Splintered

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Fit for a Feast

Hazel clutched her face harder. She wanted nothing more than to vomit. Gaul's clean shoes be damned.

"And the games?" Hazel managed to choke out.

"Who do you think put him there?" Dr. Gaul chuckled to herself. Amused. Her toothy smirk sharpened. "Bad parenting is truly an epidemic. You've seen it yourself, haven't you?"

Ian's sharp edges, his refusal of food, comfort, or kindness. It had never been just about revolting against the Capitol. He had been rejecting something far more personal.

Someone.

A man willing to send his own child to the slaughter.

Hazel scoffed and stepped back from the portrait, nausea circling her skull. "Why are you sharing this with me?"

"Because, as much as I detest the man, you can't deny his commitment. It is visceral in its own way."

"He's abandoning his post as Gamemaker before he's even been through a single game. How is that commitment?"

"You have a point," Gaul shrugged. "But he's a much better fit for a press junket than a lab. The man's got the finesse of a mule. Broken more of my petri dishes than all my apprentices combined. How he gets dressed in the morning is beyond me."

Hazel faced Gaul more squarely. "You don't want Snow to be president."

More teeth glittered in Hazel's direction. "It is a shame you were born District."

"You really think Trask is the better choice?"

"You don't know politics much, do you, dear?" Gaul waggled a finger like she was scolding a dog. "Sometimes it's not about the best choice but the least catastrophic."

Hazel scoffed, completely disillusioned as she found herself in the position of defending, of all people, Senator Snow. "And that would be Snow's presidency? A catastrophe?"

"Idealism is a temporary benefit of youth, but it is also volatile. He thinks he knows what it takes to rule this country. But the truth is, he doesn't. Not really, or maybe not yet. He's too young. Too hopeful. He needs more experience with the realities of this world." Her curls jiggled as she tilted her head, "With the realities of human nature."

"And Trask has what it takes?"

Gaul spun to face her fully. "Have you heard the story of Abraham and his son Isaac, Miss Marlowe?"

Hazel frowned but didn't answer. She was vaguely aware of the ancient tale. A father tasked with slaughtering his son at the command of his God.

"He was a man willing to sacrifice his child to become the leader required. Not confined by sentimental relationships. By attachments." Gaul all but spewed the last word. "He accepted the raw necessity. That is the kind of ruthlessness the position demands. The commitment. Panem doesn't need sentiment. She doesn't need weakness. She needs a President who'll do what's required. No matter the price."

Ian's young face glowed behind Gaul's shoulder. Hazel shuddered.

She was fairly certain the story of Abraham didn't actually end in Isaac's death. Though Gaul conveniently left that part out.

"So, to answer the question you asked your little friends, Augustus has my vote. Snow's sentiment blinds him. It has before." She paused, examining the medal for a breath. "And it will again. This world will tear Coriolanus Snow to pieces. And if he's allowed to rule it, Panem as we know it will be shredded, right alongside him. The question now is, will your fate be the same?"

There had to be a point to this whole conversation besides indulgent intimidation. Gaul seemed like a woman who liked to play with her food before she devoured it. Hazel shielded herself, wrapping her arms around her torso. "What do you want from me, doctor?"

Dr. Gaul stretched her shoulders; a meaty popping sound made Hazel suddenly even more nauseated. Mismatched eyes seared into hers as the doctor clasped her hands before her.

"What is he planning?"

Hazel paused, her heart sinking into her stomach.

Shaking her head, she hoped giving off an air of unknowing would satisfy her, "Isn't that obvious? To become president."

The ice blue iris shimmered while the umber one delved into her very soul with a crushing expression, "Don't insult me, little girl. What is this surprise he has so publicly promised?"

Was it possible her teeth were getting both whiter and sharper?

Hazel trembled. "I'm not privy, Madam Gamemaker."

"Eight is Augustus's pet. I can only assume that is why he chose this lovely District to make an announcement. I may not know the exact details, but I know Mr. Coriolanus Snow enough to know that he has something prepared. He doesn't set a table unless he's planning a feast."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"We aren't exactly on the best of terms."

"You still haven't told me what you want." Hazel's tone was cold yet dry.

"I can only assume his surprise has something to do with you. So what I ask is simple. Whatever task he's assigned you, whatever favor you've promised..." Gaul crossed her arms, eyes slewing up and down Hazel's form. "Don't do it. Walk away."

Hazel wrestled with a mask of confusion, trying to appear as convincing as possible.

Gaul didn't buy it. Instead, she flexed her fingers. "And if you know what's good. You will remember that he is not president yet."

Hazel chewed on the tip of her tongue for a moment before breathing out, "I'm afraid I can't help you, and if you are curious about Coriolanus's plans, you'll need to speak to him."

"That loyalty of yours. It is almost...sweet," Gaul's stare traced Hazel's slight shiver. "Are you always this defensive of the Senator?" Hazel knew her face betrayed her just enough to amuse the older woman. "Maybe the rumors about you two are true."

Hazel pressed her lips together and clasped her hands. A hint of red colored her cheekbones.

"Mmmm. Maybe I have been going about this the wrong way." A smirk licked the edge of Gaul's cracking lips, "Tell me if you've heard this before: It is the things we love most that destroy us."

Hazel's breath hitched, and a sudden sharp sensation settled in her chest.

"Ah," Gaul murmured, eyes brightening at Hazel's reaction as confirmation. "So you have. And I suspect I know exactly who shared such wisdom with you."

"You taught him well." Hazel's voice came out in a whisper.

"Not well enough, apparently," Gaul mumbled, licking her lips. "While it is profound, Mr. Snow fails to realize that it is an insight that doesn't apply to everyone. Certainly not men like Augustus Trask. Some of us are above such base emotions. I believe my reputation precedes me, and you are smart enough to realize the danger in crossing a man willing to destroy anyone or anything in his way."

Hazel couldn't look at the young shadow of Ian. If sentiment ruined men, then Augustus Trask was a cockroach. Practically indestructible. And as Gaul was trying to drill into her, obviously even more dangerous because of it.

"But I suppose it remains valuable advice to the majority, and I would wager it is the kind someone like yourself would be wise to heed."

She suddenly felt as if Gaul's fingers were tapping up her spine.

"You are threatening me," Hazel breathed.

"Perhaps." She grinned, wild curls bouncing as she emphasized her words. "Though if you really don't know what I am referring to and he hasn't planned anything... then you have nothing to be worried about."

"I am not saying that I know anything, but," Hazel wrung her hands. "Why would I trust you, doctor? Or Augustus for that matter?"

"Oh, you wouldn't, dear." The woman's voice deepened like a churning black well. "Despite what Mr. Snow might argue, do you know what is stronger than hope?"

"Formaldehyde?"

"Mmmm," Gaul paused, bending forward, mismatched eyes harpooning into Hazel's. "Fear, my dear. Fear."