tappers, laments and ditties.

Coriolanus had heard her sing dozens of songs over the past few days, full of everything from the beauty of springtime to the heart-wrenching despair of losing her mama. Lullabies and toe tappers, laments and ditties.

Here in the Capitol, it was a given that Lucy Gray belonged to him, as if she’d had no life before her name was called out at the reaping. Even that sanctimonious Sejanus believed she was something he could trade for.

With her song, Lucy Gray had repudiated all that by featuring a life that had nothing to do with him, and a great deal to do with someone else.

He swallowed his peevishness and accepted the congratulations that were pouring in from all sides.

Silly old man with his ridiculous powdered wig and his decrepit cat.

Her eyes filled with tears and she made a gurgling sound, having been rendered speechless by his magnanimousness.

Tigris’s rebuke shocked him, but less than her alluding to behavior that might be considered a disgrace.

After a pause the doors slid shut with nary a squeak, and they began to ascend.

The next morning, as the remaining mentors straggled in for the Sunday meeting, Coriolanus tried to imagine who they would’ve been had no war occurred.

“Yes, romantic notions, idealistic notions, can be very attractive. Which seems like a good segue into your essays.”

“Yes, romantic notions, idealistic notions, can be very attractive. Which seems like a good segue into your essays.”

And he wished he hadn’t even written the bit about growing the parsley; it just sounded puerile now.

As he walked back to the apartment to prepare for his final meeting with Lucy Gray, he ruminated over the likelihood that she’d be dead by the same time tomorrow.

He felt remarkably close to her, this girl who’d dropped into his life so unexpectedly and with such style. And it wasn’t just about the accolades she’d brought him.

After the soft, sun-warmed evening air, the chill of Heavensbee Hall reminded Coriolanus of the Snow family mausoleum, where his parents had been laid to rest.

Feeling the conversation taking a fatalistic turn, Coriolanus steered it in another direction.

She was still crying, but her sobs had quieted to small, intermittent gasps.

It felt good to have something so personal, a talisman of sorts, and he slid the list in carefully beside it.

He managed to discuss the mentor-tribute program as if he hadn’t been drugged the entire time. Actually, Coriolanus found it a little unsettling how lucid some of his observations were.

“One look tells you ours have had more food, nicer clothing, and better dental care,” said Dean Highbottom. “Assuming anything more, a physical, mental, or especially a moral superiority, would be a mistake. That sort of hubris almost finished us off in the war.”

The Hunger Games had been a big break for Lucky, and he was not above accompanying his District 5 spiel on energy with some gadget that made his hair stand on end.

At the center of the structure, Marcus hung from manacled wrists, so battered and bloody that at first Coriolanus thought they were displaying his corpse.

Coriolanus desperately wished for the gong to sound, to release the tributes into action and distraction, but the opening stasis stretched on.

Lamina surveyed Marcus, taking in his plight.

No immediate remedy followed, but a replacement bottle flew in ten minutes later, and this time, Lamina managed to snatch it from the drone, which followed its predecessor to a dusty death.

“In previous years, the areas open to the tributes were largely restricted to the field and the stands, but last week’s attack opened up any number of cracks and crevices, providing easy access to the labyrinth of tunnels inside the walls of the arena. It’s a whole new Games, first finding another tribute, and then ferreting them out of some very dark corners.”

Lucky blanched a bit and attempted a laugh.

Coriolanus wondered if Lepidus’s high praise had more to do with Felix’s being the grandnephew of the president than anything else, but he didn’t begrudge it.

She’d gathered up her voluminous handbag and was starting to turn when something on the screen caught her eye.

You needed only to take a cursory glance at the interior of this car, the tooled leather, the upholstered seats, the bar with its crystal bottles of gem-colored liquids, to know they were among the most fortunate people in Panem.

“We think someone he knows needs to slip in as unobtrusively as possible and coax him out,” said Dr. Gaul.

“And how will I get out?” asked Coriolanus. This plan seemed dicey at best.