The Sterling Nightingale ⟷ Finnick Odair/OC

O'er the clash of love;

Chapter Sixteen | O'er the clash of love

"Perhaps, after all, she had been deceived just now; what she took to be the light of love in his eyes might only have been the passion of pride or, who knows, of hatred instead of love." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel

Fortunately, it doesn't take as much effort to discern the Victors loyalties as Sil originally thought. Granted, some of the Victors can be hard to read, and she is forced to go up to them and speak with them properly. But others, like Haymitch and Blight from District 7, are easier to observe.

She spends the entire night flitting between Victors and Capitolites alike. Her socializing skills come in handy as she maneuvers carefully around caustic personalities. Several hours in, she is exhausted but proud to say that she has a strong list of possible recruits for Plutarch.

She's on her way to test the waters with Enobaria and Brutus from District 2 when someone's hand slides over her arm. Naturally, she assumes it's Finnick. He's been moving between her and the others all night too, occasionally sweeping her off for a dance or getting her a drink. It's been a good fifteen minutes since she'd last seen him, so Sil grins happily and turns around, saying, "Finnick! I was wondering where you'd gotten off to – oh."

It's not Finnick. It's Felix. She flounders.

"Silver," Felix greets, though there's nothing warm or inviting in the gesture. He steps forward with a dangerous smile and murmurs, "I'm a little upset now. Am I not good enough for you, or is Finnick Odair all you want?"

She waves her hand with a nervous laugh and says, "Gracious, Felix. Why ever would you think such a thing? I'm quite happy to see you, my darling. Dance with me."

The suggestion is bland, squeezed into existence by an unwilling heart. But she knows she would have had to find him tonight anyway, regardless of when or how. Plutarch had said that Felix wasn't entirely convinced of this Quarter Quell idea. She has to change that.

He tilts his head but agrees, holding his hand out for her to take. Her fingers slide over his palm, and he snatches them up. She allows him to lead her onto the dance floor, where people are already spinning around the fast beats of Sviridov's Snowstorm waltz. It takes her all of three seconds to find the beat within herself and join the dance.

Felix is a surprisingly good dancer. Surprising, because anything to do with the pre-Games era is generally looked down upon by the Capitol elites. But art and music has always been the one eternal thing that everyone can accept, regardless of the time period or era it was created in.

"I'm sure you've been busy preparing for the Quell," Sil murmurs as they come together after a spin. Her hand lays flat against his, and she tries not to cringe.

Felix purses his lips. "I'm sure it's none of your business what I'm busy with."

Huh. Well if he wants to play it like that...

"Dear me. It seems that even polite conversation is difficult for you to engage in," Silver dares to say, with an added 'humph' of extra derisiveness.

Felix sends her a barely disguised snarl and pulls her against him tightly. His hands are claws that coil into the back of her gown, which proves to be a paltry protection. Together, they jump into the dance, but it seems more like a struggle to Silver. No matter how hard she tries to put more distance between them, Felix only grips her harder.

"Don't be mistaken, Silver," he growls in her ear. "I'm not some Capitol idiot here to entertain you. In fact, I believe it's the other way around, don't you agree?" His fingers sink lower than is appropriate, and her face blankets all emotion.