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it’s worked out that we’ll be moved to the top level, which has the luxury of an eight-inch window aboveground. Buttercup may come and go to do his business. He will be expected to feed himself. If he misses curfew, he will be locked out. If he causes any security problems, he’ll be shot immediately.
    That sounds okay. Not so different from how he’s been living since we left. Except for the shooting part. If he looks too thin, I can slip him a few entrails, provided my next request is allowed.
    “I want to hunt. With Gale. Out in the woods,” I say. This gives everyone pause.
    “We won’t go far. We’ll use our own bows. You can have the meat for the kitchen,” adds Gale.
    I hurry on before they can say no. “It’s just . . . I can’t breathe shut up here like a . . . I would get better, faster, if . . . I could hunt.”
    Plutarch begins to explain the drawbacks here — the dangers, the extra security, the risk of injury — but Coin cuts him off. “No. Let them. Give them two hours a day, deducted from their training time. A quarter-mile radius. With communication units and tracker anklets. What’s next?”
    I skim my list. “Gale. I’ll need him with me to do this.”
    “With you how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?” Coin asks.
    She hasn’t said this with any particular malice — quite the contrary, her words are very matter-of-fact. But my mouth still drops open in shock. “What?”
    “I think we should continue the current romance. A quick defection from Peeta could cause the audience to lose sympathy for her,” says Plutarch. “Especially since they think she’s pregnant with his child.”
    “Agreed. So, on-screen, Gale can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that all right?” says Coin. I just stare at her. She repeats herself impatiently. “For Gale. Will that be sufficient?”
    “We can always work him in as your cousin,” says Fulvia.
    “We’re not cousins,” Gale and I say together.
    “Right, but we should probably keep that up for appearances’ sake on camera,” says Plutarch. “Off camera, he’s all yours. Anything else?”
    I’m rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I’m in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I’m devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. “When the war is over, if we’ve won, Peeta will be pardoned.”
    Dead silence. I feel Gale’s body tense. I guess I should have told him before, but I wasn’t sure how he’d respond. Not when it involved Peeta.
    “No form of punishment will be inflicted,” I continue. A new thought occurs to me. “The same goes for the other captured tributes, Johanna and Enobaria.” Frankly, I don’t care about Enobaria, the vicious District 2 tribute. In fact, I dislike her, but it seems wrong to leave her out.
    “No,” says Coin flatly.
    “Yes,” I shoot back. “It’s not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. Who knows what the Capitol’s doing to them?”
    “They’ll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit,” she says.
    “They’ll be granted immunity!” I feel myself rising from my chair, my voice full and resonant. “You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you’ll find yourself another Mockingjay!”
    My words hang in the air for a long moment.
    “That’s her!” I hear Fulvia hiss to Plutarch. “Right there. With the costume, gunfire in the background, just a hint of smoke.”
    “Yes, that’s what we want,” says Plutarch under his breath.
    I want to glare