The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes: Chapters 16–20

Something heavy and unyielding—a brick?—clipped the side of his neck.

“Just following orders. Don’t blame us if Gaul thinks you’re expendable, boy,” said the old Peacekeeper who’d promised him cover.

Deep in the lab, a round of squeals heralded some creature’s feeding time, and the faint scent of fish reached him.

Coriolanus didn’t know how to respond. He could barely remember his father, let alone divine his imaginings.

“You know, Dean Highbottom and I read your essay through. What you liked about the war. A lot of fluff. Drivel, really. Until that bit in the end. The part about control. For your next assignment, I’d like you to elaborate on that. The value of control. On what happens without it. Take your time with it. But it might be a nice addition to your prize application.”

Given a little notice, Coriolanus imagined she’d have comported herself more graciously, but as it was, she came off as sour and suspicious, questioning the recent developments as she flashed a leather binder inlaid with the Phipps family crest.

The decision to bump the losers from the dais made Livia even more bitter, if that was possible, and Coriolanus was glad to see her relegated to the regular audience section, where he wouldn’t have to hear her snarky comments.

Any number of things could’ve sickened him, any range of maladies been suspected, if it hadn’t been for the telltale foam that began to bubble over his lips.

Any number of things could’ve sickened him, any range of maladies been suspected, if it hadn’t been for the telltale foam that began to bubble over his lips.

The virulent strain developed with unprecedented speed, killing over a dozen Capitol citizens before a vaccination program brought it under control.

This was just the sort of thing he imagined the Vickers family discussing over dinner, in their calm, clinical manner.

She stopped a moment, panting, while she considered Jessup’s erratic pursuit, then she made for the debris of a nearby concession stand.

They created a strange tableau: rabid boy, trapped girl, bombed-out building.

When they started releasing the bottles of water, he lost all control. Explosive devices could not have elicited a stronger response, and the impact of the bottles smacking into the seats whipped him into a frenzy.

He collapsed on the chaise longue at her feet, knowing he owed her an explanation of his time in the arena.

They would need the proceeds from selling their possessions, however paltry, to rent a new place.

Dark red scabs had settled on his scraped face, but the swelling had abated.

It crossed his mind that, given his rescue of Sejanus, the Plinths might provide a loan, or even a payout for his silence, but the Grandma’am would never allow that, and the idea of a Snow groveling before a Plinth was unthinkable.

Knowing he wouldn’t be called upon again until the others had been interviewed, Coriolanus adopted an interested demeanor but barely listened to their pitches.

The bird, a depressed creature in the midst of battling mange, perched wordlessly on Lucky’s wrist as the dean folded his hands and waited.

“Hi, Handsome,” squawked Jubilee despondently.

Tanner turned in a circle, one hand swatting uselessly behind him as if to dislodge the trident, but the barbed tines were buried deep.

He couldn’t say he missed Domitia, and certainly not Pup, but he missed the buffer they had provided between him and the likes of Clemensia, Vipsania, and Urban.

How to use snakes as weapons? He stared into the undulating reptiles, imagining them being let loose in the arena.

No more deception. No more shady strategies. No more rationalization. From now on he’d live honestly, and if he ended up as a beggar, at least he would be a decent one.

“Music, huh?” said Mr. Plinth, as if Coriolanus had said something as frivolous as puffy clouds.

Assigned seating—that was new, but probably an attempt to mitigate some of the snarkiness that had sprung up in the last few days.

Then he admonished himself. This was no time to start embracing superstitions.

The unusual package caught Treech’s attention. Perhaps he thought some extra-special gift had been earmarked for him, because he halted as the drone reached the middle of the arena.

Following her, as if mesmerized by the melody, came half a dozen snakes.

Coriolanus had the feeling that she usually catered to an audience well plied with liquor.

What was going on behind that inscrutable expression?

Clouds rolled in, portending a storm and creating a dazzling sunset.

“Yes!” she said emphatically, but she seemed to relent a little.

“Maybe it was cathartic. I feel better somehow,” she confessed.

He wanted to send her food and water, both for sustenance and as a conduit for the poison.

While the new barrage of donations hitting his communicuff was affirming, he didn’t know how it would help.

Gaunt and unsteady, he teetered over to add Teslee and Mizzen to his collection, using the new piece of flag to cover them.

She scooped up water, slaking her thirst and washing her face.

And he wanted to keep her. Safe and close at hand. Admired and admiring. Devoted. And entirely, unequivocally his.