Though now she lived in the districts, she was capitol born. She knew all of his hardships and never looked at him any differently. She handled him with such gentleness, and kindness. She was a rare bird, His Nightingale. Just like he had been for h...
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What had he done? What on earth had he just done? His heart pounded in his chest as he quickly turned down the street, trying to make sense of his actions. He couldn't think clearly, only the dreadful feeling that he'd crossed some line that could never be uncrossed.
The avenue felt full of eyes. There were very few pedestrians or drivers out, but even the slightest glance felt like glaring. Coriolanus ducked into a park and hid in the shadows, on a bench surrounded by bushes. He counted four in and four out, trying to get his breathing under control, slowly his blood stopped pounding in his ears. Then he tried to think rationally.
All right, so he'd dropped the handkerchief with Juniper's scent, into the snake tank. He'd done it so they wouldn't kill her. Because he cares about her. Because he loves her. But he had cheated to win, and that was that.
Hold on. You didn't really know if those snakes were going into the arena, he thought. The assistants had, in fact, told him otherwise. There was no history of such a thing ever occurring. Perhaps it had just been a temporary flight of madness. And even if the snakes did end up in the arena, Juniper might never encounter them. It was a huge place, and he didn't think snakes just went around attacking people. You had to step on them or threaten them in some way. And even if she did run into a snake, and it didn't bite her, how would anyone trace that back to him? It required too much high-security knowledge and access that no one would presume he had. And a handkerchief with her scent on it. Why would he have that?
It was okay. He was going to be okay.
Except that line. Whether anyone pieced together his actions or not, he knew he had crossed it. In fact, he knew he'd been dancing on top of it for some time. Like when he'd taken Sejanus's food from the dining hall to feed Juniper. It had been a small infraction, motivated by his desire to keep her alive and his anger at the Gamemakers' negligence. An argument could be made for basic decency there. But it was not a lone incident. He could see it all now, the slippery slope of the last few weeks that had started with Sejanus's leftovers and ended with him here, shivering in the dark on a deserted park bench.
***
His feet had carried him far from home, but he realized the Plinth apartment was just a few minutes away. Why not pop in?
An Avox in a maid's outfit opened the door and gestured to ask if she should take his book bag. He declined and inquired if Sejanus was free. She led him to a drawing room and indicated that he should sit. While he waited, he took in the furnishings with a knowing eye. Fine furniture, thick carpets, embroidered tapestries, a bronze bust of someone. While the exterior of the apartment had not impressed, no expense had been spared on the interior. All the Plinths needed was an address on the Corso to solidify their status.
Mrs. Plinth came in, full of apologies and flour. Sejanus, it seemed, had gone to bed early, and he'd caught her in the kitchen. Would he come downstairs for a moment and have a cup of tea? Or perhaps she should serve tea in here, like the Snows had. No, no, he assured her, the kitchen would be fine. As if anyone served a guest in the kitchen but a Plinth. But he had not come to pass judgment. He had come to be thanked, and if that involved baked goods, all the better.
