Chimney smoke swirled around the bizarre procession as the sunlight faded to nothing. A horde of peacekeepers was being led by a small girl, dragging a tired-looking redhead behind her through the streets of District Twelve.
Amethyst’s hand was cinched around Hazel’s with a surprising amount of strength for such a young, frail girl. She was all but skipping down the dark cobblestone streets. The knobby bones dug into Hazel’s skin with each bounce, almost as if the young girl thought Hazel might disappear if she loosened her grip.
Ahead of the two was a humble dwelling that was barely sturdy enough to call a home.
Briallen and Clive paused at the entrance, stepping aside to let Hazel and her three guards file in. Sable instructed the comically large group of peacekeepers following them to wait outside.
The entire home could have fit inside Hazel’s living room with space to spare. Its ceilings were warped and low. Each wall was uneven and patched with cheap particle board.
Wallpaper was pulling away from the walls, curling back like rotting fruit. Mismatched furniture was scattered about, the upholstery clinging to its last threads.
Bellona whispered, frowning at the depression-colored decor. “Best to keep this brief. We’re fairly exposed.”
Sable’s lip curled as he scanned the area as well. “Yeah, exposed to tetanus.”
Bellona elbowed him.
Leo whispered, “Bellona is right. I think we have had enough fireworks for one day.”
Hazel kept her voice low as she murmured, “Don’t worry. I’ll scream if she draws a weapon.”
Leo shook his head, exchanging a look with his sister. “Just don’t take too long, Marlowe.”
“Yes, sir,” Hazel said as Amethyst pulled her toward a closed door with the letters “A” and “R” carved into thin scraps of wood hanging from a nail driven into its center.
“Better be.” Sable crossed his arms, face completely humorless.
Hazel let the young girl shut them inside the cold, ragged bedroom. It was so uncannily similar to the shack where her father used to reside, that she half expected the smell of crusted whiskey. Winter air entered through scattered gaps in the siding. A solitary steel pot with rusted edges lay in the middle of the floor, collecting errant drops that insisted on creeping through the ceiling.
Against each wall was a mound of blankets folded into the shape of a sleeping mat. One held a stuffed bear with faded purple-colored fabric. The other was neat, folded tightly. It was as if it was waiting for its owner to return. Hazel bent closer to the empty bed, tracing the weave of the thick brown quilt and the embroidered little pink flowers along its border.
“It’s over here.” The young girl bent next to a rickety dresser and tugged open a battered drawer. The clunky sound it made was almost laughable. It was filled to the brim with rocks, stones, and random trinkets of hardly any value.
Hazel sidled up to Amethyst, looking down into the girls’ treasure trove.
“Wonderful,” Hazel’s voice was as threadbare as the home’s furniture.
Amethyst dug into her collection. “I want you to have one of these.” She pulled out a fingernail-sized stone that looked like a sanded pearlescent crystal. It was generally round with scattered divots and minuscule imperfections. “It’s called a poor man’s diamond.”
She surveyed the depressing little space and then the girl before her and then the gem in her open palm. She had that magical quality of children. They could make fantasies and adventures out of even the most dire circumstances. They dug up even small amounts of wonder from ruins, making diamonds out of worthless stones. The best kind of miners in the worst kind of mines.
Hazel suddenly felt so removed from her childhood, along with the innocence that came with it. That kind of magic felt foreign now, like something she’d shed and left to rot in the arena.
“I’ve always heard coal can be made into diamonds.” She petted the rock with her finger like it was a tiny animal in her palm. “Given enough pressure.”
“They aren’t real.” She shrugged, “There’s millions of ‘em down by the lake.”
“You spend much time there?” Hazel questioned.
“Used to.” Amethyst paused, the skin between her brows pinched, “Tulsi, Ruby, and me liked to go diamond hunting together. Sometimes, Ethan would come, too. Said we needed supervision.”
Hazel let out a droll laugh, “Sounds like him.”
“Yeah,” she breathed, though her voice quivered over the word.
“I’m so sorry.” Hazel winced.
Amethyst wiped at her eyes, “It’s ok, it doesn’t matter. It’s impossible to go back… with the fence. Nobody’s su’posed to go out there anymore.”
“Right, the fence…” Hazel leaned in. “When did they start building it? After the tenth games?”
She frowned, “No.” The younger girl ran her fingers over the fraying hem of her sleeve, “After yours.”
Hazel swallowed down a stone-like lump in her throat. “Does Senator Snow come here often?”
“Only seen him on television.”
“And Augustus?” Hazel spoke carefully, watching the girl with rapt attention.
Her dark eyes met Hazels, and even in the poor lighting, it was evident that agony and anger danced as a pair within. “He does. Not as much anymore.”
“What did he do, Amethyst?”
The girl bit her lip and shivered, “They won’t tell me, say I’m too young. But I know it is his fault Tulsi died. Ethan was always angry after that. Ruby cried a lot. She tried to hide it from me, but I noticed.”
Amethyst let out a long breath, “Last time I saw Tulsi, we were hunting for diamonds at the lake. Collected a whole basket of these. But she was tired and said she couldn’t stay long. She went home by herself. Ethan stayed with me and Ruby. Never saw her again. Nobody was the same after...” The girl’s words quivered, wilting on her lips like delicate flowers in winter.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Amethyst seemed to be holding back a whimper. Her eyes brimmed with tears as her gaze settled on the bed across the small room. “It’s just me now.”
“Strange, isn’t it?” Hazel sought her hand, enclosing it within her own. “The world never feels quite right, like you’ve put your shoes on the wrong feet. You can still walk, but it’s not the same.”
Amethyst squeezed Hazel’s hand. “Like putting your coat on backward.”
“Exactly.” Hazel swallowed down the knot in her throat.
“You know, Silus was very…brave.”
Hazel blinked against the sting behind her eyes and scrubbed at a tear with the heel of her palm. “He was.”
A rough knock made Hazel flinch while Amethyst only sighed.
Mr. Hart stood in the gap of the doorway. His sad eyes softened as he took in Hazel and Amethyst, kneeling on the ground and holding hands.
“Sorry, Miss. But Amethyst needs to go to bed soon.”
“Five more minutes?” The girl begged, tightening her hold on Hazel.
Clive’s face softened, and he murmured, “Five minutes.”
Beyond him, Hazel caught glimpses of her impatient entourage—peering through the narrow gap in the door.
As it shut again, Amethyst whispered, “We have to work early.”
Hazel turned back to the girl, “We?”
She nodded and shrugged.
“I thought Ruby said she was too young for the mines.” Amethyst was several years younger. Hazel tried to keep the concern from her features. Even in Seven, children didn’t start working in the mills or the woods until at least twelve years old.
The younger girl’s face fell. “Things are different now.”
“Ever since my Games?”
“Yeah.”
The burn of injustice sizzled like frying embers, popping and cracking her bloodstream. Hazel pulled away from her as she pulled off the gold earrings that dangled like beautiful insults from her ears. Mocking the poorness all around her.
“I want to give you something.” Hazel ripped the bracelets from her arms. Pulling the gold into one hand, she presented it to the younger girl.
Amethyst’s pupils dilated as she gazed open-mouthed at Hazel’s palm. “That diamond I gave you isn’t real, you know.”
“It’s priceless.” Hazel countered. She took the girl’s hand, turning it palm up, and tipped the jewelry into it. “But these?” Hazel glanced down at the gold. “Most definitely have prices.”
Amethyst curled her fingers slowly over the items. She had probably never held such precious jewelry before. Hell, Hazel barely had.
“Thank you,” she rasped.
“Don’t sell them all at once.” Hazel caught the tear that slipped down the girl’s cheek with a gentle swipe of her thumb. “Or take them to a blacksmith—have something made. A barrette, a brooch perhaps, or maybe a pin.” She winked through the welling tears in her own eyes.
Hazel leaned in, wrapping her in a hug. Amethyst gripped her hard; a small sniffle fell between them. “I wish I could do more.” As she pulled away, Hazel clutched the crystalline rock over her heart. “Thank you for this. I will keep it safe and treasure it always.”
Another knock at the door filled the room. Amethyst was the one to flinch this time, her knuckles whitening around the gold. She wedged her fist beneath her leg as Hazel rose.
Briallen and Clive were waiting with her group at the door. She needed to get out of there before anyone noticed her missing jewelry.
“Thank you both for your hospitality.”
Hazel cast a teary glance back at Ruby’s little sister, “Take care, Amethyst.”
“You too.” The girl’s eyes shone like damp stones in the fading light, “Bye.”
With that, Hazel scurried to the door. She was escorted back to the train car with much too heavy security. They would spend the night in the station before heading to Eleven in the morning.
Hazel felt an overwhelming weariness overtake her as she stepped back into her bedroom on the train. Her first order of business was to remove the Victor’s medal, chucking it onto the bedside table. Second was the ridiculous, heeled boots. The pair were careening through the air as Leo opened the door.
He flinched as a clunky sound reverberated around them as they collided with the opposite wall. His eyes darted toward the offending footwear before finding Hazel slouched against the edge of the bed. “Not the best day, huh?”
Hazel muttered, “Are you kidding? Highlight of my life. Only hallucinated a couple of times.”
Leo’s grin faded as he closed the door gently. “Marlowe-“
“It’s fine.” But the words came out too brittle.
“Maybe it's too much.” Leo’s features hardened into a serious expression as he slid further inside. “Maybe seeing the other tributes' families is—”
“Too triggering?” Hazel cut him off. Hazel shook her head as she sunk into the cushioned chair across from him. “They aren’t the problem. I am. Though Augustus is a close second.” She rested her hands on the table, picking at the edge of her bandage. “Besides, it is a part of the entertainment value, you know.”
Leo stepped closer. “Wouldn’t hurt for you to dial things back a little. The speeches, the gestures... And maybe avoid provoking any more Gamemakers.”
Hazel let out a scoff as she pulled on a loose edge of the bandage as if she could relieve the pressure in her heart. “Is that what Indira sent you in here to say? Or maybe Sable?” She lifted her chin just enough to meet his stare before her eyes dropped back to her hands, “Or was it Augustus?
“No.” Leo closed the distance between them, “As your friend,” He leaned forward, resting a strong, calm hand over her busy ones. She paused her fiddling to look up at him. “And as someone who understands, to some extent, what you are going through. You are playing with fire, Marlowe—and fire burns.” Her skin twitched beneath his as he continued. “That is something I cannot protect you from. No one can.”
“You have to understand, there is so little I have control over.”
“Is control worth your life?”
Hazel closed her eyes for a moment, breathing out, “Is it even my life without it?”
“I’ve spent nearly all of mine following orders, Marlowe. Doesn’t mean I agree with them.” He swallowed hard, his eyes flickered away from hers for a moment before resettling, “We all have to play our roles.”
Her eyes snapped back open, “Maybe I believe it wasn’t Augustus who sent you here. You sound more like a Senator.”
Leo’s eyes flashed at her comment with an almost alarmed expression that he quickly smothered.
“Sorry. Just ignore me.” Hazel sighed. She was absolutely mentally and emotionally exhausted on the first day of the tour, balancing on the edge of her breakdown but not doubt, also the Capitol’s leniency. Now, she was lashing out at one of the people in her corner.
Finally, her shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I will try to ease up a bit.” Hazel met his eyes, and he watched her for a moment.
“Good,” His thumb brushed against her knuckles before releasing her hands and backing away.
“You best get some rest.” He turned to the door. Just before he gripped the handle, he hesitated. “A word of advice?”
Hazel looked up at him expectantly.
“Lie.”
“What?”
His eyes raked over the bare skin along her ears and wrists, “When Indira realizes your jewelry is missing.”
Hazel’s heart sped up as his eyes held hers once again. The man noticed everything. She could’ve kicked herself for forgetting—he was a peacekeeper, after all. But unlike most at the same time.
His face shone in the orange lamplight. The warm-toned illumination teased out the amber tint of his dark hair. It reminded her of how wood grain came to life with varnish and sunlight. What might have seemed plain before transformed into a melody of colors and patterns wholly unique. And it seemed that as time had gone on, she was slowly realizing how unique the man before her truly was.
“Good night, Marlowe.” He said as he disappeared into the depths of the train, and her door latched shut. She heaved her weary bones onto the bed. Pressing her palms to her eyes, she let out a long, exasperated breath. He is right. I need to pace myself.
It had been overwhelming, and it was only the first day.
Yet her mind was intent on replaying the day's events in excruciating detail. Ruby’s bleeding form danced behind her eyelids. I'm not the one setting the pace.
Letting the quietness of the night wash over her, she willed herself into unconsciousness. After what seemed to be either minutes or hours of reliving the day on repeat, a heavy thud shook her room like something had fallen—or maybe dropped. Hazel shot up, gripping the blankets over her. Her pulse was immediately pounding in her throat.
The space was soaked in darkness. Her lamp light had been extinguished. Any traces of the moon were non-existent behind thick clouds. The furniture was like blobs of indistinguishable grayness. Their shapes were obscured, almost like a suggestion of what they were. Hazel turned to the bedside lamp, considering the bulb within. Weird. Did the light burn out? Don’t remember turning it off.
Hazel twisted over, groping for the knife beneath her pillow with one hand. Her other hand reached for the lamp once again. Just as her fingers made contact with the knob, a squelching came next, like sodden socks sliding over the flooring.
Hazel spun back to the darkness, but it remained the same except for a vaguely familiar yet pungent odor she couldn’t quite place.
“Leo?” She called. “Bells?”
No distinguishable answer came as the lamp burst to life. As light flooded her train car, something became sickeningly clear. She was not alone.