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Chapter Text

Game was good that day and would sell well at market. The weather was fair as well, a warm, sunny day in early summer. The two hunters walked homewards through the woods with their spoils, victorious and celebrating.

“I don’t think we’ve had success like this all spring,” Gale said, smiling. “Maybe this summer will be good luck for us.”

“Maybe.”

He looked at this hunting mate with amazement. “How can you be so sullen? Things are looking good for us! Smile!” When all he got in return was a small grin, he pushed further. “Oh, great Bendis!” he proclaimed, bowing before his friend. “Goddess of the hunt! Radiant as the moon! Bless me with one of your smiles so rare—“

“Stop it!” she said, smacking him but smiling nonetheless. “You’re going to get me turned into a skunk one of these days if you keep comparing me to Bendis like that. My name is Katniss. Call me by it.”

Gale smirked, “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll shout to the gods that you are a merrier drunk than Bassareus and see how they take to that!”

“Oh, now, you’re too kind,” Gale said. “We all know the only mortal who can rival Bassareus in drink is Haymitch!”

The two were now approaching the edge of the forest, and the sight of their village, Iotbetta, down the hill brought Katniss back to reality. “We shouldn’t laugh,” she said. “I was right, it’s disrespectful to talk about the gods like that.”

"Is it less disrespectful if I called you by the names of similar gods of Greece or Rome?” Gale suggested. “Eh, maybe they won’t care so much if we say Artemis and Dionysus or Diana and Bacchus have nothing on you and Haymitch. Or that I am a greater warrior than Ares or M—“

The pair fell silent and stopped in their tracks. In the distance, down the path to the west, there was a group quickly approaching the village. Katniss could just make out men on horses, some with carts. Their approach was worrying.

“Romans,” she murmured, recalling trade interactions she’d had with their kind before. They had a familiar look about them.

“Roman slavers,” Gale corrected and, dropping his game bag, began sprinting down the hill towards Iotbetta, Katniss close on his tail. Soon, the village came between them and the Romans, but they knew the slavers would be upon their people in seconds.

Without needing an exchange of words, the two separated and ran to their own houses. The streets were crowded now with panicked citizens, word of the Romans having spread. The dense crowd pushed Katniss every which way, many people catching on her bow, which was slung across her back, or her quiver of arrows, which she kept tied to her belt at her hip. Trying to push through, something hard she couldn’t see ripped her quiver away. She looked back, but it had disappeared in the crowd, and she was being pushed along with the flow herself. She knew the arrows would be trampled and broken beyond use in seconds; she would be trampled if she tried to pick them up. And she couldn’t waste any time in getting home, so she left them.

Through the commotion, Katniss made it to her home, bursting through the door to find her younger sister, Prim, waiting for her just as Katniss had instructed her to do if there were ever a crisis.

“Where’s mom?” Katniss asked, taking her sister by the hand and leading her to the back of the house where they could escape into their fields, neighbors’ land, and ultimately, the forest and beyond.

“She’s been out all day, I don’t know exactly,” Prim answered, tears slipping down her cheeks.

A bang on the front door pulled Katniss’s attention. Amidst the screams outside, she heard a rough voice demand, “Open this door! I know you are hiding in here. I saw you run in! If you let me in, I won’t hurt you!”

Though the air was warm and Katniss’s brow beaded with sweat, she shivered and her breath felt short.

“I’m going to knock the door down in three…”

“Prim,” she whispered, “hide under the bed.”

“What?” her sister begged.

“…two…” The voice from the door felt like the hot breath of a beast on the back of Katniss’s neck.

“Now,” she said, shoving her sister under her bed and into the corner.

“Katniss!”

“Be quiet, Prim! And don’t even think about coming out until you know it’s safe.”

“…one!” The door splintered inward, and a man with white hair and black eyes stomped in, his short, straight gladius drawn. Before he came any further into the house, Katniss moved to the kitchen, away from her sister.

“Where are you hiding, girl?” The Roman stomped forward into the house.

Katniss grabbed a pan off the table. She would have rathered a knife, but every movement was a risk and the pan was closest. She pressed her back against the wall as the Roman walked through her house. When she felt him pass through the hall behind her and move closer to the entry to the kitchen, she leapt out, crashing the pan onto his head with as much force as she could.

But she was not a muscular girl. Strong enough to draw her bow effectively, but underfed and underweight. Her only significant strength resided in her legs, built for running, and her right shoulder and back, built for pulling back an arrow. Her pan-smacking muscles were not regularly exercised.

The Roman was startled and in great pain, but after the initial stumbling and cursing, he turned towards her, angry.

Katniss’s stomach dropped. She should have risked it and gone for a knife. Not many people return like that after being stabbed in the head.

A devilish grin spreading across his face, the Roman lunged, but Katniss deflected the gladius with her pan. He had aimed for her right shoulder. A shot meant to wound, not kill. Of course, they needed to capture people alive—you can’t sell corpses as slaves in Rome.

Katniss stepped back, out of his reach, pan held up in defense, but he was quick, obviously trained. Although he was old and a beer gut made him less agile, he was strong and experienced. She managed to block many of his strikes and evade him for a while, but he did land some gashes in her left arm, right side, and legs. Through the pain, she could barely remain standing.

“You’re a tough girl, I’ll give you that,” he said, accepting his victory. He knocked the pan from her hands with the gladius, which he then returned to its sheath. He took some rope from his belt and bound her hands in front of her, muttering something about where they sell their slaves across the empire.

But Katniss couldn’t hear him. She was in a daze, unfeeling. She couldn’t let herself think about what may happen to her next or she’d start crying.

She would not let these Romans see her cry.

The Roman moved behind her. With his mouth so close to her ear she could feel the movements of his lips, he whispered, “But out of all the places we trade, I would most like to see you in the whorehouses of Pompeii.” Katniss shivered but said nothing. He pulled back and pushed her forward. “Now, move!” he ordered. “We have a schedule to keep.”

She stumbled forward, nearly falling when she tried to catch herself on her wounded legs, but the Roman grabbed her bow, which was still situated in its place on her back. “You any good with this?”

“If I had had my arrows when you came here, one would find your eye before the first piece of door hit the floor,” she said quietly and steadily.

“Well, lucky for me, you didn’t. Keep moving.”

The Roman walked Katniss through the village towards where the slavers had left the carts and what horses weren’t ridden through the village. Small fires burned in ransacked buildings and kiosks. The streets were much emptier than they had been, most of the violence finished or on its way down, but Katniss could feel eyes on her through cracks of windows and doorways. She kept her head down so as not to make contact with any of them, but it was a mistake. The road was painted with blood, and she had to step over more bodies than she would have liked. Eventually, she decided it was best to just fix her eyes on the horizon.

They approached the group of slavers who were readying their horses for travel and loading the carts with stolen supplies. A few dozen young men and women stood in a group, their hands bound. The captured people stood in two rows separated by gender.

“What’cha got there, Cray?” a Roman sorting breads on a cart asked the one leading Katniss toward the group of captured Thracians.

“A tough girl, good with a bow. As much as I’d like to sell her as a whore just so I can pay for a night, I think she may sell better fighting,” the Roman with Katniss, who she now knew as Cray, responded.

“What, like as a gladiator? I suppose.”

Katniss ignored the rest of their conversation, which had shifted from her back to stories and excited plans for the group’s stop in Pompeii, the prostitution capital of the Roman Empire. As Cray took her bow and leashed her hands to those of the captured woman in front of her, she scanned the crowd for people she knew.

She recognized most of them as from her village and assumed the others came from different raids. A few of the ones she recognized, she knew as more than just neighbors. There was Ripper, a woman who owned a successful tavern in town. And Rooba, the butcher Katniss and Gale regularly sold to. Haymitch, the man she and Gale were joking about mere hours ago. She remembered he had come from a poor family and grown up in her and Gale’s neighborhood, but came into money when he was sixteen and moved to the more upper-class part of town. Guess wealth was no protection.

As her eyes moved down the men’s line, she gasped. Gale had been taken too. Selfishly, she was glad she didn’t have to be alone in this. Knowing she was so selfish hurt as much as her wounds did. However, she was genuinely happy to see none of Gale’s siblings nor either of their mothers in the crowd.

Prim was safe too. She was at home, still hiding.

This was the thought that kept Katniss calm as the group began to march west, leaving her burning Thracian village behind her.

Chapter Text

The events of the afternoon had been so sudden and jarring, Katniss barely noticed her pain trudging over hills and through forests. The caravan moved through the night and most of the next day before they finally stopped for more than a few minutes.

“Okay, listen up!” a Roman shouted to the captives. Like Cray, he looked old with white hair and black eyes, but he didn’t have Cray’s beer gut. This one was slightly younger, taller, and still muscular. Not all of the Romans were white-haired, most were still young, but these two men appeared to be the leaders. “My name is Romulus Thread, and you all belong to me now. To me and my partners. Those of you who have been with us already know this, but most of you are new. You will all be sold as slaves in Rome. We will be hitting one more town, and in a few days be within Roman borders.

“Along the journey, we will evaluate all of you to determine what jobs you are best suited for and where you will be sold for the best price, so impress us, and maybe your lives won’t be completely horrible.” This elicited a few chuckles from the other slavers.

Katniss’s hands itched for something to shoot at them. In the corner of her eye, she caught Gale looking her way. He raised and eyebrow and mouthed, “Prim?” She nodded. Yes, at least the kids were safe.

Romulus continued, “After entering Rome, it is a couple hundred miles to the port where those of you who have not yet been sold will cross the Adriatic Sea with us. From there, we will work our way up the Italian peninsula, our final stop being Rome, which is another couple hundred miles. If you cannot walk with us, we will sell you. Here’s some advice: keep walking. Trust us, a slave’s life is far more enjoyable in a large city than anywhere rural. And Rome is the best you can hope for. Lots of rich people who need personal assistants, tutors for their kids if you’re educated, and cooks. They’ll pay more for you too, so we want you to keep walking just as much as you do. You do not want to end up on a farm.

“Now, you will sit quietly while we make camp, and Darius here,” Thread gestured to a red-haired Roman to his right, “will begin assessments of your selling points.”

The rest of the Romans dispersed, unloading tents, and Darius approached the group of captives. Katniss watched him begin with the men. He talked to them one at a time and measured their heights, limbs, shoulders, and waists. He asked them to perform tasks like running for both speed and endurance and lifting weight. Darius assessed three men before the quick dinner—rice and a small amount of meat for the captives, something fragrant and surely in greater portion for the Romans—and more after.

By the time the camp began settling down for a night’s sleep, Darius had assessed enough men to include Gale. That night, one Roman stood watch over the captives, and Katniss took the moment of calm to talk to her friend.

“Gale, what did Darius say to you?”

He let out a sour chuckle, “Never thought I’d regret being strong. He says I may be best suited to someplace where I can work hard, like a farm or a mine. I don’t want to do that, Katniss, be stuck down in a mine all day, hacking a pickaxe around, digging up shit I’ll never get a cut of. Until what, till I die?”

“Gale…” As usual, words weren’t Katniss’s strong suit, but he understood that she felt for him. “Earlier, though, back in Iobetta, they mentioned that they sell some to train as gladiators. You can fight. Tell them that.”

“Yeah, Darius did mention that. He asked if I had any military experience and stuff. I said, yeah, a bit. The only time Iobetta got involved with any of Thrace’s serious conflict was… well, you know.”

Katniss did know. When she was eleven and he thirteen, they had lost both their fathers in the war against the Scythians. It was a war Iobetta was reluctant to get involved in, since many of that village had at least some Scythian ancestry, the Everdeens and Hawthornes included. Gale, eager to prove himself though barely a teen, trained for war and fought once. He survived that thanks to dumb luck.

“Any experience is something, and I’d take the arena over a mine any day,” Katniss insisted.

“Just another way to die.”

“Only if you let it be,” she said, but the conversation was over.

Day after day they spent walking. Katniss hardly noticed when they entered Rome; it didn’t feel any different under her feet. Between Iobetta and Roman land, they did stop at one more town, in Macedonia, as the slavers had said they would. Katniss paid no mind to the new company. There was no benefit to be had in forming any sort of attachment.

Approximately every other evening, the nights the slavers chose to stop, Darius made his way through the captives, and before long, it was Katniss’s turn.

“Cray said you were a fighter,” the redhead noted skeptically. “You look slim, though, how strong can you be?”

“My family is poor, and half of Iobetta starves,” she explained. “But don’t worry about my strength. I kept my family alive by hunting. I am the best archer in Thrace.”

Darius nodded, “At some point, you may be able to prove that. For now…”

He preceded with the same evaluation all the other women got and noted her endurance and speed in running.

It wasn’t long before the group reached the port and the ship that would take them to Italy. To Katniss and Gale, the voyage was uneventful. In the hold below, it stunk like shit and fish, there was hardly any light, and the captives were uncomfortably cramped, sitting in chains. Many wept, prayed, or called up to the Romans for more food and water. These things did not come naturally to the hunters. And Katniss noticed the same in some of her fellow Iobettans. Ripper, Rooba, Haymitch… they all sat stoically with Katniss and Gale, knowing this would not be the worst they would have to endure in this life.

Once in Italy, the focus was making it to the city of Rome. Talk between the captives confirmed: urban life was far preferable. And although there were many urban areas, even large cities like those around the Bay of Naples, along the way, Rome was the most urban and home to the wealthiest who could afford to give their slaves good lives. On top of that was the relative ease of being able to buy one’s freedom; it was a quicker endeavor when working for someone rich.

Each town and city they passed, the hoard of captives decreased in size. Each time, Katniss breathed with relief when she was not among those brought into the town to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. If she wanted to be a gladiator—and it did seem the least torturous option at this point—she had to make it to Rome. Other cities were not without amphitheaters that displayed gladiatorial fights, but she would not settle for less than the best.

Whatever she could do to free herself and seek out Prim, she would do it.

At last, after weeks of walking and sitting under that stinking ship, they approached the city of Rome. With only six of them left—Katniss, Gale, and Haymitch being the only ones from Iobetta—the party felt bare. It was the first time Katniss had actually stopped to notice their size. She hadn’t paid any attention to her neighbors being taken into Roman cities across Italy and sold into servitude. She wondered if Ripper and Rooba would still be offering alcoholic beverages and cutting meat. Maybe. It would be in a rather different context.

At the gates of Rome, the slavers had their carts inspected, and the six captives were eyed by the guards. As she did with nearly everyone, Katniss ignored them. Inside, most of the slavers took the carts and left the captives in the hands of Thread and Darius.

“This way to the auction!” Thread announced, ushering the captives along.

Katniss and Gale exchanged wide-eyed glances, amazed by the city. This was the first Roman city they had seen the inside of, and what a first impression it made. The further they moved into the city, the busier and more impressive it grew. Many people were obviously poor, others, obviously wealthy. Even the slaves of the wealthy looked more glamorous than poor free people.

“This is the forum, the economic center of the city,” Darius told them, leading them into a network of shops.

From there, they moved down a small street to a stage-like platform. On it were several men with necklaces that held wooden placards, most of them with one foot colored white with chalk. The wood bore words Katniss couldn’t read.

Darius was then in front of her, placing a similar necklace on her shoulders.

“What is this?”

“Your titulus,” Darius said. “It displays your health, age, place of origin, etc. Of course, we will say all that aloud, but this means we don’t have to repeat ourselves.”

A great cheer rose from the crowd when the last man on the stage was sold. His foot was colored like those of the others, and they were all lead off the platform.

“Our turn!” Darius lead the six up as Thread announced them.

Two of their six were separated to one side, and Thread presented them to the crowd as good for housework. Once they were sold and their feet marked with white, Thread moved on to the other four.

“Now these!” he shouted, a smile on his face. “These are gladiators! Every one strong and with at least some combat skill!” He presented the one Katniss didn’t know in specificity first, then Haymitch. “He may seem old, but he comes pre-trained, having fought in Thracian wars since he was a young man.”

In the crowd, Katniss spotted a woman. More so than any of the others, she looked sophisticated, exuding glamor and taste. Her green stola was lavishly patterned, body dripping with jewelry, strawberry-blond hair done up in an intricate style. She was clearly extremely wealthy and followed closely by a young girl, a slave.

And she had a keen eye on Haymitch.

“In fact,” Thread continued, “these three here are all of the same Thracian village. This one,” he gestured to Gale, “a strapping youth not without military training and experience. The girl, the most skilled huntress in all the Empire.”

Katniss rolled her eyes. It was likely true, but they had never risked putting a bow in her hands with which to prove it.

“You say they’re Thracian?” the woman Katniss noticed earlier asked. “They’re dark of skin and black of hair. You sure they’re not Pars?”

“Ha!” Thread barked and sneered, “If you want to pay for Pars, lady, pay for Pars! Thracian is cheap. Why would I sell them as such when I could have more?”

“Fine,” the woman tutted with a pat at her hairdo, and she held out her hand for her slave to place a pouch of coin. “I’ll take all three of them.”

“And we guarantee your satisfaction, my lady,” Thread said, suddenly respectful.

Katniss, Gale, and Haymitch had their feet whitened as the purse was passed forward. The six slaves were then escorted from the platform and delivered to their new masters, making way for the next batch.

“Walk with me, hurry up!” the woman ordered her three new slaves, and they followed her through the streets of the city. At their backs were two men, ensuring they didn’t try to escape.

“My name is Effie Trinket, but you will address me as Domina. My mansion and ludus are up on the Caelian. Of course, much of your training will take place at the great ludus near the amphitheatre, but all good gladiators train at their lanista’s ludus as well, if they have one. That oaf that bought the other fellow who stood with you leaves his gladiators to be trained at the great ludus alone. The equivalent of letting your children learn from only basic school with no private tutors. I, on the other hand, actually take pride in my gladiators. You, girl, I intend to train as a sagittarius, considering your skill with a bow. All my lanista friends have sagittarii, and I have felt so left out. For the boys, at least the youth, I would like thraex, in the style of your homeland. Now, not to brag, but I am probably the best lanista you could have hoped for. My family has a long history in the senate, and I am a direct descendent of not one but several consuls from back in the days of the republic. I claim no emperor as family, though, especially not with current tales of the princeps. I intend to raise you three, like all my others, to celebrity status.”

Effie laughed with herself, but Katniss didn’t get it. From the way Gale looked at her, neither did he.

“You lost me at Caelian,” Haymitch admitted.

“Oh yes,” Effie said tossing her hand over her shoulder. “You Thracians know little of Rome. The Caelian is one of the city’s seven hills. My property there has been in the family for generations. A lanista such as myself is a person who owns and arranges fights for gladiators. The ludus is where you do your training, and there, the doctore will be your coach. My doctore is extremely skilled. She will ensure that you are victorius and your rewards great.”

“Yeah, I’d hope so,” Haymitch said casually. “Win or die. Isn’t that the way?”

“Hardly!” Effie laughed, dismissive. “I can imagine the myths of fights to death have spread well outside the empire. But in reality, you lot are expensive. To buy, feed, house, train! More often than not, the first to be significantly wounded loses, or in a more high-profile fight, may throw down their shield and weapons and raise their left hand in surrender. The editor will decide on their life. Death isn’t rare, but neither is it nearly as common as you think.”

Effie, her slaves, and their guards moved up the Caelian hill, passing great mansions, until they reached the Trinket estate.

“This is where we’ll learn how to stay alive,” Gale murmured. Haymitch chuckled, but Katniss took the words to heart, for she had one goal on her mind: getting back to her sister.

Chapter Text

Before the sun rose, Katniss awoke. She kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling, so similar the ceiling of her home, and wondered if the past month had all been but a dream. She would turn over to find her sister next to her in the bed, their mother sleeping in her own across the room. Outside, the goats would awaken in their pen, and at sunrise, Prim would go to milk them. Katniss would take up her bow and arrows to join Gale in the woods, and when they returned, things would be normal.

But Katniss could feel on her back that she did not lie in a bed but on a simple cot next to many others, none of which were her sister.

“Alright, novicia, get up and get working!” A tall, extremely athletic woman with darker skin than Katniss shouted at the slaves sleeping on the cots. “The Victors are already in the yard, armored and training. They’ve already had their breakfast too because they know when to rise! I expect you to grow used to the same early start. Go! Join them!”

Most of the slaves in the cell-like room rushed off their cots and past the tall woman.

“You three, Thracians,” she addressed Katniss, Gale, and Haymitch. “You are the novissima novicia, newest of the newbies. Walk with me.”

The trio followed the woman out of the cell and down the hall, which opened into a wide training yard where about two dozen gladiators sparred.

“My name is Atala, and I will be your doctore. Do as I instruct, and you will have many victories in the arena,” she grinned as she spoke, less severe than when in front of the entire group. “This is where we store the real weapons,” she said, gesturing to a locked closet. “Only I and the guards Domina employs can open it. For safety reasons, you are only to train with wooden substitutes. The steel is for special occasions. Domina says she’d like two thraeces and a sagittarius out of you three, but if I think your skills are better suited to different styles of fight, it is likely you will be switched.

“See those over there?” She pointed to a small group to the right made up of three men and three women. They were fighting more intensely than the others but also appeared to have more fun with it, smiling even when hit with the wooden sparring weapons. “That clique is known by the others as the Victors, and the nickname is not unwarranted. They have proven themselves many times over in the arena. Learn from them, and like them, you will be rewarded with coin, status, and a room of your own.”

Gale looked skeptically at the Victors. He expected more from a group with that nickname. They were impressive, but not so significantly more than the others in the yard.

One of the Victors, a boy with dirty blonde hair who was sparring with a small, brunette girl, stopped and met Gale’s eyes. The girl, following his eyes, looked over as well. The pair looked back at each other and laughed at the new recruits.

Next to her, Katniss felt Gale tense as if to lunge forward, but she put a hand to his arm before he could move. “We’ll show them who to laugh at in time,” she assured him, and the tour moved on.

“The building next to the ludus, here, is Domina’s mansion,” Atala explained. The house was very impressive with a fine view of the yard but its own veranda in the back, separated by a gated wall from where the gladiators trained. “If you are summoned, this gate is where you will report.”

“The yard is looking fierce today, Atala!” Effie praised as she walked through the gate, tailed by her slave as always.

Now that she cared enough to notice, Katniss saw the slave girl’s striking resemblance to her sister, Prim. True, the girl had the dark coloring of Atala, but she was of a slight build with the same large eyes.

“Thank you, Domina,” Atala said with a small bow of her head. “I was just showing your new ones around before putting swords in their hands.

“Lovely.” Today, as like the day before, Effie was dressed very lavishly and adorned with jewelry, but something in particular caught Katniss’s eye. Fastened to the left of Effie’s collar was a small golden broach, a ring surrounding a bird in flight with an arrow in its mouth. Katniss had seen the broach before on the tunic of her good friend, Madge.

“Where did you get that?” she gasped before she could stop herself.

“Katniss!” Atala chastised.

But Effie dismissed the disrespect with a wave of her hand and turned to her slave girl, “See, Rue, what did I tell you? It is authentic! Katniss, I purchased it yesterday on my way to the slave auction from some of the same men who brought you here. They said it came from Thrace, although I was skeptical that something so fine could come from such a vile place. No offense. Does it carry higher meaning in your village?”

Katniss stuttered, “No… No, I just knew the girl who owned it.”

“What a small world,” Effie smiled, the implication of Madge’s fate going over her head. “Tell you what: succeed in the arena, and it’s yours!”

“Thank you, Ef—Domina. I will try my best.”

“In that case, you’d better get training,” Atala pointed out.

For the first few days, the three trained with medium-sized shields and gladii while the doctore Atala assessed and instructed them and the others, some of which had begun specifying to a specific style. Katniss noticed one of the Victors, a tall guy with light hair, holding a spear.

“That one is Marvel,” the man Katniss sparred with told her when he noticed her gaze. “He fights Hoplomachus.”

“And the other Victors?” she wondered, bringing her eyes back to their fight. Though smaller than most of the others and inexperienced with a sword, she trained her strength and learned quickly from Atala’s unforgiving instruction. She was getting pretty good but longed for a bow in her hands again.

“Cato, the dirty blonde boy, fights Provocator,” he said but paused to gain lost ground. “The brunette he spars with, Clove, fights Dimachaerus—two swords, but no shield. They always pair up even though provcatores rarely fight anyone but other provocatores. The blonde, Glimmer, fights Secutor, and the other two, Glauca and Fluctus, both Murmillo.”

Katniss noted his distraction and took advantage, knocking his weapon from his hand and winning the match. She stood over him, out of breath but with her sword point at his throat.

“Nice going, Bendis, but shouldn’t you get shooting?” Gale teased, helping her partner up.

“Did the supplies come?” she asked, excitement filling her face with the first smile Gale had seen since Iobetta.

“Doctore waits for you to in the left of the yard!”

Dropping her wooden sword and shield, Katniss rushed to Atala, Gale shouting, “Run, Bendis, run!” behind her. What blasphemy, she would have thought in a past life, but not now. Now, she would shoot.

Atala showed her to a new area of the yard, sectioned off and set up with targets along a path. “Your bow,” she said, offering Katniss a short, curved bow not unlike the one she used back home, but of higher quality. “And arrows.” A belt with attached quiver filled with arrows made Katniss feel almost at home again. With the fletching at her fingers, even more so.

“These arrows have dulled tips,” Atala told her as she took aim at the first straw target. Releasing, Katniss missed the center. “And I can see you will have to get used to the new bow. But know this,” the doctore stepped closer to her student and spoke softly, “even dulled, arrows in the bow of a master can injure and kill. In Rome, if one slave rebels against her domina, all slaves of the house are killed. Hurt Lady Trinket, and die with your friends. Try to run, thinking you have means to hunt, and you will not get far. All runners are caught soon enough, their foreheads branded with the letters F-U-G. If you wish to achieve your goals. Practice here and succeed in the arena. Lucky for you, sagittarii are given substantial rewards for victories, incentive for you who are armed with long-range skill not to fire into your audience.”

“I understand, doctore,” Katniss nodded. She admitted, it had crossed her mind, archery providing her with both short- and long-range lethality, but she knew it was not realistic.

“Good!” Atala gave Katniss a hard pat on the back and smiled. “How many can you fire in rapid succession?”

“As many as fit in my hand with making me clumsy,” Katniss bragged. “But let me get used to this bow first. My hands have been empty for too long, and this design is not identical to mine at home.”

“Of course. But I expect you performing as an impressive sagittarius by the end of the day,” Atala warned before returning to instruct the others.

Finally at peace, Katniss breathed deep, an arrow resting between her bow and thumb, the fletching pulled back to her mouth, and three more arrows held in the hand that drew back.

Breathe in… and fire. Fire. Fire. Fire.

In seconds, the four arrows stood in targets, but not center. Katniss cursed. She would have them fired in fewer seconds and meet their marks dead-on as they did in Thrace.

But she kept at it. And by Atala’s return at the end of the day, she was back to her old self.

“It seems you were worth the hype,” the doctore praised. “Domina will be pleased.”

“When can I start in the games?” Katniss pressed. “And I’ve heard of how the other types have common opponents: who does the sagittarius face? What are their weaknesses?”

“Ha! This one, so eager for the arena!” Atala laughed. “You may become a champion and be known around here as a Victor yet! But sagittarii don’t fight in the day-to-day events against any specific type. Your kind are more specialized and rare. You perform in reenactments of great battles and hunts. Your opponents will vary based on the event you portray, but often they will be dishonorable slaves, prisoners, etc. who are there to be put to death. They play the enemy and you the Roman, victorious. Which reminds me, we must get you a horse for tomorrow. Unless specified otherwise, you will shoot from horseback in the arena. Is that something you have experience with?”

Katniss felt discouraged. Sure, her victor’s purse was great, but how often would she get the chance to win it? “No, I’ve never shot from horseback, but I can shoot while running, if they are at all comparable.”

“It’s fine. Get rest.”

That night at dinner, Haymitch complained about the strength and quantity of the wine, “This is barely above water! How do you expect me to perform without proper drink!”

But Atala wasn’t having it and thrust towards him a cup of the ashy drink all gladiators had. “If you don’t like the wine, you’ll have none of it,” she said, and the other gladiators laughed at him, taunting about how Thracians were all drunks.

“We’re drunks, the Gauls are brutes, the Celts are idiots,” Gale muttered. “It seems no one can catch a break in this place.”

Chapter Text

After a few weeks of training, when Atala was satisfied with their skill, Katniss, Gale, Haymitch, and a few others of the newer gladiators had the mark of the Trinket family tattooed on their left forearm. If a butterfly could ever look sinister, the Trinkets had made a mark of it.

The resources of the great ludus were more diverse, but instruction wasn’t as good as Atala. Between the two, Katniss became skilled at shooting from the back of a running horse.

And just in time, too, because it was not long before Rue was sent to the ludus, summoning Katniss, Haymitch, and Marvel to Effie.

“Do I get to fight in the games soon, Domina?” Katniss asked, eager to begin working on earning her freedom and not caring that everyone else thought she was eager to kill.

“You’re in luck, Katniss,” Effie said. “Next week is the reenactment of a great battle. In it, you and Marvel, along with the sagittarii and hoplomachi of other houses will fight against a group of war prisoners from south of the sea. Marvel.”

“Domina?”

Effie handed him a scroll. “Give this to Atala, it contains the names and order of those who will fight that day against the gladiators of Venia’s house. You two may go now, but both of you, I expect house Trinket to outshine the gladiators of others in that battle. Haymitch, I have to discuss something with you.”

“Yes, Domina,” Marvel said. The two nodded and left for the ludus with Rue. Katniss wondered what Effie could have to say to Haymitch. She had noticed him make progress in his training. He was not so agile as Gale, but he was good enough.

“Katniss, I hope Domina gives you that pin,” Rue said. “With the bird.”

“Thank you,” she replied, unable to shake the unsettling resemblance Rue bore to Prim.

“The bird depicted, we value them where I’m from as well.”

“If Domina had not offered it I wouldn’t care so much about getting it,” Katniss said. “Maybe, when I win it, I should give it to you, if it means so much.”

Rue shook her head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. It will make me happy to see you wear it.”

“I will, then, and when I earn my freedom I'll think of you when I hear them sing in the meadow by my house,” Katniss said, completely serious, though Rue let out a giggle.

“Katniss, I have seen you practice, and you’re very good, but I must warn you, buying or even winning your freedom will not come as quickly as you think.”

By then, they were back at the ludus’s gate, and Katniss left with Marvel.

Over dinner, Katniss and Gale talked about the upcoming games. Gale’s match was against a murmillo, not too early in the day to warrant little more respect than the executions, but not so late as to be bragged about either. After the morning executions, matches throughout the day increased in notoriety until the main event near sundown. That day, it would be Katniss’s battle reenactment.

“Gale, do you think I’m ready?” she asked.

“What do you mean? Of course you are! Katniss, you are an excellent shot. Plus, your opponents are basically props. They’re prisoners of war dressed up like whoever Rome fought in this battle and barely armed. The whole point is for you to kill them in a showy way.”

He had a point, but Katniss still felt on edge. “It’s the main event, though. People are expecting something showy, as you said, and I’m not very theatrical. If they expect me to do anything more than shoot, they’ll be disappointed.”

Before Gale could respond, Haymitch entered the room, grumbling. “What’s wrong, Haymitch?” Gale asked, unleashing the flood of a too-sober man’s frustrations.

“Have I not trained well as thraex?” Haymitch said, grinding his teeth. “Have I not proven that I take everything Atala tells me to heart and continue to show improvement? Do I not bring my experience of real battles into this farce?”

The insult to the gladiatorial life turned a few annoyed heads, but the trio was not important enough for anyone to care what Haymitch thought. “You have,” Gale assured him. “You’re an excellent fighter.”

“An excellent thraex,” Haymitch emphasized. “But now, this prissy mistress who knows nothing of my life and experience says I am to train now as secutor. Secutor, can you believe it? I’ll look ridiculous! My hands know how to yield the curved sica of Thrace, not that straight gladius crap secutores use like fucking Romans.” By now, most of the other gladiators had turned toward the trio, listening. “And the shield is huge! She would have me hide behind it like a little boy? Don’t even get me started on the helmet. It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen, and it’s got no flare whatsoever. I won’t wear it. In fact, Effie can take the style secutor and stick it where—“

“Hey!”

Katniss looked to see the blonde Victor, Glimmer, glaring at Haymitch. Gale, noting the hostility in the room, muttered under his breath, “You done it now.”

Haymitch spat back at him quietly, “Fight me, boy.”

Glimmer stepped towards Haymitch. “I can listen to you slander the style of secutor all night, and I don’t care, because I know I can take my ugly helmet, coward’s shield, and straight Roman sword and kill your fucking Thracian ass, because you are piece of shit gladiator, and while the helmet of thraex may be a spectacle, your face underneath it grizzled and grey, and while my helmet may not be pretty, you cannot say the same for my face. But when you start insulting my Domina, it’s on, bitch.”

“Ha!” Haymitch taunted, baffled by the Victor’s attitude. “You stand to defend the woman who enslaves you? Gods, how brainwashed has she got you? Have you been so long without the sweet taste of proper alcohol you forget why you are here?”

“Fucking novicius not yet experienced in the arena, you know nothing,” Glimmer sneered, the others grinning in agreement. “Domina is a lot better than others. Yeah, it may seem untrue when she brags like she does, but she doesn’t lie. This is the best ludus in Rome, in the entire empire, even! The best fate a slave could hope for.” Then calmer, “As long as you are willing to learn and appreciate, I am willing to welcome you to my team, as a fellow secutor.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes, but eventually agreed to be cordial. He may not like the idea of fighting Secutor, but may as well make the most of it.

The next week seemed to fly by, and before Katniss knew it, those of Effie’s gladiators scheduled to fight were escorted to the arena with Effie and her guards. Approaching the amphitheater, Katniss marveled at its size. How many could fit in this audience?

At the same time as Katniss thought this, Effie complained, “Gods, this old place. Rome may be the capital, but we are significantly lacking in the amphitheater department. I swear, they had better get constructing a new one soon, or I will march right up to the emperor and demand it. I don’t care how strange of a man he is. I’m sure at least his advisor would listen to me.”

“Who is she talking about?” Katniss whispered to Rue.

“The Emperor, Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, and his advisor, Coriolanus Snow. Some say Nero is not quite right in the head, but from what I’ve read of history, Rome has had worse. Caligula, two emperors ago, he was the crazy one. Though, I think it would be fun to sit in the senate house next to a horse,” Rue explained, smiling. She was educated, a life-saving quality, no doubt, and her entire face exuded innocence.

“An emperor made a horse senator?” Gale repeated.

Rue nodded. “But this one, Nero, isn’t the fun sort of crazy. He sleeps with his friend’s wife, has an affair with a slave, divorces and banishes his own wife so he can wed another then brings the old wife back just to execute her, but those are just scandal. Nero, though it took several attempts, ordered the death of his own mother four years ago. Even further, it seems he sentences to death whoever’s face he doesn’t like, providing whatever reason he can think of at the time as excuse. The new top target is the Christians. Nero just likes violence.”

Katniss was stunned the type of man who would kill his own mother was allowed to remain emperor, but they had arrived at the arena. The gladiators were ushered below, where they would prepare, while Effie left with Rue to join her friends up in the pulvinus, the area of the audience where the editor, aedile, lanistas, and other people of note and involvement in the games sat with a perfect view.

Below the stands, the gladiators prepared themselves for the games. Theirs weren’t till later in the day, so Katniss, Gale and Haymitch gathered near the gate to watch what was happening on the sands of the arena.

Soon, the horns announced the opening of the day, and several men were ushered to the center of the sand, each armed with a pathetic-looking spear. Someone in the pulvinus said something Katniss couldn’t exactly make out from where she was and over the sounds of gladiators behind her, but she understood enough to know that those men were Christians, sentenced to death by the emperor. Across the arena, a gate opened, releasing three tigers.

“Mother fuckers…” Haymitch whispered, amazed. “Those guys won’t last two seconds.”

“Romans,” Gale scoffed.

And before their eyes, the men in the arena were killed by the tigers in no time. “I bet you anything those tigers don’t see any other food besides execution victims,” Gale said. And somehow, Katniss felt herself pitying the tigers she’d just seen tear apart several men.

The day went on, and soon it was Haymitch’s match. Newly a secutor, he faced a retiarius of Venia’s house. Being an early match between two gladiators who obviously were new to the skill, it was not very entertaining, and in the end, Haymitch lost. Caught under the other man’s net without a weapon, Haymitch raised his left hand, and the match was finished.

“It’s cool, man,” Gale said, patting him on the back. “You’ll win the next one.”

A dark man with brown hair and gold eyeliner was helping Gale into his armor: a leather arm guard, padded leg wrapping and thigh-high greaves on both legs. “Thanks, Cinna,” Gale said, clapping the man on the shoulder and putting on his helmet, which had a tall crest with the figure of a griffin.

“Good luck!” Cinna said, and Gale went to wait for his turn by the gate. Then Cinna turned to Katniss, “You Trinket’s sagittarius?”

“Yeah. Katniss.”

Cinna shook her hand and introduced himself. “I supply armor for gladiators of the Trinket house. You don’t have to get ready until later, though. The finale battle reenactment is not for a while, and your armor is not extensive.”

Katniss nodded and walked back with to stand with Gale. His fight went well. He was injured slightly, but the other guy, more so, so it was a victory. Cinna found Katniss again and suited her up with a layer of scaled armor over her tunic and a pointed metal hat.

He showed her to her gate where other sagittarii waited with horses. A woman assigned Katniss to a horse, passed out arrows to fill quivers, and then they relaxed, watching the current match.

Cato, Effie’s provocator Victor, fought against one of Venia’s. But something seemed off: Venia’s provocator fought with an axe, not a sword as Cato did. Katniss asked the man next to her why that was.

“Her name is Johanna,” he said. “She convinced Venia to allow her to fight with an axe instead of sword because she preferred it. There are no gladiatorial styles that typically use axes.”

Katniss looked on as Johanna easily bested Cato, pinning him to the ground without his weapon. She removed her feathered helmet and looked up to the pulvinus, axe raised. Katniss couldn’t see the pulvinus from her position, but it seemed the answer was life. Cato lived, but he wasn’t happy about it. He stormed off the field in a frustrated rage. Johanna sauntered after him, her hands raised to the roar of the crowd.

There was one more fight before the reenactment. Three other Victors, Glimmer and the two murmillos Glauca and Fluctus, entered the sand to face a single retiarius from Venia’s house. The fight seemed unbalanced: the fish-like secutor and murmillos being heavily armed and armored while all this lone retiarius had was a leather arm-guard and tall metal shoulder guard to protect him and a trident, dagger, and net to fight with.

“How is he supposed to win?” Katniss asked. From the talk around the ludus, she’d learned that retiarius was not a well-respected style. They were evasive and fought with a net, not as glorious and brutal as the ones they opposed.

The other sagittarius laughed, “Oh, you’ll see, little girl. Just watch.”

The retiarius, whose dark red hair was ruffled by the wind, unencumbered by a protective helmet, amazed the crowd with his grace and precision in the strikes of his trident. Though he fought three-on-one, he tore through his opponents like they were nothing, dodging every thrust of their swords, every slap of their shields, until they were stumbling over themselves trying to get a hit on him.

When he was done playing with them, his face darkened, and the spokes of his trident quickly found the small eyeholes of their helmets.

The finishing blows of the fight were so sudden and brutal, Katniss wondered how she could have ever doubted the guy. Someone in the pulvinus chastised the retiarius for killing his opponents without asking permission. He gave a low bow and apologized, but all could see it was far from genuine. They could also see he would not be punished. That cocky grin could charm anyone.

After Glimmer, Glauca, and Fluvus’s bodies were dragged out of the arena, the sagittarii’s gate opened, and they ran out on their horses. Across from them, hoplomachi entered as well.

The editor announced that they would be reenacting some famous battle Katniss didn’t care about, where the Romans defeated the people Katniss didn’t care about, bringing victory to the empire and the general Katniss didn’t care about. At the mention of the general, one of the sagittarii raised his bow and thanked the crowd for their cheers.

Among the hoplomachi, Katniss noticed Marvel looking on edge. More on edge than an experienced gladiator should. He was eyeing the pulvinus with total hatred.

Of course, he’d just watched three of his five best friends slaughtered and the guy let off with a warning.

Katniss tried not to let his anger distract her. A group of prisoners of war were let into the arena, armed in a similarly pathetic way as the Christians from that morning. They were the same, just had more glory by being used as props in this show.

The editor signaled for the battle to begin, and the prisoners were chased around the sand, shot by arrows and stabbed by the swords and spears of the hoplomachi. Katniss didn’t know much of the other styles of fight, but she knew the hoplomachus’s spear was used for thrusting, not throwing. So she found it peculiar when she saw Marvel, totally detached from the carnage around him, raising his spear over his head, opposite hand extended as if to aim.

But he didn’t aim at the prisoners, he meant to throw upwards, into the stands, into the pulvinus.

Katniss drew an arrow, but waited to release until she could be sure of his malicious intent. That was a mistake. He shot the spear up into the pulvinus, towards Effie. But his aim was not perfect, and the spear plunged into Rue’s gut.

“No!” Katniss screamed, feeling like it was her who had been stabbed, feeling like that could have just as well been her sister up there. She released her arrow, and it promptly found Marvel’s neck.

Rue’s body had fallen down into the sands of the arena, and Katniss rode over to her, forgetting the reenactment along with most of the audience. People stared in silence as Katniss dismounted and approached the young girl. Behind her, her fellow gladiators killed the last of the prisoners, but there was no cheer. Katniss knelt and Rue’s side and held her hand.

“Rue…”

“Katniss, I’m gonna go to the meadow,” Rue rasped.

“W-what?”

“The meadow by your house. Where you said the birds were,” she said. “I’ll be there, by the willow tree.”

“Yeah, there is a willow,” Katniss said, nodding. “I’ll meet you. My sister and I, we’ll meet you there when I’m free.”

“Good night, Katniss.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Tears lined Katniss’s cheeks as she stood and faced her domina. Up in the pulvinus, Effie’s face was sad as she looked down at the pair of girls. But when she turned up to the audience, it was cheerful again. “Ladies and gentlemen!” she called. “An attempt was just made on my life by my own slave, Marvel, whom I have trained for years. And yet, this girl, my brand new sagittarius Katniss, kills him on the spot!” The crowd cheered as Effie spoke of loyalty and honor, but Katniss just looked back down at Rue. She wouldn’t have killed Marvel if he had succeeded in killing Effie. Actually, she thought, she may have. Only in an attempt to make a case for sparing the lives of Effie’s other slaves from being killed with Marvel for the betrayal.

Rue was dragged from the arena with hooks through her heels no different from the dead prisoners. She may look similar to them with their dark coloring, but they were grown men, warriors, and she looked so wrong among them. She was too gentle for this place.

Chapter Text

The lady Venia looked nearly as extravagant as Effie. She was draped in fine golden fabric with green embroidery and wore yellow tones in her makeup that brought out the rich natural hues of her skin. Her hair was so black it shined almost blue in the sun. “Oh, Effie,” she said to her old friend as the amphitheater began to empty, the show over. “What a hard day you have had. An attempt made on your life by your own gladiator, your adorable little handmaid killed in your place, the traitor taken out by one so new. Are you okay?”

“Yes, Venia, thank you. I’m fine.” Effie gave her strawberry blonde hair a few pats as if to show she was unaffected by the events of the battle reenactment, but it was not her hair that was the problem. She had really cared for Rue. More than most mistresses cared for their slaves, at least. And now she was faced with a difficult decision.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking,” Venia probed, “what do you intend to do now? Technically, Marvel’s actions should warrant the deaths of all the slaves of your house. But they—“

“They are my livelihood, yes,” Effie said. “What’s a lanista to do with no gladiators? But you see, Venia dear, I was not killed. And what’s more, my brand new sagittarius, Katniss, slayed Marvel herself. Immediately. Surely, that says something for the loyalty my slaves have for me. I would think some mercy is in order, don’t you?”

“You know, you are so right, Trinket,” Venia said. The two women smiled and walked down from the pulvinus to collect their gladiators and winnings and return to Effie’s mansion where she had a special after party planned to honor the first fights of her new recruits.

Waiting at the door to the gladiator preparation chambers, Effie leaned against the wall and looked at Venia with a devious grin.

“What’s that look for?” Venia asked.

Effie sighed. “Well, you’re right, it has been a very trying day, my dear friend. And yet, the worst of it hasn’t even been the actions of my gladiators.”

“No?”

Effie threw her hands up and gave her face a look of great sadness, “No, no, Venia not at all. That worst of it was when your fucking retiarius stole from me three of my most accomplished and profitable fighters.”

Venia’s teeth clenched. She had hoped Effie would forget about Finnick killing three of her six Victors, as Effie haughtily called them, after what Marvel did. “Oh yes,” she said, trying to sound genuine though her voice was tight. “That.”

“Yes, that. Venia, how do you expect to repay me for those three very expensive slaves?”

Venia knew exactly what Effie wanted. She didn’t want to give it up, but given the circumstances, denying her would hurt their friendship and Venia’s status in society once word got around how selfish she was. “Fine,” she said reluctantly, “I will gladly replace them. Are there any of mine you are interested in?”

“Although the retiarius killed three of mine, I will only take two from you as payment since they are so skilled. I want the retiarius responsible for all this and the provocator with the axe.”

“Finnick and Johanna are among my best. But he did kill three of yours. Alright. I’ll send the rest home, but those two can go with you.”

“Lovely,” Effie said with a smile.

All of Effie’s gladiators who had fought that day came out of the preparation chamber doors. The ones who had won their matches or otherwise performed well, including Katniss and Gale, carried purses of winnings. Katniss’s was heavier than Gale’s and the other winners’, but she would not have as many opportunities to win it.

When presented with it, she had caught some other gladiators sneering in the corner of her eye. When she had not given them the satisfaction of asking what their problem was, they had told her anyway. They had said she wasn’t a real gladiator. She was just an overrated executioner who hid behind the safety of a long-distance weapon, and part of her winnings was just a bribe to not shoot into the audience like Marvel had tried to do.

It had been Johanna who put them in their place, saying arrows were just as effective at close range, especially in the hands of a master, and if they wanted to test Katniss, they could go. Any time. They shut up, and Johanna collected her own rather large winner’s purse.

“We ready to go back now, Domina?” Cato asked.

“We’re just waiting on a couple more, Cato,” Effie said smugly. Venia’s face was sour, but she’d survive.

A moment later, Venia’s group of gladiators exited the amphitheater. “Finnick and Johanna, you stay with us. The rest of you can go home,” Venia said, waving a gold-dusted hand.

A few of the other gladiators patted Finnick and Johanna on the back and said they’d see them later, and have fun at the party, and good job today. Katniss’s initial reaction was surprise that Venia could trust them to make it back to her ludus alone and not run away, but she quickly remembered what Atala had told her. No one wants to be hunted down, have FUG branded on their forehead, and their friends punished.

“So, there’s a party tonight,” Johanna said, elbowing Katniss in the side as the group began to make its way towards Effie’s mansion. “Effie planned it to celebrate you guys’ first time in the arena, but word on the street is it’s gonna get extra wild because of your whole thing with Marvel.”

“Then you’ll probably have fun. But I’m not much of a partier,” Katniss said.

Cutting off Johanna’s response, Effie announced, “So, Finnick and Johanna, Venia and I were talking after the games, and we came to an agreement. As payment for Finnick killing Glimmer, Glauca, and Fluctus without permission, she is giving the two of you to me. I promise, with training in my ludus, you will become even more successful than you already are.”

Finnick said nothing right away, but his spirits dropped significantly. He looked worried, afraid, and sad. Johanna stopped talking about the party and touched his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay,” she told him.

The entire way to Effie’s place, Finnick was feverishly discussing something with Venia that Katniss didn’t listen in on. It wasn’t her business. But he looked incredibly sad, and Venia looked sorry but also annoyed. A master doesn’t need to listen to the concerns of a slave in this way. Not when she’s on her way to a celebration. She walked away, leaving him disappointed.

When they came to the Trinket estate, most of Effie’s gladiators separated from the group and went back to the ludus, but Effie had Katniss, Gale, Haymitch, Cato, and Clove stay. The mansion was filled with slaves rushing to put the finishing touches on party decorations. Katniss had only been inside the mansion once and then she hadn’t been looking at the décor, just thinking about her match. Now that she had some money and was more relaxed, she got a chance to actually look at the place. Just inside the doors was a beautiful atrium. A pool filled with vibrant fish took up the center of the room under a great opening in the ceiling that let in the last rays of light of the day. By now, it was near the autumnal equinox and the days would start getting shorter.

“It’s getting rather dark out,” Effie said. “Someone light the torches so we aren’t in complete darkness when the rest of the guests get here!”

“Yes, Domina!” one slave responded, and a few ran to go light the rooms.

Decorative plants were everywhere, and Katniss recognized a few as flowers particularly favored by butterflies. The Trinket mark was a butterfly, so it was to be expected that Effie encouraged the little things to visit.

The group walked further through the house to the dining room. Three lavish couches formed a triangle around a small table. Effie threw herself down on one and grabbed a strawberry off the platter held by a passing slave.

“Many notable Romans will be in attendance tonight,” she said, taking a bite of the berry. “I had been planning on it to be a wild party, but after what happened today, it’s sure to get simply feral!” She then propped herself up on an elbow and looked at the Thracians. “You three, Katniss, Gale, and Haymitch, you have never been to a Roman party. Don’t get too carried away.”

“Yeah, ok, and you’ve obviously never been to a Thracian party. Will there be real wine?” Haymitch asked, his priorities clear.

Effie laughed, “It will not be as watered down as what you usually drink, but straight wine is for Greek savages!”

Haymitch grinned, taking what he can get, “Good enough for me.”

A young man about Katniss’s age walked into the dining room with a basket of bread. He wore a toga, which distinguished him as a free Roman man, not a slave. He must be one of the people in charge of catering, Katniss thought. He was similar to Katniss in height, shorter than most men she knew but still average for a Roman man. He had pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, and a physique that showed he had some muscle underneath a layer of always having enough to eat. These and his facial structure gave him almost cherubic features. “Lady Trinket, where would you like the breads to be placed?” he asked.

“Most can go on a table in the peristyle. The one with the fruit and cheeses. What isn’t on that table can be carried around on platters by servers,” she instructed. “Oh, and everyone, I should introduce you. This is Peeta Mellark, the baker’s son. Mellark bakery is where we’re getting our breads for the evening. Between the baker and his three sons, they run a wonderful catering service. Peeta here is the youngest but still does a good job.”

“Thanks, Lady Trinket,” Peeta said with a nod. “Hi, everyone.”

Most of the gladiators didn’t respond, and those who did only gave small smiles or half-hearted waves. What does a wealthy bread boy matter when your life is spent fighting for everything you own?

Over the next hour, guests continuously flowed through the front door, filling Effie’s large mansion. A band played music. Some slaves performed intricate dances while others walked around with trays of food. Katniss and the other gladiators were told just to mingle as if they were guests themselves. In Rome, gladiators may be slaves, but they were also public figures, celebrities. The fame was about as close to status as a slave could get.

For a while, Katniss enjoyed herself, eating the most amazing dormouse she’d ever had and standing with Gale in a corner, out of the way of the Romans who loved their parties a little too much. It was evident that whoever was in charge of mixing the wine had hardly added any water at all.

Before long, Effie rushed over and threw herself onto Katniss. “Oh, Katniss, Katniss…” she slurred. “I am having so much fun!”

Cato and Clove came running after her, trying to pull her away. “Domina,” Clove coaxed. “Come now, you’ve had enough.”

“Oh, go away, you two,” Effie said rather angrily, though she still smiled. “I’ve only thrown up once so far, and that was on purpose! Have you had the dormouse? It’s amazing!”

Cato and Clove, ever obedient, left Effie to Katniss and Gale. Effie slung an arm around Katniss and leaned in to whisper, “You know I’m actually very sad. About Rue, my young handmaid. She was so sweet and wicked smart. Knew everything about Rome. Got all the gossip for me because she could be in the room, but people still talked and talked because they never noticed her. And cute too! Just adorable, she was. Say, I almost forgot,” Effie slurred. She reached up into her hair and detached a pin from her headdress. It was the mockingjay pin. “Rue really wanted you to have this, I know. She mentioned it to me several times. She looked up to you so much, it was adorable! And you said it had belonged to your friend?”

“Yes, it did,” Katniss said, feeling extremely awkward talking to her plastered drunk domina.

“Then you take it, please,” Effie said, handing the pin over.

“Thank you,” Katniss said, exchanging a look with Gale. Effie was far too drunk. But she clearly didn’t think so and didn’t want any help.

Just then, Haymitch walked up to the group, tailed by several Roman women who looked rather disappointed. “I was told you wanted to see me?”

Effie threw herself off of Katniss and grabbed Haymitch’s hand in a sudden rush of energy. “That I did!” she cried. “Come here, come here, I must discuss something with you.” She then leaned into him and stood up on tiptoe and whispered, “in private,” into his ear.

“Ooooookay,” Haymitch said, trying and failing to loosen her grip on his wrist as she lead him away. “Effie, I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink. Maybe you should go lie down. Alone.”

“Oh, Haymitch, I thought you were more fun than that,” Effie said. “It’s sad that you would assume I wanted us to lie down.”

“What?”

“No, I am not lying down, and I’m certainly not doing anything alone!” she insisted, continuing to drag him threw the mansion and away from the busier part of the party.

“Look, Effie,” he said. “I’ll admit, I think you’re cute. You may not be my type at all what with all the fancy clothes and make up and, you know, purchasing people and whatnot, but you are fairly pretty. That said, I still can’t be doing anything with you tonight: lying down or otherwise.”

Effie stopped walking and turned to look at him. She ran a hand through his black, curly hair and said matter-of-factly, “Haymitch you aren’t my type either. You’re a rude, drunk, unsophisticated slave. But you’re hot. And I haven’t been with anyone in a while, and I’m drunk, so we’re going to get it on. Get it?”

Haymitch took her hands and removed them from his body, looked her in the eye, and said, “That’s exactly the problem, sweetheart. You’re drunk. And you’re using this party as an excuse to do things that you can’t do sober on any other day, because they aren’t seen as proper, which is crafty. Crafty, but stupid. If you still are interested in me when you’re sober, fine, whatever. I really don’t care that much who I fuck, and it doesn’t seem you do either. So, see you later.”

Haymitch left her there and lost himself back in the crowded part of the party before Effie could grab him again. But she didn’t try to. She just rolled her eyes and took a fresh cup of wine out to the peristyle to mingle with her guests and brag about her lovely garden.

Back in the atrium corner, Katniss and Gale enjoyed the party as observers. Or rather, they enjoyed critiquing the party.

“They have no idea how good they have it,” Gale said, watching a group of Romans come back from the latrines, where they had just thrown up so that they could eat more.

Haymitch approached the pair with a fluffy pastry in his hand and said, “And boy do they have it good! This bread is delicious. And the bread boy isn’t bad either, ay, Katniss?” He winked and gave her a nudge.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, insulted by his implications.

“The boy, Meckark or whatever his name is, he’s been staring at you all evening,” Haymitch said, gesturing across the room. Peeta stood against a wall, not talking to anybody but looking in the Thracians’ direction. He quickly turned away when they made eye contact. “He was there when I came because Effie had called me,” Haymitch continued. “He’s still there now, and I really do not think he’s moved.”

“What of it?” Gale asked. “He’s some Roman kid who likes to watch other people fight and is at a party for gladiators. You forget, Haymitch, we’re a big source of their entertainment here. He just sees us as celebrities to root for and be disappointed with when we die.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes, “Boy, you are pretty blind if you think that’s the way people look at their passing celebrity faves. Katniss, he likes you.”

“Still, what of it?” she said, laughing. “I’m not interested, so he can move on and enjoy his fancy bread without me. Who cares?”

“You should care,” Haymitch pointed out. “You can use him to your advantage. His family has money. You need money. If you make him think he has a shot with you, he can be useful. He might bring you gifts or straight cash. He might talk you up outside, talk you up to editors and aediles, which could get you more action in the arena. More opportunities to win.”

Katniss bit her lip, “I don’t know, Haymitch, that seems a little rough. I don’t want to lead the kid on.”

“Do whatever you want, sweetheart,” Haymitch said. “It was just an idea. But it could be the idea that gets you home to Prim a hell of a lot quicker. Think about it.” He walked away then to get more Mellark bread.

“Well, that was weird,” Gale said.

Katniss fixated her gaze on the leaf of a potted plant, thinking. “Yeah, I guess. But he’s right: it’s a solid idea and worth considering.”

“I don’t know. Seems dirty.”

“But I do need to get home to Prim,” Katniss reminded him and herself. Prim was her motivating factor in all this. If she didn’t do all that she could to get home and make sure her family was taken care of, what was she even doing with her life? “Gale, they could be starving. They could be dying. If you had an opportunity like this to speed up getting home to your family, wouldn’t you take it?”

“I would. You’re right, Katniss,” he agreed, but not enthusiastically. “It’s not ideal, but Haymitch makes a good point. This Peeta guy could be useful.”

“And it won’t just be for me. Any benefit I get from him, I’ll be sure to share with you too. Maybe even with Haymitch since it was his plan. We all deserve the chance to go home.”

Katniss and Gale looked back at Peeta, who was now talking to a few other Romans. If they played their cards right, Katniss and Gale would see Iobetta again.

Chapter Text

Exhausted and full of too much wine, Katniss stumbled back to the gladiators’ shared bedroom and found her bed in the dark. That she managed as much instead of just dropping on the first one she stubbed her toe on surprised her. Maybe she wasn’t as drunk as she felt.

“Fuck you, Haymitch,” she cursed under her breath. It had been him who had encouraged her and Gale to start drinking later into the party. Gale was still upstairs, helping clean up, but Katniss was not so generous with her time, especially when inebriated for one of the first times ever.

“Hey, brainless.” Katniss heard a voice next to her, closer than she thought anyone was when she first laid down, and sat up in a flash. Bad idea. Head rush. In the dim torchlight, she saw Johanna sitting on the bed next to her and Finnick a few down the line. “So, what do you guys do for fun around here? Besides the occasional party, that is,” Johanna asked.

Katniss shrugged. “This and that. My name’s Katniss, by the way, not brainless” she said, extending a hand.

Johanna chuckled, ignoring Katniss’s gesture. She turned back to her friend and said, “Hey, Finn, come here and talk to the new girl.”

“Wouldn’t you guys be the new ones here?” Katniss corrected as Finnick came to take a seat next to Johanna. He didn’t look nearly as playful and confident as he had in the arena earlier that day.

“Hardly,” Johanna scoffed. “We’ve been in this game most of our lives. You started, what, a month ago? We’re only here in the common room tonight because Domina hasn’t had time yet to prep the private rooms of those dead Victors, as you call them, for us who actually deserve them.”

Katniss looked at Finnick and asked, “Something wrong?”

“He’s not thrilled about the move, brainless. What do you think?” Johanna snapped, but Finnick put a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s fine, Jo,” he said. “Katniss, I just have someone back at Venia’s is all. I worry about her.”

Katniss nodded, thinking of Prim fending for herself back home. She hoped her sister and mom weren’t starving and that the goats were enough for them to get by. “Is she a gladiator too?”

“Used to be,” Finnick said. “Her name’s Annie. Slaves can’t marry the way free men can, but if we could, we would. She was a retiarius, like me, but one fight a few years back, she got hurt pretty bad.” He spoke more to himself than to Katniss, eyes fixed on the ground. “The murmillo she was pitted against cut her in the neck and slammed her shield on her foot, breaking it. Annie nearly bled out, but the medici were able to stop the bleeding and stitch her neck back up alright when Venia shouted from the pulvinus that she didn’t want to lose her. Annie had been expensive, but was also Venia’s friend, as much as a slave can be friends with her domina. Her foot never healed quite right. Because of her bad foot and emotional trauma from the event, she can’t go back into the arena. Venia kept her as a house slave. I worry, though, what if one day, without me there to fight for her and win enough to earn enough for both of us, Venia decides to fight her again? She had been so popular.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Johanna assured him for the hundredth time that day.

Katniss nodded. “I know how you feel. I had to leave my sister back home in Iobetta, Thrace. I helped her hide and fought the guy who captured me as long as I could. After getting me, he didn’t bother searching the rest of the house. But I worry about how she’s doing without me. I provided for us, so we got by while much of Iobetta starves.”

Finnick cracked a smile. “You’re a good sister. You could have run, saved yourself. But you stayed to protect her, even though you knew it was risking your own life and freedom. You sacrificed yourself for her.”

“I guess you could say that,” Katniss said. “Right now, I’m just focused on winning enough to get out of here.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Johanna said with a laugh. “You’re good. But if you want to buy your freedom, the price is steep. You’ll need help.”

Katniss looked up. “Yeah, I have an idea about that. Haymitch suggested it, but the baker’s boy. He has a crush on me. I’m thinking I should lead him on, let him want to help me out, you know?”

“Smart cookie,” Johanna said.

Finnick nodded, “Yeah, that could help. More popular gladiators get fought more and are awarded higher winnings.”

“I don’t know how I feel about it, though. Gale doesn’t care for it much either, but agrees with Haymitch that it’s a sound plan,” Katniss said. “I just… ugh,” she groaned, falling back onto the bed. This would be so much easier sober. “I don’t know. When I get out, I want it to be because of my own work, not because some rich kid likes me. But I know, I know, I can’t afford the luxury of pride. I just don’t want to owe him, you know?”

Johanna smiled, amused by drunk Katniss’s difference from the stoic, silent sober Katniss she’d met earlier. “Yeah, I know.” Then she smiled in a way that gave Katniss chills. “You don’t feel bad for stringing him along because you might actually have feelings for him, do you?

Katniss rolled her eyes, “No, not at all.” Of course she didn’t have romantic feelings for this baker kid.

“Ah, because you like your friend from back east, then, Gale?” Finnick suggested.

“No, Gale and I are best friends, and that’s all I ever want us to be.”

Johanna leaned in. “You don’t like any boys, do you?”

Katniss shook her head.

“Because you prefer girls?” Johanna cocked her head to the side.

Katniss stood, frustrated. “No. Guys, I don’t like anyone. Never have. I’m just not attracted to people in that way. Romance, sex, neither of those interest me at all, regardless of a person’s gender.”

Finnick and Johanna exchanged confused glances. Johanna, at least, could understand not being interested in romance. She was romantically only interested in other women but could have her fun with men from time to time. Finnick knew that very well, as he was occasionally one of those men. Neither of them understood a lack of interest in sex. What better to come home to after an energizing fight in the arena than the waiting arms of a beautiful woman?

Katniss groaned and stumbled, still tipsy from the party, to a bed on the other side of the room. Whoever it normally belonged to would just have to deal as hers was currently occupied by the two sex-obsessed interrogators.

It took a long time for her to get to sleep. She thought of the Mellark boy. It felt wrong to use him for his money and influence, but it was the only way to speed up her return to Thrace. To Prim. For all she knew, Prim could already be starving to death. She couldn’t worry about this wealthy boy’s feelings when her freedom was on the line.

Katniss trained even harder after that first performance in the arena. She needed to be the best sagittarius Rome had ever seen if she had any hope of buying her freedom soon. Gale and Haymitch also picked up their efforts in training.

Gale was a natural thraex and soon began moving up in the roster until he was on par with the once-Victors, Cato and Clove, who had fallen out of popularity since the loss of Glimmer, Glauca, and Fluctus and arrival of Finnick and Johanna.

Haymitch grew comfortable in his role as secutor, and very comfortable in his role as gladiator. Almost too confortable. He fought in the arena with no more zeal than Gale and Katniss did—it wasn’t particularly fun, but if you are winning, it’s not bad—however, he did begin speaking of their domina in a more and more positive light as time passed, growing to admire the woman who owned him. He spoke of her as a friend would, not a slave. He took pride in representing the Trinket name. This confused and slightly worried Katniss and Gale, but they didn’t dwell on it. Haymitch was his own man.

One day, Katniss was riding through her course of targets, sending arrows into worn-out bull’s eyes, when she noticed Peeta Mellark delivering a bread basket to the mansion. She stopped her horse suddenly and rode slowly to the gate. Effie paid the boy, laughed at a funny comment he must have made, and waved him goodbye. He took his empty basket and began walking down the path that passed the ludus gate. This was her chance.

“Your name’s Peeta, right? The baker’s boy?” Katniss asked. Peeta stopped in his tracks, looking up at her on her horse with amazement, awestruck by the fact that someone like her would so much as glance at him. “Is it your father’s bread we eat here all the time?”

Peeta nodded and cleared his throat. Due to his pale complexion, the blush covering his face was painfully bright. “Yeah. My dad and oldest brother make those tougher breads you gladiators like. My other brother and me do the pastries. Ms. Trinket has a taste for those more delicate things I make.”

“Like the stuff from the party?” Katniss asked, attempting to sound alluring, which felt incredibly unnatural.

“Yeah, most of that was mine.”

“Well, then I look forward to the next one because they were amazing. I especially liked the flakey buns with the cheese baked in. I’ll probably be yelled at for letting you distract me from my practice, but I hope to see you at a Games sometime. Bet on me,” she said with a wink and rode back into the archery course. That, hopefully, set a few hooks in his heart. All she need do now is reel him in when the time is right.

When Katniss came back around, having finished a cycle of the course, she noticed Haymitch leaning against her rack of bows. “Wow, sweetheart, you sure know how to play ‘em.”

“I’m just going with the plan you suggested,” she said defensively. “Get him to support me, maybe donate, or promote me so my winnings grow with my popularity, and then ditch him for Thrace.”

“Oh, I know what you were trying to do,” Haymitch said, brushing his black curls out of his face and standing up straighter. “But believe me, if that boy didn’t already have a crush on you, none of whatever that was I just saw would work. You’ve got about as much charm as a dead slug.”

Chapter Text

Katniss, scowling as always, trudged inside for a drink of that ashy, watery wine they were provided. Haymitch didn’t know anything. She could be charming. She had to be, if she wanted to stand a chance of ever seeing Iobetta and her family again.

“Well, someone’s having a bright morning,” Johanna said, biting a chunk out of a bread roll. “What’s up with you, brainless? Boy troubles? If the baker doesn’t pan out, you can always just get with that dark one you came with.”

Katniss ignored her and immediately went back to the training yard after her drink. They had been through that already, and it seemed Johanna would never understand. Romance was nowhere near being on Katniss’s radar. But with her dry throat wet and her head a little clearer, Katniss knew Haymitch was right. She didn’t know how to flirt. She’d never had any desire to. Maybe Peeta was even flirting with her without her realizing. That was it, from now on, she’d do her best to mirror Peeta’s behavior and see if it caught on. Katniss scanned the yard for Haymitch, but he was gone. Probably taking a nap, she thought. Typical Haymitch.

The next day was another match in the great amphitheater. Katniss wasn’t scheduled to perform, but Effie allowed her to come along to watch Gale and Haymitch. Each time they approached the arena, Katniss was amazed by it. The size, the intricate carvings of dolphins and horses in the sea up the pillars, the lovely furnishings in the pulvinus Effie even brought her up to. Her chair was finer than any she’d ever sat on and still the least desirable seat in the box. Yet again, Effie commented on the arena’s fall from grace. The dilapidated state of certain areas, the smallness of it compared to some of the newer amphitheaters around Rome.

“We simply must build a new one,” she said again. “Maybe if we all try we can get Emperor Nero to pay for the construction so Rome can finally live up to her gladiatorial reputation.”

The others in the pulvinus nodded in agreement. Out of the blue, Peeta Mellark slid into the seat next to Katniss. “Hey,” he said, as if his being there was the most normal thing. Bakers’ children have nothing to do with the Games. They don’t get seats in the pulvinus, that’s for sure.

“Hey,” Katniss said, confused.

Effie explained, “Katniss, I invited him.”

“And thank you very much, Lady Trinket,” Peeta said with a nod. “This is an amazing view.”

“Katniss, I knew you’d want to come see your friends fight, but you know I will actually be very busy talking with my other friends, here,” Effie continued, gesturing to the editor, aedile, Venia, and other lanistas she had been chatting with just a second ago. “I thought you might like someone more similar to yourself to talk to during the show, you know, and I saw the two of you together yesterday, so I thought Peeta here would be a good friend.”

Katniss and Peeta were in no way similar. They were both sixteen years old, but that was it. Maybe Effie looked down on the merchant class so much and, like other Romans, viewed gladiators more as celebrities than slaves that she put the two of them on the same level. Katniss fought back an eye roll. This was her chance.

“Thank you, domina,” she said with one of her rare bright smiles. “That’s so thoughtful. I’d love to spend the day with Peeta here.” She put a hand on the boy’s shoulder knowing Haymitch would be proud.

The morning events bored Katniss more than she could have expected. During the prisoner executions that opened the games for the day, she simply looked down, fiddling with the hem of her maroon tunic. The executions were her least favorite part, the way they were thrown in with no chance at all of victory. At this time, there was nothing she could do to help them, so boredom was the only sense she could accept. The earlier gladiatorial fights of the day were rookies and those fighters who were never any good, including a few of Effie’s less popular gladiators. Weak moves all around.

The boy next to her was little relief. Peeta often attempted to make conversation, but Katniss only felt that it drained what energy she still had. The two had nothing to connect over, and the pressure to get him to like her more solidly than he already did was not welcome. Katniss tried to smile and nod, appearing interested as Peeta went on and on about the craft of bread-making.

“It’s truly an art, you see,” he said. “I hope I can be as good as my father someday. It’s a profession you really have to have a passion for; a lot of love goes into each loaf, each pastry.”

Katniss did not care about the love in his loaves.

“Oh, I know,” she lied, nodding. She leaned towards him and let their hands meet on the armrest between them. “The bread you bring to Effie’s estate always tastes like a lot of love went into it, especially your cheese buns. You’re very good.”

Peeta jerked away, his face flushing red. He scratched the back of his neck and stammered, “Oh, thanks, I-I…”

A scent rolled down the pulvinus, and Katniss snapped her head towards it, cutting Peeta off mid-blush. Platters of dormice, fruit, and cheeses were being carried down by slaves, wine as well. Katniss only then realized how hungry she was and how high the sun had risen into the sky. She tried to keep herself from salivating too noticeably.

Providing a much-appreciated break in the day, the platters were passed down the pulvinus to pedestals in the rows on either side of the seats. The one nearest Katniss and Peeta displayed a lovely rabbit dish. Katniss tossed six pieces into her mouth before she felt Effie’s stern hand on her shoulder. “Katniss,” she said firmly, but sweetly. “During the break, might you want to meet some of my friends here?”

Katniss turned around and saw that more of the seats were occupied now than had been when they arrived that morning. She chewed and swallowed her rabbit as quick as she could without choking, and Effie very quietly reminded her that this meal is meant to be very small, just enough to get people through the afternoon, not a great feast like dinner.

“So, you’re the sagittarius that’s taken Rome by storm,” one man said. He wore a very clean-looking toga with an intricate design around the border in red thread. It resembled the grape vines she collected from with Gale back in Iobetta.

“That she is!” Effie sang proudly. “Our Katniss is the best archer this old amphitheater has ever seen.”

“Well, then I am impressed,” the man said and shook Katniss hand. “I’m Plutarch Heavensbee, aedile for the past five years, not that it really matters.” He chuckled at his last few words, but Katniss didn’t get what was funny.

“And this is my friend, Peeta,” Katniss said, gesturing to her side. Anything to get away from the topic of politics. She had never liked politicians.

“Peeta Mellark, my family owns Mellark Bakery,” Peeta said, shaking Plutarch’s hand. “And if you’re looking to get into something more interesting than a job with few powers that you, I’m assuming, were chosen for, consider investing in Katniss’s victory.”

The people of the pulvinus seemed taken aback slightly by Peeta’s boldness, but Plutarch was intrigued. “Actually, I volunteered to take over as aedile and stay on this long. There is yet more power in the job than there appears. In regards to our archer, how might I do that?”

Peeta’s face was thoughtful, considering what was said about the ancient position of aedile, but he continued happily, his tone nearly as charming as Finnick’s before the crowds. “Well, as you know, the gladiators are given small rewards for matches well fought, but even the greatest of winners’ purses won over the course of many years would still be marginal compared to what a wealthy Roman such as yourself makes in a month.”

Plutarch scoffed, “So, you’re asking for handouts, then?” Katniss shook her head. She too wondered what Peeta was getting at with the whole poor-slave pitch. She would not be pitied.

“Not at all,” Katniss stated firmly, taking over. “What I think my friend means is that you should get into gambling.”

Peeta nodded. “Yes, precisely.” Katniss knew only vague pieces of the gambling system she had heard of, so she let Peeta take it. “I know a guy. He runs an underground gambling operation. Very secret, very elite. He doesn’t let people bet unless he knows they will be good for it when they lose, so you know you’ll get your money in full when you win. He doesn’t trim off the top like some other bookies and doesn’t deal with lowlifes in any way that could tarnish your reputation. What’s important, though, is that he donates 5% the amount of winning bets, from his own pocket, to the winning gladiator. It’s not much, but gladiators who receive money from him are able to afford better armor, weapons, and food. It’s the same as how the ludi of winners are given money from the arena and in turn produce better fighters. Bet on Katniss, contribute to her success, see her win and profit even more.”

Plutarch seemed interested but skeptical. “He must be very wealthy if he can make such generous donations to the victors.”

“Well, there are plenty of bad gamblers out there, sir,” Peeta said, smiling. “I must admit, I don’t know this man myself, nor where to find him. I have only heard detailed accounts. But after the games today, I know Haymitch will be able to lead you to him to speak with him about your financial future.”

Plutarch nodded. “Now I look forward to tonight’s finale even more.”

Katniss still had questions about this man. She didn’t know Haymitch was so close with him, for one. But the games were about to continue, and the afternoon events were always more captivating.

Haymitch’s match was the first Katniss cared much about. Midway through the afternoon, he entered the arena, clad the armor of secutor. He was pitted against a skilled retiarius, though not one so skilled as Finnick. Despite Haymitch’s age and the damage he had done to his body through years of drink and old battle wounds, he was strong and quick with his sword. Katniss had never had such a good view of the fights before, but from the pulvinus, one could see the fights in all their glory, unobscured by the thick wooden bars of the gates.

Next to her, Katniss felt Effie tense. The woman was on the edge of her seat, leaning forward with her hands clasped at her chest. Effie did not look away for a second and gasped with each trust of the retiarius’s trident or toss of his net. She let out excited but contained cheers with every blow Haymitch blocked, dodged, or landed himself on his opponent. She had to remain ladylike and composed, but was only minorly succeeding.

When Haymitch, at long last, had the retiarius on his back in the sand, trident lost to one side, net to the other, he looked up to the pulvinus. Effie’s purple eyes widened with joy. The fight was a glorious one; she should be proud of her gladiator for being so well trained. Katniss scoffed. Effie had nothing to be proud of, in truth, but for making a smart purchase. All the praise and glory rightfully belonged to Haymitch for fighting and Atala for teaching him well. Effie simply owned them.

The retiarius held up his left hand in surrender, his right arm propping him up on his side. His brow was beaded with sweat, and his face showed the sour scowl of a sore loser. Plutarch stood and signaled that mercy would be shown. Haymitch bowed, keeping his eyes up to the pulvinus, and turned to trudge back to the gate.

Haymitch had not taken more than two steps, however, before the retiarius sprang up, his dagger drawn from its position on his belt at the small of his back, and stabbed Haymitch in the right calf.

“Fuckin’ shit fuck!” Haymitch yelled as he collapsed to the ground. Effie stood and shrieked, her hands flying up to her mouth.

The retiarius dug the dagger deeper into Haymitch’s leg and hauled himself closer. The two skirmished for a moment before Gale and other gladiators came rushing from the finally opened gate to help. Gale seized the retiarius’s wrist to make him loose the dagger and dragged him away, smacking him in the head with his small, square thraex shield to knock the fisherman out. The others lifted Haymitch and helped him back to the medici.

Effie trembled slightly before seating herself again. The show must go on. The editor of the games said a few words about sportsmanship and how the rogue retiarius was to be punished, but it was quickly on to the next match.

Gale was back on the sand a few matches later to face his opponent, a female hoplomachus with chin-length brown hair tied back in the same style Gale had his. If she were darker in color, Katniss thought, she’d be like a girl Gale. This match was uneventful compared to Haymitch’s but still a crowd-pleaser. The pairing was well made, as he nearly bested her, knocking her to her back several times, but by the match’s end, she had him beat. Katniss did not think she’d see the day Gale lost, and it made her smile. This hopomachus was very skilled, and her grin revealed a good sense of competitive humor, something she shared with Gale. They shook hands before walking off the sand together.

The finale of the night was a grand spectacle. Seven provocatores, Johanna Mason included, stood in the center of the sand. Three attending slaves ran in to pour copious amounts of oil in a great ring around the party and set it aflame. Once the border was lit, Plutarch stood and signaled for the match to commence.

The seven eyed each other warily. A few showed off, flipping their swords around in their hands. Johanna held her axe close to her face, peering over its blade at her opponents threateningly. She was the only provocator to use an axe. Katniss remembered the other sagittarius explaining this to her at her first games. Johanna simply did as she wished.

One of the fighters let out a great battle cry and lunged for the man next to him. With the tension broken, the fight began for real.

Each gladiator for themself, the fight was hard to keep up with. With an odd number, two pairs formed, leaving three to go against each other. Johanna was in the triple, but Katniss saw no fear on her face. She was surprised to find herself leaning forward as Effie had during Haymitch’s fight, oddly invested in the performance of a mere acquaintance she had had few positive interactions with.

The two in Johanna’s trio nodded at each other, silently agreeing to take her out first before moving on to other opponents or each other. Johanna handled them well. She daintily dodged and evaded their attacks for a long while. Katniss knew she was toying with them. You are so strong, she thought. Just take them out now!

Over the shoulders of her opponents, Johanna could see one of the pairs’ fights ending, the loser cowering beside the flames. Unfortunately for him, it had been decreed that this match would not include surrenders. In honor of some important person Katniss didn’t care enough to make note of’s birthday or wedding or something, blood would be spilt. The loser of the pair was slain, and the winner turned to the other pair. This marked the time for Johanna to start trying. She evaded one more sword slash proceeded to plunge her axe into the neck of her attacker, effectively coating her face in hot blood. She proceeded to take out the other one with ease after a short round of fighting.

The other half of the party was closed in tight in their battle, but soon opened up when they saw Johanna was blood-soaked and alone.

Gladiators fought and fell. With time, Katniss could see the remaining three growing tired. They stood in a triangle, facing each other as they caught their breath, but none wanting to make the first move. When the other two were looking at each other, Johanna lunged and cut the one to her right at the ankle. He screamed louder than Katniss had ever heard a man scream, and she saw the muscle of his calf roll up and condense into a painful-looking knot, the tendon that held it to his ankle having been severed. As he fell, he slashed and cut Johanna’s arm, but the wound was not deep.

Johanna stood to face the other provocator, who was now finishing off the wounded one. Finally, it was one-on-one.

Encased by a ring of fire that still burned hot and strong, the flames almost as tall as Johanna herself, the provocatores prepared for the final battle. Johanna’s enemy was a woman taller and more muscular than her, but slower. A switch of their weapons would more appropriately match their bodies.

The other woman whacked Johanna with her great rectangular shield. Johanna tried to block the blow with her own shield, but was pushed to the ground. She quickly righted herself and held her shield between her and her opponent, her left leg armored with a short greave put forward for stability, her axe raised and ready for attack.

“Come on, Jo,” Katniss whispered. Johanna was never exactly friendly, but neither was Katniss. Katniss had come to view Johanna as an ally, someone from her ludus, someone who would have her back when the other gladiators grew sour, someone she could share her bitterness with.

Johanna and her opponent threw blows at one another, hitting shields and dodging steel for a very long time. The entire amphitheater was on edge.

Everyone in the pulvinus shuddered when Johanna took a bad hit to the breastplate. It left a dent in the metal, and Johanna struggled to stand again. She rolled to dodge her attacker’s sword, but was dangerously close to the fire. One of the feathers on Johanna’s helmet caught fire, which made the other provocator laugh.

That was enough. Katniss could not stand by and watch her ally, her friend, be slaughtered in front of her. She rose from her seat, body tense, and leaned over the edge of the pulvinus. It was not so long a drop; she’d had worse and walked it off.

“Katniss, what are you doing?” Effie insisted.

“Katniss, sit down, you can’t!” Peeta warned.

But it was too late. Katniss leapt from the pulvinus and landed in the sands, making the initial impact on the balls her of her feet and shoulder-rolling through the landing perfectly. Once down in the heat, she felt exposed and afraid. Without her scaled armor, helmet, and greaves, she felt naked in the arena. Not to mention her lack of any sort of weapon.

Gritting her teeth, Katniss sprinted to where the enemy provocator had her sword raised over Johanna, ready to strike and not paying Katniss any attention.

Katniss ran straight through the wall of fire. Her braid and tunic burned, but they didn’t matter. She kept speed and jumped onto the enemy’s back. The woman was startled and dropped her shield. Katniss grabbed her helmet and turned it around so that the woman could not see and then fell from her back before she could get that sword around.

Plutarch and other officials in the pulvinus called for order, for someone to stop the match, but when they saw how much the crowd liked the new twist, they allowed it, waving away the gladiators who had come in to help break up the fight.

Johanna managed to get to her knees. Though she was clearly gravely injured and gasped for air, she collected all her strength and threw her axe, cutting the enemy provocator deep in the back of her thigh. The woman let out a great cry and dropped her sword while yanking her helmet off.

Katniss quickly swooped in and grabbed the sword before the woman could retrieve it. The woman’s face was fear and defeat but also anger and betrayal. She should have been the victor of this match. She should have lived.

But she was not Katniss’s ally.

The woman lunged at Katniss, but Katniss swatted her hand away with the sword. Johanna sputtered breathlessly, “Just kill her, brainless. No need to be bloodshy now.”

And she was right. The woman fell to her knees into a puddle of blood collecting in the sand beneath her wounded leg, which was bleeding so quickly that blood loss may have killed her if Katniss had not plunged the sword through her neck.

Finally able to take a deep breath, Katniss relaxed and kneeled. She did not hear the cheers of the crowd above her, only Johanna’s weak, “Thanks, brainless.” The adrenaline almost gone, she could now feel where the fire had hurt her. Her back seared and she collapsed into the sand, letting the medical team drag her and Johanna out.

Chapter Text

Katniss woke to the sound of cheering. Distant, but distinguishable. She was lying on her stomach on a softer bed than she was used to, the sound of her name being chanted in the streets streaming through the window.

She turned herself to better view her surroundings and pain shot through her back, calling up memories of the arena, fighting the provocator to save Johanna, and the fire she ran through to do it. In the heat of the moment, the flame that caught on her braid and tunic had garnered no attention, but now she was feeling it. Her torso was wrapped in bandages aimed to heal the severe burns her back had suffered. Her hand found the end of her braid. The singed end was six inches closer to her head now than the day before. Hardly able to move, Katniss Everdeen was a burned mess.

A mess, but at least she was not alone. Johanna Mason was lying in the bed next her her. Minor burns touched her shoulder, but she was primarily there to rest. The blow she took to her chest had made it difficult for her to breathe for hours. She needed to be supervised and occasionally aided.

“So, the girl on fire finally wakes,” Johanna teased when she saw Katniss stir.

“What?”

Johanna grinned her sarcastic, mocking grin. “That’s what they’re calling you now. Last night, your back was burning the entire time you were in the arena. Some say it looked like wings….” Johanna let whatever else she had to say drift off.

A boy, a young adolescent by the look of him, left the patient he was checking and approached Katniss when he noticed that she was awake. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” he said. “I’m Geta, the medicus Aurelius’s apprentice and a big fan of yours. That was quite the show yesterday! I’m sorry, but would you sign my l--”

“Anyway, little Mr. Gay,” Johanna snapped. “Maybe you should be telling Aurelius that Katniss is awake instead of babbling about shit.”

Geta’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Right. Of course. I will do that. So sorry.”

He scurried off, and Johanna rolled her eyes. “Fanboys, man.”

Katniss nodded and tried turning more so she could sit up. Lying on her stomach where she couldn’t readily see what was going on in the room was unsettling and uncomfortable.

“Please, don’t try to move, Katniss,” a man’s voice said from behind her. Aurelius then walked around to the bed to the side Katniss was facing. “Your back was badly burned, but you should heal up alright. Please, lie still,” he said, placing a gentle hand on the small unburnt area of Katniss’s shoulder when she continued to try to sit up. “The less you move, the quicker you will heal and the sooner you can get back to shooting. You’re lucky the burns were relatively minor. There was some severe blistering, but that’s the worst of it. Are you in a great amount of pain?” he asked as he removed her bandages.

“Yes,” Katniss said, trying to keep her voice steady. She’d been in a horrible amount of pain since she woke up, and it was only growing worse as Aurelius unwrapped her bandages, reaching under her chest to pull the cloth around.

“Good. Pain means your nerves still work and the fire didn’t burn all the way through your skin to the tissues underneath, like your muscles,” the medicus told her.

He examined her exposed back for a few moments and began applying a healing ointment. All the while, Aurelius was telling Katniss about it—how the ointment worked, how most of the grains of sand were able to be removed the night before, how a few were still stuck in her seared flesh, etc.—but Katniss found that making faces at Johanna was more fun than actually listening to this guy.

Besides, medicine was her mother’s field. Prim had shown some interest in it, but it was never Katniss’s forte. Just thinking about what her back must look like, bubbling with blisters and painfully pink, made her sick. A bleeding animal: fine, kill it and sell it. A wounded human: no thanks.

Johanna stuck her tongue out and scrunched up her nose.

Katniss crossed her eyes.

Johanna stuck her lips out and did an impression of Aurelius that wasn’t half bad, but she did it in the one moment that man wasn’t focused on Katniss’s back. He’d looked up to get some fresh bandages from the table across the room and caught her at it.

“Johanna, I really don’t appreciate your sass,” he chastised. “Do you even know how many times I’ve stitched you back up? Show some respect, slave.” He emphasized the last word in a way that made Johanna snarl.

“Anyway, I feel fine,” she said, sitting up and flipping her short, spiky hair. “Can I go home now?”

Aurelius waved his hand absentmindedly. “Sure, fine, you weren’t even hurt that bad to begin with.”

“See ya, brainless,” Johanna said to Katniss, hopping of the bed and striding out. “Oh, and it looks like you’ve got a cute little visitor,” she added over her shoulder.

Aurelius and Katniss looked towards the door. Peeta Mellark poked his head around the frame. “I’m sorry, may I come in?” he asked.

“In a moment,” Aurelius told him. “Katniss just woke up. When I finish replacing these bandages, if she feels up for visitors, you may come in.”

Katniss turned her head back to the bed and avoided Peeta’s gaze. She didn’t want him sitting there, waiting for her to wake up. She didn’t want him waiting for Dr. Aurelius to finish treating her. She didn’t want to have to tell him that she’s so happy he came to visit when the reality was that he was just another stressor. She didn’t have the energy to keep up the act at the moment.

“Ok, then,” Aurelius said after wrapping her back up. “We’ll just let that ointment do its work and check back this evening. Katniss, it is early afternoon now. You were out all morning. Would you like to try standing up, stretch your legs?”

Even knowing it would hurt, Katniss wanted nothing more than to feel like she was healthy and in control, at least minutely. She was about to respond, but then the medicus continued, “I have some other patients to attend to, but my apprentice Geta is here, and maybe you’d like your friend’s help standing and walking?”

Peeta’s help? No, Katniss did not want Peeta’s help. She did, however, want information. Remembering the conversation she and Peeta had had with Plutarch in the pulvinus the day before sparked a new interest in seeing the boy.

“Sure, Peeta can come in,” she said.

Aurelius fetched Peeta from the hall and signaled Geta, who was across the room, to come assist. He then left the three to it.

“Ok, Katniss, let’s get you up and comfortable,” Geta said, offering Katniss his arm. “No need to stay completely bedridden.”

Peeta also approached to offer Katniss his support, but she ignored him. One crutch was enough.

Though it reignited the fire on her back, Katniss managed to stand and take a few steps away from the bed.

“Excellent,” Geta told her with a smile. “It will still be a few weeks before you are completely healed, but until then, you can move however much is comfortable.”

Slowly stepping further from the bed, Katniss and Geta reached Peeta. “Hey, Geta,” Katniss said. “Do you think I could have some privacy to speak with my friend here? I feel ok to stand, and if anything’s wrong, we’ll call you.”

“Um…” Geta glanced around. Aurelius had moved on to patients in different rooms, and he never knew what was ok when the medicus wasn’t around. “I don’t know, I’m only a relatively new apprentice, and normally, if you’re alone, you should be in bed, but…”

“But I’m not alone,” Katniss said, patting Peeta’s shoulder. “I’ve got Mr. Buns here.”

Peeta blushed, but nodded cooly with that smile that could sell a fish a nice plot of land in the Sahara. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of Katniss.”

Geta bit his lip, but shrugged. “I guess you’re right, and I do have some things to attend to... I’ll be right outside, though.”

“Thanks, Geta,” Katniss smiled, and the apprentice left the room.

Katniss and Peeta took slow steps, Katniss trying to stand up straight even though it hurt. “People are really amazed by you,” Peeta told her.

“Really? Johanna said they’re calling me the Girl on Fire.”

“In a good way,” Peeta assured her. “It’s like… you’re a symbol. It hasn’t even been a day, but people are regarding you as a beacon of hope, power, freedom, everything.”

Katniss bunched up her face. “Freedom? I’m a slave. What about that makes me a symbol of freedom?”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Peeta said gently. “But I think it’s the way you leapt into the arena to help Johanna, even though it put you in danger, risked your life. It’s the type of decision gladiators—or any slave, for that matter—doesn’t normally get to make. You demonstrated a degree of control over your fate and Johanna’s.”

He didn’t mention the woman she killed in the process. Katniss was not free. She was a tool of the Roman elite just like all the other gladiators, used for the entertainment of the people.

“Ok, I guess I understand,” Katniss said.

“People were asking me about you all evening yesterday and all morning today. They knew we’re close, and everyone wants to know about you.”

Katniss gulped. She hated nosy people. “What did they want?”

“Oh, just general stuff. But I know how you like your privacy, so I tried not to divulge too much. You’re like a celebrity. A few people who have seen you around the arena or with the others from the Trinket house asked about that boy Gale. He’s your cousin, right? You too look so similar, and I feel like I heard somewhere that you were related.”

Katniss stopped. “Asked about him how?”

Peeta stammered, blushing again, “W-well, some people thought you looked a little, a little closer than friends. The way, the way you act with each other, like they thought it was a romantic thing. But somebody, maybe Haymitch, was saying you two are cousins.”

Katniss really wanted to tell him that she wanted no part in any “romantic thing.” With anybody. But Haymitch’s voice was in her head before she could say anything. Sympathy. As much as she hated it, she needed the sympathy of the people to get donations to her personal fund and to Effie’s ludus, both of which got her closer to buying her freedom, plus bets on her that she got cuts of when she won. Sympathy would help. And she’d get so much more sympathy if people thought she and this free Roman boy were involved. Haymitch knew exactly what kinds of stories he was spreading and setting up.

She nodded, “That’s right. Or right enough. Many people in Iobetta, especially those with darker coloring like us, are relatively closely related. And even if we aren’t blood, he feels like a brother to me.” She let Peeta believe that this was why she and Gale were not romantic. Let Peeta believe that he and her could be romantic.

“Nice,” Peeta smiled.

It wasn’t long before Geta returned with Katniss’s dinner, after which, she was ordered back to bed and Peeta left. Aurelius came by again in the late evening to remove her bandages and let her seared back breathe for an hour or so. Lying on her stomach, the cool air felt good.

The next day, around noon, Effie came to visit, and Haymitch was close by her side.

“Oh, my dear!” Effie exclaimed, throwing her arms around Katniss. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t visit yesterday. I was just so busy. But how are you? Is it horribly painful?”

Katniss grinned. Despite being an upper-class, slave-owning, materialistic Roman, Effie was kind and sweet. And there was something there, hidden beneath the makeup and jewelry, that Katniss saw, something strong and determined like herself. “I’m doing ok. It does hurt, but I can stand and walk with help. They said I won’t be fully healed for a few weeks, though.”

Effie put a hand to her chest and sighed. “Oh but that’s such a long time. I am so sorry that you won’t be able to shoot for a while. I know how much you love it.”

Katniss recalled how she was not able to shoot for the duration of her trip with the slavers from Iobetta to Rome. But of course, Effie didn’t care about that. Without the dirty truth of kidnappings and brutal journeys, there would be no gladiators. No slaves at all. It wasn’t Effie’s fault. It was Rome as a whole, the problem being with the society of which Lady Trinket was a product.

“Thank you,” was all Katniss said on that. She turned to Haymitch, then. “So, yesterday, Peeta was telling Plutarch something about an underground gambling operation in which the winning gladiators get a cut of the profits. What’s that about?”

Haymitch chuckled, “Oh, Peeta told Plutarch about that guy? Yeah, that… that is a good opportunity to score some extra denarii. This guy, he’s probably the only bookie on your side, Girl on Fire.”

“Oh, I just love that nickname,” Effie said. “But yes, I was also quite intrigued by this prospect. Honestly, I had no idea such a system existed. Normally, gladiators only get the winnings provided by the aediles and other officials who manage the amphitheater and any donations given by generous fans. Speaking of which, you have racked up quite the pile of donations, Katniss. Between your fiery spirit—excuse the pun—and that adorable baker boy you are so close with, you are beloved by your audience. And your audience has coin to spare.”

Katniss breathed a sigh of relief. At least her performance befriending Peeta was turning out to be worth it.

“Now, I’m going to go find that medicus and see what can be done to speed up your process. I know burns are bad and all, but a few weeks is ridiculous. Throw enough money at it, and medical attention will improve enough to get you out of here much sooner.”

After Effie sauntered out of the room, Haymitch turned serious. “Katniss, about the whole Girl on Fire thing, I know what Peeta probably told you yesterday, and I know how good it sounds, but you have to understand, you are only popular with people who don’t have any real power. Slaves, plebians, some wealthy patricians like Effie who have money but not political power. The only elected officials on your side are those like Plutarch who share the interests of the common people.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, those in real power are threatened by you,” Haymitch said. “You are just a lowly gladiator, a slave, but you have a platform and a spotlight now. You have the power to excite people. Your little show the other day was a display of pure defiance. You basically spit in the face of the Roman ruling class the way you broke their rules and saved Johanna.”

“So? I hate the Roman ruling class,” Katniss shrugged. “The senate and emperor or whoever already hate me enough to enslave me and make me fight people in an arena. Let them hate me more.”

Haymitch shook his head. “It’s bigger than that, Katniss. All I’m saying is watch yourself.”

She furrowed her brows at him. “How do you even know all this? What do you, a lowly gladiator and slave, know about how powerful politicians feel?”

Haymitch grinned, “Oh, don’t you worry, sweetheart. I have my ins.”

Effie’s hand found a place on Haymitch’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Aurelius will be right with you, Katniss, and your back will be healed to perfection in no time. The medical expenses will have to dip into your newfound wealth at least a bit, but I assure you, it isn’t too horrible.”

Katniss’s heart sank a little at the thought of losing this money that could one day help her get home, but this wasn’t a great surprise. She would manage.

“And now, we’d best get going,” Effie said. “I actually have a very busy evening to prepare for. It’s so hard sometimes, these parties, they never end!” She threw her hands up in mock annoyance. It was clear to Katniss that there was nothing Effie did not love about being a wealthy Roman.

Effie and Haymitch left the amphitheater-adjacent hospital and made their way towards the baths. If there was one thing Haymitch did not hate about Rome, it was the baths. Open to the public so anyone, even a slave like him, could bathe alongside aristocrats like his domina, and the scented oils, the hot water, the atmosphere. All of it, he loved. Before, he would have thought the whole concept so unnecessary and far too feminine a way to spend the day for him to be interested. But the baths had certainly grown on him. Ironic as it was, since becoming a slave, he formed a greater appreciation for the finer things in life. They certainly didn’t have baths like these back in Iobetta.

“So, you have a busy night tonight?” Haymitch asked Effie. They walked through the street side by side, but it was clear who they were. Haymitch was tall, not bad looking, and fit now after all his training, but no matter how well he walked, he was still clearly a slave. He could see it in the eyes of all the merchants they passed. “After your busy night last night?”

Effie grinned a grin that excited something in Haymitch. “Oh, last night was nothing. A dinner with some politicians. Sure, there were some very high-ranking men there, but it was overall a quiet affair. You were there, you saw.”

Haymitch had been there. He had accompanied Effie, as many slaves do, in order to tend to her needs through the night and make sure all was well. From his perspective, the evening had indeed begun as a quiet dinner, but the party it grew into was intense even by his standards. Being on duty and there to see that Effie was taken care of, he had not been permitted to drink, only to fill her cup. And watching those powerful Romans party—and listen to their conversations—while sober was an experience.

“Tonight,” Effie said, “will be very different.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, tonight’s event is rather unique. It’s not like others I have brought you to, and you should know, your role will be different from what it has been. Tonight, you’re not just there to bring me food and wine and make sure I get home alright after.”

Haymitch was intrigued, but before he could ask more questions, Effie changed the subject. It was clear that the details of this evening’s goings on were classified.

Chapter Text

At the bathhouse, Effie’s favorite out of the hundreds in the city, Haymitch found himself disappointed.

“What do you mean I can’t bathe?” he complained, trying not to sound too confrontational when speaking to his domina.

Effie tried to look apologetic. “Haymitch,” she explained as if to a child, “you were just stabbed in the leg two days ago, if you recall. The bath water is not particularly clean, and I’ve heard many people say you shouldn’t bathe with a fresh wound.”

Haymitch turned to look at his right calf. Ugly stitches held together his skin where the retiarius he had fought two days prior had dishonorably taken a jab at him after the fight was officially over. Part of him hoped the dirtbag had been killed after. “Fine, then what am I here for?”

“Oh, you can still enjoy the bathes to some extent, just don’t put that leg in the water,” Effie said. “Now, make yourself useful and help me undress.”

Haymitch had done this many times before, and it was always one of his favorite duties. He assisted Effie in removing her headdress, which was gold today and sat amidst her heavily curled strawberry blonde hair. He unclasped the ornately patterned golden belts around her ribs and waist and the clasps at her shoulders that held up her shining silk stola, which was colored deep orange with touches of yellow, detailed with black in areas that brought to mind a butterfly’s wing. He carefully folded the garment and placed it in a cubby with the headdress, belts, and clasps. Effie removed her undertunic as well, and Haymitch folded it and placed it with the rest.

“And my sandals,” she reminded him.

“Of course,” he said. How could he forget? Effie perched in a small chair while Haymitch kneeled and unlaced her sandals. She had the most beautiful legs, pale skin over smooth form, blonde hairs wisped around the straps that came apart in his hands. Her legs were probably his favorite pat of her body, all of which now stood naked before him as he had seen many times. And every time, she was stunning.

“Since I’m not allowed to get my leg wet,” he asked, “what should I do exactly? Wait here and guard your clothes?”

Effie laughed, her breasts bouncing. They were on a small side, but Haymitch liked that. They flowed well with the rest of her body, contributing to a greater beauty in her combined form. “Hardly! I need you fresh and nice for tonight. Go get oiled up, and I’ll meet you in the frigidarium. I’m going to go get pampered for a bit first.” She then left him and walked into a warm room, settling down for some massages and facial treatments.

Haymitch undressed himself and tucked his clothes into the cubby next to Effie’s. He knew his way around the building. It was Effie’s favorite bathhouse, after all. In the first room, Haymitch was met by a group of people who presented him with a selection of scented oils.

“You know, what, I’ll go with the heather,” he said. Effie normally preferred him smelling of daffodil, but today she’d cut him loose, so he’d be picking the scents for himself. Plus, he had just taken a dagger to the leg two days prior: he would do as he pleased.

The oilers set to work, pouring out the heather oil and rubbing it into his skin. They were careful to avoid his wound and even wrapped it in a clean bandage, just in case. Aurelius had said to let it breathe, but Haymitch didn’t argue with the oilers. They probably had wounded people in the bathhouse all the time.

Once Haymitch’s body was coated in a satisfactory layer of oil, the oilers went back with metal strigils. They scraped the oil off, taking with it all the dirt and grime that had accumulated since his last visit. By the time it was over, Haymitch was clean, though slightly oily still, and smelling of heather.

The frigidarium was the first of three large baths that took up entire rooms. This one was filled with cold, almost icy water. Haymitch took a seat on the ledge and let his left leg hang in the freezing water, a slight film of oil rippling around it.

He kicked this left foot around, enjoying the cold. Even in Autumn, Rome could be rather warm for his taste. He splashed water up onto his body and washed himself as much as he could without getting his right leg in. At one point, and attendant approached him and handed him a small basin and clothe to aid in that endeavor.

“Thanks, bud,” he said. He filled the basin with water and poured it over his head, eliciting an exhilarating shiver. But something was missing. Haymitch looked behind him, between the cracks in the intricately carved walls, he could tell the sun had moved some since they’d arrived at the baths. Why had Effie not come to meet him like she had said she would? He was in the frigidarium, close and within sight of the door she would come from after her massages.

Haymitch quickly scanned the room. If anything happened to her, it would be his fault for not looking after her properly. Just as he was about to raise the alarm—missing patrician in the baths!—he saw her. She was across the pool, sitting in the bath so that the water just met the bottoms of her breasts. She looked comfortable, like she’d been there for a while, and did not seem to notice Haymitch at all.

Why didn’t she come sit by me? he wondered. She must have seen me.

He was also sure she could see him now. She had placed herself directly across the room from him, and being the only one not actually in the water, he was hard to miss.

She has to be doing this on purpose…. But why? Haymitch muttered to himself about how she had brought him here. How, normally, they did stick together. How he could be leading a rebellious coup against the ruling class for all she knew, leaving him alone like that!

An attendant approached Effie and handed her a glass of wine. She smiled and patted his leg. Haymitch was crestfallen. Normally she sent him to get her wine. At that distance, he couldn’t see her face in detail, but he could tell she was staring at him.

This woman and her mind games.

Haymitch debated internally for a long time about whether or not he should get up and go over to her. On the one hand, he wanted to be with her. They had come to the baths together, after all. But on the other hand, he was not sure she wanted to be with him. If she had, she would have sat by him from the start, wouldn’t she? And if she were waiting for him to come over, wouldn’t she gesture or send an attendant to tell him that she wanted him with her?

He had had enough. He pulled his leg from the water, picked up his basin and cloth, and was about to stand up and walk over to Effie when he looked up and saw that she was gone. No longer sitting across the room, she was up and walking towards the tepidarium. Without so much as a glance in his direction.

Haymitch followed Effie into the next room. She lowered herself into the lukewarm water and walked straight across the wide pool, ripples running behind her like an invitation. With his injured leg forbidden from the bath, Haymitch walked around the bath and soon caught up to his domina, walking slowly to say even with her.

He had expected her to maybe stop somewhere. Maybe grace him with some eye contact. But Lady Trinket, when she reached the other side of the tepidarium, emerged from the bath and promptly continued forward into the calidarium.

Upon crossing the bath of extremely hot water in a similar fashion, Effie approached Haymitch. “Okay,” she said, “time to go.”

So close now, Haymitch recognized the intoxicating scent of Jasmine oil still on her skin and almost forgot his annoyance. Almost.

“What was all that about?” he asked as they made their way back to the dressing room.

“That’s no way to speak to your domina,” Effie reprimanded, noting his harsh tone. “And I was just playing with you. Maybe giving you a taste of tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, the party, I said before the activities are rather… off the beaten path,” Effie said with a winning smile. “Now, let’s go home and get dressed. It’s a big big big night!”

That evening, Effie Trinket left her estate in far simpler an ensemble than Haymitch would have expected, just a plain, dark blue stola and a few orange accessories. She had not dressed him up in any special way either. Typically, when she brought him to parties to wait on her, she made him look presentable, tried to show him off a bit. Try as he might, Haymitch could not figure out the evening’s mystery.

“Come come,” Effie ordered. “It isn’t too far.”

Effie lead Haymitch a couple of miles through the city to the estate of another wealthy Roman. The doorman greeted the couple and let them pass through to a lovely atrium, decorated for the night with red silks and golden ornaments. Haymitch stood awkwardly by while Effie enthusiastically embraced the friends she recognized.

“Oh, Fulvia, it has been too long,” she exclaimed when meeting a curvy woman with silver flowers painted on her cheeks. Behind Fulvia stood another woman, tall and dark, who raised an eyebrow at Haymitch as if he were in on the big secret of the party. He let his face communicate that he was not, and she giggled. Clearly at his expense.

“But better get ready, Effie,” Fulvia said. “The festivities are about to begin.”

A man with red hair—clearly not naturally so, but because of dyes and other artificial colorings so bright red they matched the red of his eye and lip makeup—called the attention of his guests. “Friends!” he exclaimed, his hands raised. “Welcome to my home. Now, if you would please follow me out to the peristylum, we may begin the night’s performances.” Haymitch took half a step forward, but stopped when he realized that no one else had moved and the man was not yet finished speaking. “For those who wish, clothing may be handed to one of my slaves, who you can see standing around the atrium. They will be held for you until you are ready to leave.”

Haymitch looked around in shock and confusion as high-born Romans and their slaves disrobed and tossed their garments to the waiting arms. What sort of party was this?

“Haymitch?” Effie cooed. She stood stark naked before him, her eyes urging him to get a move on as many people were already walking towards the back of the house.

Haymitch fumbled with this tunic, flustered but not wishing to disappoint. “O-ok…”

Effie laughed, “Gods, you are so cute when you’re embarrassed! I should bring you to these more often. Flickerman hosts these parties about every month or so, and the theme is always different. Now hurry up. I don’t want a bad seat.”

“Sure thing, Effie.”

Effie gave Haymitch a quick slap on the shoulder as they entered the peristylum. “I know we aren’t the most formal most days, but it’s Domina tonight.”

“Yes, Domina,” he corrected himself with a slight bow of his head.

A slave of Flickerman’s handed Effie two cups of dark wine as they passed through the doorway, and she gave one to Haymitch. He was surprised to taste that is was hardly watered down if at all. The torch lit peristylum, the indoor garden near the back of the house, was set up with couch-benches, similar to those found in the triclinium, around the perimeter. The area in the middle, Haymitch assumed, is where the performance Flickerman had mentioned would take place. He followed Effie to find an empty bench and looked around. Some masters laid across couches, their slaves standing behind or sitting in front. Other masters, he was surprised to see, were the ones sitting submissively, their slaves lounging above them.

“What, is it Saturnalia already?” Haymitch cracked, referencing the December holiday on which slaves and masters switched roles in celebration.

Effie chuckled, “Not for you, it isn’t. Kneel next to this couch.” Effie laid across the couch, propping herself up on the one end’s higher armrest.

Haymitch kneeled next to her, oddly turned on by her authority, just as Flickerman stepped into the center of the garden. Haymitch now recognized him from the pulvinus. He didn’t know how, but this Flickerman guy was heavily involved in the operation of the games. “I’m sure you’ve all been waiting eagerly to hear the night’s theme. Well, most of you, anyway, right, Alma?” he winked at a gray-haired woman on the couch next to Haymitch and Effie, and many people laughed. Alma sat on the bench with Plutarch Heavensbee, who giggled at her along with the others, but in a friendlier way rather than mocking. Alma looked around at the others with judgment.

“Haha, anyway,” Flickerman continued, a true showman, “most of you will be excited to hear that the theme for the night is…. rope bondage! Come on out, my lovely assistants!”

A trio of beautiful women emerged from one of the small rooms that bordered the garden carrying wrapped lengths of different types of rope in their arms. They passed into the center of the ring of couches, and most of the party guests clapped or gave other expressions of approval and excitement. The gray-haired woman Flickerman had called Alma, however, stood up and motioned for Plutarch to follow, which he begrudgingly did. “Most of your themes are barbaric, Flickerman. None of this… sadism stuff you people fawn over is in any way consensual. It cannot be. Forget the fact that many of the participants actually are slaves. No matter if the master is the one being hurt, all of this is abuse!” She stormed out, trailing a disappointed and apologetic Plutarch behind her.

Flickerman simply laughed and continued with the program. One of the women, who was tall, muscular, and had blonde hair that flowed in thick wave--Cashmere, he called her--held out a length of fine, expensive rope for all to see. Flickerman told the audience how she would use it to tie her victims up in all sorts of enticing manners, effectively trapping them in her web, helpless and naked for her sexual enjoyment.

“They aren’t really helpless,” Effie whispered to Haymitch as they watched the two women sink to their knees before Cashmere.

“Hmm?” Haymitch hadn’t really heard her, too distracted by the new world of sex unfurling before him. He had always been attracted to powerful women; maybe this was why. Maybe deep down he wanted to be dominated, to find a woman who could return his snarky remarks with lashes of a whip, wasn’t afraid to put him in his place, and was so magnificent he could not help but melt and let her bend him to her will.

Effie said again, “They aren’t helpless like Flickerman said. This isn’t what Alma makes it out to be. She shows up every month but will only stay if the theme is basic enough for her approval. No one, not even the slaves, is here unwillingly. This club has very strict rules. If anyone were to find out a master had coerced, threatened, or otherwise forced their slave into attending and participating, they’d be severely punished. Socially destroyed.”

“Ha,” Haymitch chuckled. “And it doesn’t matter that you brought me into all this without letting me know the nature of the party or what I was getting into?”

Effie’s face went pale, and she swallowed nervously, but she retained her firm expression. “Are you saying you want to leave?”

Haymitch grinned. “Not at all, Domina.” Effie let out a sigh of relief, and Haymitch asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know how to do that?” nodding at the intricate rope trap in which Cashmere had restrained one of her partners.

In a way that was both loving and sinister, Effie ran a hand through Haymitch’s black, curly hair. “Oh, you poor man. I can do that and far more.” She held up a hand to gesture to the performance before them, the naked guests around them, and the power imbalance of it all. “Are you really interested in all this?”

“Yes, Domina.”