Archive of Our Own

When Katniss was nine years old, Cecily and Abraham sat her down to discuss her future. 

Her mother had been dead for nearly five months when they’d called her down to her grandfather’s study. She remembered hesitantly following Gretchen, their former maid, down the hall, keeping her hands tucked to her chest, feeling so alone without Prim at her side. The two sisters had coped very differently at the loss of their mother. Prim, so little and wishing for motherly affection, sought out their grandmother for comfort and the woman was surprisingly warm to the little girl. 

Katniss rebelled, having been caught on numerous occasions by farmhands, and once by Cecily herself, trying to run away. She hated the Flock and all its strange customs. She hated that her mother brought them here and then died . She hated these strangers who called themselves family, claiming her father’s blood was inferior to their own. Family didn’t treat each other like that. Nothing the Flock saw as important, like blood lineage, mattered in 12 – the Outside, as everyone always corrected.

But most of all, she hated how alone she felt. Even sweet little Prim, the only other person who could possibly know how Katniss felt, was quickly finding her place here, happily attending to her private lessons and flourishing as she learned about Lady Night and Her children, about the Mockingjay and His growing army. 

“The time has come,” Cecily had declared from her seat, her posture stiff and her expression critical, “to start your proper upbringing in this home. Your mother”—her voice caught at the mention of her departed daughter—“may she shine above, was adamant upon your arrival that she would handle your care, but situations have changed.” There was a long pause, and Katniss glanced around the ornate room, all portraits and mirrors on the walls covered in black and fresh, living flowers everywhere to signal a passing. Katniss stood still as a statue, feet unable to move. 

Waiting for the bad news. 

“Your grandfather and I believe a young lady’s place is in a proper home and ruled over by a genteel man.” Katniss’ eyes widened, wondering if they were marrying her off just to be rid of her, but her grandfather took up his wife’s explanation and told her of the Flock’s Pairing system and of how she would follow tradition upon her sixteenth birthday.

“Young women are old enough to understand their value to the community by this age,” he said. “Thankfully, you have inherited your mother’s beauty, so finding a suitable family will be of no issue.”  

“It is your deposition,” Cecily said, her thin lips thinning still further as they always seemed to do when addressing her eldest charge, “that we fear. Everything will have to be retaught, if you are to be ready for Pairing in time. Many girls start much younger, but as you are an Axson, you will learn quickly. We have full faith in that.” Her grandmother’s subtle threat didn’t go unnoticed. Katniss would learn quickly or suffer the consequences. 

And suffer she did. 

She suffered through the endless hours of lessons, the excruciatingly long nights and days poring over volumes on Flock history, religion, and a woman’s place in it. She had Cecily’s own book on proper womanhood memorized frontward and back, was well familiar with the sharp cut of her grandmother’s teaching rod rapping hard over her knuckles, her shins, and even her back, when her posture wasn’t just so . Cecily was determined to Pair her with an esteemed family, one that would provide for all the Axson women as Abraham grew older, and she never let Katniss forget what her purpose was: Pair well, have children, and tend to her blood family in their time of need. 

Well, she couldn’t have done much better than the High Priest-Elect, now could she? Brought back from her unpleasant reverie of the past, Katniss sighed, looking across the table at her grandmother, who had been positively beaming since her Interview weeks prior. Cecily’s moment had finally arrived. All her years of hard work and putting up with Katniss’ ineptitude had finally paid off, and here they sat, in the parlor of her intended, planning a Binding Ceremony that would be recounted in history tomes. Surely Peeta Mellark’s Binding Ceremony would be mentioned among whatever accomplishments he achieved in his lifetime. 

Katniss briefly wondered what they would say about her in these chapters. But her grandmother could talk of nothing but this ceremony. 

Katniss was beyond sick of it. 

From the moment she woke each evening to the moment her head hit her pillow, her time was spent planning . 

Planning, planning, planning. 

And if this wasn’t bad enough, the company she endured while planning certainly was. Peeta’s mother, Marta, rarely agreed to anything her grandmother proposed, and as both Lady of the Flock and Head Elder, her opinion held far more weight than the opinions of anyone else in the room. 

“I have decided Katniss will be dressed in blood red,” Marta announced that night in her cool, leveled tone. “It will act as a symbol of rebirth.” 

Cecily frowned. “Red? For a Binding? That seems a bit…unconventional.” 

“Perhaps,” Marta mused, stirring a bit of cream into her tea, “But Bara and I wish for Peeta’s Binding to be seen as a new dusk for our people. Samuel’s demise lies heavy on all our souls,” she said, her words incongrous with her tone, which did not sound remotely upset about the years-ago assassination of her husband’s father. “It is best we continue to remind the Flock that our family is about progress, and innovating what does not work.”  

“This is a Binding,” Cecily sniffed. “ Not a political statement, Madame.”

“Ah,” Marta smiled, “but every ceremony is a political statement when you share the blood of the Mockingjay, Lady Axson. It is best to remember what family Katniss is joining.” 

How could Katniss forget? She was reminded of it constantly. 

She reached for the silver sugar spoon, but her grandmother, with viper speed, slapped the reaching hand away, giving Katniss a reproachful look. Katniss scowled and slumped slightly in her chair. Ever since Madame Mellark made some snide remark about sugar being poor for one’s health and plumping the figure in the most unflattering ways, Cecily had forbidden Katniss to touch the stuff. She bitterly looked at the silver and blue bowl, willing the sweetener to magically appear in her cup and make the tart tea a modicum more bearable. 

Sound from the hall pulled her attention toward the door. The familiar jovial timbre of a man’s voice announced his presence before Peeta Mellark opened the door, his sketchbook tucked under his arm. 

“Greetings,” Peeta said with a smile, heading straight to his mother for a kiss. Marta stood and accepted her son’s affections with a warmth Katniss only ever saw when Peeta was in the room, motioning for him to take the seat next to her. “I hope I am not interrupting anything important?” he asked, tossing his cloak over a seat by the window, and reaching for a cookie Katniss had been denied an hour ago. 

Katniss always wondered where the Elect went when his time wasn’t being wasted on talk of their upcoming nuptials. Marta rarely required her son’s presence for these meetings, always acting pleasantly surprised when he chose to grace them with his presence. 

Marta rang for their redheaded maid to bring another setting for the Elect. “You are getting crumbs all over my table,” she said, passing him her plate. He cheekily smiled at her and grabbed another cookie. 

“Would you like one, Miss Axson?” he kindly asked, holding up the plate. 

Yes. “No, thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured, a grousing note in her voice. He raised a brow. 

“Are you sure? Lavinia’s treacle cookies are truly the best. I could eat them all night.” His cheeks reddened. “I’m sure I have, actually.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Cecily said, patting her granddaughter’s hand, “but I’m afraid Katniss is not fond of sweets. Never has been, the silly girl.” Katniss stared at her, bewildered that she would make such a boldfaced lie, and about cookies no less. 

Peeta’s smile dimmed slightly and he set the tray down. “I see.” 

 “Your generosity is most appreciated,” her grandmother continued. “Isn’t it, my dear?” 

“Am I allowed to speak now, Grandmother?” Katniss asked before biting her tongue. The woman’s eyes flashed in warning, but Katniss was too annoyed to heed it. “Thank you for your kind offer, Your Grace,” she said, nodding at her intended. “I’ve never had a treacle cookie before. Perhaps it will sway my opinion on the subject of sweets.” There was no possible way she was living such a ridiculous falsehood for the rest of her existence. And for what? To please Madame Mellark? Wasn’t she supposed to be trying to please her future husband? 

She reached for a cookie and took a large bite under her veil, crumbs falling on her lap. “Mm!” she said, a bit more dramatic than necessary, but it was too tempting not to irritate her grandmother and Madame Mellark. “Absolutely delicious!” 

The Elect’s eyes brightened, reminding her once more just how strikingly handsome he was. Sometimes, during the day, when trying to fall asleep, Katniss wondered if he was as handsome as her memory recalled. Was Peeta’s hair the soft gold she remembered glowing under the firelight? Were his eyes as gentle and kind, amusement just under the blue surface? Was his touch as warm as she recalled? 

She knew it might not be true. That her thoughts might be muddled by whatever fancies caused her classmates to run off into the trees and return with wrinkled clothes and leaves in their hair. These escapades often ended in a hasty Pairing as the families tried in vain to proclaim nothing inappropriate happened, but the old women of the Flock were like prey birds and loved sinking their claws into the latest gossip, haughtily tsking about the state of the world and what it was all coming to. 

But, as Katniss took another bite of cookie, she knew her memory wasn’t plagued by misplaced emotions. He truly was as handsome as she remembered. 

Moreso, really.  

“I am glad they agree with you, Miss Axson,” Peeta said, setting the plate down between them but not before swiping one more for his own plate. “I cannot imagine having to repress my love for them, if my future bride did not care for them.” 

“Katniss,” her grandmother said, anger simmering beneath her words, “would learn to adapt, as all women must.” 

Peeta’s jaw tensed, but he caught himself and cleared his throat, reaching for his tea.

“With all due respect,” Peeta said, his voice tighter than usual, “While I find it an admirable trait that our womenfolk are so adaptable to the lots the Mockingjay has bestowed upon them, I much prefer a wife who is honest about her tastes than one who will simply tell me what she thinks I wish to hear.” 

This surprised Katniss, something she was quickly discovering Peeta Mellark was quite good at doing. Every time she thought she had him pegged, he surprised her with a statement like this. Did he really mean it? Did he want a wife who spoke her mind, even if what she had to say might displease him? Her eyes flicked to the Head Elder, wondering what the opinionated woman thought of her son’s radical views on a Pair. 

But Madame Mellark revealed nothing. 

And then Katniss realized, feeling a tad foolish, that of course Peeta would hold some unusual views of Pairing: his mother was the first female Head Elder in the Flock’s history, appointed by his father the High Priest. His upbringing wasn’t so rigid in traditional roles as Katniss’ was. 

“Miss Axson,” Peeta said, drawing her attention back to him. “It is a lovely night tonight. Perhaps a walk through the Nest?” He set his napkin aside and stood, proffering his arm, making his wishes clear. 

“Of course, Your Grace,” she stuttered, not even bothered by the slight command in his suggestion, and stood, knocking into the table. The china rattled in her haste. 

His mother pursed her lips at the abrupt departure. “Peeta,” she said, “there is still much to be planned. We’ve only a few short months until your Binding,” she reminded him. 

Peeta wasn’t troubled by this. “I am aware, Mother. But I would hate for Miss Axson to miss Lady Night’s stars. Her children shine brightly tonight.” 

“Very well,” Marta sighed, “but do bring Lavinia as chaperone.” 

With a quick nod and a halfhearted apology to Cecily, Peeta practically dragged Katniss out of the parlor, not letting up until they were clear down the hall. 

“My lord!” Katniss exclaimed, holding onto her veil in fear the stupid thing would fly off in their haste. “What is the hurry?” 

Peeta stopped and let go of her hand, taking a calming breath in. “Apologies, Miss Axson. I knew my temperament was not ready for your grandmother…and my mother,” he added to lessen the insult. 

A smile played on her lips. “It is alright if you are not fond of my grandmother, Your Grace,” she mused, not expecting such an honest opinion from him. Everything about the Mellarks felt so calculated, especially as the Binding drew near, that it felt nice seeing her intended express his true thoughts to her. Katniss took a step closer. “In fact,” she said in a half-conspiratorial whisper, “I am not always fond of her either.” 

There was that smile she liked so much. “Miss Axson,” he said, “I do not believe I’ve ever heard a woman speak so frankly about her guardian. Well,” he laughed, “I suppose I’ve heard plenty from my mother, but never from a lady.” 

“Are you insinuating your mother is not a lady, Your Grace?” 

“I insinuate no such thing,” he said and took her arm in his and led them down the hall.

His arm felt so nice, strong, she noted. Katniss couldn’t help herself as she lightly pressed her side to his, wondering what other secrets the Elect was hiding under his coat and shirt. Her cheeks warmed as soon as the thought crossed her mind, and she chastised herself. It felt incredibly inappropriate even thinking of the Elect in such a manner. 

“Ah! Lavinia,” Peeta said as a thin, red haired woman in a serving uniform passed. “We were just looking for you.” The young woman, not looking much older than Katniss and Peeta, turned back around at the call of her name and offered them a polite nod. 

“Yes, Your Grace?” she asked. From her accent Katniss could tell the woman was of Outside blood, but the accent sounded very different from Gale’s. Just how big was the Outside? 

“I wish to walk Miss Axson around the Nest,” Peeta explained, patting Katniss’ hand, as if Lavinia didn’t know who Katniss was by this point. As if the entire Nest didn’t know who she was after Bara proudly proclaimed his son’s upcoming Binding to the congregation at Service. Eyes had been on her for weeks ever since. 

“Will your mother be upset if I leave my chores unattended?” Lavinia worried, looking down at her dust rag. “There is much to prepare for hosting the Elders tomorrow.” 

Peeta waved away her concern. “It was Mother’s suggestion, and I will remind her of it if I hear her complain.” The casual way he dismissed his mother’s power continued to astound Katniss. “We shall meet you at the front door.” Lavinia bobbed a curtsy and hurried off to fetch her things. 

The Mellark residence stood directly across from the Elder House, tucked between five tall oak trees that had stood there for centuries. Unlike other homes in the Nest, with front doors stepping right out into the street, the gray and black three-story owned by the High Priest had a small lane leading up to it, allowing the family some privacy. It was just far enough away that you could not see into their home, but close enough that anyone could see when the family came and went. 

“Do you not worry of another attack?” Katniss asked as they set off on their stroll to the cemetery, Lavinia a respectable distance behind them. “Anyone could study your habits and shoot.” 

“Why do you ask? Do you plan on attacking my family with your shotgun?” he asked, not at all disturbed by her bringing up his grandfather’s assasination. Katniss blanched. 

“ No! ” Even insinuating death on the Holy Family was treasonous. “I was merely stating my observation. I would never –” 

“I am teasing you, Miss Axson,” he laughed. “But I am curious: is this your idea of small talk? Most young ladies point out the weather, or compliment the roses my mother insists we grow despite hating the flower herself.” 

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at small talk,” she admitted. 

He shrugged. “I think it a pointless skill. I don’t know why we value it so much.” They nodded to passersby who cleared the way for them on the street. “There’s no point wasting space with unnecessary words.” 

“Yes!” Katniss agreed, a little too enthusiastically. “I mean, I wholeheartedly agree. I don’t see the point in conversing merely because the situation expects it. Why say something when you do not have anything meaningful to say?” 

His smile grew. “I am glad we are on the same side of the coin. Though,” he said in amusement, “my father would disagree with us. He is always open to discuss anything and everything with a person. It drives my mother mad sometimes.” Katniss laughed, unable to help herself. It was no secret that the High Priest was notorious for his long sermons and blessings. Her grandfather claimed that Bara Mellark was once a shy, studious boy, but it was like once he’d heard what his voice sounded like, he couldn’t shut up. 

“I imagine your father would have a lot to say on the matter,” Katniss added, feeling bolder now. 

“Whole tomes worth,” Peeta jested, and the two fell into contented silence as they headed deeper into town.

It was Market Night in the Nest, making the streets more congested as people ran their weekly errands. Stands from nearby estates were set up between the Nest’s shops with stand owners greeting and calling out sales. The Axsons had a stand where their workers and tenants sold wares: furs from Gale’s hunts and crops from their fields and gardens. Prim and Katniss often sold small trinkets and herbs on the side to earn spending money for themselves. But with her upcoming Binding approaching, Cecily declared it improper for the future Lady of the Flock to sell homemade goods at a stand. “We do not beg for money,” she’d declared. 

Katniss pointed at the wooden stand where Gale and Fredrick, one of their farmhands, stood, selling a pelt to an older gentleman. “That’s my family’s stand,” she told Peeta. 

“Shall we go say hello?” he asked, turning them in its direction. 

Katniss thought of Gale seeing her like this, wrapped around the arm of the Elect, and panicked. “No, that is not necessary,” she hurried to explain and steered them toward the nearest stand. “It looks like they are busy. I would hate to disturb them with our presence.” 

Peeta’s smile lowered, but just barely. “Oh. Yes, I suppose you are right. Do you like jewelry, Miss Axson?” In her rush to lead them away from Gale, Katniss had steered them to a jewelry stand. She could tell right away that the woman working the stand was Outside, with an accent similar to Peeta’s redheaded maid, making it sound like she was asking a question at the end of every sentence. 

“Greetings, Your Grace,” the woman said with a smile, straightening her posture. “Care to treat the young lady with a lovely trinket?” She motioned to a modest display where charms dangled from colored ribbons. 

“That depends,” said Peeta, looking down at Katniss, “on if my intended enjoys jewelry.” The way he looked at her made her stomach flutter.

“I’m afraid I don’t wear it often,” she muttered. She supposed once they were Bound, she would be expected to decorate herself with ear baubles and necklaces as his mother did, though it was hard to imagine herself with the poise to do their elegance justice. “Though simple pieces are lovely,” Katniss added, not wishing to insult anyone. 

Peeta leaned down to inspect the jewelry display, never letting her go as he did so. His pale eyebrows scrunched together in concentration, and Katniss found it fascinating how a small, simple gesture could change his whole demeanor. She was often around serious men—Gale, her grandfather, and his friends—and though she found Peeta’s relaxed charisma comforting, it pleased her to see her intended had a serious side. 

“Necklace or earrings?” 

Katniss startled, and Peeta smiled, the action dimpling his cheek, and asked the question again. 

“I — uh — ” She pondered this for a heartbeat, not sure which she preferred or why he was asking. 

“I’ve put you on the spot. I apologize. Allow me to treat you.” His hand, covered in his fine ceremonial gloves, deftly plucked up a bracelet of simple silver.

Katniss made a face, glad it was concealed by her veil. A lady never turned away a gift from her intended. It was seen as rude and conceitful. “I’m afraid I don’t like bracelets,” she said in apology. “They snag on everything and make it difficult to do things.” 

“Ah.” He set the bracelet back on its hook. “I am afraid my knowledge of jewelry and its practicality is not as adept as I would hope.” 

Feeling bold, Katniss offered, “I could teach you what I know, Your Grace. If you would like.” 

He motioned for her to continue.

Katniss licked her lips and studied the display for a moment. “Necklaces are most practical,” she said, pointing at the ribboned pieces, “because they tend to stay out of the way when doing chores. You can tuck it away and forget it is even there.” 

“Like a secret,” he mused, studying the jewelry more closely. 

“Yes, I suppose that is right.” 

“And earrings?” He held up a pair of earrings painted purple. “Surely they are not as impractical as bracelets.” 

“Ah, but they do often get caught on headwear,” Katniss countered, enjoying herself. “You do not know true pain until you are trying to remove your drenched bonnet before catching sick, only to have your ears practically torn off in the process because an earring snagged on its ribbon.” 

“From personal experience?” he said. 

“Perhaps.” 

Peeta laughed. “I had no idea women’s jewelry could be so complicated!” he exclaimed. “And here I thought your only concerns were whether it matched your outfit.” 

“I’m sure it is the highest concern for some women,” Katniss said, running her hand over the silver charms. “But I don’t enjoy being so…restricted by my wardrobe. My sister would adore any bauble that shines, though. No matter how impractical it was. She would say it reminds her of Lady Night.” 

“Ah, the mysterious sister I know so little about,” Peeta teased. 

Katniss turned, surprised. “She is no mystery. You met her at Service. The night our Pairing was announced.” 

His hand deftly plucked a necklace and inspected it. “I would hardly call introductions a revelation on one’s person. I only know of her name and relations. Do you like this one?” He held up the necklace, a dark purple silk ribbon with a small silver dahlia hanging from it. 

“It’s beautiful,” Katniss murmured. 

“I thought so,” he agreed, running his thumb over the charm. 

“The dahlia symbolizes beauty and commitment, Your Grace,” the stand owner informed them. “An excellent choice for your beautiful bride.” 

His smile warmed, eyes still on the charm. “Yes, I do recall that,” he murmured before looking back up at Katniss. “A good omen, indeed, Miss Axson. Finding this with you at my side. I insist this be my gift to you.” 

“That is very kind of you, Your Grace, but you really do not have to give me anything,” she stuttered, but he wouldn’t hear of it. 

“It is a necklace,” he said, handing the piece to the woman. “And you have deemed necklaces practical to your womanly fashions.” 

“Yes, but–”

“Then it is settled. It is only right that the first intended gift I give to you be a dahlia.” The stand owner handed him back the necklace but shook her head when he asked how much he owed her. 

“See it as a gift to you, Your Grace.” 

“Nonsense. People cannot survive solely on spiritual guidance. How much?” 

“No, I wish for you to take it, Your Grace.” 

“Very well.” And to Katniss’ great astonishment, Peeta pulled out his coin purse and dropped two silver coins on the counter. By the woman’s expression, it was well over what she was charging. “Katniss, come along. We have taken enough of this kind woman’s time. Good night, madame.” 

He steered them off to the side of the road, tucked in a small alleyway between two storefronts, and held the necklace up with a bashful smile. “For you.” 

Katniss shook her head, still shocked by his insistence and generosity at the stand. Had it been anyone else on the Council, they would have gladly taken the Outsider’s offer. 

“Thank you,” she said, and accepted his gift. “But you did not need to do that.” 

“But I wanted to.” He tucked the necklace in her hand and closed her fist around it. “I want to be the kind of husband who lavishes his bride with gifts. Like my father. Do you need help putting it on?” 

All her mind could wrap around was the image of the High Priest buying a simple trinket like this and gifting it to his cold and aloof wife. It was too strange.

“I think I can manage,” she said, her tongue fumbling around her words. “Though you will not be able to see it with my veil.” 

“A secret necklace, is it not?” he teased. 

Her cheeks burned, but her hands fixed the necklace around her neck, the small charm resting on her collarbone. Katniss held it, its silver barely seen under its dark cover, and admired its simple beauty. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. “It was very kind of you, Your Grace.” 

He nodded, pleased by her gratitude, and proffered his arm once more. “Shall we find Lavinia? I’m sure the poor thing is searching high and low for us.” 

Katniss accepted and they slinked back into the crowd.

“Where shall we go, Miss Axson?” Peeta inquired once they had found the servant and made it an effort not to lose her.  

“Go?”

“Oh, I’ve no intention of turning right around to return to that tea table, do you?” 

Katniss laughed.  

“No sir,” she said, and imagined Cecily and Marta in a shouting match over whether The Hanging Tree should be draped in black gauze or red for the ceremony. She scooted closer to Peeta, happy for a break from all the planning. 

“Then we shall go to the cemetery,” he decided. “It’s a lovely night for it, and I wish to see if my surprise is ready.” 

Katniss blinked. “Surprise?” 

“Mother and Lady Axson are not the only ones making preparations for our Binding,” Peeta said. “I’ve commissioned something for you. It’s a practical thing but … I hope it will please you.”

“I do enjoy practicality.” She smiled. What could he have commissioned in a cemetery?  

Peeta’s smile grew, and he made sure her arm was safely held in the crook of his arm before heading down the dirt path toward the Sanctuary.

The walk out of the Nest and towards the Sanctuary led them into deeper darkness than the faint, man-made twilight of the street lanterns in the marketplace. The Flock’s most sacred place stood on a hill, shrouded by trees, and flanked at its back by a river. 

Peeta took in a deep breath of night air once they reached the bottom steps to the old, white building. “I love coming here when there is no one around. It makes me feel like one of the Flock’s first settlers.” If her grandparents were here, they would have quickly corrected that no Mellark was present at the founding of the Flock. 

“It is very peaceful,” Katniss murmured, having never given much thought to the Sanctuary before.

“It pleases me to hear you say so,” Peeta said. “Do you find that you also feel a strength and a serenity of spirit come upon you as you approach its doors for Service?” 

Katniss, truthfully, did not. But she very well could not tell him that. What would he think if he knew how very little she thought of the Mockingjay or Lady Night? 

"I am often worrying if I remembered my Penumbra," she confessed. To her relief, Peeta threw back his head in laughter.

“I suppose I am in the minority in this case.” He led her to a wooden bench outside the Sanctuary and told her to sit. He would be but a minute as he went in for a lantern. 

Katniss waited, clicking her boots together, and ran a finger over her new charm. No one had ever bought her jewelry before. The few pieces she did own were from her mother. Peeta had said he wished to lavish her with gifts. She felt a flutter of girlish excitement at the idea. 

The Elect returned a moment later with a lantern in hand. “Lavinia,” he said to her, “I wonder if you might step inside? You have followed us most diligently, but I vow to you on these sacred steps that Miss Axson shall be well tended to.” 

Lavinia smirked at her young master. “If you like, sir.” 

“I do like,” Peeta said. “And I think you will find someone has left the cherry cordial out

upon my father’s writing desk with none about to guard it.” 

“What kind of loose woman do you take me for, my lord?” Lavinia said, but her smile was bright as she nodded them away. 

Katniss could not help but notice the pitter-patter of her heart increasing as the Elect led her away, skirting around the side of the Sanctuary to where the cemetery lay. 

It was a sprawling plot of land, wound through with a cobbled walking path, for congregants to pay their respects at the tombstones of their ancestors. No one tried to quell the growth of flowers and of ferns, of ivy and moss, so the whole place had become a verdant garden, built on bones. In the heart of the garden was a great, spreading oak tree, fenced in by an ironwork circle and casting a mighty shadow over the already dark scene. The ground beneath the oak, everyone knew, was the resting place of the High Priest’s line, going all the way back to Cyprian Mellark himself. Lanterns hung in the branches of the tree, not glass, but metal, so that the light leaked out through the sacred symbols etched into the sides. 

“Come,” Peeta said. “I do believe I see your surprise right where I wished it to be.” 

He led her up to the fence around the tree, then paused, producing a silver key from his robes. “I must enter first, and welcome you in,” he explained, unlocking the gate with a click. It swung open silently. Someone must keep the hinges in good order. 

Peeta stepped inside the iron circle and held out his hands for her to take. “Spirits of my ancestors,” he said. “Be pleased to welcome Miss Axson, my intended bride, into our family circle.” 

Katniss did not expect a response, nor did Peeta get one, but he seemed satisfied anyway, and held the gate for her as she came to his side again. “Your surprise is over here,” he said. “It is a quiet spot, away from the others a bit, and look how the wildflowers grow there, even now.” 

His betrothed cocked her head to one side to make out the shape he was pointing to. Peeta held his lantern higher aloft, and Katniss realized that what they were looking at was a tombstone. Her tombstone. Or rather, their tombstone. 

Peeta Martin Bram Mellark , carved neatly beneath his date of birth. Her name—at least, the name that would soon belong to her—carved beneath it: Katniss Esther Axson Mellark. Inscribed below in a smaller script ran, “Beloved wife, devoted mother, and noble Lady of the Flock. May she fly high forever.” 

The exclusion of her father’s surname rankled her. Her grandparents had done their best to excise her father’s memory and legacy from their granddaughters’ lives. That, she expected. But to see her tombstone, the last permanent record of her existence in the Flock, bearing an incomplete name, was almost a bridge too far. 

“Everdeen,” she said, without thinking. “Everdeen Axson.” 

“Pardon?” 

“I – oh.” She nearly stifled her complaint. She should not be so ungrateful. But she did not want to be dishonest with Peeta Mellark. “It’s only … it should say ‘Everdeen’ as well. My father’s name.” 

She braced herself for the put down, for the reminder that the more she distanced herself from her father, the better for all. It did not come. 

“How foolish of me to forget,” was Peeta’s reply as he ran a hand through his hair. “I shall have it amended at once, Miss Axson.” He paused, smiled softly, and said, “Miss Everdeen.” 

“You will?” she blurted, shocked at his prompt understanding. “I mean – I mean, thank you, Your Grace!” 

“Saving that error,” Peeta asked, sounding, for all the world, like an eager school boy, “do you like it? I went out searching for katniss flowers to sketch for reference as soon as I knew to whom I would be Paired.” 

For the first time, Katniss noticed that her namesake had been worked into the tombstone base. A pair of stone birds flew over the names at the top of the stone. It was a beautiful piece of artistry, thoughtfully done. 

“I do like it,” she said, truthfully. “I like it very much.” 

“Our souls will fly together forever,” Peeta reminisced, “unbound by the earth. But there is no reason our bodies’ final marriage bed should be unlovely.” 

“Indeed,” Katniss murmured. “It is lovely, Your Grace. Thank you.” 

And she meant it. He intended to put her father’s name in its proper place, and beside the name of Mellark, no less. She believed he would really do what he said, so earnestly and easily he spoke. It touched her … and perplexed her. 

Beloved wife, the epitaph read. Had Peeta already decided that she would be beloved by him, only having seen her face once, and knowing next to nothing about her personality? It was more than most marriages began with. The Flock assumed love would grow between husband and wife, but this seemed different somehow. Set in real stone, it struck her more as a promise. 

Or perhaps it was just the flowery language expected of such a thing. Perhaps she was the one making presumptions. 

“Shall we walk down to the river and see the moon upon the water, Miss Axson?” Peeta offered. “Sometimes, it reminds me of a pearl, as if set in … in dark tresses.” 

For a moment, he looked at her so searchingly, Katniss felt as if he could see right through her veil, to her blushing face beneath. Then he blinked, sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, and glanced away, clearing his throat. 

Katniss averted her eyes too, and they fell upon the tombstone to the left of theirs, which read Ryland Bara Mellark and sported a single date. 

“You’d another brother?” she found herself saying before she could stop herself. She knew of Peeta Mellark’s older brother, Bannock, the once Elect, who had died in the same sickness that took Caroline Axson. 

“Oh,” Peeta said, turning to the stone. “Yes. He was stillborn, I am afraid to say. My mother’s grief was very great.” 

“May you rest in Lady Night’s bosom, little one.” Katniss intoned the blessing for departed children. Marta Mellark grief-stricken was not a picture that came easily to mind, but she supposed any mother would be broken by the loss of a babe in the womb. 

“May you fly high,” Peeta added, gazing pensively down at his brother’s grave marker. “We both have known loss, Miss Axson. Might you show me where your mother is laid? I should like to pay her my respects.” 

“She is not buried here,” Katniss said. “She lies in my grandparents’ crypt. On our estate.” 

“Of course,” Peeta said. “My apologies.” 

“But,” Katniss hurried to say, “another time you must come and visit the estate, and

pay your respects then. She would – she would have liked it very much for you to do so.” 

She would have liked you , she thought. 

“I shall endeavor to pay you such a visit as soon as may be arranged,” Peeta said resolutely. 

“Please,” Katniss said. She felt she should say something else, thank him more completely for his gift, for his offered honor to her disgraced mother, but she could think of nothing to say. Instead, she let her hand slide from the crook of his arm down to his gloved hand, and gave it a squeeze. “Please do, Your Grace.” 

His hand squeezed back.

“I do believe your dress will be quite the talk of the Nest,” Cecily admired from her seat in the open carriage. “I cannot wait to see what it will look like once the beading and bones are added.” 

Katniss nodded, halfheartedly paying attention to her grandmother and sister gushing over how stunning she looked in her Binding gown. Her first fitting of the gown was earlier that night and though it was only the underskirts, they were right. It was going to be beautiful. People would talk about it for a long time. If her mind wasn’t so preoccupied, the thought would curdle her stomach, but Katniss couldn’t help thinking of what happened after the fanfare of their Binding was over. Of being Peeta’s wife. 

Ever since their walk through the cemetery, Peeta Mellark consumed her thoughts. The way he looked when showing her where their bodies would lie for eternity. And the way his large, warm hand enveloped hers … It awakened something in her that she wasn’t sure she was ready for. 

What did it all mean? Was this common for Pairings? 

Prim brought her attention back to the carriage. “Your dress is going to be lovely. Don’t you think, Katniss?” she asked with a pointed look. 

“Oh. Yes, quite lovely,” she murmured, grateful for her sister. But Cecily had hardly noticed Katniss’ silence. Already she had pulled out the notebook where she kept her thoughts and nightly itineraries and was writing down suggestions for improving on the dress. There was always room for improvement in Cecily Axson’s eyes. 

“Primrose,” she said, scribbling away, “we will have to commission a new gown for you as well. A lovely shade of purple, perhaps.” Prim’s eyes shone with excitement. 

“Oh, Grandmother! That sounds wonderful! Yes!” Her excitement allowed Katniss another reprieve and she slunk back into her thoughts. 

What would it be like getting to see that smile every night? Being the reason it was there to begin with. Katniss hoped she’d be a good enough wife to at least make him smile. 

Her hands fiddled with her reticule, knotting and unknotting the opening. How did a wife make a husband smile? She thought about her grandparents and their mutual appreciation for one another, but banished it immediately because it was too depressing. Cecily and Abraham were not in love. Not in the way Katniss thought a husband and wife ought to be. Yes, they saw eye-to-eye on many subjects, but never in her eight years living with them did she catch them holding hands or expressing endearments toward each other. And only the most perfunctory of kisses on the cheek were given upon arrivals and departures from the house.

Katniss touched her lips, wondering what Peeta’s would feel like. Soft and warm like his hands? Or firm like the muscles of his arms? She’d never been kissed, and only thought about it once before her Pairing, with a young farmhand a couple years her senior when she was thirteen and was learning what it meant to be a young woman of the Flock. Girls in her class whispered and giggled plenty about the boys around them, dazedly dreaming about their future Pairing. She used to think them silly, but now that she had someone in her reach…The thought didn’t feel so silly anymore. 

And she’d thought about kissing Peeta a lot. 

Her hand slid under the veil and clasped the small dahlia charm he’d bought her, the cool metal comforting against the scratchy lace gloves. Would he have kissed her in the cemetery the other night? She barely knew him. And shouldn’t you know a person, and really know them, before kissing them? Or wanting to kiss them? Her grip around the charm tightened. 

She wished her mother was here. Maybe she could explain all these things Katniss was feeling. How well did Cary Axson know Sage Everdeen before kissing him? Did she kiss him or did he kiss her? How did they know it was right? That nothing else mattered to them but each other? Was it selfish, as the Flock always professed? 

Katniss wasn’t sure. 

And there was no way to ever know. 

“Is that the High Priest’s carriage?” Prim asked, snapping Katniss out of her thoughts again. She sat up straighter, squinting in the distance. Sure enough, through the dark haze of the veil, stood the Mellarks’ carriage with a bored footman leaning against it. 

Cecily snapped closed her notebook. “It appears so. Odd. There was no notice this evening at breakfast.” 

“You don’t believe anything has happened to His Grace,” Prim worried, “do you, Grandmother?” 

“Nonsense. I am sure all is well.” But Cecily’s pinched expression didn’t carry the same confidence as her words.  

They remained silent until Gale helped them down from the carriage and Hazelle greeted them at the door, taking their capes and headwear with a small bow. 

“Which family member is it, Hazelle?” Cecily asked, searching the small basket at the door where visitation cards were left. The basket was empty. “How long have they been here?” 

“I believe it’s just His Highest Grace and the young Elect, ma’am,” Hazelle informed her nervously. Cecily didn’t appreciate surprises and often took her irritation out on her staff. 

“You believe ? Did you not do your job and answer the door like I pay you to do?” 

“No, of course I did! Apologies, ma’am. My mind is all over tonight. It’s laundry night and little Posy’s sick at home–” 

“Then go home,” Cecily sighed, in no mood of hearing about Hazelle’s personal problems. “Take some tonic to her, if need be, but I’ll take it out of your pay.” 

“Yes, of course. Thank you, ma’am. I’ll just put these away first.” She held up the clothing. 

“See that you do.” 

Katniss gave Hazelle’s arm a gentle squeeze as she passed. “Let me know if you need our aid at home,” she whispered. Prim would be the greater help, but Katniss could at least hold little Posy’s hand. 

Hazelle gave her a small smile of gratitude in response. “I will, Miss Katniss,” she said in her Outsider drawl. “Gale will keep you posted.” 

“Katniss!” Cecily called from the parlor. “Hurry in, and stay away from her! You’ll catch sick.” 

“Coming, Grandmother!” She gave Hazelle a hug for luck and hurried to the parlor where Cecily was going through a pile of letters, tossing them back on the table. 

“This is just like the Mellarks,” she fumed, some of the correspondences falling on the ground at her feet. “Stopping by unannounced. What if your grandfather was not home to receive them? How would that have looked upon our family?” 

“Perhaps Grandfather knew,” Katniss offered, taking a seat next to Prim. 

“He would have told me at breakfast,” Cecily insisted. “No, they merely showed up, believing themselves more important than a First Family.” Katniss and Prim looked at each other, unsure how to respond. Since the Pairing, neither knew just where either grandparent stood when it came to the Holy Family. “And now Hazelle is gone,” she continued, as though Posy was purposefully sick just to vex Cecily Axson. 

“I could see if they need any refreshments,” Prim offered helpfully. 

“No. Your tutor will be here any moment. Katniss, go see if they require anything. I will see what Hazelle has left us to eat.” 

Katniss could hear conversation down the hall in Abraham’s study, the door slightly ajar. It was hard to imagine the High Priest ever being a quiet man with the way his laughter boomed down the empty corridor. Abraham’s irritable response to whatever the men were discussing made Katniss shake her head in amusement. Never shy about his feelings, it seemed Abraham Axson was one of the few people who could get away with arguing with their holy leader. Perhaps it was all those years as Head Elder.

She was just about to knock on the door and announce her presence when something her grandfather said gave her pause. 

“I am already giving you a generous sum for the girl.” Sum? The girl? Were they talking about her? 

Bara sighed. “I’m well aware, Abraham. It is a fine amount, but Marta and I looked at the figures and feel it isn’t enough to match the many benefits being Bound to my son offers. We need more. At least five percent more than what you proposed.” 

“Isn’t enough?” A chair scraping across the floor echoed in the room. Carefully, Katniss peered through the cracked door and saw her grandfather standing behind his desk, waving a piece of paper at Bara’s face. The High Priest sat casually in one of the black velvet seats in front of the desk, looking unperturbed by the elderly man. She couldn’t see Peeta, but Hazelle said he was here. “You and that horrid wife of yours proclaim frugality and then blindside an innocent for more money?” Abraham demanded. “This is outrageous! Unjust! I would demand taking this to the Council, but with that bitch of a woman in charge, nothing will fairly be judged. You planned for this all along! I wouldn’t give you my daughter and now you try to rob me blind!” 

“Abraham,” Bara warned, some of the amicable air he carried diminishing. “I am an understanding man, but do not speak of my wife in such a manner. It’s just business. You would have demanded the same thing from Alexander’s intended’s family.” Just business! Were they honestly talking about her like this was some business agreement? That she was no more important than a field animal?  

Abraham’s eyes narrowed, his voice low. “Do not speak of my departed son, Bara.” 

Bara held out his hands. “Apologies. That was uncalled for. I am merely stating that this is nothing personal. We would expect this from any family Paired to Peeta.” 

“And you, boy,” Abraham said, addressing a corner of the room Katniss couldn’t see from where she stood. “What do you think of all this? Do you truly see yourself so highly that you require more money?” 

“I believe my father is correct in requiring more financial gain if Miss Axson is to be protected behind the Mellark name,” Peeta said with such ease, there was no doubt in his words. “I do not see a problem here, sir. What we ask is a reasonable amount. Do you not think your granddaughter is worth the amount we ask?” 

Katniss couldn’t believe it. Was this the same boy who walked her through the cemetery? The same boy who sweetly bought her the dahlia charm and spoke of its blessed power of luck? Who promised to get the Everdeen name inscribed on her stone and who had declared her “beloved?” A sense of profound betrayal coursed like ice through her veins. Her hand clasped around the charm and pulled, snapping the thin ribbon it hung from clear off her neck. 

“Is someone out there?” Her grandfather’s voice startled her, and Katniss took a step back before quickly deciding to bolt. 

She couldn’t go in there and face the men who merely saw her as some business transaction to auction off. The thought of having to act pleasant and respectful to the High Priest, to the Elect – it made her head throb. 

Katniss was out the back door and down the hill toward the woods in mere minutes, her lungs protesting for air as she pushed forward, not even caring where her legs took her. She just had to get out of here. 

Away from them. 

Away from the Flock. 

Away from it all. 

It wasn’t until it felt like she might pass out from lack of air did she stop, collapsing on the damp mossy ground of the forest, and start crying. 

These weren’t tears of sadness, or even frustration, though there was plenty of that, too. No. Hot tears of hopelessness spilled down her cheeks, dampening her dress because she didn’t bother wiping them away.

“I hate them!” she screamed out into the dark forest, kicking the moss with her boot, digging her heels into the mud underneath. “All of them! I hate them!” 

The charm, still in her hand, felt ice cold, burning her skin. Without a second thought, she threw it into the blackness, hearing it bounce off a tree in the distance. How foolish she was ever seeing it as anything but a shackle to this horrible place. How could she forget so easily how confining and restrictive the Flock was? How little agency she had in her life? And for what? Because she was Paired with a nice looking boy who was good with words? 

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! 

The tears didn’t stop for a long time. And just when she thought they had, a new batch would take their place. The tears came, her mouth tasting of salt, breathing next to impossible. Snot mixed with her tears, and after awhile, she gave up trying to wipe it all away. What was the point? At least it made her look less desirable. Maybe the Mellarks wouldn’t want her if they saw what she really looked like when she wasn’t prettied up for sale. 

Katniss had no notion of how long she remained out in the woods, but no one called for her, which was surprising, but a relief. She didn’t know what she’d say to her grandparents, or even Prim. They were all so in favor of dictating her life. Their words of comfort and anger would ring empty, anyway. Meaningless. It was good they left her alone.  

I could run away, she thought numbly, staring up at the stars through the break in the trees. She knew enough about the forest to get by. Maybe stay with Gale and his family until she figured out where to go from there. Katniss imagined herself living in the wilderness, hunting and scavenging for food, living alone in a small wooden cabin. She’d have to learn a new weapon, her gun only getting her so far, but Gale was resourceful enough that he could help her figure it out.

Yes, she could do it. She could survive on the Outside. 

But then she thought about Prim, and how upset she’d be, feeling abandoned by her own sister like that. And with Katniss gone, would Prim still be allowed to become a Healer? That was the plan, but only with Katniss being Paired to a well-off family that could support the Axson clan down the road first. Would that change if she left? Would Prim have her whole world uprooted again because Katniss was selfish enough to leave everything behind? 

Katniss sighed, knowing escape was impossible. 

Not with Prim and her future hanging in the balance. 

I have to be Bound , she resigned, sitting up and splaying out her legs in a most undignified manner. There’s no way around it. 

But did it have to be with Peeta Mellark? Her grandparents never even considered him until the Head Elder personally selected her. Maybe she could convince them that the Pair wouldn’t be beneficial to them and that they should reconsider the Bates Pairing. It was a long shot, especially with everything planned out, but maybe Cecily would see reason? 

Wiping her snotty face with her veil, Katniss stood, resolving herself to talk to Cecily first chance she got. 

It was the only plan she had.

“Grandmother?” Katniss knocked at the parlor room door where Cecily occupied herself with her pile of correspondence. When she’d returned from her bout in the woods last night, Cecily was so busy fretting over the half-started dinner that it didn’t seem a good time to talk. This worked out for the best because it gave Katniss time to really think about what she wanted to say and what rebuttals her grandmother might have toward her proposal. She’d barely gotten any sleep this morning, tossing and turning as arguments ran through her mind. “May I have a word with you?”

Cecily didn’t look up from her pile. “What is it, Katniss?” she muttered, preoccupied with something in the letter she was reading. 

Taking a deep breath in, Katniss slipped into the room and stood in front of her grandmother, hands politely clasped behind her back. “I wish to speak to you about my–about–womanhood. My womanhood.” 

Her grandmother looked up, frowning at Katniss’ simple frock and pushed back veil, her fresh, clean face revealed to all. “Why aren’t you dressed?” she asked, ignoring Katniss’ words. “We’re to leave for the Mellarks’ in an hour. So help me, child, if you make us late because you are too busy playing games–” 

“Yes, I know,” said Katniss, taking another calming breath in. Her palms felt slick and she discreetly wiped them on her skirt. “But I must speak with you, Grandmother. It is a matter of my womanhood.” 

Cecily pushed her glasses up her nose. Was that – was her grandmother amused by this? “Oh? What about it, child?”  

“I feel it is in jeopardy.” She swallowed and went forth with her prepared speech, the one that ran round her head like a trapped mouse all morning. “As you and Prim have urged me to do for so long, I have finally opened my soul to Lady Night and sought Her great wisdom.” 

“And what, pray tell, did Lady Night impart on you?” Cecily asked, relaxing into the couch cushion. There was no doubt now that she was amused.

“That my soul is not meant for His Grace.” There. She said it. This was always the part in her head that the argument could go either direction. “I have been dreaming of Byron Bates for many mornings, Grandmother,” Katniss continued, kneeling down at her grandmother’s feet in hopes of showing humility, a trait Cecily was fond of seeing, and taking her hands. “I close my eyes and all I see is Byron!

“At first I was unclear why he was haunting me. I thought it was guilt – guilt for leaving him when our family promised him my soul for so long, but now I know it is my soul grieving its intended mate.” The words felt wrong, and she prayed Cecily had forgotten all the times Katniss had protested and gagged at the thought of being Bound to Byron Bates. But if he was her only hope of escaping an eternity Bound to Peeta Mellark and his awful family, so be it. She would do and say whatever was necessary to convince her grandmother she was madly in love with the shy, awkward boy who could bore paint off the wall. That it would go against her very being to be Paired with anyone but him. 

Cecily looked at her with what appeared to be sympathy. “Child, you are too young to know what your soul seeks out.” 

“But I am not too young to bind it to a total stranger?” Katniss blurted out, her temper starting to rise. “Why am I too young to know what I do and do not want, but am old enough to bind my soul to another’s family and carry his children? That makes no sense!” 

Now her grandmother truly did look sympathetic to her plight. “Katniss, I was once young too, and in need of the instruction of my betters. You will learn in time what I mean, but for now, you must do as your grandfather and I say because we know what is best for you and our family.” 

“But I want Byron, Grandmother!” Traitorous tears blurred her vision as everything began to unravel. “I want to be his wife, just as you have always planned for me! Why must we not stick to this plan as we have all others?” 

Normally an outburst like this would have earned her a couple straps across the palms or bottom thighs for speaking out of turn, but Cecily did not threaten punishment. Instead, she brushed back a dark curl and gave a sad, understanding smile. 

“I understand that you are frightened, dear girl, as all girls are before their Binding, but you are too young to know what Lady Night plans for you. She has left you and your sister in our care, trusting us to raise you into respectable women. You must have faith that your grandfather and I know what is best for you and accept our wisdom as fact. Now,” she said, patting Katniss’ cheek, clearly ready to drop the subject and move on, “go get dressed. We have less than an hour before having to leave. And wear your green dress with the black trimming.” 

Katniss stared at her, flabbergasted that she was brushing her off so casually after practically promising herself to Byron! “But I do not want to be His Grace’s wife, Grandmother! Weren’t you listening?” 

Cecily had moved on from the conversation already, flipping through her correspondence once more. “There is much we do not want to do in life, Katniss. It is our burden to carry until we are reunited with Lady Night in the sky.” 

Without thinking, Katniss slapped the letter out of her grandmother’s hands and stood, holding it hostage in her fist. “You are not listening to me! Peeta Mellark is an awful man who will not be kind to me! And what of his mother, Grandmother? You have said she was the worst student you ever had the displeasure of teaching! Do you trust she would carry forth my wifely education?” 

“Katniss Esther,” Cecily reprimanded, “you are growing hysterical!” 

“I am speaking with reason!” she pleaded. “Our family does not like them! I have grown up hearing how awful and selfish the Mellarks are! How they stole Grandfather’s rightful place on the Council and ruined our name.” 

Now Cecily stood, a good five inches taller than Katniss. “No, your mother did that by running away with that Outsider and breaking the baptismal oath!” 

“Maybe they had the right idea! I’d break my oath, too, if I knew my own mother was willing to trade me in for my weight in coins!” The slap was sharp and sudden, throwing Katniss’ face to the side. Heat bloomed where Cecily’s hand made contact, and pain radiated immediately from the impact. Cupping her cheek, Katniss looked up at her grandmother in shock. Cecily had never slapped her with her hand before. It was always a common practice to use a strap or paddle, but never a hand. Tears pricked at her eyes again, this feeling more personal than a simple reprimand. 

“You seem to be caught with fever, child,” Cecily said at last, straightening her gown. All anger turned into a hard, impassive glare. “It would be best if you stayed at home and rested.” 

Words lodged in her throat, the sting of the slap silencing Katniss as she stared up at her grandmother in disbelief. Numbly, and still cupping her cheek, she left the room, only pausing at the door when Cecily declared she would send Hazelle up with some tea soon. “For your fever.”

 Right. Her fever. 

She didn’t say anything when Prim asked what was wrong. Didn’t tell her of the argument she and their grandmother just had, or how Cecily slapped her and then acted as though nothing had happened. The words didn’t want to come. So she slipped back into bed and pulled the covers up over her head, never minding the stifling heat this created, making breathing impossible. 

But Katniss didn’t care. The will to hide was stronger than the will to breathe.

She should have run away last night. That much was clear. 

“Katniss.” Prim shook her awake. “Katniss, we have to go. Remember, we’re meeting the Mellarks to choose the dishes for your Binding feast?” 

Katniss stuck her head out, the sweet, humid air kissing her cheeks, and blinked up at her sister. Prim, all dressed for a visit to the Nest, looked down in concern, gently touching the cheek Cecily had slapped, and frowned when Katniss turned away.

“I’m not going,” she muttered.

“But you have to be there! This is your feast, Katniss.” 

“I’m ill, Prim,” Katniss snapped, just wanting her sister to leave her alone. “Grandmother told me I was to stay home and recover.” 

“Is this nerves? I understand you’re nervous, Katniss, but His Grace is a good man–” her sister argued, pulling at her shoulder to get her to turn around. Katniss shrugged her off and burrowed herself deeper into the blanket.

“Leave me alone, Primrose! I told you, I’m not feeling well!” 

“You were feeling well this evening.” 

“Perhaps it was the eggs you so abhor!” That did it. Prim’s lips pursed and she stood, straightening her black gown to hide her hurt. 

“Very well,” she said, her voice rigid and clearly trying not to cry. “Feel better, sister.” 

The door softly clicked behind her, and Katniss counted ten ticks of the clock on the mantle before pulling the blankets off, staring up at the ceiling. Despair slowly seeped through her skin and kept her anchored. Outside she heard the sounds of life: the horses protesting their bridles, Frederick coaxing them to listen. To behave. It was impossible not to hear Cecily’s sharp voice demanding to know why the carriage wasn’t ready, and did no one but herself care about being anywhere on time. Prim’s light and patient voice saying all was well and that the Mellarks would understand if the horses were not cooperating.

Katniss turned away from the window and willed herself to doze off to a dreamless sleep again. Lady Night could grant her that bit of kindness, couldn’t she? 

The next time she woke, the room was pitch black. The only bit of light came from outside, where lanterns were lit. The room was stiflingly hot, the window having a notorious habit of closing on its own. Katniss padded to the window and flung it open, gulping in the sticky night air. From the looks of the night sky, it was likely ten, maybe eleven o’clock. 

She saw Gale in the nearby field, inspecting the fence with a pensive look, and smiled. It felt like a lifetime since the two had properly spoken. Katniss splashed tepid water on her face, dabbing the cloth along her neck and collarbone to cool her off faster, and dressed in one of the short frocks Cecily had deemed too childish for a young woman of her stature. Grabbing her veil and boots, she hopped awkwardly into the muddy boots, laces undone, and bounded down the stairs, almost careening into Hazelle on the bottom step.

“Miss Katniss!” Hazelle gasped, nearly dropping the clean bedclothes she was bringing upstairs. “What are you doing out of bed? Lady Axson claimed you were ill.” 

“Oh. Well,” Katniss stuttered, embarrassed at being caught sneaking off in such an obvious manner. “I was feeling quite ill, but my room is so warm upstairs, that I thought a walk near the forest would help.” 

“I see.” She didn’t seem to believe her, but Hazelle was never one to pry where she didn’t feel she belonged. “Don’t stay out too long,” she warned, stepping aside for Katniss to pass. “I doubt your grandmother would be pleased to hear you walking around when sick. Oh, and Miss Katniss?” She tugged on the veil that hung haphazardly off Katniss’ head. “You might want to put this right.” 

Katniss’ cheeks reddened. “Yes,” she said, flipping the veil over her face and digging the pin deeper into her hair. “Thank you, Hazelle. I promise I won’t be long.” 

“He’s out on the porch,” was all the servant said before ascending the stairs once more. Katniss smiled, glad the two women had a silent understanding when it came to her comings and goings, and headed toward the kitchen.

Gale was where his mother said he’d be, hunched over his box of tools. Katniss stood in the doorway for a moment and watched him, considering asking him to help her run away. Now was as good a time as any. And it might be her only opportunity alone with him. 

“Gale,” she said, closing the screen door softly behind her. He jumped and turned to her, cursing. 

“Can you announce yourself, Catnip? I could’ve poked my eye with something.” 

A smile tugged at her lips. “Do you normally keep tools close to your eyes?” 

“When I’m trying to see in the dark, yeah.” He turned back to his task but made room for her on the step, which she gladly took, tucking her legs under her veil, and watched. 

“What are you working on?” 

“Some goats got out into one of the fields,” he muttered, inspecting a couple of various sized screws. “They trampled over a corner of crops. Your grandfather about strapped Nathanial for not realizing it sooner.” 

“Shouldn’t Nathanial be fixing this? It’s his mistake.” 

“He’s off trying to find that stupid goat Prim’s so fond over. It wandered somewhere in the woods.” That made Katniss smile. Nathaniel was one of their newer farmhands, a couple years younger than her, and had taken a strong liking to her sister the past couple of months. Prim hardly gave him a glance outside of her usual friendliness, often too focused on whatever task she was working on, but it was sweet of him to consider her feelings over the silly beast.  

“Lady,” Katniss informed him. “That’s the goat Prim likes best. She claims Lady’s inhabited by the soul of some errant Hen back to repent for some sin.” Gale shook his head at that and Katniss laughed. “It’s ridiculous, I know, but you know how she is about these things.” 

“It’s crazy how this place can function for as long as it has and still believe in bedtime stories.” 

“You don’t find the stories a little comforting?” she asked. 

He scoffed and tossed the discarded screws back in their pouch. “I have more important things to do than worry about stupid birds or stars.” 

She couldn’t begrudge him that. The closer her Binding got, the more ridiculous everything about Lady Night and the Mockingjay decreeing her fate felt. 

“Why aren’t you with your grandmother and sister?” Gale asked. “Seems all you’ve been doing is planning that toasting of yours. Binding. Whatever.”  

Katniss thought of Cecily’s slap and rubbed at her cheek again. The skin felt better, but the anger and embarrassment still sat, right underneath her skin. “Apparently I’m sick.” 

He snorted. “And are you?” 

“Depends what kind of sick you’re referring to.” She debated telling him everything and decided she might as well. “Grandmother slapped me.” 

“Why?”  

“I said I didn’t want to be Bound to Peeta Mellark and things got out of hand.” That was a bit of an understatement. She had practically begged Cecily to reconsider her Pairing to Byron Bates, ready to sentence herself to a lifetime of boredom and condescension, just to be rid of the High Priest-Elect. 

“I thought he was all you wanted and more in a domineering husband,” Gale mocked, and she punched him lightly in the arm. 

“Stop. You know I never wanted to be Paired, but it was always in their plans: I Pair with a well-to-do man and Prim is trained as a respected Healer. That’s been the plan since as far back as I can remember, but it doesn’t mean I want any of it.” She took in a deep breath, feeling silly for what she’s about to admit next. “I did think Peeta was different from all the other boys in the Flock. He seemed interested in what I had to say. Kind and well-meaning as Byron is, he never bothered asking my opinion.” 

“Because you had so many on soil and fence repair,” Gale retorted but quickly quieted when she didn’t laugh.

“I thought him different because I felt he understood me,” she said as though Gale hadn’t interrupted her. “It felt we had come to a sort of understanding with one another.” 

She sighed and rested her chin on her knees. “But I realize now that was merely my mind reconciling itself to the situation. I’ve always been good at adapting to things I don’t like. Why should this be any different?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. People who don’t adapt end up dying off because of their stubborn stupidity.” 

Katniss ignored his quip and focused on the trees ahead. She picked at a speck of dried mud on her boot. “I am weary of having to change for people, Gale.” 

He shrugged and stood, picking up his toolbox. “It’s part of life, Catnip. Not much we can do with the cards we’ve been dealt except work around them.”

His flippant comment sparked irritation and she sat up straight, glaring at him because he didn’t seem to understand. Yes, Gale had come from the Outside and was forced to adapt to the Flock’s culture, just as she had, but he wasn’t expected to give up on his person to please others. In fact, he seemed to do just the opposite! And he strongly held on to his Outside beliefs with little to no criticism. It wasn’t fair!  

“It is,” she agreed testily, “but not once has anyone asked what I want. Or how I feel about anything, Gale. For Night’s sake”—she pulled off her veil and shook it at him—“I’m expected to transform into someone completely different under this ridiculous garment! Become a simpering little wife whose values are only my looks and how many babes I can bear! 

“And I’m not even trusted to plan my own Binding because why should a silly girl like me know what she wants? Why should I have any say in anything that only affects me and my life? I am expected to pretend I don’t like sugar in my tea and smile sycophantically while Grandmother and Madame Mellark dictate everything!” 

“Katniss,” Gale said cautiously, eyeing her veil balled up in her fist. “Put that thing back on.” 

“No! I don’t want to.” She threw it on the ground, wanting to stomp on it, but knowing there was no way she could ever explain the dirty footprints to Cecily. Even in her anger she was limited in how she wished to properly express herself. “No one who cares is even here,” she huffed, brushing a damp stray curl out of her eye. “They’re all out making choices on my behalf.”

“Then leave,” was all he said. 

That stopped her short. “What?” 

“Leave,” Gale said, picking the veil up and shaking the dirt off it. “You think it’s so miserable here, then leave it all. Isn’t that what your parents did?” This was it. This was her moment to propose to him her idea of running away and living somewhere far from the Nest. But now that the chance was here, Katniss paused, unsure. 

“I can’t,” was all she was able to mutter, her voice cracking. Crushed by the truth that running away was never a viable option. That she didn’t have the courage to do it. 

Gale nodded and looked out at the forest for a long moment, his dark eyes squinting as he considered her options. He looked back at her and finally said, “Then we’ll get married.” 

“What ?” Now he had truly gone mad. “How is that a solution to my problem?”

Her incredulity didn’t hinder him. He continued, matter-of-factly, “Well you don’t want to marry Peeta, and you don’t want to run away, right? It wouldn’t have to be a real marriage, with kids or anything. But you’re my friend, Catnip, and I don’t want to see you get a shit deal and be miserable for the rest of your life. So I’ll marry you. Tonight, if you want.” And by the earnest look in his eyes, Gale meant every word of it. He would marry her just to get her out of this messy situation. 

“I can’t marry you! You’re Bough-folk!” She regretted the words immediately, her cheeks blistering with red-hot embarrassment. Had she really just said that aloud, with such undisguised alarm? Katniss always believed herself better and more open minded than her grandparents, but seeing Gale’s expression hardened made her realize she wasn’t so different from them after all. “Gale, I’m sorry–”

“Why does that matter?” he demanded, wanting to hear her say it. 

“Gale…” She didn’t mean for the words to come out like they did, but this was all too much! She tried to imagine what it’d be like. What her life as Gale’s wife would be like. She would have to move to the Boughs, a place she’d only ventured a handful of times, and likely never see her family again. There was no way her grandparents could forgive her for not only marrying behind their backs—and to an Outsider no less!—but deliberately slighting the Holy Family. She wasn’t even entirely sure the High Priest would let her get away with it. He’d likely sentence her to Penance for the rest of her days, locked away in a cave until she became senile. 

But if that wasn’t the case, if the Holy Family merely exiled her, how hard would life in the Boughs be? She’d heard Gale talk about it plenty of times, complaining about how hard the winters were in their tiny homes, how many were still expected to trek the treacherous snowy landscape to make it to their jobs and be able to feed their families. Katniss imagined being one of those people, wearing layers of garments to protect her flesh from the biting cold, forced to cook and clean for a family who would treat her like Cecily treated Hazelle. 

She looked down at her small hands, with the smallest of callouses from mending and needlepoint and piano, and knew the transition to the Boughs would be hard. Perhaps in another life, she wouldn’t know any better and this hardship would be a mere fact of life. But this life, the one here at her grandparents’ estate, was all that she really knew. Katniss could feel her father’s disappointment all the way from 12. Despite all her claims that she was unlike Abraham and Cecily, Katniss was no different from them after all. Despite how she sneered at the way First Families spoke like they were of superior blood, the thought of being a humble servant felt belittling to her. Beneath her station, beneath her pedigree.

Shame crept up her neck, warming her cheeks. 

She looked away.

Despite the dark, Gale noticed. “I thought so.” He threw the veil at her. 

“Gale!” Her hands clutched at the garment. “I didn’t mean for it to– I’m not like that. You know I’m not! I’m not like them, I swear.” But that wasn’t true, she knew deep down. It seemed Abraham and Cecily’s upbringing had left a stronger impression on her than she thought. “It’s just that–everything is changing so fast and I don’t want it to. I don’t want to be married to anyone, Gale. Not to you or to Byron Bates, and especially not to Peeta Mellark.” She practically spat his name, the image of his charming smile making her feel more ill.

She threw the veil on the ground and took his hand, begging for him to see how sorry she was, but he pulled away. “I need to get back to work,” was all he said. “You should go in, Katniss.” 

“Gale, I’m sorry!” She grabbed his hand again, just as the back door creaked open.

“Katniss Esther!” Katniss wrenched her hand away from Gale, almost falling back on the step and knocking over his toolbox. “What is the meaning of this?” Cecily demanded, grabbing her by the arm. “What are you doing out here? And with a hunter? Where is your veil?” 

“Grandmother, I can explain,” Katniss stuttered, her arm feeling like it was going to rip out of its socket. 

“There is nothing to explain! Get inside this instant!” Cecily pushed Katniss toward the door. “And take the servants’ stairs. We mustn’t let–” The words died on her lips because there, smiling pleasantly in her dark maroon dress, stood Marta Mellark. 

“I wondered what was taking you so long, Cecily,” the Head Elder said, but her eyes narrowed on Katniss’ disheveled and bare-faced appearance. “Miss Axson,” she said. “I thought you unwell.” 

“Oh, she’s quite ill, Madame,” Cecily said, her grip tightening on Katniss’ arm. Katniss winced. “Quite ill. Delusional, in fact.” She made to move past the Head Elder, but Marta stopped her. 

“She looks well to me, Cecily. In fact,” she said, her hand gripped Katniss’ chin hard and turned her head to and fro, “she looks like she’s had a pleasant time outside. Shall we see what cured Miss Axson’s illness, Cecily? 

“Step aside,” Marta commanded, pushing the two women aside. “I thought so,” she surmised when she spotted Gale still on the bottom porch step, cleaning up his tools. “Just like her mother. You there. Outsider,” And she snapped her fingers at him. 

Gale sighed, not bothering looking up. “Yeah?” 

“What is that by your feet? Bring it to me.” He picked up Katniss’ discarded veil, expression grim, and brought it to her. Marta inspected the delicate fabric. “You have been out here all night?” 

“It’s my job, ain’t it?” 

Her jaw clenched. “Do remember who you are speaking to, Outsider. I am your Head Elder.” 

“Yeah, I know who you are.” 

“Madame,” Katniss said, unable to stand the thought of Gale getting in trouble because of her. Why did she take off her veil? Or even come outside for that matter? She should have stayed inside like she was supposed to. “Please don’t be upset with Gale! He’s innocent in all this, I swear!” 

“So it was you, Miss Axson, who decided to take off your veil in front of a man who is neither your blood, nor even your intended, an indiscretion that might be excused on the grounds of your upcoming Binding?” Madame Mellark was eerily calm, her thumb rubbing the veil. 

Katniss knew she was treading dangerous grounds. There was no denying that she wasn’t wearing her veil. So what were her options? Lie and tell them Gale did it? That he goaded her to take it off? Guilt churned her stomach at the thought of blaming him. Gale had done so much for her, and was ready to give up his own happiness to help her. She could never do that to her friend.

She would have to tell them the truth. 

But looking up at the Head Elder, the cold anger clear in her blue eyes, a roiling sensation of fear rose in her stomach. No matter what excuse she gave, be it the truth or lie, it would never be enough to persuade the Head Elder that nothing obscene happened. 

Katniss swallowed, her throat tightening under the scrutiny. 

“I took it off, Madame,” she confessed softly, eyes cast down to her boots. “Forgive me. I was upset and wasn’t thinking.” 

“A confession,” Madame Mellark noted. “I have to say, I am not surprised. Ruined women produce ruined daughters.” 

“No, Madame Mellark,” Cecily said, desperate to salvage the situation. “I told you, the child is delirious! She does not know what she is saying! Or what she does! Oh, child,” she said to Katniss, running a bony hand across her cheek, “we best call for Agatha–” 

“There is no need,” said Madame Mellark, and folded the veil neatly to her bosom. “Outsider,” she addressed to Gale, “prepare the wagon. We will need it.”

Gale balked at the command, but at Cecily’s harried cry of “Make yourself useful!” he left, grabbing his tools, and headed down to the carriage house. Marta watched him slip into the barn, her lips pursing in distaste.

 Neither woman moved, too afraid of upsetting the Head Elder further. 

“Well,” Marta said at last, “I believe there is much business to discuss inside about the Binding.” 

At the mention of the Binding, Cecily relaxed and loosened her grip on Katniss. This was good. If Madame Mellark still spoke of the Binding, surely that meant there was still going to be a Binding. Despite her apprehensions, Katniss couldn’t help but feel relieved. Relieved that her impulsive behavior didn’t ruin everything for her family.

They followed the Head Elder in, walking as quickly and as quietly as mice. To Katniss’ surprise, they did not head into the parlor where they always received guests. Instead, Marta headed down the hall to Abraham’s study and entered with no knock, startling the old man at his desk. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Abraham demanded. “Cecily, I am too busy for your silly womanly visits.” 

“Oh, Abraham,” Marta said bemusedly, “you know I am not one to waste my time on such trivial matters. No, I am here to discuss the nullification of the arrangement between our houses. I thought it best to tell you in person instead of waiting for a formal letter to be delivered. The post can be quite slow, and I wish to end this engagement as soon as possible.” 

An uproar of complaints filled the room as Abraham and Cecily both broke out in vehement protestations against the Head Elder, demanding she obtain the High Priest’s permission for such a thing. “How quickly you forget the rules of conduct, Abraham,” Madame Mellark said, a hint of spiteful amusement in her tone. “As Head Elder, it is my duty to make sure the Elect is Paired with a suitable woman. A woman who will represent grace and loyalty to her husband and Flock.” Her eyes turned to Katniss, bemusement replaced by disgust. “Miss Axson’s loose morals will not be connected to the Mellark legacy. She may wish to spread her legs to lowly Outsiders, but it will not be while Bound to my beloved son.” 

“What?” Abraham barked. “You hold your tongue, Marta, speaking of my granddaughter in such a manner!” 

“What does this look like to you, Lord Axson?” Marta demanded, dragging Katniss to the center of the room by the arm. “Look at her! Hair disheveled, cheeks flushed! And this” — she shook the veil at him—“thrown to the ground, as if her vows to remain pure for my son amounted to nothing!” 

Abraham’s beady eyes appraised his granddaughter’s appearance, and his expression hardened. Katniss struggled to be freed from Marta’s hard grip, but the woman held on. 

Marta continued. “And to comprise herself with a lowly Outsider.” With a disgusted look at the girl, a look that seemed to look beyond her at another woman entirely, she let go of Katniss’ arm, letting the girl tumble to the ground mid-struggle. “Just like her mother,” she sneered. 

“What? What? ” Abraham demanded, his voice rising to a level Katniss had never heard before. She had seen her grandfather cross before, and had been scolded by him enough to know crossing him was not in her best interest, but the thunderous way he looked at her now made her shrink back. 

“What Outsider?” he asked his wife. “Was it one of the workers?” 

“The Hunter,” Cecily moaned, sinking low in her seat. She now had her smelling salts out. “Hazelle’s son.” 

Abraham’s eyes flashed and the vein in his neck grew more prominent. “The Hawthorne boy? You were cavorting with him?”

“No, I wasn’t! Grandfather, please,” Katniss pleaded, pulling herself off the ground. “Gale didn’t do anything, I swear! We are just friends!” 

“Friends?” he asked, incredulously. “Friends? You cannot be friends with these people, Caroline! There are rules we must follow, protocol to adhere to.” Katniss’ brows furrowed at the sound of her mother’s name being directed at her. “How could you let this happen?” The question was directed at Cecily. “How could such an offense happen right under your supervision? You are the girl’s protector, Cecily! Her guide! This should not have happened.”

Cecily balked at the accusation. “I have allowed no such thing,” she protested. “I have watched her every move, made sure she was the lady we wished her to be! It is not my fault she does not wish to be Paired with the Elect!” 

Marta’s eyes hardened at the mention of her son. 

“You are the one too soft on the girl,” Cecily continued, pointing an accusatory finger at her husband, and now it was clear to their granddaughter that the couple wasn’t speaking of the current scandal. “If you had been more firm with her as a young child, then she wouldn’t have run off with that low-born rabble!” 

“Stop it! Please!” Katniss shouted. She stepped between her grandparents, hands held out. “I am not my mother! This is not the same!” 

“Indeed it is not,” Marta said coolly. “In Caroline’s unfortunate case, the scandal was too far gone to correct it properly. But by the Mockingjay’s blessed judgment, I shall see that this transgression receives the punishment it richly deserves.”

“And what,” said Abraham slowly, “do you mean by that, Marta?”

“Exactly what I said, Abraham. An injustice has been committed against my family by your granddaughter and her actions must be seen to. I am taking Miss Axson with me.” 

“You will do no such thing!” Abraham exclaimed. “This is a private matter and it shall be handled behind closed doors.”

“The Pairing and Binding of the High Priest’s son is no private matter, as you well know, Abraham. It concerns all the Flock. I shall not let my family be subject to rumor and intrigue when it is discovered that the girl is willing to spread her legs for a pathetic Outsider. To bring forth doubt of my son's future heir? No. The shame of such sins must be met, and openly. Only then can one be purified of them.”

A knock at the door and a sharp “enter” from Abraham preceded Gale into the room. “Your carriage is ready, Madame,” he muttered through tight lips. 

Madame Mellark smiled. “Wonderful.” She turned to Katniss. “Come along, Miss Axson.” 

Abraham grabbed Katniss’ arm. “She is not going anywhere with you, Marta. I have told you this is a private matter.” 

“And I have told you it is not,” she said, tone brooking no room for argument. “Either the girl comes with me or I declare the Axson line traitors to His Highest Grace and you are exiled from the Flock: I leave that choice in your hands.”

“There’s no need for theatrics, Marta,” Cecily scolded feebly, rubbing her temples. 

Madame Mellark rounded on the woman who had once been her instructor in all things feminine. Katniss was no longer surprised that Cecily always called Marta Mellark the worst student she ever had. Ironic, considering how similarly severe they both were. Even now, Katniss could see decades of girlish resentment in the Head Elder’s sneer when she said, “Lady Axson, I am utterly sincere. The eaves of your house give me no great pleasure to look upon, and I would gladly give them to another, more deserving, master.” 

Turning from the present mistress to the master of the estate, she raised one eyebrow. “What say you, Abraham?” 

Katniss looked up at her grandfather, pleading with him not to let her go. But his resolve wavered. “Grandfather, please,” she begged. Please don’t make me go.

“Very well,” Abraham sighed in defeat. “Take her.” 

Marta yanked  Katniss toward her. “A wise choice.” 

“Awful witch,” he spat, looking years older. 

“There is no need for name calling,” Marta tutted. “After all, you were Head Elder once, Lord Axson: what would you have done?” He didn’t say anything, and Marta’s smile widened. “As I thought. Come along, girl. We must be off before the rains.”

“What will become of my family?” Katniss finally found the nerve to ask. They had been traveling for almost an hour now, and all she could think about was the pained expressions on her grandparents’ faces as Marta escorted her out of the study. What a disappointment it was that I had to be the eldest daughter, she thought. That it hadn’t been perfect Prim, so eager to praise the Mockingjay and follow the order of the Flock. Prim wouldn’t have been so foolish and headstrong. She wouldn’t have taken offense at being a prized bird, auctioned off to the highest bidder. She would have imagined it as being given a new nest, of flying to a gentle hand to be plied with berries and tree nuts.

Prim wouldn’t be in a carriage right now, awaiting punishment for breaking her vows to the Holy Family. 

Katniss choked down the knot of tears trying to escape. She would not allow herself to cry in front of Madame Mellark. 

“They won’t be exiled, will they?” 

“I suppose that depends on how well you behave,” Madame Mellark said, sounding almost bored by it all. “Though I cannot imagine many will wish to associate with the Axson name after this. I do hope your sister has other plans.” 

The knot grew bigger. “My sister?” 

“To be a Healer, one must be granted a blessing by the High Priest,” Marta said. “Your sister wished to be a Healer, correct?” All Katniss could do was nod, too afraid if she said anything, the tears would become unmanageable. “Yes, well. We cannot have soiled hands treating the sick. A pity. I heard she was quite promising.” 

“My sister is not soiled!” Katniss defended, her voice thick and crackly. 

“By association, she is.” 

Katniss looked down at her hands, her cuticles now raw from picking at them during the long ride. “Please don’t punish my sister for my mistakes, Madame.” 

“Perhaps you should have thought of the repercussions before fornicating with a lowly Outsider.” She tapped the carriage’s ceiling, alerting the driver to stop. “We’re here.” 

Katniss’ heart thumped frantically in her chest, nerves gripping her innards like a vise. 

“Wait here,” Marta instructed and was helped down by a Talon. 

The door shut, leaving Katniss in semi-darkness once more. 

What did Madame Mellark have planned for her? There were various ways the Flock punished, but what did humiliating the Holy Family warrant? Could this warrant Penance? Katniss had heard chilling tales of what happened in the caves near the borders. How people went in for Penance and came out…different. Her mother had been one of those pilgrims. Upon their return from the Outside, Cary had left her daughters for a week, so that her rebellion against the Flock and against her family might be absolved. Her pallor had changed when she returned, Katniss remembered. And she’d clearly lost weight, her dress hanging loosely off of her, dirt clinging to her skirts. 

Was that to be her fate? 

No. Katniss refused to allow it. She had to get out of here. Run.  

Hesitantly, she pushed open the door, unsure where exactly she’d run to, but she had to do something . She couldn’t stay here like a sitting duck, waiting dutifully for an unknown but likely humiliating punishment. But as soon as she wedged the door open an inch, it slammed back in her face, nearly catching her fingers. A man, a Talon, probably, barked an order for her to remain inside. 

Katniss threw herself back on the seat, the carriage rocking under her movement, and waited. 

She didn’t have to wait long. 

The door opened and large, leather-gloved hands reached in, hoisting her out of the carriage. “Come on,” one man grunted. “Madame Mellark wishes to see you.” But instead of taking Katniss up the stairs to the Elder House, the Talons dragged her away from it, toward where the tall posts stood in the center of the Nest. Her eyes widened at the sight of a small crowd standing in idle curiosity around Madame Mellark. 

In the Head Elder’s hands was a wooden sign. Anyone unlucky enough to earn the post was forced to wear one, and each one displayed their manner of sin for all to see and scorn. Another Talon stood next to her, holding the chains meant to imprison Katniss. 

“No!” Katniss panicked, and dug her heels into the ground, but the Talons were more than a match for a small girl. They lifted her higher, until only the tips of her boots trailed the ground. “I’m sorry! It’s a misunderstanding! Please!” 

“Quiet!” a Talon snapped. “Kneel before the Head Elder.” They shoved Katniss down into the mud, causing her knees to sink low into the wet earth, and pulled her head back by the hair, forcing her to look up at Marta Mellark.

“Beloved Flock ,” Marta said, eyes never leaving Katniss, “a great injustice has been done to your High Priest-Elect!” Whispers lit up the crowd like small, hissing fires. “Whilst our Elect, my son, is out doing the Mockingjay’s good work, where do you suppose his intended, Miss Katniss Axson is? Fraternizing with another man. No veil upon her head, and no shame in her conduct! ” Gasps of predictable outrage from the assembly. 

“What have you to say, Miss Axson?” Marta asked with a raised brow. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Katniss wailed. “I promise you, nothing happened! Gale is just my friend!” Tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision as the crowd’s disgusted stares went in and out of focus. “I didn’t do anything!” 

“Silence the wench,” Marta sneered. A bridle was produced, its metal bit wrested into Katniss’s mouth. Katniss bucked her head, resisting as best she could, but the Talon’s grip in her hair tightened. Any tighter and she feared clumps of hair would tear off.

At last, the bridle was buckled in place, its dark straps digging into her cheeks, pressing her lips hard against her teeth. The only sounds able to escape now were her cries and grunts of frustration. 

 “Miss Axson,” Marta said, “as Head Elder, it is my sworn duty to protect the Holy Family from ruination and to make sure those who oppose the will of the Mockingjay are sentenced to punishment.” She held the sign up to the crowd and spoke, much louder now, “You will wear the sign of the adulteress! A traitorous whore!” 

The crowd cheered, and Katniss winced at the cruel title. She was not a whore! She’d done nothing wrong! Why wouldn’t anyone believe her? 

Marta hung the heavy sign around Katniss’s neck. She did not need to see it to know what was stamped on it in bright red lettering, for she had seen it once or twice before on the rare occasion that a Binding fell to ruin. 

I AM AN ADULTERESS. 

“May the Mockingjay cast His judgment upon you, and as you stand before Him, remember your place at His feet. Gentlemen, proceed.” 

The Talons hauled Katniss to a standing position. 

Shouts of “Post the whore!” came from the crowd. This was the Flock’s way of making things right, their example of wrongdoing for the prudent young, their exertion of tradition by the pious old – and it was their entertainment. 

Katniss’ eyes burned, her resolve to not cry in front of Marta Mellark, in front of everyone, weakening by the second.

“Halt!” Marta commanded, stepping forward and grabbing hold of Katniss’ right hand where the dark red ribbon was still intricately wrapped around her hand and wrist. She demanded a knife and one was given to her. “A whore does not deserve to wear the symbol of unity,” she said, her voice low enough that only those nearest could hear. She wedged the knife between skin and ribbon and pulled up, snapping the ribbon in two. Katniss inhaled sharply, the sharp edge of the knife glancing against her skin. The torn fabric remains of Peeta Mellark’s once-beautiful ribbon fluttered down between the women.

Marta stepped on them. 

“I suspected it was a mistake allowing such a miscreant to be Paired with my son,” she continued as the Talons wrapped cold chains around Katniss’ wrists, pinning her in place. “I knew you were too much like your willful mother. But I allowed my judgment to be swayed. Well, no more.” Marta turned to the crowd as the Talons finished wrapping the chains around Katniss’ ankles. Katniss cried out in pain, the angle too awkward to manage for a long period of time, all her weight landing on her tiptoes.

“Twelve hours,” Marta  informed the assembled. 

Katniss’ eyes widened in horror. Twelve hours here? Like this? She pulled at the chains, but it only caused her joints to protest. 

“Twelve hours for this whore to repent her ways and swear allegiance once more to our Highest Priest!” 

More shouts, these like cheers.

Marta smiled at Katniss, a twisted imitation of motherly condescension, and straightened her sign. “Have a pleasant night, Miss Axson.” And she walked away, motioning to the Talons to follow. 

Katniss stood there, her ankles already screaming at the pressure, and willed herself to look up at the faces in the crowd. Some looked disapproving, some looked somber, and some looked sanctimoniously pleased. Well, fine. Let them think what they wanted about her, and let them say what they liked. She wasn’t going to let them break her.

She braced herself for the long night ahead of her.

Katniss wasn’t sure how long she could handle this. She thought back to the times she’d seen men and women posted for various reasons, looking miserable and defeated, and thought they were just sorry for their misdeeds. 

No. She knew better now. 

They’d looked that way because of the pain and the humiliation of being chained to a post in front of everyone you knew. It was like being stripped naked.

She’d lost track of time, praying that someone was keeping watch of the clock and would release her as soon as her twelve hours were up, but she feared Madame Mellark would purposely forget.

Awful scenarios began to spin their webs inside her mind. Had anyone ever died on the post? 

She couldn’t recall. 

All Katniss could think about—all her body allowed her to focus on—was the pain. Her toes were now numb, but a sharp stabbing sensation would occasionally lance up her legs whenever she managed to shift just a hair in her chains. It was difficult to decide if the brief relief she’d feel in her arms was worth it.  

Everything hurt.

She would take a potful of her grandmother’s “quiet tea” over this. At least then she could curl up and wish death upon her in the safety of her bed. Here, her misery was laid out for all to see.

And judge. 

And oh, did people turn out in droves to judge the Elect’s fallen bride. It was like a Sanctuary day, and she was the offering upon the altar.

It hadn’t taken long after Madame Mellark went inside for the people to come up and see her crime for themselves. Thankfully, there were rules about no one being able to touch her, but that didn’t stop them from sermonizing, chastising, or calling her cruel things. 

“Think you’re above us all, do you, harlot?” a particularly vindictive group of young women jeered, spitting at her feet. “Think you’re too good to be the Elect’s wife?” When she’d shake her head, wishing she could say that no, she didn’t think herself too good to be Peeta’s wife, they’d just shake their heads and say she had what was coming to her. 

For hours Katniss suffered through their onslaught of commentary, hating how much their words tore at her

I will cry when I get home . Then and only then will I be safe.  

And she thought she really could do it. She thought she could keep herself together. 

But then the rain started. 

At first she was relieved at the fat drops falling from the sky, hitting her face when she turned her head up. The air was humid and her dress reeked of sweat. Rain felt like a blessing as it cooled her skin. And it steered passersby back into their homes, made them hurry along with their errands, too busy to pay any heed to the sinner chained to the post. 

But then the rain grew steadier, and the relief she’d felt transformed into another form of agony. Now all she saw in front of her was rain. Her hair, already mangled by the Talons’ rough hands, clung to her face, pieces falling over her eyes. Her soiled dress clung to her body, and the water irritated the raw skin around her neck where the rope dug in.

After the fourth attempt at nudging hair out of her eyes with her shoulder, Katniss gave up. What was the point? 

She’d never given the Mockingjay much thought, but in this moment, the lowest she’d ever felt, Katniss couldn’t help but wonder if this was all His doing: the heavy, cold rain that now had her body shivering, and the wind that swayed the sign around her neck like a swinging noose? Was this because she slighted one of His selected children? 

Thinking of the Mockingjay made her think of Prim, her beloved little sister, whose only dream it was to take care of their fellow brethren and to celebrate the Mockingjay’s goodness, and her sorrow grew heavier. Katniss imagined Prim being sat down in her grandfather’s study, Abraham and Cecily grim, Madame Mellark gleeful, and being told the news, and how it was Katniss’ fault that she could never become a Healer. That Katniss was too selfish, too self-absorbed to care about anyone but herself. 

And they would be right…

How many times had Prim cautioned her hasteful actions? Reprimanded her for her temper? And how many times had Katniss ignored her warnings? Thought her little sister was being silly? 

Then there was Gale! What consequences would he bear for her misconduct? Would her grandfather fire him, too afraid of history repeating itself? Had he perhaps fired Gale already? Would Gale be able to find work once word spread that it was he who had been caught with the Elect’s intended?

 She even half-expected Gale to be brought to the post himself to share in her misdeed. If Madame Mellark had no qualms posting a child of a First Family, she would surely not bat an eyelash at the idea of posting an Outsider.

But no one came. Thunder rumbled overhead. Rain poured. 

The two people I care most about, Katniss thought, shivering in her chains, and I ruined them. The Flock was not naturally forgiving, not, at least, of someone who the High Priest’s wife had made a pariah. They would never forget this moment. Never forget who was part of it. 

And it was all her fault.

It was impossible to tell the time, when the rain finally died down to a drizzle, making it easier to breathe, but by the warm smells of cooked meats and breads in the air, Katniss surmised it to be around dinnertime. Her stomach growled as she thought of the lamb Hazelle was preparing this evening and all the glazed vegetables that always came with it. 

Night, she was hungry. 

And thirsty. Her dried tongue licked at the metal bit in her mouth, willing rain droplets to slip between her parched lips, but none did.

She tried distracting herself from thirst by figuring out how long she’d stood out here, but as the number of hours grew in her head, the pain in her shoulders and feet sharpened, and she gave up. There was no point. They would take her down when Madame Mellark permitted it. 

“Looks like the whore’s still here!” a voice heckled from her left. 

Katniss slowly lifted her head and squinted at the small group of teenage boys, no older than fifteen, standing about twenty feet away from her, clumps of mud in their hands.

“I was hoping she’d be,” another boy said before throwing his fistful of mud at her. “Been wanting to say something all night, but Mother was too afraid her presence would corrupt me.” The clump of mud hit Katniss on the knee. 

“She’s not half-bad to look at,” another boy said. “I’ll wager she looks a treat spread out on her back. I almost cannot blame the Outside trash.” 

The first boy made lewd kissing sounds at her. “Care to warm my bed today, Miss Axson? I’ll show you what a real gentleman feels like.” 

Katniss shook her head, thinking how the boys’ prudent mothers would no doubt wash their mouths out with soap if they could hear the filth they spat at her.

“She’s calling your bluff, Eldon!” Eldon’s friends exclaimed, shoving the first boy on the shoulder. “Looks like she’d rather sleep with a pig than you!” Then they started oinking. 

Eldon’s face darkened and he scooped up another handful of mud and aimed it at her head, but thankfully, only hitting her shoulder. “You like pigs, Miss Axson? Is that it?”

She made a sound of protest, wriggling in her chains, but her distress only amused the three boys and more clods of mud and manure flew at her in a bombardment. 

“She’s like a slippery fish!” one boy guffawed at her desperation. “Look at her squirm!” 

Somewhere off from the side, Katniss heard the slam of a door, and then a familiar voice shouting out, “Get away from her! Now! Begone! Away, I say!” 

The boys all cursed under their breaths, and dropped the mud. “Yes, Your Grace!” they said. “Forgive us, Your Grace!” And they ran off, practically falling over themselves in the process. 

Katniss’ heart thudded hard in her chest as Peeta Mellark came into view. No. She couldn’t bear him humiliating her, too. She could not endure his cruelty. 

“Miss Axson,” he breathed, stepping closer. His golden-blond hair was now damp from the rain, curls clinging to his forehead. His blue eyes filled with concern. “Oh, Miss Axson,” he said again, his voice deep with regret and something else. Sadness? Katniss shook her head, the tears that had threatened to fall all night finally doing so. Hot tears spilled down her puffy face and a horrible, choking sound escaped from around her bridle. Her sobs startled into a snotty cough as Peeta’s hand caressed her cheek. “I am so sorry.”

Why was he apologizing to her? Did he not see the sign around her neck, proclaiming her an adulteress? Surely his mother had told him of it already. And if that was so, why should he care? He would lose the money he wanted, yes, but what of that? There were richer girls, meeker girls. 

No. The truth, the painful truth, was standing before her in polished black boots. Whatever he had said about the money, if his kindness to her had been a sham, worthy of throwing his charm away, of railing against him, of casting aside her veil, he would not be here now. He had no obligation to pretend any longer. 

She had misjudged him. The guilt of it made her sob harder. It was all for nothing. And worse. She had slighted someone who had been nothing but good to her. If she had asked him about the money, she felt sure now he would have told her what he meant. Stupid, stupid Katniss. Why hadn’t she just asked? 

But the question remained: why was he here?

Peeta stepped closer, his boots sinking into the mud, and with great hesitancy, as though he was handling a wild stallion instead of a water-trodden young woman, he reached behind her head and undid the bridle’s strapping. Instant relief flooded her mouth when he pulled it away, dropping it in the mud at her feet. 

“Oh, Miss Axson,” he said again.

“Please, don’t,” she said, her voice hoarse from dehydration. She didn’t deserve such kindness. “Your Grace–” 

He set a finger to her chapped lips. “Wait a moment,” he said. “I shall return.” If she had been in less pain, Katniss might have snapped that she could do nothing but wait, chained to the post as she was. But seeing him step away made something deep inside her ache for him to stay with her. She didn’t want to be alone again. Not after all she’d been through tonight.

“Don’t go,” she whined. “Please.” 

Peeta looked torn, but he resolved himself and shook his head. “You need something warm to stave off fever. I shall only be a moment. I promise.”

She nodded, and then winced when the scratchy rope rubbed against her tender skin. 

Peeta frowned at the sign and Katniss’ stomach clenched, imagining what he must think of the awful words it said. Maybe he didn’t notice them before? Had only been focused on saving her from the boys throwing mud, but now that he saw her shameful crime, he would leave her to suffer as his mother intended. 

She would not blame him. Men were prideful creatures and did not take kindly to women’s fallings.

“This must be burned,” Peeta growled, pulling it off her with such force, she gasped in shock. “To hang such a thing…” He hurled it into the mud and glared down at it as if it had personally offended him. His anger lessened when he looked back at her. “I will return, Miss Axson,” he promised once more, and ran off.

Katniss strained her head back to watch him go, but it was too difficult to maintain with the rope burn around her neck. 

Why did he take the sign off her? Why was he helping her? 

Katniss coughed, the sound scratchy and hoarse, a dull throbbing in her throat. Already she knew if she survived this— when she survived this—she would be laid in bed for a week with a cold. 

A crash of a door drew her attention back to the present. The crash was followed by a female voice, so distinctly belonging to Madame Mellark. 

“Get back here!” Katniss deciphered. She could barely make out the shape of Peeta leaving his house, two bundles in his arms, and his mother standing on the front porch, the glow of light behind her making her silhouette ominous. “Son, let us discuss matters indoors! Peeta! Peeta Martin!” 

But Peeta didn’t say a word. He marched toward her post with a determination Katniss had never seen before, his features pinched in anger. 

She had never seen such blatant disrespect from him before. Talking behind his mother’s back was one thing, but she hadn’t thought him capable of opposing his mother like this. 

“Apologies for the delay,” he said, speech perfunctory, and hard, though clearly his ire was not directed at her. “Are you still conscious?” 

She nodded, afraid if she spoke, the pain in her throat would worsen. 

He tucked the second bundle under his arm and unwrapped the first: a small porcelain teapot with a tin cup. He poured the tea into the cup and held the rim to her lips. “Drink, Miss Axson. It will help with whatever sickness has surely invaded your soul.” 

Without questioning any further motives, she took a timid sip. The tea felt wonderful as it slid down her aching throat, warming parts of her body she never knew could grow cold in the first place. Soon her timid sips turned into voracious gulps. Peeta filled the cup three times before she emptied the pot. The Elect gave a small laugh. “I am sorry for not properly making it how I know you like,” he apologized. “No sugar, I am afraid.” 

Katniss shook her head, not wishing him to think her ungrateful for even a moment. “I do not know how you can be so kind to me, Your Grace. I have been so careless! Please, forgive me, Your Grace. I have wronged you, and everyone I care for!”

“No,” Peeta said, his voice brooking no argument. “You have not, Miss Axson. You have wronged no one.” 

He set the teapot and cup down and unwrapped the second bundle. Katniss’ mouth watered when she smelled the sweet cinnamon and raisin bread, still warm from the oven, if not a bit damp from the rain. He tore a piece off and held it up to her. 

Her stomach growled again, reminded how long it had been since she’d eaten, but she couldn’t accept it. The tea was one thing, but this was clearly a new loaf meant for dinner, or breakfast the next evening. 

“Miss Axson, you need to eat,” Peeta insisted, holding the bread up closer. 

“I cannot,” was all she could manage. “I do not deserve such kindness as food.” 

A flash of amusement crossed his eyes, which confused her, but it was gone before she could think on it more. “Do not let your womanly stubbornness get in the way of subsistence, Miss Axson. Eat the bread.” 

She shook her head again. “Please, I cannot.” 

“Do not make me act as your Elect and order you to eat it.” There it was again, that amusement. 

“Even you do not have the power to command me to eat,” she said, coughing hard on the last word. It felt like claws were scraping at her empty stomach, scratching at her resistance.

His eyes downcast, and he looked down at the torn piece in his hand. “You are right,” he said. “I cannot make you, but I plead with you to accept this offering. Let me help you, Katniss.” 

His use of her baptismal name did it. Let me help you, Katniss. How many times had she heard those words said to her? Almost never, not since her father died. She had learned long ago not to rely on others. She had learned it was best to do her duty, despite how it made her feel. But hearing those words, those simple, earnest words, broke her resolve and she parted her lips to be fed.

Katniss wasn’t sure if it was because she was so hungry, so starved for nourishment, but it was the most delicious bread she’d ever tasted. The cinnamon and sugar melted on her tongue, the tart and earthy flavors of raisins and nuts cutting the sweet, like a splash of cold water in whiskey. Soon the piece was gone. Katniss practically forced herself not to lick Peeta Mellark’s hand like a horse seeking an oat bag or sugar cube.

Peeta tore off another piece, and then another, until all that was left was the heel of the loaf. Her stomach was full. It didn’t feel like a creature was trying to claw its way out of her. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

He brushed a matted lock of hair from her face. “My dear Miss Axson… I will make this right. I promise.” 

“My family is ruined,” she whispered, her lips quivering uncontrollably on every syllable. This was the first time she had said the words aloud and they cut at her insides like a blade. “I was meant to save them, and I have not. I have ruined them! Now Prim won’t be a Healer and Grandfather will never be able to look at me, and Gale…” The words felt like they were strangling her. “Gale will surely lose his livelihood because of me! 

“And he tried telling me to put it on, but I was too stubborn, and too angry! I didn’t listen! I never listen!” The space between Peeta’s eyebrows pinched together as he tried making sense of the words she’d kept inside for hours, and which now boiled over into nonsensical thoughts.

Katniss hung her head and continued crying, her body shaking. “I am a disgrace to my family! And I hurt them! I hurt them all! I deserve nothing but this post!”

Peeta cupped her cheeks with both hands this time and looked her straight in the eye, his thumbs wiping her tears away. Katniss numbly noticed, staring into his eyes, how big his hands were, and how despite his high station in the Flock, they were calloused. 

“You have disgraced no one, Katniss,” he said. Her mind was too rattled to think of it now, but later, much later, when she was draped under her quilted covers, shielded from the world, she would assess why hearing her name dropped from his lips made her chest warm like it did whenever he said it.

“Do you understand?” Peeta asked with more authority now. “No one. You made a mistake, yes, but as we are human, mistakes are made, and the Mockingjay forgives those who fall.” 

“He will not forgive my anger toward His beloved child.” 

Surely her confession would cause Peeta to realize the full truth: that while the situation of Gale and the veil were misconstrued, her anger about her upcoming Binding with Peeta was not. 

But Peeta remained firm. “The Mockingjay forgives no matter the failing. It is written in the Penumbra, and any who claim He does not have obviously not been catechized enough.” 

“That may be so,” Katniss said, “but I cannot undo what my actions have done to those I care for.”  

“No,” he said. “No, I do not think you can. Not of your own power alone. But you are not alone, Miss Axson, and is not a husband called to care for his woman? I shall see to it that the disgrace of this night does not weigh heavy upon your family…or upon you.”

Katniss stared at him. “How? All in the Nest have seen me. Word will surely spread that I am nothing but an adulteress.” It would spread like wildfire, the truth molding and reforming until it became unrecognizable, even worse than what she started with.

Then his words fully sank in. He said husband and his woman. “Your Grace, surely your mother has told you how she’s broken off our Pairing.” 

“She has, yes.” His jaw tensed. “But as I am now a man, destined to lead the Flock under the wings of the Mockingjay, the choice is mine.” 

“And you choose to…stand by me? Even though I have tarnished my vows to you?” 

He caressed her face, a small, sad smile lifting his lips. “Should I therefore tarnish mine? Every soul errs, Miss Axson. Not one alive or dead can say otherwise,” he reminded her. “I will do what I can.” Then his eye caught on something behind her. 

“You there!” he called out. “Come here!” 

For a split second, Katniss panicked that it was his mother, but even though Peeta had disobeyed Marta Mellark by coming out to help Katniss, he would never speak to her in such a harsh manner. 

A Talon stepped up and saluted Peeta. “Your Grace.” 

He was a different man, not one of Madame Mellark’s lackeys who had chained her to the post. This one looked younger, maybe a few years older than herself. Katniss wondered if the men who’d posted her had retired for the night, sent home to relax with their families and spin the story of how they helped Madame Mellark post the Elect’s intended.

There was a petty part of her that hoped they burned their tongues on too-hot soup, or stubbed their toe on a table leg. 

“I demand my intended be unchained immediately,” Peeta said, sounding eerily like his mother himself. 

“I am afraid I cannot, sir. Madame Mellark was firm when she stated when the captive would be released.” 

“That captive ,” said Peeta, sounding more vexed by the minute, “is my intended and your future Lady of the Flock. I demand you release her immediately.” 

The poor man looked torn. “I do not have the keys, Your Grace. I was merely going home.” 

“Do you know where the Axson estate is?” 

“An hour east of the crow’s turn.” 

“Good.” He dug in his coat pocket and pulled out his coin purse, depositing three silver pieces in the Talon’s open hand. “Fetch her grandfather immediately and escort them home safely.” 

“But–”

“Immediately.” His tone left no room for argument. “My intended is gravely ill and needs rest and medicine as soon as it can be provided. If you cannot release her, then you will make yourself useful elsewhere. Are my instructions clear?” 

The Talon saluted again. “Yes, sir!” 

Peeta nodded and turned back to Katniss, his features warming once more. He began unwrapping the long, intricate red ribbon around his hand. “I will speak with my mother, Miss Axson,” he said, and knotted the ribbon into a large necklace, gently placing it around her neck where the sign had hung. “I will make her see reason and set you free. I promise you.” 

“Peeta…” she whimpered.

But he stopped her with a shake of his head. “Do not fret. All will be mended. Have faith.” And to her great astonishment, he bent and rested his forehead against hers for a heartbeat. Then he pressed his lips to her temple in a soft, brief kiss. He whispered a quiet, rote prayer for health over her, and, gathering the cloth in which he had brought her the tea and bread, he turned, and marched back to his house, the lines of his jaw tight and agitated in the faint light of the street lanterns.

Fever was sinking into her bones. She could feel it sapping her energy and leaving her barely conscious.

Nothing was making sense anymore. 

Peeta had promised that all would be resolved, but what exactly did that mean? Would her family’s reputation be saved? Were they still Paired? 

Night, how her head throbbed – and she was coughing now, too. These coughs were painful, violently forcing her achy body forward as her stomach muscles clenched after each one. A fiery burn in her throat came after, but there was barely any rain now to soothe it. 

Katniss groaned, looking up at the inky black sky. The moon was starting to peek out from the clouds.

How long until Grandfather would come for her? Peeta had told the Talon to fetch him immediately, but that felt like hours ago. Did the man do as he was told? 

Then a thought came that made her stomach plummet: what if Grandfather refused to retrieve her? 

Please, she prayed, squeezing her eyes shut, her temple pounding loudly now. Please, Mockingjay, send him to me.  

But the square remained empty and she fell into a fever-dream sleep.

The clop of horse hooves and the rattling of carriage wheels stirred her awake. Katniss slowly lifted her head, the effort draining more and more precious energy, and squinted. By the pale light of the moon, she saw a horse at the head of a small farming wagon. Two men sat in the wagon, their faces concealed by shadows. The man steering the horse made a clicking sound and the horse slowed to a walk, halting in front of Katniss’ post. 

The other other man was Abraham, and, if she could, Katniss would have wept from relief at seeing the old man. He had come for her! He wouldn’t let her suffer any longer!

But Abraham didn’t say anything to her. He remained seated and kept his attention forward, commanding the young Talon who drove to go and fetch a key. 

Despite how sick she was, Katniss knew how upset Abraham still was at her. How disappointed she’d made him tonight by tarnishing the Axson name with her temper. I’m sorry! she wanted to plead, burying her face into his coat and breathing in his tobacco and barley scent. Forgive me! Katniss wanted to tell him how the Elect had come and had promised that he would make this right. 

But all she could get out were more wet coughs.

Her coughs caught her grandfather’s attention, but the Talons returned before the old man could say anything, and he stared forward again, stoically clearing his throat. 

It took three Talons to release her, and none stopped her from falling into the mud as soon as her stiff body was no longer chained to the post. It took all she had not to bury her face into the cool mud to relieve the fever-heat

“Don’t just stand there,” Abraham said. “Put her in the back! And wrap a blanket around her,” he instructed. “She may be dishonorable, but she still carries the blood of a First Family.” 

Two Talons yanked Katniss up by the arms, and tossed her up and into the wagon. The third threw a blanket over her and climbed back into the wagon to drive them home.

The blanket was scratchy and smelled of horses, but it was the most luxurious thing Katniss had felt in a long while. With shaky hands, she pulled the scratchy blanket up to her chin.

So pretty, Katniss sleepily thought, her bleary eyes focused on how gloriously white and wondrous the moon looked above the trees, the wagon gently swaying her like a mother rocking her babe. Her fingers caught on Peeta’s ribbon and she weakly pulled it out, its red coloring dark from wetness, and inspected it. 

Why did he do it? she wondered. Why did he help her like he had?

There was no explanation for his kindness. If he had truly only wanted her family's money, there was no need to care for her the way he had, now that their Pairing was nullified. Peeta could have let her suffer in the rain, and accepted what his mother told him about Katniss' supposed dalliance with Gale. But instead, he defended her against those awful boys and made sure she was fed, and that someone was coming to get her when he himself could not free her.

And now he promised to help her. To clear her name and her family's. To make sure Prim had a future, and that her grandparents were taken care of in their old age.

Why did he do it?

But these questions made her head throb.

Exhaustion overcoming her once more, Katniss closed her eyes, brushed the ribbon against her lips, and imagined the boy who’d given it to her, holding her close, and promising it would all be all right.

“Stay still, child,” Agatha scolded. “We’re halfway there.” Katniss groaned and squeezed her eyes shut, trying her hardest to block out the slimy feel of the leeches. There were five already on her right arm, sucking the sickness out of her, but even that had taken a good twenty minutes for Agatha to accomplish. “Yes,” the Healer continued, reaching into the jar for the sixth leech, “I am well aware you don’t like it. Don’t speak,” she scolded when Katniss opened her mouth to snap back. Why would anyone like being covered in little bloodsuckers? “No one needs to hear the sick. Just be quiet and do not move.”

Katniss huffed and then coughed. Her throat was still sore, but at least it didn’t feel like it was on fire anymore. 

When she’d returned home a week ago, Abraham had sent for Agatha, the Flock’s Head Healer, immediately. Katniss was barely conscious, only aware that she was quickly stripped of her wet clothes and changed into her warmest nightgown to stave off Pale Fever. Her bed had never felt more comfortable. Safe and cocooned in the familiar hay and lavender-scented blankets, she passed out again, only to be stirred conscious by Agatha’s calloused fingers prying her mouth open.

“As I suspected,” the Healer had said in her gruff manner. “Putrid throat.” She then tore away the blankets that were keeping Katniss so warm and safe and continued prodding at the young girl. 

Katniss didn’t remember much after that. She only remembered the shock of cold and the painful pokes of Agatha’s fingers before fading away into a dark, dreamless sleep.

Now she was able to sit up in bed without much assistance and could stomach more than the herbal concoction Agatha had made for her inflamed throat. Occasionally she found the energy to get up on her own to relieve herself, but often she had to ring the little bell on the bedside table for assistance, winded by even that smallest of movements. 

Before, whenever Katniss was sick, Prim tended to her most dotingly, teasing how it was good practice for when it was time to meet her calling. She would do her best to administer the teas and salves Agatha had prescribed and let Katniss curl up to her side as she read aloud the Penumbra, musing if perhaps the sniffles Katniss suffered were more a sign from the Mockingjay and not a boring summer cold from being out in the rains too long. 

The sisters would share stolen sweets in bed, giggling over the sticky mess the cinnamon buns and sugared pecans made of their hands. 

Even Cecily was kinder to her during sicknesses, often sleeping at her bedside on a small wooden chair, and stroking her hand like Cary used to when Katniss was a small girl, worry in her pale blue eyes.

But there was no sister sneaking treats up to her. And no grandmother to hold her hand and tell her Lady Night would keep her safe. 

At night, it was Hazelle or Agatha tending to Katniss, their attention clinical and distant. During the day, when everyone was asleep, it was a young apprentice of Agatha’s, a nameless girl who spoke not a word to Katniss and offered little comfort as she completed her appointed tasks. Katniss had never felt so alone. 

The one time Cecily did come to see her, it was not to comfort her ailing granddaughter but to inform her on what had been done to the “Hawthorne boy.” Gale received a severe pay cut and Grandfather had seen to it that his hunting quota would be tripled what it already was. “A servant should not have time to fraternize with their betters,” Cecily had sniffed, never leaving her spot near the door. “They are here to work and work they shall.” 

Katniss’ heart sank at the news. Gale, with four mouths to feed at home, was already working so hard to meet the high demands of her grandparents, and now, thanks to her, his job had just become harder for less pay. And if he ever chose to leave their estate, Abraham would smear Gale’s name to any family considering hiring him. 

Katniss had perpetually trapped him here. 

No wonder Hazelle could barely look at her when she came to bathe her for bed. She probably hated Katniss for what she did to her eldest son.

Katniss hated herself, too, and prayed for the chance to make things right by Gale. 

But she was still stuck in bed, having leeches suck her blood out nightly and unable to speak more than a couple syllables at a time. 

“There,” Agatha proclaimed, patting Katniss’ hand with her wrinkly calloused one. “Now we wait until these little ones are nice and full before moving on to your legs.” 

Katniss grimaced, but said nothing.

An hour later, Katniss was free of leeches and alone once more. A glance at the clock on the mantle said it was only four in the morning and she groaned, sinking lower in bed. Out of habit, her hand reached for the red ribbon still hanging around her neck and pulled it out, rubbing it between her fingers. 

She hadn’t heard from Peeta since the night in the square and wondered what that meant. Had he changed his mind? Come to his senses that she wasn’t worth the trouble? 

Or perhaps he had failed to convince his mother that they should…what? Remain Paired? He had called her his intended that night, but did he actually mean it? Or was it mere talk because he felt bad for her? 

Her throat throbbed as she remembered how his lips felt when he kissed her on the forehead. 

She kept reminding herself that he had told her he would make things right. Surely that meant something. 

Then what is taking him so long? she wondered, wrapping the ribbon around her finger so tight the skin began turning purple. 

Why hadn’t she heard anything from him yet? 

I wish Prim was here. Her sister would have a better idea of what Peeta’s intentions could mean. She was so good with people and always had a sense about these sorts of things. But whether Prim had been instructed to avoid their room in fear of sickness or was still angry at her for her foolish behavior, Katniss had no way of knowing. She would just have to wait and see what the Elect had planned for her future. 

If he had anything planned at all. 

For now, she had to content herself with his ribbon.

Almost two weeks had gone by since her posting and still no word from Peeta. Katniss did her best not to think of him and the promises he made to her. 

Instead, she focused on getting better, determined never to see another disgusting leech for as long as she lived. She was able to slowly move around her room and dress herself in plain dresses that didn’t require too many lacings. A healthy color crept back into her cheeks, the red hue of fever all but gone now. But the dark bags under her eyes still remained. Exhaustion still struck at random intervals of the night, but at least she could stay awake longer than an hour or two. 

Agatha had finally declared her well enough to leave the stuffy room, but Katniss soon found she preferred staying upstairs and away from her family’s disdain. Though they never spoke a word of her posting and all it entailed, she could feel their contempt filling the spaces she occupied. Prim still didn’t say much outside of a few generic pleasantries at meals, but at least she could stomach being in the same room as her. It was more kindness than either grandparent offered. Abraham stayed in his study even more than he did before the incident, only coming out for dinner and sleep, and Cecily kept to herself in the parlor with the door closed. When they sat for a meal, no one spoke after prayer, and everyone went their separate ways for Reflection after.

She wasn’t sure how long she could take this.

On the sixth night since being released from bed rest, Katniss found herself tucked away in a small alcove near the stairs, working on her embroidery. The nights had become longer now that she had no one to keep her company. Roaming the dark halls could only last for so long before she got in someone’s way, and even if her grandmother wasn’t locked away in the parlor, playing piano was out of the question because Cecily continued complaining of a headache and required complete silence. Katniss had attempted to read a couple books from Abraham’s study, but the only books they seemed to own were about crops and land taxes: all things that made her eyes cross with boredom. 

So, embroidery it was. 

She had just pricked her thumb stitching the last E in obedience when she heard the sound of horses outside. Curious, she leaned forward and squinted out the window at the dark lane below her. From here, she saw the glow of carriage lanterns heading up the lane. 

Someone for Grandfather, she supposed, slumping back in her seat. News of her posting surely would have spread through all the respectable families of the Nest. No one would bother with a social call so soon after her disgrace.

Katniss went back to sewing the proverb she’d been working on and jumped when three sharp knocks came at the front door. When no one came to answer it right away, the person knocked again, and Cecily’s bell rang from the parlor.

“Hazelle, the door!” 

Hurried footsteps flew to the door and the servant answered it, quickly gasping out a small “Your Grace!” before falling into a deep curtsy. 

Katniss bolted up at the sound of Peeta’s title and tiptoed to the stairs, peeking around the ornate stair post to the foyer below. Peeta stood in the doorway with his black top hat removed but wearing the Mellark smile that was meant to charm anyone he came into contact with. Her heart pounded hard, recalling the last time she’d seen him. 

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Hazelle said in her soft Outsider twang. “His Lordship was not expecting anyone today.” 

“No,” Peeta said, not sounding the least bit apologetic about his unannounced visit.  “I did not send notice of my arrival. Is Lord Axson here? There is something of urgency I need to discuss with him.” 

A loud ringing pierced Katniss’ ears as she pressed her back to the post and took in deep shaky breaths to settle her pulsing heart. 

Something of urgency, he’d said. 

That he had to speak to Grandfather about. 

Katniss’ hand flew to the pocket where she kept Peeta’s ribbon and pressed it into her thigh. Surely he meant to renegotiate the terms of their Pairing. Could he do that on his own? Normally it was the guardians who led this part of the process, but it was clear he was alone. 

Hazelle let him in and offered to take his hat and cloak. “That is unnecessary. I do not plan on staying long. Please inform his lordship of that. I do know how he is about time.” 

“Of course, Your Grace. At once.” Hazelle hurried down the hall to Abraham’s study. 

Katniss curiously watched from her hideout as Peeta lightly tapped at his hat, looking around the foyer. A gas lamp was lit low on a table near the door, its glow illuminating the portraits of family members so old no one remembered who they were or why they were important. Peeta inspected one of these portraits carefully, touching the canvas to study the strokes. 

They both jumped—Peeta so focused on the painting and Katniss so focused on him—when the parlor doors flung open and Cecily emerged.

“Your Grace!” Cecily exclaimed, patting at her mussed russet-colored bun. “Forgive our lack of civility. We were not expecting company.” 

Peeta politely bowed. “I am afraid that is my doing, Lady Axson. I did not think to send word of my arrival.” 

“Nonsense, dear boy. Do come into the parlor and make yourself at home. I shall have Hazelle prepare us some tea. Hazelle–!” 

He shook his head at her offer. “That is unnecessary. I do not plan on staying long.”

“May I inquire about your presence tonight, Your Grace?” 

Katniss leaned forward, desperately wanting to know herself. The stair she stepped on creaked and she gasped, but Cecily was too preoccupied with the Elect to notice. Peeta, on the other hand, glanced up. Their eyes met. He gave her the most minute of nods. 

Katniss’ breath hitched in her throat and she hid herself behind the stair post, closing her eyes to collect herself. 

“I wish to speak to Lord Axson about private matters, but while I have you, Lady Axson, I must ask: how is your granddaughter? She was out in that awful storm so many weeks ago and I have prayed every night for her safe return to health.” 

Cecily’s posture stiffened and when she replied, the warmth in her voice was replaced by a coolness only Marta Mellark could rival. “My granddaughter is well, Your Grace. So kind of you to ask.” 

“I would have come sooner,” Peeta continued, “but I am afraid my mother and I have…been rather preoccupied with matters I shall not bore you with.” Cecily raised a brow, most certainly interested in whatever it was he was insinuating, but at that moment, Hazelle returned, announcing that Lord Axson would see the Elect now. Peeta bowed once more to Cecily. “A pleasure as always, Lady Axson. If you’ll excuse me…” He went down the hall toward Abraham’s study. 

“Awful boy,” Cecily sniffed when he was out of earshot. “Not even sending word of his arrival. To assume we’ve nothing better to do.” She went back to the parlor and closed the doors. 

Katniss released the breath she had been holding. Deeming it safe to venture down, Katniss forced herself to take slow and steady steps, refusing to indulge in the strong urge to run to Grandfather’s study. If anyone found her now, she would feign ignorance about His Grace’s presence and none would be the wiser. 

He was here, she thought, hardly believing it, a giddy smile warming her features. Peeta was fulfilling his promise to her.

Their conversation was near impossible to decipher, Katniss groused, pressing her ear to the door. She’d been standing in the hall for nearly ten minutes, ducking behind the thick green curtain right across from the study whenever footsteps neared, and still she could hear nothing but muffled voices from inside! 

Katniss growled and crouched down to the keyhole, but all she saw was blackness, the key keeping anyone from entering or spying on the two men. Grandfather had always thought women too nosy, and Katniss hated to prove him right, but this was her future they were discussing! This was to determine where she and her family stood in the Flock!    

Was that laughter she heard? 

Her eyes cast down to the thin crack between door and floor and knew she had come to this desperate moment. 

Lying on the floor, she pressed her ear as best she could to the crack. Yes, it was laughter. Grandfather was laughing! It had been so long since she’d heard the old man laugh, but it was discernibly him. Fear crept down her spine as she wondered if he was laughing because he found what the Elect was saying so ridiculous. 

“ You wish to continue this Pairing with my soiled granddaughter?" she imagined Grandfather saying as he leaned back in his chair. “What a foolish boy you are!” 

But no, Grandfather would never say such things. He was all about preserving their family name. It had to be something else.    

“I assure you,” Katniss heard Peeta say, “My mother has seen to reason. She will not stand in the way on this matter.” 

Abraham chuckled. “What I wouldn’t give to see that woman confess to her sins.”

“I am afraid you shan’t. Do we have a deal, Lord Axson?” asked Peeta, point blank.

A chair scraped back, followed by a moment of silence as Katniss imagined the two shaking hands. “We have a deal, boy. Come, let us tell the women our news.” 

Panic surged as Katniss scampered to her feet, ready to duck behind the curtain once more, but her boot caught on the edge of her skirts and she tripped, sprawling to the floor just as the door opened.

“I shall have Hazelle fetch–” her grandfather was saying before noticing her on the ground. “Katniss, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded. 

She gave a small smile and pulled herself up to her knees. “Forgive me, Grandfather. I fear my illness still troubles my womanly senses. I fell.” Katniss added a little cough for good measure. 

“Get up,” he demanded. “And look presentable!” They were the first words he’d spoken to her in weeks.

Katniss quickly stood and straightened her black frock, patted down her hair, and hoped her braid didn’t look too disheveled. “Forgive me, Grandfather.” 

Abraham grunted and brushed past her. “Come. We best do this in the parlor.” 

Peeta smiled kindly to her and gestured for Katniss to go ahead of him. She gave him a jerky nod and stumbled after her grandfather, her legs jittery with anxiety. 

Cecily was stretched out on the couch under the window when they entered, her stockinged feet resting on a pillow. She jolted forward when Abraham burst in in his brass manner and dropped the knitting she’d been doing. “Stars Above, wife,” Abraham scorned. “Don’t you know we’ve company?” 

His wife scowled at him, but hurried to put her boots back on. “Do not reprimand me in front of children, Abraham,” she said icily. 

Once everyone was in the room, Abraham pointed toward the plush chair near the window and told Katniss to sit.

Katniss did as told and kept her eyes on her hands, clasped in her lap, fighting back the giddy smile that threatened to emerge. Peeta was really doing this, she thought. He had really convinced his parents–his mother —to give her a second chance! 

She couldn’t believe it. 

Abraham cleared his throat and took his seat across from where Katniss sat. “The boy has come to me,” he said slowly, “to explain how there has been a misunderstanding between our family and his.”

Katniss’ heart beat faster. She pressed her trembling hands into her lap to conceal her excitement. 

Her grandfather continued, “I told him I agreed. That what transpired between the silly girl and the Outsider was a foolish mistake that should have been dealt with privately.” 

“Do get on with it, husband!” bit out Cecily, handkerchief clutched in her hand, unable to take the anticipation. 

“Yes, well.” He pulled at his waistcoat, displeased having been interrupted. “The boy is willing to forgive the girl and promises to personally see to her actions once they are Bound and she is in his care. The Binding will remain on the night of Allhallows’ Ember as originally planned.” 

Tears of relief spilled over at her grandfather’s words, a choked sob escaping. Peeta had done it! He was willing to forgive her for being so thoughtless and remain Paired with her. 

“Miss Axson?” Peeta said, unexpectedly close now. He knelt in front of her and reached for a hand. “Are you well? I hope this is what you want.” His kind blue eyes were filled with such concern over her outburst.

Katniss gave a strained laugh, weeks of pent up distress pouring over, and wiped at her tears with her free hand. She gave him a watery smile. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I am forever thankful for the kindness you have showed to me and my family.” 

Relief flooded his features. “Of course. The Mockingjay wishes for forgiveness. We must do as He bids, must we not?” 

“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes, we must, Your Grace.” Katniss squeezed his hand and tried to tell him with her eyes exactly how grateful she was for this. Could she ever repay him after tonight? “Thank you.” 

He shook his head, like what he’d just done didn’t mean anything at all, but Katniss knew now what was at stake. She could never thank him enough.

“Before I forget,” he wryly said. “I believe this belongs to you.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a brand new blood red ribbon. “May I?” he asked her. 

Katniss swallowed but quickly nodded, holding the hand he still held out further for him. 

And with four quick wraps around her hand and wrist and a kiss to the scar which marked her pillars of womanhood, they were once again Paired.

Katniss sat at the piano bench, the red of her new ribbon bright against the black and white keys as her fingers moved across them. Her soft-soled house shoes gently tapped the pedals down as she played a quiet tune, music crowding comfortably into the wallpapered corners of the parlor for the first time since before that awful night at the post.

"I missed that," Prim said fondly, startling her. "Apologies. I didn't mean to frighten you."

 Katniss shook her head and scooted over to make room for her on the bench. “Play with me?” she offered. 

When Prim was younger, Cecily had desired both granddaughters to be sufficient on the instrument and had instructed them to practice for hours. But as Katniss’ skills grew, Prim’s did not, and the two sisters were often found giggling over the loud, clunky notes Prim’s hands made, the sound so painful to the ears it was hilarious. Cecily had eventually given up the dream of beautiful duets played during small parties and focused on Prim’s strengths at mending and embroidery, something Katniss had neither interest in nor patience with.

But Katniss had enjoyed those silly moments between herself and Prim, when they weren’t expected to be anything but two young girls having fun. 

She patted the seat again. “Come,” she said. “Let us play something together.” 

Prim smiled and with childish excitement, hurried over and sat down next to her. “I hardly would call the sounds I make ‘playing.’” 

Katniss laughed. “Pressing keys is the act of playing,” she corrected, and dug around the basket near her feet where all her music was kept, looking for the old beginner title they had both started on. “Unless you have forgotten that easy instruction, you are fine.” She plucked out the faded red book, its pages brittle from age, and set it on the stand, flipping the pages until finding the duet they both knew well enough.  

Prim bit at her bottom lip. "I am afraid my skills are next to nothing compared to yours, sister,” she confessed. “You were the sister blessed with our father’s musical talents, not I.” 

Katniss looked down, surprised. “You remember that?” 

To her dismay, Prim shook her head. “No, but I remember you telling me of him when we’d hear the birds singing before bed. How his song could silence the forest.” 

“Yes,” Katniss sadly murmured, remembering the excitement she’d felt as a young girl at seeing the forest grow quiet around them as the animals listened to her father’s rich, melodic voice. “They did.” 

She swallowed, not wishing to think of her father. If she did, it would begin to make her doubt her decisions, doubt about whether she was making the right choice in accepting Peeta’s offering. Deep down she knew it was the right choice. The only choice. Peeta had proven himself a good enough man, but there was still a very small part of her, the part that was still a little girl seeking out her parents’ love, that worried what they thought of their eldest daughter becoming the future Lady of the Flock.

But it did not matter what her parents might have thought. They were long dead, and their opinions held little power in her life anymore. 

 Katniss knew she couldn’t ruin this again. She knew that she had been granted another chance at proving herself to the Elect and his family and would not be given another.

“You know,” Katniss said with a forced, cheerful smile, changing the subject immediately, “I was not born knowing how to play. I practiced. Loads and loads of practice!” She emphasized each word with a poke to Prim’s side, eliciting a squealing laugh. 

“Enough!” Prim grinned before sobering and reached for Katniss’ hand. “I have been told the news of His Grace’s forgiveness of your misguided actions. About how he has decided to follow through with the Pairing. Is it true? Has he forgiven you?” 

"He has, yes." 

"So all is well?" Prim was too kind to ask if this meant Katniss’ disgrace and the consequences that followed—Prim's future as a Healer being the primary one—were dissolved.

 Katniss nodded. "All is well. I wish you could have been there, Prim. His Grace was so... sure . He will make a fine High Priest when his time comes." 

Prim took in a deep breath. “Praise be to Lady Night and all her Kin,” she said. “Does he intend to absolve you in the Sanctuary?” 

Katniss nodded again. “Yes,” she said, not entirely looking forward to more public scrutiny, however grateful the clearing of blame made her. “At Service. And you shall not lose your chance to be a Healer, Prim,” Katniss added, kissing her sister’s hands. “Though my foolish pride nearly cost you all, His Grace’s generosity has given us both a future again.”

Prim wrapped her arms around her sister in a tight hug. "I am so glad to hear it! Oh, Katniss, I am afraid I have been so cross with you for all these weeks. I have been an awful sister." 

Katniss hugged her sister back desperately, burying her face into Prim’s soft blonde curls. “You have been the most patient and caring of sisters,” she corrected. “It is I who has been an awful sister. Oh, Prim, forgive me for what I have done! As the eldest, I should have behaved better.” 

Prim nestled her cheek against Katniss’s heart. “You have been under incredible stress from Grandmother and Madame Mellark. I should have realized it sooner to comfort and assist in your time of need,” she said. “Forgive me, Katniss.” 

Katniss kissed the top of her head. “There is nothing to forgive. Only let us put it behind us, and hope for darker eves ahead.” Prim nuzzled closer, just as she did when she was a little girl, needing Katniss’ comfort. And it was here, holding Prim like this in her arms, Katniss knew that no matter what the families expected of her next, be it children or playing the simpering wife to Peeta, she would do it. She would do anything for her sister.

"Primrose?" Cecily called out from the hall. The two sisters pulled away at the interruption. 

"There you are!” Cecily breathed, clutching the pendant pinned at her throat. “Child, we are late for tea at the Bates'. Come, come!" 

Prim gave her sister a sly smile and stood. “Of course, Grandmother. Apologies for making you search. I was merely wishing Katniss congratulations on her Pairing. It is wonderful news!” 

“Yes,” Cecily sniffed. Despite Peeta having reinstated their Pairing, Cecily and Abraham had yet to forgive Katniss for the embarrassment she’d brought upon their family. 

“I do pray she does nothing foolish that may cause further damage to the Axson name.” Her attention turned to Katniss. “You are not allowed out of this house under any circumstances. If, for whatever reason, you feel the need to leave, do know that your grandfather will let both Hazelle and that Hunter boy go as punishment for your misdeeds. Is that clear?” 

Katniss had no wish to leave the house, both not feeling up to a jaunt in the woods, and not eager at all to run into anyone outside her family, not even Gale. Perhaps most especially not Gale. What could she say to him? If only his plight was so easily solved as Prim’s was. She didn’t think she had the right to ask the Elect to mend that wound for her. Besides, it wasn’t as if Grandfather would acquiesce to the Elect forever.

"Yes, Grandmother," Katniss murmured. 

Cecily nodded and motioned for Prim to come. “Let us leave your sister to her practice, Primrose. She clearly needs it.” 

Katniss rolled her eyes as her grandmother bustled out of the room. Prim turned around, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Your playing sounded lovely,” she whispered.   

“Thank you,” Katniss breathed. “Now go. Make haste!”

She waited until hearing the door close behind her grandmother and sister before turning back to her instrument. Sighing, Katniss started up the song she was expected to have perfected by their return. 

Almost an hour had passed, and she was deliberating chancing an encounter with Hazelle in the kitchen for lunch, when she heard horses outside the window. Peering outside, Katniss saw the back of a familiar carriage in the driveway. The same carriage Peeta arrived in only last night. 

Her pulse quickened as a thousand intrusive thoughts came to the surface. What was Peeta doing here? Did he change his mind? Perhaps he’d been wrong and the High Priest did not approve of his son Binding himself to a fallen woman? 

The sharp rap at the door alerted her and she hastily shouted that she’d get the door. Whatever his reason for visiting, Katniss would greet her intended with her head held high. 

And what if there was no other reason for his visit outside of wishing to know her better? Yes, that was likely all.  

Checking her appearance in the nearest hall mirror, Katniss took a deep breath in and opened the door. 

“Your Grace — oh. Madame Mellark.” For a brief, mad moment, she considered closing the door in Marta Mellark’s face. “Won’t — won’t you come …” But Marta Mellark had already breezed past her into the room. “… in?”

Dressed in the same dress she’d worn the morning Katniss and Peeta were Paired the first time, Marta marched into the parlor, her heels clipping as she walked. In her gloved hands was a box no larger than a book, colored with age.

Katniss pressed her lips together, refraining from making a snide remark about manners, and closed the door with a bit more force than she normally would. 

Of all the creatures she wished to see tonight, Katniss would rather a venomous snake than the haughty Head Elder.

She didn’t bother with a curtsy, still angry at the woman for her mistreatment at the post. “We were not expecting to be honored by your presence tonight, Madame Mellark.” It was impossible to keep the disdain out of her voice. “Shall I ring for tea?” 

“That is unnecessary,” Marta said, unperturbed by her tone, and set the box down on the table between them. “I assume you are alone?” 

“My grandfather is in his study.” 

Marta tutted under her breath and slowly pulled off her black gloves. “I do wonder if the man lives there.” 

“It is where he works, Madame.” 

“Yes,” Marta said dryly, discarding the gloves on top of the box. “I imagine an ex-Elder must have much to work on. I do hope he manages the lands better than he has his family.” 

Katniss’ back straightened at the insult. “He is a busy man, Madame,” she said, ignoring the jab at Abraham’s former title as Head Elder, “but I am more than happy to pull him from his work, if you wish. My grandfather is quite fond of womanly visits.” 

“That is unnecessary. And do move from the door,” she chided. “You are not a caged beast.” Katniss begged to differ, but moved to the nearest chair and sat. 

Neither woman spoke for a long moment. Katniss warily watched as Marta strolled around the room, inspecting every trinket and portrait she passed with an idle hand. 

“A lovely image,” Marta commented of the portrait over the fireplace. “A striking resemblance of your mother and uncle.”

“Thank you, Madame.” 

“Had they comported their will to the will of the Flock,” continued Marta, turning back to Katniss, “I am sure they would have made your grandparents quite proud.” 

Katniss gripped her hands and kept her tone neutral. “I have been told my uncle was a fine gentleman, of whom my grandparents were very proud.” It was fruitless defending her mother to Madame Mellark. 

Marta shook her head, a bemused smile playing at her lips. “How death paints us more fondly than we deserve.” When Katniss didn’t say anything, she said, “Your uncle was a philanderer who depended heavily on his name. Why do you think he perished so quickly after your mother left?”

“May I ask why you have come, Madame Mellark?” 

Marta raised a brow in warning. “I have brought you a gift.” She motioned to the box.

Wary suspicion narrowed Katniss’ eyes. “That is kind of you, Madame, but I have been blessed with all I may need.” She gestured around the fine room, making a point of letting the candlelight hit the red ribbon on her wrist. Marta’s face remained neutral. “Gifts are not necessary.”

The corners of Marta’s lips lifted just slightly. “There is no need to act so pious in front of me, Miss Axson. You are a blushing bride, are you not?” She lifted the box lid, revealing a black fabric resting inside. “It is customary for a bride to be lavished with gifts before she makes her vows to her husband. Why should you be treated any differently?” 

With great care, Marta took out a long, ornate veil. Katniss sucked in a breath as Marta shook it out, and her eyes caught on the intricate beadwork of flowers and intricate swirling patterns decorating the veil’s edging.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Marta asked, admiring the fine work in her hands. 

“It’s beautiful.” There was no need denying the gorgeous embroidery and how the beading seemed to change color in the light. One moment black and then red and purple. “Was it yours?”

“In a way.” She looked back up at Katniss, a look of pride coloring her pale features. “Abigail Young had it specially made for her by a forest witch in the days when such folk still practiced their art. Abigail was promised a powerful union,” Marta explained, “one in which no one would dare question her husband’s authority.

“You remember the tale?” she sweetly asked. “Of how she was wed to a man twenty years her elder. A High Priest in name only, a slob of a man who would rather indulge in wine and women than do his duty to his people.” 

“The Time of Troubles,” Katniss quoted from a long-ago history lesson. “But Abigail Young murdered her husband to be with an Outsider. Cyprian Mellark.” 

“That’s right.” Marta nodded. “Abigail slew her husband for the Flock. She had seen the future and knew the Flock must change in order to survive.” She motioned for Katniss to stand and led her to the mirror next to the parlor doors. With a tug, Katniss’ old veil was plucked off her head and discarded to the floor. If she wasn’t so perturbed by Madame Mellark’s cool demeanor, she would have laughed at the irony of it all. 

 “Do you know what the witch required to create such a veil?” Marta asked, and unbraided Katniss’ long hair, running her fingers through the black locks. 

Katniss shook her head, afraid of the answer, shudders going down her spine at the spidery touch.

“The lives of thirteen dark-haired maidens.” Marta’s smile turned predatory at Katniss’ sharp inhale. “The witch believed Lady Night had kissed these dark-haired maidens at their first breath of life, and it was the knowledge Lady Night passed down to these maidens the witch needed for Abigail’s veil.” Her hand continued brushing through Katniss’ hair, never halting in apology whenever her rings snagged. 

“What did she do with them?” Katniss’ breath was shallow. “With the maidens?” 

Marta’s hand paused and she looked at Katniss through their reflection, her eyes wide with false surprise. “She killed them, of course. Soaking the fabric in their blood and using their hair to sew the beading on.” 

Katniss was going to be sick. 

“I always thought it a lovely tale,” Marta went on cheerily. She pinned the veil into Katniss’ hair with one hand and kept Katniss in place with the other, the grip firm on her shoulder. “No matter the cost, Abigail would sacrifice all that was needed in order for the Flock to survive.” 

That wasn’t the Abigail Young her grandmother always described. Not a sacrificial believer, but a notoriously ruthless woman. It was she who, with the sympathy afforded to her as the High Priest’s pretty, pitiable widow, had helped her charismatic lover, Cyprian Mellark, the first of his line, to unquestionable power. No wonder Marta Mellark liked her. 

Katniss grimaced as the fabric draped over her, hating how soft it felt as she imagined it soaking in a vat of blood. Marta ran her nails up and down Katniss’ cheek. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Katniss whispered.

“As a reminder, dear child,” Marta said, hand still caressing her cheek. “A reminder that soon you will wear the Mellark name and all the responsibilities it carries. Is it not a mother’s duty to guide her child and make sure she does not fall?” 

“You are not my mother!” Katniss snapped.

A spark of amusement flashed in Marta’s eyes.

“Oh, but I will be,” she said, leaning down and resting her chin on Katniss’ shoulder. “And though I make it my sworn duty to make you the most obedient wife and daughter the Flock has ever known, if you choose to step out of line again…” Her eyes hardened. “Know that your posting will be but a fond memory after what I have planned if you ever humiliate my family like that again.”  

With that said, Marta inclined her cheek. “Now, give your mother a kiss, child, and thank me for giving you such a cherished heirloom.” 

Katniss stared at her in horror, but there was nothing for it. She had to think of Prim. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Marta Mellark on the cheek, murmuring her thanks for the thoughtful gift.

“Good girl.” Tucking two fingers under her chin, Marta forced Katniss to look at her, her smile victorious. “Welcome to my family, Miss Axson.”