CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Capitol suite smelled of roses and liquor, a dizzying perfume that clung to the silk curtains and soaked into Cillian's skin. He sat rigid on the velvet settee, his fingers laced tightly around a crystal glass of something expensive and purple. It tasted like violets, sugary and sweet. Or maybe lavender- he didn't know. Cillian had stopped tasting it after the third glass.
Eirlys reclined across from him in a gown made of diamond-dust tulle, the kind that shimmered with every breath. Her hair was swept back in Capitol fashion, tight and severe, to his eyes, despite the bright orange colour. But no one could ever accuse her of being unfashionable, even if she was three glasses deep and nearly sliding off the couch.
"Brilliant coverage tonight," she purred, swirling her drink. "The tension with Finnick? It's all over the recap reels. Even Caesar remarked upon the two of you again." She laughed, high and glassy. "President Snow will be beyond pleased. His granddaughter, did I mention, she's one of your biggest fans. Yours and Finnick's."
Cillian forced a smile. "That's flattering."
"She calls you 'the storm-eyed one,'" Eirlys said, eyes glinting with amusement. "Isn't that charming?"
He set his glass down on the table a little harder than he meant to. "Sure."
Eirlys didn't notice or pretended not to. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, speaking in a tone meant to sound conspiratorial. "You're becoming valuable, Cillian. Not just as a victor. As an icon."
His stomach turned.
Then she tipped her head back and cackled out a laugh, her drink spilling on her tulle-covered lap without her realising.
Eirlys raised her glass in a toast. "To your rising star."
He didn't raise his.
The perfumed air and strong drinks made it hard to think. But Cillian's thought went back to Finnick Odair, as they often did these days. of the way he sometimes stared off when no one was talking to him. The emptiness behind the charm. The leash hidden beneath the glint of gold.
Cillian, of course, knew something of that feeling. The numbness that came with thought, for it was the nighttime that always came to mind, unbidden. He might've brought himself to laugh, if he'd had the energy for it. He'd survived the arena, and yet it was those sweat-soaked sheets and bleating laughs amongst the darkness that caused him such discomfort when the mind decided to wander.
The balcony doors clicked shut behind him, muffling the Capitol music still blaring from the suite. Out here, the air was thinner, cooler. Cillian gripped the stone railing and leaned forward, breathing deeply, trying to clear the static from his mind.
Footsteps. Then Johanna, barefoot and quiet, padded out beside him. She had a half-full glass of something amber and sharp, the rim smudged with lipstick she hadn't applied carefully.
"You looked like you were gonna break that glass in half," she said.
"I thought about it."
She snorted and sipped. "Eirlys giving you the 'President Snow is pleased' speech again?"
Cillian didn't answer. He rubbed his hand over his face and looked out at the glowing skyline. The buildings shimmered like cut jewels, artificial stars blinking overhead.
Johanna took another sip, then leaned on the railing beside him. "Finnick left the party early. That's two nights in a row."
"He's exhausted."
