Chapter Text
The world was on fire and no one could save me but you. — Chris Isaak, Wicked Game
ACT ONE
Caelius Trifle, the Capitol representative for District One, pulled a piece of paper out of the bowl of girl tributes and squinted at the name through his glasses, tinted the same shade of rose pink as the rest of his outfit. He cleared his throat.
"Ger—Gar—Galinda Upland!"
With the way he had garbled her name, it took Galinda several seconds to realise it had finally happened. The moment she had feared for the last five years was here.
She'd always known it might happen one day. In her district, you grew up preparing—you weren't supposed to, of course, but the Capitol never seemed to enforce that particular rule. As soon as you were of Reaping age, you started training after school or work, and you always knew that it might be you one day. There was no escaping it. But no matter how much the trainers talked about the Arena and combat and, lately, the cameras, there was still a world of difference between that intellectual knowledge and the actual gut-punching dread of hearing your own name being called.
She was seventeen years old. One more year and she might have been spared. And she still hoped that the Games would be abolished after this year’s 20th anniversary; it seemed like a fitting end, and surely by now the Capitol felt like they'd made their point.
Galinda took a deep breath and walked forward. She was not going to look back at her mom and dad. If she did, she might not be able to go on.
As the crowd parted for her, Galinda saw the way Caelius looked her up and down, eyes widening. Galinda recognised the expression. She knew she was pretty. She'd stood out in her class from the age of fourteen, and these days she turned heads wherever she went.
With a flash, she realised she could use that.
She breathed out, rolling her shoulders back to relieve the tension, then stepped lightly on to the stage, walking on the balls of her feet and trying to make the movement as graceful as possible.
"Galinda Upland," Caelius repeated, managing her name a little better this time, but still hesitating over how to pronounce the first syllable. She gave him her most brilliant smile.
"You know, you can just call me Glinda," she said.
She could sense his confusion. Tributes never usually spoke much, and hardly ever directly to the Capitol representative.
Galinda—well, she was Glinda now, she supposed, and it was best to get used to it—tossed her hair back over her shoulder, turning her head to look directly into the nearest camera and batting her eyelashes.
"That's Glinda of District One," she said, and giggled. "This is exciting! I will do my very bestest to make my mark in these Games, and to make my District proud. Please give me your support!"
There was a stunned silence. It was actually some time before Caelius remembered that he was supposed to call a boy's name as well. But Glinda just kept smiling, even when the camera reluctantly left her to find her fellow tribute.
She was going to make sure she was remembered.
For the Tribute Parade, they dressed Glinda in sunshine yellow and gold. Her district partner, Avaric—a boy who she vaguely recalled from sword training lessons—was clad in silver, and he stared balefully at her as they climbed onto their chariot.
“They’re making clear who the favourite is, aren’t they?” he said.
Glinda only smiled. There were Capitol people around them even here, after all, milling around, fixing their hair and clothes or just staring. She was going to be sweet, and gorgeous, and just a little bit stupid.
“Do you think so?” she asked, laughing lightly and stretching her arms out to either side. “I do love this dress; it’s so pretty and sparkly. The Capitol is wonderful, don’t you think? It’s all so grand!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the stylists in her team squeeze his colleague’s arm, nodding at her. They both looked utterly taken with her.
Avaric sneered, turning away with a disgusted expression.
"Idiot," he muttered.
If he meant to be insulting, he missed the mark. The more he and all the other tributes underestimated her, the better, really.
She looked around at some of the other tributes. District One had it easy, she realised. With luxury items as primary export, they were never stuck with too awful costumes. Not like District Ten, who were dressed as animals—the girl a cow and the boy a goat, because the Capitol thought they were so funny. They were covered in fur, with horns and fake snout and all, and they both looked incredibly creepy. Then there was District Nine, with the boy encased in a haystack and the girl dressed as a particularly simpering sort of farm girl, District Eleven, clad in some kind of scarecrow outfits, and—
Glinda forced herself not to wince. District Five was really pulling the short straw this year. The boy was dressed in a shining, twinkling sort of material which wasn't completely awful, but the girl was green, her skin practically glowing. Some sort of reference to a power plant, probably. How cute.
As Glinda stared, her gaze met the District Five girl’s, and Glinda realised how absolutely furious the girl was. Well. She wasn’t alone in that, was she?
“Chariots heading out!” someone called, and Glinda turned back to face forward, smiling brightly.
As the chariots headed out of the waiting area onto the course, the noise of thousands of screaming Capitol spectators exploded around them. There were the usual jeers and hisses, Capitol citizens spitting their disdain of the rebellious districts, but there were also whistles and cheers from those caring more about the current spectacle than the old war.
District One usually enjoyed a lot of the more positive attention, and Glinda smiled and waved happily, clearly marking for everyone watching that she was receiving all the praise and none of the blame. Sure enough, as usual, the shouts of “One! One! One!” were most predominant amid the general roar. But under that, growing stronger as the parade progressed, Glinda heard something else, and elation soared through her.
They were shouting her name.
Glinda’s mentor was the infamous Madam Morrible. She’d won fourteen years previous, making her way to the top three by manipulating the others in her alliance to kill each other, and then sticking a knife in the two remaining. She’d moved to the Capitol after her victory and seemed to have gone practically native, to the point of adopting their ridiculous hairstyles. Her current ‘do was truly gravity-defying, and it looked like it weighed a tonne. Anything to be the Capitol’s idea of pretty, Glinda supposed.
“You, my dear,” Madam Morrible was saying, as Glinda removed barrettes and pins from her own hair after the parade, scattering glitter as she worked, “you may just have made my life significantly easier. I love this little sweetums thing you’ve got going on, and it’s obvious the potential sponsors have already bought into it. We just need to keep adding coal to that fire.”
Glinda nodded. She found Madam rather intimidating—she’d not been part of their training, like other victors of District One, and there was something uncomfortably ruthless about her. At the same time, Glinda had watched enough Games to know that she was one of the best at working the media. None of the other mentors used the press coverage in quite the same way as Madam Morrible. Last year, she’d managed to persuade the entire Capitol that Crystal—a tiny, reedy girl Glinda knew for a fact suffered from chronic back pain, unable to lift anything heavier than a knife—was a master of combat so adept that she had no need for muscle-bound strength. That image had galvanised sponsors, intimidated other tributes to keep their distance and had in the end kept Crystal alive until day five, when a girl from District Six had finally decided to take her chances.
Glinda could use that kind of media skill. She’d gotten pretty far on her own, but to manage the Capitol, she would need a more professional eye.
“What are your thoughts?” she asked. “I can keep being sweet, but I think I need something more than that.”
“Exactly,” Madam said, looking pleased—like Glinda had just performed a trick to her satisfaction. “You need to start being dangerous, too. We’ll make you the leader of the alliance—charming and pretty, but with a heart of steel underneath.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, that will work nicely.”
“Won’t the other mentors mind?”
Madam waved a hand, dismissive. “I’ve spoken to Chalcedony. Avaric is too sulky; not leadership material. And District Two won’t be thinking that far ahead yet. They always concentrate on a show of force first. If you head into training tomorrow expecting them to follow you, they’ll have no choice but to fall in line. This alliance we have with them is something everyone benefits from. They won’t want to jeopardise it.”
“How about inviting others into that alliance?” Glinda asked. “Last year, the Seven boy was included. Is it up to you, or can I make my own judgement?”
Madam raised an eyebrow. “Playing this leader role may not be too far from you,” she said. “Did you have anyone in mind?”
“Eleven,” Glinda said promptly. “They’re sixteen and eighteen years old respectively, not too starved, look strong. And they’re both attractive. I can watch them tomorrow, see if they have promise.”
Madam was silent for a while, then nodded. “I’ll have a word. Well done, Glinda. Now, get some rest and be ready for training tomorrow. You have a lot of work to do.”
She stood up and walked to the door, then turned and looked back at Glinda with a curious expression.
“We’ll work together well, you and I,” she said. “Just be aware, these Games can hit you hard, much harder than you expect. You may need to make some tough choices.”
“I know what lies ahead,” Glinda said, hoping that this was true.
“Still,” Madam said, then shrugged. “You could be a great victor, Glinda. I do hope you have what it takes.”
When Glinda arrived down for training the day after—before Avaric, who was still sourly chugging coffee up in the One apartment—she found Lias and Pfannee, the District Two tributes, standing by themselves apart from the other tributes. They were subtly flexing, not making a posturing thing out of it but clearly making themselves look as big and intimidating as possible.
So this was off to a fairly predictable start, then.
“Good morning!” Glinda chirped, waving at them cheerfully. “So today, we should start by evaluating our different strong points. I believe swords, then knives, after that spears and projectiles. Do either of you have a preferred weapon?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, but then Pfannee relaxed somewhat. She was the same age as Glinda, but tiny, hardly reaching up to Glinda’s shoulder. Still, as a Two she’d have at least five years of solid battle training under her belt. “I’m good with knives,” she said.
“Ranged weapons,” Lias offered.
“OK, and Avaric is a swordsman, and spears are my forte,” Glinda said. That was true, but she decided to not let on about her additional skills with knives during training. It would pay to have an ace tucked away for when the alliance eventually broke towards the end of the Games. “Good, we should be a well-rounded group, then. Now all we need is for Avaric to resurface from his coffee...”
Lias and Pfannee both laughed, and Glinda could see that Madam Morrible had, of course, been right. They’d easily yielded the leader role to her. Avaric was the only one who might put a wrench in that now, but at the same time, he’d have been coached by his mentor Chalcedony not to. Her position should be safe.
When Avaric arrived, still sporting a particularly grumpy brand of morning fatigue, he settled without fuss into the role of the group’s second-in-command, and Glinda felt the final tension drain from her shoulders. This would work out.
The final tributes were still arriving, so they kept chatting casually, keeping up the appearance of tributes with nothing to fear. Glinda was laughing at something Lias had just said when she heard a kind of gasp go through the assembly and turned to see Girl Five, standing with stiff shoulders and clenched jaw in the doorway.
Her skin, even more noticeable now in the morning light, was a bright pea-green.
In the silence that had fallen, Glinda giggled. “Oh my goodness, Five, didn’t you shower?” she asked, and Lias instantly barked out laughter. The rest of the alliance was quick to follow, and soon, the entire training hall was laughing.
Five was staring at Glinda as though she wished the Games could come early. “Six times,” she said tightly. “I showered six times.”
Glinda smiled condescendingly. She intended to be the leader of her alliance. She was going to be the most interesting, deadly, funny and charming one out there. That meant taking charge. And although she knew it was ugly, in this world it also meant making clear who were the underdogs. A girl like this would only be bloodbath fodder anyway.
“Well,” Glinda said, flicking her hair back over her shoulder with a dismissive air, “I do hope for your sake that beauty doesn’t only run skin deep.”
Five was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “What can I say,” she said. “I guess I just absorb things quickly. On that note, can anyone point me to the knife station?”
That made those still laughing shut up. Glinda was impressed. She had made a miscalculation in her initial assessment—this girl obviously wasn’t a victim, and there was a wryness about her that Glinda found rather entertaining. At the same time, that meant Glinda had someone to work against.
She had someone who could be her villain.
“What is your name, Five?” she asked, putting condescending emphasis on the last word.
“Elphaba Thropp,” the girl answered. “No need to ask your name. People have been screaming it outside all morning.”
“Oh,” Glinda giggled, “I’m so sorry if my fans woke you early. Wouldn’t want to deprive you of any beauty sleep.”
Elphaba looked back at her, calculating. “No, that’s fine,” she said blithely. “You know what they say about the crowd that applauds your coronation.”
That one hit a little too close to a worry Glinda had. She narrowed her eyes, trying to come up with a riposte.
“Good morning,” someone said, and a tall man stepped into view. “I am Hanik, and I will be your principal trainer for these couple of days before the Games begin.”
Glinda relaxed, turning her focus to the man and steadfastly ignoring Elphaba. She could still feel Elphaba’s gaze on her, however, all through the explanation.
Glinda felt sure she was laughing, somehow.
The Elevens were both good potential additions to the alliance, and with Madam Morrible’s blessing, Glinda invited them to join on the second day of training.
The girl, Shenshen, was quick and powerful, great in close combat, and Fiyero was good with spears. And of course it didn’t hurt that he was very cute, too.
“You can use that,” Madam Morrible had said when they discussed the pair in more depth. “During low points in the Games, you may need to keep up the audience’s interest. A little flirt wouldn’t hurt.”
“A romance? Here?”
Madam had snorted. “Not really, of course. But I’ve found there’s virtually nothing the Capitol won’t believe if you sell it well enough.”
So now Glinda was watching Fiyero, wondering if it would be appropriate to lay down some groundwork right now. For an Eleven, he had a rather careless air that was pretty fun. He was obviously aware of his own beauty, too.
They would make an absolutely perfect pair.
“You’re good at that,” Glinda said, leaning her head to one side as she watched Fiyero shift grip on his spear easily to attack his training dummy from another angle. He turned his head to give her a wonderfully charming smile.
“I’ve worked with picker poles most of my life,” he said. “You get used to the heft. I think spears might be my thing.”
“You have a good start.” Glinda smiled. “But can you do this?”
She picked up a spear and raised it to elbow height, then twirled it rapidly around her body, switching hands behind her back and finally striking a pose. She laughed at his expression.
“Not a combat move,” she admitted. “It was part of a kata back home. But it teaches control.”
“You are just adorable,” Fiyero said, grinning.
Glinda was about to respond with something suitably sweet and witty when the sound of someone laughing made them both look around. Glinda frowned. Elphaba was standing nearby, at the rope station, with one of the younger boys—the one from District Ten. She had his hands caught in a snare and he was laughing, trying to pull himself free.
“That’s what could happen if you don’t look where you’re going, Dillamond,” Elphaba said, one corner of her mouth lifted in what was possibly an actual smile. “Here, let me show you a trick to get out if you don't have a knife...”
Glinda scoffed, turning back to Fiyero. “Honestly,” she said quietly, “what does she hope to achieve by that? She’ll only have to watch him die in the Arena.”
Fiyero shrugged. “I think she seems kind of fun, actually. It’s a shame, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“All of us meeting here. Like this. It could have been great, but we’ll be killing each other in a few days. Best to get used to the thought.”
Glinda looked at him, surprised. “You’re far more callow than I would have thought.”
He grinned. “All of this is so bizarre. It’s better to shrug it off, I think. Don’t give it too much thought. Just push through.” He gave her a startlingly shrewd look. “You seem to have that down pat.”
Glinda hesitated. She wondered just how much he saw.
“I think,” she said, “the best thing might just be to try to find moments of whatever fun we can, while we can. That’s the best way to handle it, I think.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Fiyero said, giving her another pretty smile. “So, what do you say—should we show everyone here what this lancer couple has to offer?”
It seemed, Glinda thought, that she had indeed found her flirt. She smiled at him.
“Ten points for head, twenty for heart,” she suggested, raising her spear and nodding towards the further set of dummies used for target practice.
“First to fifty,” Fiyero agreed, and threw his spear.
He was indeed very good. Nowhere near Glinda, of course, but there was no need to let on about that. She let him come close to beating her, then finished the game by what she referred to as a “lucky shot”.
After accepting her victory with grace and while Fiyero was retrieving the spears, she looked up at the Gamemakers and tipped them a wink, reminding them that there was a lot more to her than the rather lackluster effort she was putting into training right now. Several of them laughed, nudging each other.
So far, everything seemed to be working out perfectly.
“Glinda Upland,” a voice behind Glinda said as she stood outside the training room after lunch, putting her hair up in preparation for the upcoming wrestling sessions. She jerked, startled, but composed her features and turned to find a man staring intensely at her.
“Hello?” she said, smiling prettily. He was pretty young, maybe twenty years or so, but something about his general demeanor said important. She racked her mind, trying to come up with where she might have seen him before and how he fitted into the Capitol’s complex hierarchies. “Have we met?”
“Not until now, no,” the man said. He was standing much too close to her. “More’s the pity.”
Glinda smiled again, giving her best charmed expression.
“I’m a Junior Gamemaker,” the man went on, extending his hand, and she bent over it respectfully. “Call me Coriolanus; all my friends do. And I would so like for us to be friends.”
“I’m flattered,” Glinda said, batting her eyelashes demurely. Coriolanus’s hand was dry and strangely cool, but gripped hers with a surprising and unsettling strength. “I do hope to prove my worth in the Arena.”
“I’m certain you will,” he said. He was still holding on to her hand, one finger moving against her wrist in what was almost a caress. “I have been watching you with great interest. I believe you could do more than just win these Games—you could change the very way they’re played.”
“I am sure you give me too much credit.”
“Not at all, dear girl.”
“Then I shall do my very best to live up to your expectations!” Glinda said cheerfully, and managed at last to extract herself from the prolonged handshake. “I believe they’re about to begin the afternoon exercises. I must ask you to excuse me.”
“Of course. Very pleasant to meet you.” Coriolanus nodded at her. “I wish you luck in the Arena, where I’m sure the odds will be entirely in your favour. Indeed, I feel certain I will be able to welcome you back to the Capitol as our new, radiant victor quite soon.”
“I look forward to it,” Glinda said politely, smiled at him again and turned to join the training.
She felt his eyes on her all the rest of the afternoon, the feeling following her even into her quarters in the evening and making the back of her neck prickle with unease.
When Glinda came down to the gym on the last day of training, she found Fiyero chatting to Elphaba.
Elphaba was standing back, stiff and awkward, while he was leaning against the wall beside her, all handsomeness and casual grace. Glinda bristled. This was ridiculous.
“Fiyero, dear, you shouldn’t play with your food,” she said, stepping smartly up and linking her arm with his, then smiling sweetly at Elphaba. “Good morning, Five.”
“Career girl,” Elphaba replied coolly. “I see you haven’t managed to find any class.”
“Nor you any wits,” Glinda shot back. It came out sharper and less condescending than she had planned, and she wondered how Elphaba always managed to find precisely the most worrying thing to say. Cheap or lacking in class was one thing she really couldn't afford to be seen as—she was supposed to be elegant and luxurious, befitting District One. “Do you really think you’re here to make friends? The Arena will be a nasty surprise for you.”
“Well, I dare say there are some people I won’t be distraught to see go,” Elphaba replied, sneering. “As for making friends, you can blame your boyfriend for that. He does have that whole airhead thing down, doesn’t he? I’d just as soon you both left me alone, thanks.”
Fiyero grinned easily, apparently not taking offense at all. “What can I say? I guess I just find you fascinating.”
The thing was, Glinda thought as she steered Fiyero away firmly, that he wasn’t wrong. There was something fascinating about Elphaba—something undeniably compelling about her dry wit, her unflinching cynicism, and not least the rage so very apparently there under the surface.
But Glinda couldn’t afford fascination. And it would be very stupid to try to make an ally out of Elphaba, when she made such a very practical villain.
Augusta Winkley, the host of the Hunger Games, laughed and waved at the audience.
“Welcome!” she trilled, waggling her fingers playfully at someone in the first row. “Welcome, one and all, to the twentieth Hunger Games. Are you excited?”
The audience roared back enthusiastically.
“Rightly so!” Augusta exclaimed. “What a year. What an anniversary. What a line-up! Now, I am as excited as you are to hear what they have to say. As this is a special year, our tributes will be given the great honour of an audience with none other than the Wizard of the Capitol, our President Oscar Zoroaster Diggs!”
President Diggs walked out on stage to deafening cheers and took Augusta’s hands in his, kissing her on both cheeks before sitting down in the chair indicated for him. Why he was called the Wizard, Glinda had never been able to find out exactly, but the prevailing theory seemed to be that he’d been one of the most influential in beating down the District Thirteen threat in the Great Panem War. The Wizard had risen quickly in the Capitol ranks during the war, coming up as though out of nowhere, and after the war had reached its end had been announced as the president after what one could only assume was some kind of political management going on backstage. It was always hard to know with the Capitol, of course—what was real and what was just puppetry.
“Thank you, Augusta,” he said, showing green-tinted teeth in a somewhat unsettling smile. “I can’t wait to hear what these young people have to share with us.”
“Indeed,” Augusta said, giggling back at him. “So, without further ado, I welcome our first tribute—Glinda Upland of District One!”
Glinda took a deep breath and smoothed down the panels of her skirt. Her stylists had definitely come through, with an enormous, blue, glittery dress and a diadem of stars cheekily similar to a crown. Glinda had worried about that, but Madam had reassured her that the Capitol loved few things more than a winner.
Privately, Glinda thought that Elphaba’s words from the first day of training had a point. One thing the Capitol did love more than a winner was a surprise, and they’d be just as happy cheering her death as her victory. Broadcasting herself as the future victor too much too soon might, in fact, just as well lead the Gamemakers to send a pack of mutts after her on her first day in the Arena. Still, she trusted that Madam was savvy enough to know when to turn on the brakes.
She pushed her shoulders back, adjusted her hair and walked out into the spotlights.
The audience went insane.
There wasn’t even a hint of the booing that sometimes accompanied tribute interviews. Instead, there were only cheers and applause, the screams so loud that Glinda had to force herself not to reel back. She raised a hand, waving, and smiled as big as she was able. On a whim, she took off the ring the stylists had given her and tossed it out into the audience; six people collided trying to grab it.
Augusta laughed delightedly. “My dear Glinda, come here before you start an absolute riot!”
Glinda waved one last time, blew a few kisses into the hysterical crowd and joined the other two, stretching up on her toes to kiss Augusta’s cheek.
It was a huge gamble, using such an intimate gesture, as though she had any right as a tribute to act so familiar. To her great relief, however, Augusta only hesitated for a moment before accepting the kiss, and even gave Glinda a peck in return. It placed Glinda firmly on equal footing. She smiled radiantly.
Next, she turned to President Diggs and sank into a low curtsey. “Mr President,” she said, looking down demurely.
“Very happy to meet you,” the Wizard said, holding out a hand to her. She bowed over it.
Her seat was between Augusta and the president, a low bench to their upholstered chairs, placing her clearly below the two others—all part of the shaming that still saturated the Games, even though it had been turning more and more into a colourful show over the last couple of years. Glinda sat down with one leg folded under her in a sweetly coquettish posture that also managed to raise her up a bit, and smoothed her skirt out around her. She held her head high and leaned back on one hand, making sure she could see both the president and Augusta without having to tilt her head awkwardly.
She was going to make everyone remember her grace, her elegance, her poise.
“So, Miss Upland,” President Diggs began, “you are our very first tribute, from District One. Do you have family back home?”
“My Momsie and Popsicle,” Glinda said, and heard the audience awwww. Back home, Mom and Dad must be wondering what kind of drugs the Capitol had her on, but since the game was being sugary sweet, Glinda had decided that she might as well go for cavities. “I hope they are just the proudliest today! Now that I’m here in the Games, I want to do my very best.”
“And if you make it through the Games?” the president asked. “Do you have any ideas about what happens then? How are you planning to serve Panem?”
“Oh, I really haven’t thought that far,” Glinda said, batting her eyelashes. “I think I’d simply like to help my district in any way I can. I’d like to work for them, for the Capitol, for Panem, and for all of our future together.” She looked down, laughing. “In the end, I suppose I just—I want to do good.”
She smiled up at President Diggs, then out at the audience, and cheers broke out once more.
After that, the president asked her a bit about her skills, and she got to switch over into more calculating, cold, leader mode. Madam had been right, of course—it was obvious that this both shocked and titillated the audience.
“And let’s just say that that anyone trying to take these shoes from me better be ready for a fight,” she said, raising the hem of her skirt cheekily to flaunt a glittery shoe and winking at the president. “Especially if I have a spear in my hand. You wouldn’t want to get on by bad side!”
“I’m not entirely convinced you have one,” Augusta said playfully, finishing off the interview neatly. “Ladies and gentlemen, give a big round of applause to this darling tribute—Glinda the Good, everyone!”
Glinda stood up to take her bow, twirling around to show the dress to best effect and smiling brilliantly for the cameras. There was another storm of applause, and she allowed herself a second curtsy before traipsing off back into the line of waiting tributes at the back of the stage. Avaric moved past without even looking at her and headed out on stage to applause that was noticeably less enthusiastic.
“Well, you’re certainly blowing the rest of us out of the water,” Pfannee said, her mouth twisted into a tight little smile.
“I’m sure you’re going to simply wow them,” Glinda replied quickly, smiling brightly at her. “Love that dress, by the way!”
Pfannee rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, staring out towards the stage. Glinda gave both her and Lias another brilliant smile that they didn’t deign to notice, then as they both were staring resolutely in another direction, she pulled an ugly face.
As Avaric started to posture out on stage about how amazing he was in every way, Glinda let her gaze sweep across the other tributes waiting for their turn in the spotlight and met Elphaba’s. From Elphaba’s suddenly curious expression, she realised that she’d been spotted. All the other tributes were staring out at the interview out on center stage, expressions ranging from terror to sullen watchfulness, but Elphaba was watching her.
Glinda shook her hair back, stuck her nose up haughtily and looked out towards the audience.
The rest of the interviews passed quickly by. Pfannee had been right—no one else even came close to energising the audience as much as Glinda had. The other tributes from One and Two were at least hailed mainly with cheers, albeit not quite as hysterical, but the remaining tributes received at best some rather unenthusiastic applause and a few hisses.
When Elphaba stepped out into the spotlights, however, the entire audience gasped. Augusta actually clapped her hands over her mouth for a moment.
“This is absolutely fascinating!” she said. “I’d heard rumours, but—ladies and gentlemen, have you seen how well this dye holds up?”
Elphaba was staring at her with barely concealed disdain. “Yes, isn’t it amazing,” she said dryly.
“Well, I can tell you,” Augusta went on, “that I at least am,” she winked at the audience, “just green with envy!”
“Hilarious,” Elphaba said, as the audience collapsed into laughter.
Augusta laughed as loud as any of them, and then gestured for Elphaba to sit down. She did so after bowing her head shortly to the president.
The Wizard was looking at her intently, a curious expression on his face. “How very nice to meet you, miss Thropp,” he said. “You look like—you’re—you have a very interesting look.”
“I’ve been told I stand out,” Elphaba said. “Well, lately.”
“You’re from District Five,” the president went on. “What, er, what does your family do?”
“My father is a foreman in the Diggs power plant,” Elphaba said. “It’s where I work as well, and my sister, as far as she’s able. My mother used to be head of personnel there, too.”
“Used to?” Augusta interposed. “What’s she doing now?”
“Decomposing,” Elphaba said.
Glinda groaned inwardly. She ought to be happy that Elphaba was blowing it so completely, but it felt like such a waste. Because Elphaba was actually funny. If she’d only tone down the sarcasm, she could have a killer interview.
“These are the twentieth Games,” the president was saying, moving quickly on to the next line of questioning. “Do you have any thoughts about the Arena?”
“Somewhere green would be good, I suppose,” Elphaba said, and if she’d only smile, Glinda knew she could have that audience shouting her name. She was already easily the most recognisable tribute; it was a shame no one had told her how to work it. District Five had no victor as of yet, so they probably had their Capitol escort doing the work of mentor. Whoever they were, they were obviously not doing their job right.
Once Elphaba had sneered her way off stage, Glinda—along with the Capitol audience—lost interest a bit. She kept note of all the tinies, the twelve- and thirteen-year-olds, and the weak and sick. They would better off being spared from the worst of the Games. It depended on how the Arena was constructed, but usually, the bloodbath was the place to give all the smallest a chance of dying early and easy.
Apart from that, there were few stand-outs. There were a couple of boys from outlying districts who looked fit enough to put up a fight, and Glinda made note of their names—Tibbett, Babur, Crope. The girl from District Nine, Dorothy, might be worth keeping an eye on as well. She was doing a whole wide-eyed innocent routine, but her private training session had gained her a not negligible score of seven. Elphaba’s friend from training, the boy from District Ten, was probably another one for the bloodbath, however. He was only fourteen, and with a training score of four, he obviously hadn’t impressed anyone enough to have a chance.
Since the composition of the alliance never stayed secret for long, both Shenshen and Fiyero enjoyed some attention. Their stylists had gone the full military routine with their interview clothes, and Fiyero in particular got some very appreciative applause.
He was a brilliant interview subject, too. He smiled effortlessly into the cameras, flirted shamelessly with the entire audience, and spoke warmly about being included in the alliance.
“I want to do my part,” he said, looking earnestly at the president. “Glinda did us a great honour by allowing us to share their glory. She’s a wonderful leader. And,” he grinned, “it doesn’t hurt that she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life. I think she’s perfect in every way.”
“Hm, Fiyero. Do I sense that you may have a little romantic interest in our Glinda the Good?” Augusta asked, leaning her chin on her hand.
“Well, of course,” Fiyero said simply, making her laugh. He turned from her to face the audience, smiling a blindingly white smile. “Doesn’t everyone here?”
As the audience laughed, a few of them even giving him some cheers, Glinda sensed the rest of the alliance watching her sullenly. She felt annoyed. As long as they were still allies, any attention she received would only reflect well on them. None of them seemed to be able to do the bigger picture thinking—well, apart from Fiyero, who had realised exactly how to play Glinda’s popularity to his own advantage.
It was good to have at least one person on the same level as her.
After the two final District Twelve tributes, both half-starved, coal-sickened children, the Hunger Games anthem played for the end of the interviews. Glinda stood with the rest of the tributes, making sure to tilt her head for the best angle of the cameras. She had done what she could to give herself an edge in the Arena. She had a name and an image, and now she just had to play the Games according to that role.
She thought she could make that work.