The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (The Hunger Games, #0)

by Suzanne Collins

But better off sad than dead.

The savagery distorting Price’s face, the white anklet and scuffed black shoe at the end of the severed limb, and the absolute horror of realizing that he, too, could now be viewed as edible.

He wished he had his mother’s eyes instead, but never said so. Maybe it was best to take after his father. His mother had not really been tough enough for this world.

He buried his head in his hands, confused, angry, and most of all afraid. Afraid of Dr. Gaul. Afraid of the Capitol. Afraid of everything. If the people who were supposed to protect you played so fast and loose with your life . . . then how did you survive? Not by trusting them, that was for sure. And if you couldn’t trust them, who could you trust? All bets were off.

“Sure. Sure. And thanks. For the crackers and all,” said Lucy Gray, grasping the bars to struggle to her feet. He reached through the bars to help her up. “It’s nothing.” “Not to you maybe,” she said. “But it’s meant the world having someone show up like I mattered.” “You do matter,” he said. “Well, there’s a lot of evidence to the contrary.” She rattled her chains and gave them a tug. And then, as if remembering something, she looked up at the sky. “You matter to me,” he insisted. The Capitol may not value her, but he did. Hadn’t he just poured his heart out to her? “Time to go, Mr. Snow!” the Peacekeeper called. “You matter to me, Lucy Gray,” he repeated. His words drew her eyes back to him, but she still seemed distant.

Wind and rain might wash away the bloodstains, but Capitol hands would not.

For a moment he laughed, forgetting where they were, how depressing the backdrop. For a moment there was just her smile, the musical cadence of her voice, and the hint of flirtation.

In any scenario, it’s preferable to have the upper hand, to be the victor rather than the defeated.”

“Well, you know what they say. The show’s not over until the mockingjay sings,” she said. “The mockingjay?” He laughed. “Really, I think you’re just making these things up.” “Not that one. A mockingjay’s a bona fide bird,” she assured him. “And it sings in your show?” he asked. “Not my show, sweetheart. Yours. The Capitol’s anyway,” said Lucy Gray. “I think we’re up.”

He’d loved the unfamiliar sense of safety that their defeat had brought. The security that could only come with power. The ability to control things. Yes, that was what he’d loved best of all.

Coriolanus felt sure he’d spotted his first mockingjay, and he disliked the thing on sight.

During these in particular, the five Covey seemed to turn in on themselves, swaying and building complicated harmonies with their voices. Coriolanus didn’t care for it; the sound unsettled him. He sat through at least three songs of this kind before he realized it reminded him of the mockingjays.

That’s me, Coriolanus wanted to tell people around him. I’m her true love. And I saved her life.

Maybe he was not cut out to be a lover. Maybe he was more of a loner at heart. Coriolanus Snow, more loner than lover.

Coriolanus felt self-conscious. “Do I look okay?” “Gorgeous. Trust me, that lip’s working for you, soldier,” said Sejanus,

But who was she inviting to meet her in the tree? Could it be him? Maybe she planned to sing this next Saturday as a secret message for him to meet her at midnight in the hanging tree? Not that he could, as he’d never be allowed off base at that hour. But she probably didn’t know that.

“So, Coriolanus Snow, what are you doing in my meadow?” What, indeed? “Just spending some time with my girl,” he answered.

We’re responsible for each other’s lives now.” “Are we?” he asked. “Sure,” she said. “You’re mine and I’m yours. It’s written in the stars.” “No escaping that.” He leaned over and kissed her, flushed with happiness, because although he did not believe in celestial writings, she did, and that would be enough to guarantee her loyalty.

Why would evil incarnate help his girlfriend?

Billy Taupe had to accept that Lucy Gray was no longer his, but belonged firmly, and for always, to Coriolanus.

I’m not convinced that we are all as inherently violent as you say, but it takes very little to bring the beast to the surface, at least under the cover of darkness.

He didn’t mind the jabberjays so much — they seemed rather interesting from a military standpoint — but something about the mockingjays repelled him. He distrusted their spontaneous creation. Nature running amok. They should die out, and die out soon.

Unless there’s law, and someone enforcing it, I think we might as well be animals,”

Coriolanus’s bird began a tortured screaming the minute he touched it, and when he gave it a squeeze designed to dissuade it, it drove its beak into his palm.

On the whole, he was beginning to weary of the infusion of music into his life. Invasion might be a better word.

He’d killed the person who considered him his brother. But even as the vileness of the act threatened to drown him, a tiny voice kept asking, What choice did you have? What choice? No choice.

He dug through his own box and decided on the orange scarf, since the Covey loved color, and her more than most.

He slept like the dead, which made sense since it was only a matter of hours before he joined them.

Before need, before love, came trust. The thing she valued most. And he, Coriolanus Snow, was the one she trusted.

This might be his song, but she was singing it to Coriolanus. Snow lands on top.

Last night the commander told me not to sing ‘The Hanging Tree’ anymore. Too dark, he said. Too rebellious, more like it.

“You know what I won’t miss? People,” Coriolanus replied. “Except for a handful. They’re mostly awful, if you think about it.” “People aren’t so bad, really,” she said. “It’s what the world does to them. Like us, in the arena. We did things in there we’d never have considered if they’d just left us alone.”

“I think there’s a natural goodness built into human beings. You know when you’ve stepped across the line into evil, and it’s your life’s challenge to try and stay on the right side of that line.”

What was there to aspire to once wealth, fame, and power had been eliminated?

The idea of life without him must be breaking her heart.

“Probably leave a scar.” Good, thought Coriolanus. It will remind me to be more careful.

“It certainly supports her view of humanity,” said Snow. “Especially using the children.” “And why is that?” asked Dean Highbottom. “Because we credit them with innocence. And if even the most innocent among us turn to killers in the Hunger Games, what does that say? That our essential nature is violent,” Snow explained.

Lucy Gray’s fate was a mystery, then, just like the little girl who shared her name in that maddening song. Was she alive, dead, a ghost who haunted the wilderness? Perhaps no one would ever really know. No matter — snow had been the ruination of them both.

And he didn’t like love, the way it had made him feel stupid and vulnerable. If he ever married, he’d choose someone incapable of swaying his heart. Someone he hated, even, so they could never manipulate him the way Lucy Gray had.

He’d continue the Games, of course, when he ruled Panem. People would call him a tyrant, ironfisted and cruel. But at least he would ensure survival for survival’s sake, giving them a chance to evolve. What else could humanity hope for? Really, it should thank him.

Snow lands on top.