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“Thinking about Sejanus?” Lucy Gray asked as they tromped through the woods.
He walked a few paces behind her, staring at the ground. “I killed three people.”
As soon it slipped across his tongue, he realized his mistake. The Avoxes were lucky, he thought.
“Three? There was… and… I only know about two.”
He thought about lying. Fear, anxiety, even rage filled her voice. The same emotions as in the arena, as when Dr. Gaul’s “rainbow of destruction” had covered her body.
He had protected her then—her and Sejanus. Now, he was the snake.
“Sejanus,” he said.
“But Sejanus, he…”
The wheels turned in her mind. She stared at him, horrified. When he finally met her glare, his eyes were brimming with tears.
“I was afraid,” he said. “He almost got himself killed, maybe us both, charging into a crowd at the hanging tree our first days here. I warned him to stop. I found you.” His voice broke, just as hers had that first night at the bar—when seeing him again had stopped her song. She breathed it in, thinking.
“They told me I was up for officer school in Two, a favor from the lieutenant. I thought, ‘you’re a victor, you can come with me.’ But then, I got to camera-call my family—Tigris, my cousin—and she said the Capitol had evicted them from our home, her and our Grandmaam. They paid the price—my price. She said not to worry, still taking care of me. She’s always tried, to…” He shook his head, blinking out tears.
“Then, I caught Sejanus talking to the prisoners. I warned him, again, of everything. Thought of my family, of you, of things going lethal for all of us. But he wouldn’t listen. So I activated a jabberjay, just like Gaul—the head game maker—showed me in her lab. He spewed the whole plan. He left, and I shipped the bird back to the Capitol.”
His voice built until it came out only choked between sobs. “I called him my ‘brother.’ He could’ve gone back to Two—or to Eight, or another district—but he came to Twelve, for me. I told him I’d protect him. Told you, told Tigris. It’s what I do, take care of the people I…” He looked at her, but he couldn’t say it. He stared at the ground again. She took a careful step toward him.
“But I couldn’t. I failed.” He pushed down the tremors and started pacing. “And I couldn’t tell you, because ‘trust is most important’; because you saw your kind of goodness, a rebel, in me; because after everything, I couldn’t be ‘Capitol scum’ in your eyes; because I am my father’s son; because I take care of you,” he said, punctuating each of the two words with a step, shaking his head again. “And I couldn’t, couldn’t fail that, too—”
“Shhh, shhh…” she whispered, stepping all the way into him now. She took his neck, his face, in her hands—pressed his forehead to hers, just as he had that horrible night at the bar. “Listen here.” She stroked his ears, ran her hands through his stubbled hair. “You told me Tigris, she’s smart as a whip, and horrible as… all this was, these goons have their voices and their pound of flesh, now. So I’m sure she and your family’ll be safe. You’re safe. I’m safe.” He took a shuddering breath, still not meeting her gaze.
“None of this, it ain’t about what we do when we’re standin.’ This life, it’s how, when they knock us flat, we get back up again—and we will.” She summoned her trademark determination for herself as well as him. He squeezed his eyes shut.
She searched his face, then took a deep breath—the next part, rawness without song, almost the hardest.
“You tried, Coriolanus. You always try. It’s why…”
She put her hand under his chin, raised his gaze to hers. He finally looked. She drank in the icy blue a moment. “Why I love you, too.”
His eyes went wide, and he let out a tiny chuckle in spite of himself.
“You laughin’ at me, pretty boy?” she said, weaving between embarrassment and wit.
But the song—his song—was true. She had meant it.
He smiled wide and hugged her, lifting her on her tip-toes. He put her down with an exhale, burying his face in her shoulder, and the smell of his mom’s roses blended with her hair and flooded his senses. He held her through laughter and tears. She hugged him into her chest, nestling him and rubbing his back.
Just then, thunder cracked across the mountains. A downpour started. She started laughing, too. They separated.
“Let’s get out of this rain,” she shouted through the noise. “You Capitol types ain’t got the constitution for it,” she grinned. She turned her back on him, starting for the cabin. He watched her take a few steps. Sheets of water drenched his uniform, but for a precious moment, he didn’t care. He reached out and grabbed her arm.
Coriolanus spun her around, drew her into him. With the other hand, he stroked her cheek. “Thank you,” he said. “Don’t thank me, yet,” she said, hesitating a heartbeat, not quite breathing—just as she had the first times they were this close. But he shook his head, tangled his fingers in her curls, and kissed her. His grip on her arm wound downwards, entwining their fingers once again, her free hand resting on his chest.
The warmth of it spread through both of them. After a moment, she let herself go and kissed him back harder—both of them sighing into it, her hands traveling across his arm and chest to his shoulder blades. His hands found her waist and neck, wrapping around her back. They pulled into each other, both of them hungry to be as close as they could.
A different kind of hunger. That was funny, he thought.
The rain kept pelting them, but her warmth was all he needed.