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“The District reports are here, Mister President.”
Coriolanus sighed. His head was throbbing. It had been many years since he’d had a completely headache-free day, but today’s was especially vicious. He couldn’t even remember whom he’d killed that had started this wretched and chronic condition. Jason Heavensbee? Bellona Alpin? Either way, it had been some nobody who probably hadn't been worth the price of the poison.
“Give it here,” he said. The clerk handed over the tablet. Her hands were shaking almost imperceptibly. Coriolanus was torn between irritation and smug satisfaction that even at eighty-two years old he still had that effect on people. He dismissed her, and to her credit, she didn’t hurry out of the room.
He scanned the names of the persons of interest from each district. One, Two, and Four had too many volunteers to bother. He paid attention to the children in Three more so that he knew who had potential to keep out of the games rather than put them in. Four, Five, Six. No one important enough to target. Seven, Eight, Nine. He scribbled a note to reap the daughter of the head peacekeeper from Ten. She was technically unclaimed by her father but everyone knew the truth. The head peacekeeper needed a lesson on how to deal with a scandal. He certainly should not dote on them.
They were getting twitchy in eleven, again, so he made a note to reap a twelve-year-old. That was always demoralizing. One with a lot of potential, he added. To remind them even the bright ones weren’t safe.
Twelve.
He placed the tablet onto his desk and skimmed through the names even though he’d mostly memorized them by now. There weren’t many: the mayor’s girl, a fourteen-year-old boy with a fresh talent for weaving with unusual materials, a sixteen-year-old who’d managed to hide his proclivity for torturing small animals. Coriolanus had considered throwing him into the games a few years back, but he was better alive in Twelve. They were superstitious and stupid. They thought he was some magical ghoulish beast that lived in the woods and that was just one more way to keep them afraid.
And then there were the poachers.
The boy was eighteen, almost aged out. Coriolanus had had his name removed from the reaping bowl the last four years now. Too big, too healthy, too skilled. Twelve would never win again as long as Coriolanus was alive. It wasn’t spite. The Capitol didn’t need coal and the districts could survive without it. Twelve served as a warning to the others that their lives could always be worse. Which meant as much as possible he kept any of their children out of the games who stood a chance to win them.
The girl was sixteen. He ran his finger along her name, although he knew it well.
Katniss Everdeen.
She’d first appeared on the list two years ago. Although she was small, she posed essentially the same problems as the boy did. Worse, she was well-liked in Twelve, by everyone, which was dangerous. The more fractured the people, the tighter the control. But Seam, merchant, and peacekeeper alike were all clearly fond of the girl who put better food in their bellies than tesserae and whatever other slop they had access to.
Very dangerous.
He tapped her name. The grainy picture showed an unremarkable girl who looked like any of the other unremarkable girls who shared that hovel of a home with her. But her name. Katniss. In the rain. By the lake.
He hated that girl.
He couldn’t put her in the games. Not with what he knew of her talents from these reports. He skimmed through her profile, and—hm, now there was a thought. Her sister was twelve.
He called the erstwhile clerk back into his office and asked for a report on the girl’s sister.
“You have two hours,” he said. This time she did scurry a little as she left the room.
She was back in less than one. Coriolanus read the sister’s name. His heart stopped in his chest.
“Get out,” he said. When the idiot woman didn't leave, he roared, “GET OUT!”
This time the clerk fled.
Primrose. Prim Rose. Not just a covey name. A name designed specifically to taunt him.
She was, quite frankly, the perfect candidate for a particularly vicious year for Twelve. So young. So sweet. Beloved by all. Merchant looks with Seam origins.
And the girl. It would break the girl.
Snow smiled and dabbed lightly at the blood in the corner of his mouth. His headache was gone. He’d sleep well tonight.