Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You must be the new kids,” Their teacher, Mr Smith, said, “Barb and Tam, isn’t it?”

Barb Azure bridled , “ Barb Azure and Tam Amber .”

Mr Smith looked sceptically at them, “if you insist.” He looked over his register. “Well, Tam Amber and Barb Azure, I’ve assigned Jessup Diggs as your ‘buddy’. He’ll be showing you around the school.”

Jessup, a dark-skinned boy they’d seen in the Seam from time to time, gave them a small smile. He had two empty seats on either side of him. Tam Amber smiled tepidly, begrudgingly takin’ the seat to Jessup’s left.

Jessup is quiet and still, and does everythin’ asked of him. Tam Amber admires him, in a way. His stillness, his quietness. He’s the kinda student teachers would fill their class with. So diligent and tranquil and intelligent. And belongin’. Jessup fits in here, more than Tam Amber. More than Barb Azure.

Tam Amber swears that, whenever he’s not lookin’, Jessup is lookin’ at him. Shy, timid, fruitless glances that manage to mean everythin’ and nothin’ at the same time.

He looks at him when the Covey perform at the Hob. But that’s ’cause he’s on stage; everyone looks at them when they’re on stage. 

Today, Jessup comes with his pa and sister. His father looks at them attentively — with more care than Old Man Thorn does — mutters somethin’ to him, emptyin’ his wallet to count coins. The Diggs normally tip well, and whenever they can’t, they give them sweets. 

As Tam Amber plays the first few notes of a song on his mandolin, Lucy Gray takes the stage. She’s the most charismatic of them and a crowd favourite. Even Old Man Thorn likes her, and he doesn’t like anyone. Tam Amber doesn’t take it personally that he doesn’t like him — at least, he tries not to — ’cause he doesn’t much like him, either. 

Lucy Gray’s little voice is clear and unwaverin’ as she sings. 

There’s a dark and a troubled side of life,

There’s a bright and a sunny side too,

Though we meet with the darkness and strife,

The sunny side we also may view.

They’re in awe of young Lucy Gray, like snakes and their charmer. Tam Amber seeks out Jessup, who looks the most enthralled of them all. Maybe he’s just seein’ what he wants to, and, come Monday, Jessup won’t remember their performance and Tam Amber won’t remember that he’d been looked at with such fondness.

Keep on the sunny side, 

Always on the sunny side,

Keep on the sunny side of life,

It will help us every day,

It will brighten all the way,

If we keep on the sunny side of life.  

This is foolish. It ain’t his singin’ Jessup is enthralled by — it’s Lucy Gray’s. If he’s admirin’ any of them, he’s admirin’ her. Like everyone else does.

Oh, the storm and its fury broke today,

Crushin’ hopes that we cherish so dear,

Clouds and storms will in time pass away,

The sun again will shine bright and clear.

He shakes his head; he shouldn’t be jealous of Lucy Gray, his little sister who wouldn’t hurt a fly. And he’s not, he’s not jealous of Lucy Gray even though she’s enthrallin’ Jessup in a way he wishes he could.

Keep on the sunny side, 

Always on the sunny side,

Keep on the sunny side of life,

It will help us every day,

It will brighten all the way,

If we keep on the sunny side of life.

At the end of the show, two of the smaller children, Clerk Carmine and Maude Ivory, take collections in a bucket. Out of the corner of his eye, as Tam Amber returns backstage with Lucy Gray and Barb Azure, he sees the Diggs family give Clerk Carmine and Maude Ivory a paper bag. They smile gleefully and thank them, skippin’ over to them after collectin’ a few more donations.

“What’s in the bag, CC?” Lucy Gray asks, tryin’ to take a glance.

“Bagels!” CC skips in excitement, “the man said he made them ’specially for us.”

“That’s very kind of him, I hope you thanked him.”

“’Course I did.”

“Thank you for the bagels,” Tam Amber tells Jessup at school. He hasn’t forgotten the fondness he’d been looked at with. He hopes Jessup hasn’t forgotten their performance. “Maude Ivory loved them,” feelin’ like it makes it sound like no one else did, he hastily adds, “all of us did.”

“You’re welcome,” Jessup looks at the floor, suddenly shy, “my pa made them. He loves bakin’. He’ll make more for you if you like.”

“He doesn’t have to.”

“Your next performance, I’ll have some tarts.” Jessup says promisingly, “do you like lemon?”

“Most of us do,” Tam Amber says, “but citrus gives Babs horrible rashes. We all like apples, though.”

True to his word, the Covey is paid in apple tarts by the Diggs family at the end of their next show.

The week after it’s croissants.

It becomes a weekly treat for them; a tradition that’s theirs and only theirs. Maybe Jessup is the somethin’ — the someone — that will tie him to 12 in the way he ain’t tied to the Covey. The thing that will make 12 ache for him in a way the Covey wouldn’t.

One week, their treat is cinnamon rolls. Maude Ivory adores them, askin’ Tam Amber to ask Jessup for more. As good as Jessup and his father are, spices are expensive and hard to come by; he doesn’t think they’ll get them again. Not for a while.

They should be asleep right now; instead, they sit in the space between their mattresses in silence.

“You like him, don’t you?” Barb Azure whispers, peelin’ away a layer of her cinnamon roll.

“We all do,” responds Tam Amber, bridlin’ a little at the implication he likes Jessup any more than the rest of the Covey.

Sure, they interact with each other more than Jessup interacts with the rest of them, but that doesn’t mean Tam Amber likes him. At least, not in the way Barb Azure is implyin’.

He doesn’t know why the implication nettles him so much; kids on the playground whisper and giggle about their crushes all the time.

Barb Azure peels away more of her cinnamon roll. “I like someone,” she says, “a gal,” she adds.

There’s a layer of snow when Tam Amber wakes up, thick and already dyed with coal dust. In its short time on earth, it is already sullied. 

Indifferent to, or perhaps in defiance of, the weather, Old Man Thorn leaves for work at the crack of dawn, leavin’ the Covey children to fend for themselves in the chill.

There’s a thin layer of coal dust-stained snow on every surface in the kitchen.

“Do you think school’ll be open?” Barb Azure asks, attemptin’ to pry the ice off a pan, “it’s too cold to walk, surely?”

He wants school to be open — it’s an excuse to see Jessup without knockin’ on his door — but realistically, it won’t be. Kids’ll freeze on their way. “No. Don’t think so,” he says, tryin’ his best to swallow disappointment. He wonders if, deep down, she’s also disappointed. “I’ll sort the pan out, you tell Lucy Gray, CC, Maude Ivory, and Billy Taupe that they can have a lie in.”

Maude Ivory and Lucy Gray curl in the baby blankets Ruth Alabaster made for them when they were little. Billy Taupe and CC curl up beside each other, a taupe and a carmine baby blanket wrapped over them both. The fire crackles lightly; the warmth it provides is minimal but noticed.

Tam Amber sits at the kitchen table, further from the fire’s warmth than everyone else with his amber baby blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. He counts up his share of the Covey’s spoils from their last performances. He’s been savin’ for weeks now and, finally, he has enough. More than enough.

“I’m goin’ out,” he says, slidin’ the coins into his pouch.

Barb Azure looks up, dark eyes widenin’. “Are you sure? Tamber, you’ll freeze.”

“I’m sure,” he says, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, Babs. Promise.”

He pulls on his coat, smoothin’ it over. It’d been one of the first things he’d bought with his share of the Covey spoils a few years ago. He runs his fingers over the sewn on patches, briefly fixatin’ on the alabaster one, the one closest to his heart.

Tam Amber knows exactly what he’s gettin’ as he enters the Hob. The coins burn a hole in his pouch as he makes a beeline for the stall with the ragdolls. It’s manned — or womanned, he s’poses — by Mrs Verne, a gaunt, middle aged woman with a glass eye, and her two children.

She had a minin’ accident a few years back. It killed her husband and cost her a leg. Post-war, one of the few shows of true solidarity Tam Amber had seen in 12 was when they’d pulled together to fundraise for a prosthetic leg for her. She’d never be able to work in the mines again, but she could at least earn a livin’ at the Hob.

She smiles when she sees him, askin’ her son to get the bag with Tam Amber’s name on it. As he hands over the notes, she hands over the bag. He double, then triple, checks the contents. The ragdoll, a handful of tiny dresses and shoes, a little coat for when she gets cold. Everythin’ a little gal could want for her doll.

“She’ll love this. Thank you kindly.”

He stays in the Hob a little longer, countin’ the change and wonderin’ if he should buy somethin’ for the rest of them. Sugar mice, perhaps; Billy Taupe likes those. They all do. But they’re expensive, more than his change.

Then somethin’ else catches his eye. Another stall — one he hasn’t seen before, or at least one he doesn’t remember — adorned with hand crafted gloves. He divvies up his shrapnel for change, findin’ he has just about enough to buy them for the Covey and himself. He looks closely at them, the bright colours that represent the Covey. Ivory, taupe, azure, carmine, grey. Even amber. It’s like the gloves are made for them.

“You’re back earlier than we thought!” Barb Azure smiles. “God, you look freezin’.”

“I went to the Hob,” says Tam Amber as he sits by the fire, “got us all gloves.” He hands Barb Azure her pair. She smiles and inspects them.

“Thank you kindly, Tamber,” Barb Azure smiles, “how much were they? What do I owe you?”

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it, Babs.”

“You sure?”

“’Course.”

The rest of the kids eagerly try on their new gloves, wigglin’ their fingers to break them in. Barb Azure puts gloves on a sleepin’ Maude Ivory. She’s curled by the fire, tremblin’ under her ivory baby blanket. Lucy Gray thanks him for the gloves, CC and Billy Taupe do the same.

“I got somethin’ else,” adds Tam Amber, “for you, Babs.”

She looks taken aback, eyein’ the bag with the doll in. Then she takes it; hastily, like someone else will if she doesn’t. Inside it, a ragdoll, with woollen hair and button eyes, and her multitude of tiny, doll-sized clothes.

Barb Azure examines the bag, movements lined with suspicion. “This is for me?” She lays out the doll’s clothes, smoothin’ the dresses with her little hands. The lovingly stitched coat and matchin’ hat; the little nightdress that almost matches hers; and the tiny doll shoes.

She holds the doll very gently, runnin’ a finger over her woollen hair. Then her eyes well with tears as she tightly hugs it. “Thank you kindly.”

He’s startin’ to loathe the song. The one tellin’ him to keep on the sunny side of life when he’s long since learnt there ain’t one. It’s never been his favourite but when Lucy Gray sung it, he could feel himself soften to the idea. There was somethin’ so sincere, so earnest about the way she sang it that made the sunny side tangible. 

Now all he focuses on is Jessup focusin’ on Lucy Gray, wonderin’ how he can get the same attention. Yes, he talks to Jessup — every Monday between classes — and, no, Lucy Gray doesn’t. But their conversations are fleetin’ and Jessup never looks at him the way he does her.

Sometimes he thinks about askin’ for a solo at their next show. But he only thinks about it. He’s not as good a singer as Lucy Gray — is anyone? — and the idea of bein’ alone on stage makes him a little seasick.

Backstage, Tam Amber tunes his mandolin. He’s more restless than usual, anxiously twistin’ his ankles to make them click and crackin’ his limbs.

On stage, Barb Azure sings. Her voice is more delicate than Lucy Gray’s, more like a siren to her snake charmer. Old Man Thorn snores in his armchair. He says he don’t sleep right unless the gals are singin’.

Doughnuts.

One day, as Tam Amber is midway through a doughnut, he finally builds up the courage to ask, “can I have a solo? A proper one.”

Barb Azure looks at him, a little shocked, then perplexed. He’s never done a solo before. He’s never even asked. He knows he’s good, but has never quite had the confidence to ask.

To his surprise, Barb Azure nods, openin’ her notebook where she keeps everythin’ show-related written down, “’course. When? Only we have the sets for the next two weeks.”

“I don’t mind. It’ll take me a while to decide what to play.”

He’s not sure if he regrets it or not.

Welsh cakes.

He weighs out a handful of poems, strummin’ his mandolin by the lake and tryin’ to see which tunes fit where.

Cookies.

Tam Amber slides three coins across a stall. The stall owner smiles, handin’ over a sliver of a book. Collected Poems of Oscar Wilde . He holds it in his hands, delicately tracin’ his fingers over the leather. He was lucky to get it cheap; clever to barter on its price because the cover was beaten badly.

Blueberry muffins.

He holes up in the cabin by the lake, readin’ the book cover to cover several times before settlin’ on a poem.

Apple strudel.

In the Forest. It’s a short one — he doesn’t want to be on stage for too long — but it’s sweet and he likes it. In a way, it reminds him of Jessup.

Belgian buns.

Backstage, Tam Amber reads the short poem over and over again as if the words and tunes will change midway through and he’ll have to change it and restart. It doesn’t, of course.

As the songs pass by, as Tam Amber watches Jessup in the crowd, nerves givin’ way to excitement. He’s spent all of his time so nervous about performin’ — gettin’ it wrong — that he’s had no time for excitement.

Finally, his time comes. He chose a point midway through the set, too nervous to be either the openin’ or closin’ act. Barb Azure gives Tam Amber a firm pat on the shoulder before sendin’ him on stage.

He knows Jessup is in the audience. Towards the back with his pa and sister. As he walks onto stage, Jessup points him out. He’s never done this before but Tam Amber hasn’t done a solo before, either.

“Hey, y’all,” he says into the microphone, nervously fiddlin’ with his fingers. “Hope y’all don’t mind a quick solo.”

A few, drunken whoops from the audience. He finds it in himself to smile. Jessup, who was previously engrossed in a conversation with his pa, is now squarely focused on him.

The first notes of In the Forest play like his hands are workin’ independently from his mind.

Out of the mid-wood’s twilight,

Into the meadow’s dawn,

Dark limbed and brown-eyed,

Flashes my Faun!

He tries not to make it obvious he’s lookin’ at Jessup. Tries not to make it obvious he’s achin’ for Jessup to look at him like he does Lucy Gray.

He skips through the copses singin’,

And his shadow dances along,

And I know not which I should follow,

Shadow or song!

He’s not. 

Oh, God, he’s not.

O Hunter, snare me his shadow!

O Nightingale, catch me his strain!

Else moonstruck with music and madness

I track him in vain!

He joins the rest of the Covey backstage, ignorin’ any praise he gets. Only a few seconds pass before the rest of the Covey are onstage and he’s left with Maude Ivory. She’s too young to perform now, but she’s taken to a drum that was once her mother’s.

Tam Amber sprawls over a chair, mandolin at his side. Maybe he should’ve known. He muses on it, sadly flickin’ the pages in his book but never readin’.

A song passes; Lucy Gray has another solo. Barb Azure hauls her bass backstage, begrudgingly acceptin’ Old Man Thorn’s help.

She sits on the floor beside Tam Amber, pickin’ at a bowl of nuts and berries. She offers a small handful to him and says, in an almost sing-songy tone, “I know why you wanted the solo.” She picks the shell off a pistachio, “your dark limbed faun!”

He thinks, momentarily, about tellin’ her. But Old Man Thorn is too close for comfort and Tam Amber doesn’t want to give him any more reasons to dislike him. “It doesn’t matter, Babs. Drop it.” 

It doesn’t matter because it didn’t work. Or maybe it did work, just in a way he hadn’t wanted. 

“Maybe not,” Barb Azure says. “The crowd loved you, though. You’d be silly not to do another.” Tam Amber says nothin’, lazily pickin’ at the remains of some salted pistachios. “A couple of gals came up after, said they wished it was longer.”

She’s tryin’ to make him feel better, and maybe it’d work if it was simply a solo he thought he’d blundered.

Billy Taupe takes the stage for The Wild Rover, an accordion heavy song. In the brief intermission, Barb Azure adds, “and you should’ve seen how Jessup looked at you, Tamber.”

“I did,” he says bitterly, “I did see! You don’t have to point it out!”

Barb Azure blinks at him as if he’s just spat on her, “don’t be an ass, Tamber.”

Jessup sits with Tam Amber at lunch. A change. He normally sits with someone at lunch — never the same person, though. He seems to be content to be a loner people don’t mess with, who people sit with when their own friends are off. Content to be close to no one.

He ain’t angry at Jessup — he can’t bear the thought of it and, either way, last night ain’t his fault — so he lets him sit with him. Tam Amber thinks that, maybe deep down, Jessup is also longin’ for the companionship he is.

“My pa liked your singin’,” Jessup says, slidin’ a small paper bag across the table, “he made you this.”

He tentatively takes, but doesn’t open, the bag, bitin’ back the urge to ask if he liked his singin’, too. The Covey doesn’t often dedicate songs to people — not publicly, at least — but the solo had been as much Jessup’s as it was Tam Amber’s. He needs to know; whether it’s for his sanity or his vanity , he ain’t sure , but he needs to know . “ Did you?”

Jessup looks momentarily taken aback, “I loved it.”

Tam Amber feels himself lighten and loosen — only a small bit — as he remembers last night. He’d been too worked up, focusin’ on the fact Jessup had not looked at him like he had Lucy Gray. But that didn’t mean there was no fondness in his gaze.

There’s fondness in his gaze now.

The gift is a cheese bun about the size of his palm. “Thank you kindly.”

Jessup smiles, revealin’ a new gap in his teeth.

Barb Azure joins them, “Jessup! Thank you for the raspberry crowns, we all loved them.” She sets her bag on the floor beside them, a tiny doll head peekin’ out. Then she mellows, “you’ve done a lot for us, Jessup. Thank you kindly.”

Jessup’s skin deepens into a dark crimson, “you’re welcome. It’s all my pa, though, really. He loves you.”

Tam Amber smiles through his cheese bun. Jessup is cute. In some, not-so-delicate, faun-like way. He wants to hate him for it — for bein’ so sweet Tam Amber could get a damn cavity — but oh, no. No, he never could. As much as he wants to. As easy as it would make it all.

Jessup fiddles anxiously with the hem of his shirt. “I hope you don’t mind me here.” He smiles again. It’s his damn smile; always gappy, always a little lopsided.

After school, Tam Amber makes his way to the hob. Ideally, he should be savin’, but he’s spent all of his money on books recently. Today is no different. The book stall owner is familiar with him now, sometimes settin’ aside books he thinks Tam Amber would like.

“What’ll it be today, kiddo?”

He looks at the neatly arranged leather bound books. He looks at all the books they don’t have: Shakespeare, Duffy, Marlowe. Old, long dead poets don’t hold the legacy they once did, but who the Covey have the utmost respect for.

He decides to allow himself two, even though he really shouldn’t and should save up for somethin’ more worthwhile than a book that might be fuel for the fire by March.

Tam Amber carefully inspects two books: Duffy and Marlowe. They’re in a better state than Oscar Wilde had been. “How much for these two?” He asks, runnin’ a finger over one of the covers.

The bookseller shrugs and sniffs, “how much ya got?” Tam Amber pulls out two notes from his wallet, slidin’ them across the stand. The man inspects them. “All right. Take ’em and get gone.”

Tam Amber takes the books — Duffy and Marlowe — and thanks the stall owner.

Like so many days before, he doesn’t go straight home. He takes the two hour walk to the lake, holin’ himself up in the cabin for several hours to read the books, dog earin’ the pages with poems he thinks he could put to music on his mandolin.

Tam Amber stores the book under the floorboards — the only place he can have a small guarantee of its safety. Nothin’ precious will ever be safe under Old Man Thorn’s roof.

He returns after dark when a growl starts to claw at his stomach. Bookless and bored, he tries to make up his own tunes. He doesn’t have the same knack for it that Barb Azure does, but they’re good enough to pass the time.

Today would’ve been Ruth Alabaster’s birthday. Tam Amber picks out a poem, The Way My Mother Speaks, and the Covey puts it to music. They open with it, and — bein’ Ruth Alabaster’s only son — Tam Amber is the one to sing.

I say her phrases to myself

in my head

or under the shallows of my breath,

restful shapes movin’.

The day and ever. The day and ever.

He finds it in himself to smile, rememberin’ the warm, soft memories he seldom can.

He thinks of all the times he curled beside her in her arm chair. All the times she sung him to sleep. All the times he slept in her bed.

The train this slow evenin’

goes down District 12

browsin’ for the right sky,

too blue swapped for a cool grey.

For miles I have been sayin’

“What like is it?”

He thinks of Annabel Apple, a baby bunny he’d found on the side of the road, leg trapped in barbed wire. 

The way I say things when I think.

Nothin’ is silent. Nothin’ is not silent.

“What like is it?”

Ruth Alabaster had nursed her back to health, wrappin’ her leg in a bandage and feedin’ her lettuce.

Only tonight

I am happy and sad

like a child

who stood at the end of summer

and dipped a net

in a green, erotic pond. The day

and ever. The day and ever.

I am homesick, free, in love

with the way my mother speaks.

And so the openin’ act ends. It’s met with cheers from the audience. He can see the Diggs family, residin’ in the corner like they always do. And he can see Jessup, eyes filled with wonder and awe.

Maybe he smiles, or proudly turns to his pa and sister. Tam Amber doesn’t see, he unfocuses his eyes and stares at a spot ahead of him.

The music starts up again, markin’ the start of a slow song. Oh, My Darling Clementine.

Oh my darling, oh my darling,

Oh my darling, Clementine,

He sits backstage, mullin’ on the memories he has of Ruth Alabaster. They’re plentiful, locked away like jam jars. 

He balls his hands into fists, tryin’ to avoid cryin’ in the short time between the first and third sets.

It’s in vain, of course. Tam Amber can’t stop himself from cryin’ on a regular day, let alone on his mama’s birthday.

Dwelt a miner, forty-niner,

And his daughter, Clementine ,

The music ain’t helpin’ much, either. It was another of Ruth Alabaster’s favourites. One of the songs she’d sing to him whenever he’d had a nightmare and was too scared to sleep on his own.

You are lost and gone forever,

Dreadful sorry, Clementine.

Ultimately, his mind circles back to one memory of her: when they were bein’ rounded up and, in a moment of pure panic, Ruth Alabaster had been the first to resist it. All she had wanted was for the Covey to stick together — a want that, ultimately, cost her life.

After the song ends, Tam Amber all but storms off the stage, glad for the brief reprieve he’ll get.

He sits in a corner, readin’ a new book he bought the week just passed. He finally caved and bought the biggest, most expensive one: The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde.

“You best not be stealin’ those books, boy,” Old Man Thorn grunts, clickin’ his tongue.

He doesn’t look up or dignify Old Man Thorn with a response. Instead, he thinks of Clementine Saffron, his otherwise nameless twin the Covey never knew but held a funeral for.

A few more minutes pass in near silence, regret swellin’ in Tam Amber for actions he never could’ve taken.

Maybe it’s folly to believe, but sometimes he feels like guilt is just as much a part of him as his bones are. Guilt is the skin that stretches over his flesh. Guilt is the one thing that holds him together. Where it has destroyed others, it has built him; what would he be without it?

Cream puffs.

Tam Amber looks in the bag Jessup holds, filled with them. There’s enough for everyone to have at least two, “are you sure? Jessup, I—”

Jessup forces the bag into Tam Amber’s hands. “My pa got a raise, it’s okay.”

“A raise?” A small ribbon of pride runs through Tam Amber. If anyone deserves one, it’s Mr Diggs. Then a second thought — a thought he’s far less fond of — forms, “will you leave us?” He realises how stupid he sounds halfway through the sentence, “the Seam, that is.”

Jessup smiles gingerly, hands still firm over Tam Amber’s. “No. ’Course not.” He squeezes his hands, knowin’ what Tam Amber means even though he doesn’t want him to.

Tam Amber smiles. He can’t help it.

On Saturday, they get a long lie in. Or they do ordinarily. Today, their lie-in is interrupted by a shrill, sharp alarm. 

Maude Ivory and Lucy Gray come clamberin’ into Barb Azure’s bed, vainly coverin’ their ears.

“It’s for the miners,” Tam Amber says, “there’s been an accident.”

Barb Azure’s eyes widen as she breathes curses. This happened a few years back, when Mrs Verne was injured. Old Man Thorn had the misfortune of bein’ caught in the same accident, but was ‘lucky’ enough to only lose a couple of fingers. Now, they’re not so sure he’ll be lucky.

Tam Amber momentarily panics, swiftly and desperately tryin’ to conceive a plan. “I’ll see if Old Man Thorn’s one of the casualties, you tend to everyone.” He looks ask Maude Ivory, who’s coverin’ her ears in vain. She’s the only one who likes Old Man Thorn. “Ives, you come with me, ’kay? I won’t let you see any bodies.”

“Tamber, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

A few metres from them, CC and Billy Taupe rise. It’s a Clade gene to be a deep sleeper, awakin’ to nothin’ but their internal alarm. 

Billy Taupe is quicker to piece everythin’ together than CC is, yawnin’ and rubbin’ his eyes. “I’ll look after everyone,” he offers, “you and Tam Amber go.”

They push their way to the front; past men, women, and children, all desperate to see their loved ones. Jessup and his sister are at the front already — still in their pyjamas and dressin’ gowns — watchin’ as people are carried away in stretchers. They come out with bloody stumps for limbs, eyes hangin’ out of their heads, burns that render them unrecognisable.

Barb Azure swallows as a woman from the Seam is hauled out from the rubble, arms covered in pus-lined burns, groanin’ as she sees daylight. Another dead-eyed man, whose fingers dangle from his hand and jaw hangs open, is pulled out on a stretcher and swiftly covered up by a blanket.

Barb Azure winces at the sight, “do you see him, Tamber?” 

“No, not yet.”

She groans. Body after body is pulled from the mine entrance. In a moment, children are orphaned; people become widows; and families are torn apart.

“Leah, where’s Pa?” Jessup asks. His voice is so much smaller than it normally is as he clings to Leah, buryin’ his face in her shoulder even though he’s taller than her.

Leah’s eyes widen as a blanket falls from the body of a scraggly haired boy. His head desperately hangs onto his body by a few, string-like nerves. She swallows. Hard. “I dunno, Jessie.”

A guttural scream interrupts any focus Tam Amber had before. “Please! Please, no—” He looks behind him, watchin’ as a hysterical young man crumples into a heap in the snow. The man — boy, almost — keeps reachin’ out to the scraggly-haired boy, tryin’ to hold his head. “You can’t take him!” He’s tryin’ to hold the body now, chokin’ out a few words of a Covey song — a lover’s ballad — before his voice collapses into sobs and then whimpers.

Another three bodies, all in various states of dismemberment, stacked on a stretcher, are hauled out. 

Barb Azure’s hand finds his. She squeezes tight and hard until she leaves bloodless indents in his palm. He knows the action is more comfortin’ for him than it is her.

As more bodies are dragged out, as the death toll increases, he loses sight of the hope Old Man Thorn is alive. It’s a strange hope: he doesn’t like the man, but he’s the only reason why the Covey was able to stick together. The Covey stickin’ together is dependent on Old Man Thorn bein’ alive. Barb Azure knows this. Tam Amber knows this. And the Bairds would be permitted to stick together, as would the Clades.

And Tam Amber is neither — he’s a Kennedy, as Ruth Alabaster had been — so who does he end up with?

He sits in the snow, drawin’ his knees to his chest. Barb Azure joins him, pullin’ one of Old Man Thorn’s winter coats over the both of them. “Do you think Harvest is cold?” She asks, eyes wide with sincerity. Harvest, the doll Tam Amber spent months savin’ for, sits on Barb Azure’s knee.

Tam Amber indulges her because she’s seldom childish and he thinks she deserves to be, “did you bring her winter coat?”

Barb Azure nods, wrappin’ Harvest in the knitted coat.

“I think she’ll be ’kay, Babs.”

The smell of bodies clings inside his nose, and he starts to forget livin’ people once came out of the mines. By now, the crowd has almost entirely dispersed. Jessup leans on Leah, both now sittin’ and shiverin’ in the snow.

Barb Azure slumps on Tam Amber, asleep with Harvest tucked in her coat pocket.

One peacekeeper calls to another, “there’s still a couple in here!”

“Alive?” Calls out the other peacekeeper.

“Alive!”

Leah sits up, eyes wide and re-energised. “Jessie,” she gives him a gentle shake to wake him up, “Jessie, Pa’s alive!” Jessup’s eyes snap open.

If Mr Diggs is alive, maybe Old Man Thorn is, too. If Old Man Thorn is alive, the Covey can stick together.

Mr Diggs is brought out on a stretcher, heavin’ up his lungs. Jessup runs to him, “Pa!” Leah holds him back. One of his legs has been completely blown off; the other is badly wounded and might need amputation.

Old Man Thorn follows, resistin’ aid from a young female peacekeeper. He has a new cough and is caked in coal dust, but he’s intact. Tam Amber floods with relief.

At the end of the next Covey show, Tam Amber notices the Diggs’ absence. He can’t help it; he’s trained himself to look for them — for Jessup — now. 

Their absence makes sense, he thinks as Maude Ivory and CC come around with a bucket. What with Mr Diggs bedbound and Leah left to head the household, they ain’t got time for luxuries like performances. It’s a shame; Tam Amber can’t help but miss the awe Jessup looked at them with.

“I ain’t doin’ that,” Barb Azure snaps.

She and Old Man Thorn are the only ones not yet in bed. Maybe they don’t realise that they can be heard. Or maybe they do and just think everyone’s asleep.

“Well I ain’t workin’ in the mines again! Not when they plant fuckin’ bombs for us!”

“Fuck you!” shouts back Barb Azure, “fuck you! You take in six fuckin’ children and you do fuck all to care for them. You won’t even get off your ass—”

Her rant is cut short by a hard, fleshy thump and bones clatterin’ on the ground. From his lofted bed, he can hear Barb Azure sniffle softly.

“If I refused ya, none of yas woulda seen each other again. I can still get rid of ya, you’re forgettin’ that.”

Tam Amber freezes. He ain’t wrong. Them stayin’ together depends entirely on two things: if Old Man Thorn is alive, and if Old Man Thorn wants them still.

Barb Azure doesn’t often cry — it’s one of many things she pointedly avoids — so he’s not surprised when the snifflin’ stops abruptly or when Barb Azure wordlessly climbs into bed with him, puttin’ her head on his shoulder with Harvest over his chest. “I love you, Tamber,” is all she can muster in her shaky, sleep-laden voice. “Go on to sleep now.”

Their teacher looks at them, wide-eyed, as they enter the classroom. Tam Amber did his best to wipe the crusted blood from her nose — a job Old Man Thorn had initially tried his hand at, but she kept slinkin’ away from him — but nothin’ could be done about the formin’ black eye.

“I hit myself with my bass,” Barb Azure says. She doesn’t talk much — ever, really — in class, so their teacher doesn’t notice the bitterness she says it with. The bitterness that, to Tam Amber, makes it obvious she’s lyin’.

It happens again at lunch when a pasty-faced dinner lady who serves them gruel asks what happened. She says the same thing.

“Is that really what you’re goin’ with, Babs?” Tam Amber teases. It’s an ultimately feeble attempt to make light of it; one that seems to wound Barb Azure more than it does help her. “Sorry.”

“I like livin’ with you, Tamber,” she says, her voice toein’ the line of bitterness and sincerity. He remembers the implicit threat Old Man Thorn made. “Mrs Tate wants us to give Jessup catchup work, by the way.”

“’Kay,” says Tam Amber.

For a while now, the Diggs don’t seem to have left the house. He remembers seein’ the long list of casualties in the paper, relieved to see Jeremiah Diggs was absent.

The Diggs family live in one of the first houses in the Seam. Barb Azure knocks on the door, fiddlin’ anxiously with the small stack of papers Mrs Tate gave her.

Leah, a sylphlike yet muscular woman with dark skin and eyes and thick, coarse hair, opens the door. She manages a weak smile, “are you Jessie’s friends?”

“Of a sort,” Barb Azure says, handin’ over the papers. “Mrs Tate wanted us to give him the catchup work.”

“I see,” she says brightly. “Come on in. Jessie’s in the side room with Pa. I’ll gather some snow for your eye, Barb Azure.”

Mr Diggs helplessly lies on a mattress, a small stack of blankets atop him. His breath is laboured. 

A half-empty glass of milk sits on a bedside table beside a small pile of tissues and wet rags. Jessup sits on a wooden stool beside the makeshift bed, massagin’ his pa’s fingers.

“Jessup?”

“Oh! Hey!” He gently gets up, tryin’ not to wake his pa and takin’ the glass of milk from the side table. “I wasn’t expectin’ you to show up.”

“Well, we missed you,” Tam Amber says without thinkin’. He did, at least. He can’t imagine not missin’ him.

“I missed you, too.” He smiles. It’s always the same smile.

It’s easier when they ain’t in the Hob, when Lucy Gray ain’t singin’ and there’s no place to wonder why he’s so bewitched by her.

Leah returns, handin’ Barb Azure a fat bag of snow. She doesn’t ask what happened; in fact, no one does.

“Do y’all like tea?” Leah asks, “I was ’boutta make some.”

“Oh, please. If you wouldn’t mind,” Barb Azure says, still holdin’ the bag of snow over her bad eye.

“’Course not, I won’t be too long.”

Leah disappears into the kitchen, flickin’ on a kettle.

The Diggs’ household is not too dissimilar to Old Man Thorn’s. They have a lofted area for sleep with two, small separate rooms. One they use as a kitchen; the other is now Mr Diggs’ room.

A photo of a woman who looks like Leah and Jessup sits on the mantelpiece, pride of place. A few other, seemingly less important, things are arranged neatly along the mantel. 

“My ma,” Jessup says, acceptin’ the tea Leah offers. “She died of miner’s lung a few years back.”

Tam Amber notices Leah wincin’ slightly as he says it, but swiftly pulls herself back together and says she’ll tend to Pa.

“How’s your dad?” Tam Amber asks, “I saw him after everythin’ and he didn’t look well.”

He thinks of the grim faced healers he’s seen come in and out of the Diggs’ house.

“He ain’t… doin’ well,” Jessup says grimly. “Lipp’s payin’ for his medical treatment, though. He keeps claimin’ 12 is indebted to him and his heroism. Gave Leah a medal, too,” he indicates to the mantel, where — alongside the picture of Leah and Jessup’s ma — a gold medal of valour engraved with Jeremiah Diggs’ name sits.

“How do I look?” Barb Azure asks. She’s in one of her better dresses — a purple skirt with a blue, puff-sleeved top — and blue ribbons carefully woven into her dark hair. She’s never cared about her appearance before.

“Like Snow White!” Lucy Gray hugs her, placin’ her head on Barb Azure’s chest.

Maude Ivory joins the hug — she’s always one to — lookin’ up at her, wide-eyed and askin’, “where’re you goin’, Mama?”

“That’s for me to know,” Barb Azure says, peelin’ away from the hug to get her coat on. She’s never been particularly affectionate, avoidin’ even small touches that are the signature of the Covey, “and for you to never find out.”

She leaves as the sun sets, whisked into the night.

“When will Babs be back?” Lucy Gray asks as soon as the door closes, tuggin’ Tam Amber’s sleeve, “where’s she gone?”

He forms a brief image of Barb Azure dead in a ditch, or meetin’ the wrong end of a peacekeeper’s gun. “I don’t know, Lu,” he says, “you and Ives get to bed and I’ll read your story to you, ’kay?”

Lucy Gray pouts, battin’ her eyelashes in the way she does when she’s tryin’ to buy a few extra minutes before bedtime. It works — only because it’s a Friday and there ain’t school to worry about.

The door creaks open, startlin’ Tam Amber awake. Barb Azure’s shadowy figure hangs up her coat and neatly places her shoes by the door.

“Babs?”

“You should be asleep.”

“I was. You woke me.”

In the low, midnight light, Barb Azure’s dark eyes widen like a deer in a snare. “I didn’t mean to.”

Old Man Thorn is asleep, snorin’ away in his armchair. Lucy Gray tosses and turns, eventually findin’ and holdin’ onto Maude Ivory. Billy Taupe and CC share a bed to ward off nightmares.

“I’mma light sleeper, Babs. Always have been.”

Barb Azure rubs her palms over the skirt of her dress, “I can’t wear this again.” It’s a nice dress. The first and only vanity she’s indulged herself in since they were rounded up. “Can we sit in the garden?”

“’Course.” As quietly as he can, Tam Amber picks out a couple of fold-up lawn chairs while Barb Azure gets cushions.

Spring comes.

Tam Amber still passes work between Jessup and Mrs Tate on Mondays and Fridays. They’re joyous little errands; the only parts of his week he can truly say he looks forward to.

He fiddles with the small stack of papers Mrs Tate has once again given him to give to Jessup. It’s their new routine, and, for now at least, the only time they see each other.

It’s the only part of the week Tam Amber can say he looks forward to.

He knocks on the door again, tryin’ to peek in the windows to see Jessup. Instead, He sees Mr Diggs — an older, harder featured, and more world-weary form of Jessup — haulin’ himself out of his armchair.

He tries to imagine Jessup when he’s older. He looks like his father. His hair is peppered with grey streaks and somethin’ in his eyes has changed but he still has the same smile. Tam Amber can’t imagine him without it. There’s somethin’ about him that will always be recognisable.

“Jessup ain’t in,” Mr Diggs says apologetically.

“Oh. Can I leave these with you, then?”

“Sure,” Mr Diggs looks over the papers he’s handed, “I don’t think he’ll be doin’ much of it, though. He’s been so exhausted after work, ya see.”

“Work?” Tam Amber swallows. “Ain’t he comin’ back to school?” 12 ain’t exactly strict on its child labour, but the thought of Jessup in the mines — so soon after his pa’s accident — makes him nauseous. What if he’s caught in an explosion; what if he’s less fortunate than his pa?

“Nah, this is his last week enrolled,” Mr Diggs says grimly, “shame.” Tam Amber solemnly nods, unsure of what to say. Mr Diggs then adds, “he was a good student.”

He says it like Jessup is dead. “Thank you, Mr Diggs.”

Tam Amber misses seein’ Jessup at the Hob. He didn’t think he would, or maybe he didn’t want to think about it, or maybe he hadn’t realised he would until he knew Jessup ain’t comin’ back to school.

What if Tam Amber never sees him again? The thought sickens him. But 12 is a small district, seein’ each other — even if only in passin’ — is as inevitable as the sunrise and sunset.

Maybe Jessup is simply the only part of his life that doesn’t make him feel helpless. Or, the only part of his life that didn’t make him feel helpless.

As they pack up their instruments backstage, Barb Azure responds to a knock on the door like a trained dog. He only catches a glimpse of her caller — tall, important lookin’ — and none of their conversation. The door closes and she’s off.

“Where’s Mama gone?” Maude Ivory asks, eyes wide. 

She has no idea how naïve she is, and how privileged she is, to be able to ask. He can’t resent her for not knowin’ — she’s only three, after all — but jealousy swells in him, only for a moment, before he responds, “I don’t know, Ives.”

He does. He wishes he didn’t.

He stops off at Jessup’s before school to take the last of his schoolwork to Mrs Tate. Only Leah’s in and up. She smiles at him weakly, handin’ him the small wad of coal dust stained paper.

He holds the papers for a long time, tryin’ to muster the courage to talk to her more. Leah doesn’t close the door, perhaps anticipatin’ more from him.

“Will Jessup be ’kay?”

Leah’s gaze falters, only for a second. “I hope so,” she says, “he’s always exhausted after work but… he’ll get used to it, I s’pose.” 

“That’s the last of his work,” Mrs Tate says. “Bet you’re glad you ain’t gotta play messenger anymore.”

Tam Amber nods solemnly. If he ain’t seein’ Jessup at the Hob, and if he ain’t passin’ on work to and from school, he’s not sure when he’ll see Jessup again.

Tam Amber bites into a strawberry, sendin’ tiny veins of juice down his arm. He bought a tub of them, and is now hidin’ them from anyone who ain’t Barb Azure.

He passes one — the largest one in the tub — to her. “It’s Jessup’s birthday soon.”

Barb Azure rolls onto her stomach, seemingly indifferent, “hm? What’re you gettin’ him?”

“I thought watercolours. He likes paintin’,” he says, “I saved a little.”

Tam Amber remembers the art classes where Jessup had fawned over the dry and stale paints. He always did what he could with them, which was seldom a lot. But Tam Amber saw his sister waitin’ to pick him up, forever impressed with what he could do.

“There’s a shop in town,” Barb Azure says, pickin’ the strawberry seeds, “my mama used to take me to admire the paintin’s whenever we were in 12.” She’s made a point not to talk about her parents since they died, throwin’ herself into raisin’ Maude Ivory and Clerk Carmine instead of focusin’ on her own loss. “We should go, Tamber. I ain’t been in years.”

He might not see Jessup again after this. Not until next April, when he’s thirteen. 

Maybe his friend down the road will become as much a stranger as the rest of his neighbours.

Maybe next year he won’t know what to get him.

“Oh! Tam Amber! Come in, Jessie’s got a day off today,” Leah says, smilin’. “Can I be nosy?” Leah indicates to the neatly wrapped gift under Tam Amber’s arm. He nods, promptin’ Leah to whisper: “what’s the present?”

“Watercolours,” he whispers back, “I got them for Jessup.”

Leah’s eyes widen, “musta been expensive. Is there anythin’ I should know?” She’s pryin’.

“It’s his birthday…” he trails off, expectin’ Leah to make him the butt of her next joke.

Instead, she pulls a face and says, “no it ain’t.” She knocks on the side room door, “Jessie! Your boy’s here!” There’s a momentary commotion on the other side of the door, “Jessie’s birthday is July 5th.”

Jessup opens the door of the side room, breakin’ into a wide smile when he sees Tam Amber. His front tooth has finally come through. Jessup pulls him into a hug, seemingly without thought. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“’Course I’d see you,” Tam Amber says, “I got you somethin’.”

Jessup smiles again. Tam Amber almost misses the gap in his teeth. The gap in his teeth that meant they still had somethin’ left of boyhood. 

They are still boys.

Ain’t they?

He hands him the neatly wrapped gift to Jessup, who sits on one of the chairs, shakin’ with excitement. Twelfth birthdays ain’t often celebrated since the Reapin’. Neither Tam Amber’s nor Barb Azure’s were.

“For your birthday,” he feels dim sayin’ it now. “I know it ain’t.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember,” Jessup says, almost with a laugh, “so I told you a fake birthday. And you did. For three years.” Jessup’s eyes are shiny as he admires the watercolours, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Tam Amber doesn’t know what to get Jessup for his thirteenth birthday.

Or his fourteenth.

Or his fifteenth.

Chapter Text

“What’s this, Tamby?” asked Ruth Alabaster, crouchin’ in front of Tam Amber. Her knees clicked in retaliation, “can I see?”

He nodded, tentatively revealin’ the tiny white face of a malnourished kit in a baby blanket. “Babs and I found her,” he said, showin’ more of her. “She was out in the forest. Someone’d set up a trap.”

Ruth Alabaster frowned, lookin’ at the leg that’d been caught in barbed wire, “how cruel.” She ran a finger over the rabbit’s skin and bones, “you gonna keep her?”

“Can I?” His eyes went wide. “Can I really?”

Ruth Alabaster nodded. “I’ll see to her leg,” she took the rabbit in her arms, soothin’ her like one would a baby, “and you name her. How’s that sound, Tamby?”

Tam Amber still sees Jessup from time to time. A ghost down the road. He’ll see him in the swarm of miners on their way to work. His face — hardened but still faun-like and still Jessup — in a crowd of a hundred others.

That ain’t what he wants, though.

What Tam Amber wants builds inside of him like bricks in a wall.

He wonders if this feelin’ is mutual.

He wonders if it matters.

The first time Tam Amber kisses a boy he pretends it’s Jessup. But it’s a loveless kiss; more like a conquest than anythin’ else. He tastes like whiskey. His nails dig into his elbows.

He gives it another go, this time tryin’ to see the boy in front of him and not Jessup. It’s still rough, still feels like it’s an accomplishment that ain’t his. 

He pulls away early, tryin’ to catch his breath to breathe a name he’s forgotten. It comes out as a muttered curse. 

The taste of alcohol clings to his tongue and teeth.

“I— need to go now,” Tam Amber manages.

The other boy frowns, his grip loosenin’. Blood has pooled under his nails.

Is it normal to feel so violated by somethin’ he’d wanted?

Strawberry juice makes his fingers sticky as he counts the Covey’s earnin’s. Billy Taupe will hate him for eatin’ them all, he’s certain. But more will grow and it’s the only thing helpin’ rid Tam Amber of the boy and his vulgar, alcoholic taste.

What had he been thinkin’?

The Covey’s earnin’s are good this week. Almost twice more than normal.

He jots it all down in Barb Azure’s notebook, then wonders if he should add a little note of glee.

He doesn’t.

Good as the extra money is, he can’t say he takes much pride in it. He can see Barb Azure’s loopy handwritin’, addin’ in extra money here and there. There’s some from weddin’s; more from funerals. But, like always, Tam Amber’s eyes wander to the extra money with no note beside them.

The numbers make him sick to look at. The idea of people puttin’ a price on his sister makes him sick.

He closes the book with a hard thud, wipin’ the strawberry juice with a rag. Barb Azure will be back soon.

Today, they’re performin’ at a weddin’. A merchant couple; two women whose fathers invested wisely durin’ the First Rebellion.

He surveys the guests, lookin’ for any faces he may recognise. He doesn’t expect any, really, but it’s a force of habit. He takes comfort in what’s known to him, and ultimately his performances are better for it.

He sets up with the rest of the Covey, not expectin’ any familiar faces, then wonderin’ what food they’ll be allowed. There’s a tiered cake that they won’t be allowed any of, but there’s fruits and pastries they might be. Glass bottles of dandelion and burdock, elderflower, and red wine line the tables. Expensive stuff, but nothin’ he ain’t unfamiliar with.

“You’re starin’,” says Barb Azure, givin’ him a little nudge, “ain’t polite to stare.”

One of the brides — a tall, willowy blonde — smiles happily. “Oh, I don’t mind! You can have as much of it as you like; there’s more than enough to go around. None of that red wine stuff until after the wedding, though.”

Barb Azure manages to smile at the tease. Maude Ivory giggles. “We won’t, ma’am.”

The woman taps Maude Ivory’s nose, makin’ her giggle more. “And none for you at all, little missy.”

Maude Ivory pouts. Barb Azure smiles at the woman and says, “we’ll keep an eye on her, don’t worry. CC and Lu, too.”

“Oh, you’re an angel. Both of you are,” the woman gushes.

More guests pour in. Weddin’s in 12 ain’t typically this big, and the idea of performin’, for the first time, starts to make him feel sick. The Hob is familiar. The Hob is where he thrives.

“It’s just a weddin’, Tamber,” Barb Azure says, “we’ve done them before. You’ll be fine.”

He nods, surveying the scene now that the Covey has finished settin’ up. The photographer hunches over an old-timey camera propped on a tripod.

Then, finally, what appears to be a comfortin’ face. He’s settin’ up beside the photographer, a small palette of well cared for watercolours sits on a stool atop a familiar blue jacket.

“Jessup!” He approaches, tepid. Tepid like, in their years of not speakin’, Jessup has grown to hate him. What if it’s not Jessup? Is that better or worse? He repeats, “Jessup?”

He turns around to face him, face split by a familiar, comfortin’ smile. “Tam Amber?”

Without hesitation, Jessup throws his arms around Tam Amber, who rests his head on his shoulder. 

Maybe it ain’t quite a friend hug, but it can’t be anythin’ more, either.

It lasts longer than it should as they soak in each other.

Jessup smells fresher than Tam Amber thought a miner would, more like a field of fresh daffodils in the spring than a mineshaft. The kind that looks best by the lake, early in spring when the caterpillars have not yet made dinner out of them.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” 

“How has it been so long?” says Jessup, givin’ him a tight squeeze and an airy smile. “After the weddin’, we’ll catch up, okay? We’ve gotta.”

After the toastin’, the guests fill a long table while the hired staff gather around a separate table. They all help themselves to food and drink. As Billy Taupe tries to sneak Lucy Gray and CC red wine, Barb Azure shoots him a disapprovin’ look.

“You could do with some, y’know. Might make you loosen up a little,” Billy Taupe smirks.

Maude Ivory clambers onto a wounded Barb Azure’s lap. “Are you goin’ on to sleep now, Ives?” Barb Azure asks, strokin’ her hair.

Yawnin’, she nods. Barb Azure rubs her back, plantin’ a kiss on the top of her head.

“Is this seat taken?” Jessup uses a fork to point to the chair beside Tam Amber, his other hand occupied by a plate of food.

“No, no,” Tam Amber says. Not-so-secretly he’s thrilled, movin’ ever so slightly so Jessup has more room for himself. “All yours.”

“Thank you kindly.” Jessup sets his plate on the table. “I’m gonna get drinks. Y’all want anythin’?”

“The dandelion and burdock looks good.” Tam Amber smiles shyly. “if you don’t mind.”

“’Course not.” Jessup’s hand rests, quite naturally, on his shoulder. “Anythin’ else?”

Everyone else shakes their heads. He squeezes Tam Amber’s shoulder. He doesn’t dare linger on the touch as it fades, no matter how much he wants to.

Jessup returns, two glass bottles in hand. He sets one in front of Tam Amber and the other in front of his own seat.

“Thank you kindly,” he says, watchin’ as Jessup sits beside him. “So, how’ve things been?”

Jessup shrugs. “So-so.” He stabs at a meagre slab of meat. “Minin’ is all well and good. It’s very... grey. Dark. You know, sometimes, Tam Amber, you forget daylight exists.”

He can almost muster a laugh, “I can imagine. You have canaries, don’t you? They any good?”

“Hm,” says Jessup, “hm, yeah. Pretty things, but they’re very delicate. I swear we go through thousands.” He opens his mouth to say something, shakes his head, then says, “what about you?”

“Nothin’ much, to be honest with you,” Tam Amber admits, “12’s dull. I’m sure you know better than me, though.”

“Don’t be coy,” Jessup teases, “have you...” He pushes a small chunk of meat across his plate, “have you met anyone?”

Tam Amber almost laughs, shakin’ his head as he blows hot air into a napkin, “have you?”

Jessup shakes his head.

Tam Amber goes to bed thinkin’ about it. Maybe it’s a sign. His mama had believed in signs, more than anyone he’s ever known. She had wished on shootin’ stars, ladybugs, and white horses. Maybe he should try it again. He’d stopped after she died, knowin’ that he wanted one thing he’d never get.

He rolls onto his side, back turned to the rest of the Covey, and scans the night sky. It’s a clear night, stars specklin’ the sky. No shootin’ stars, though. Maybe tomorrow night, he thinks. And, if not then, the night after.

He turns away from the window, facin’ the row of other Covey children. Maude Ivory lies closest to him, wrapped in the arms of a teenage girl she calls mama.

“Maybe we could play dolls,” Barb Azure says, pickin’ out a ragdoll from a wicker basket. Since Maude Ivory grew big enough to scamper after CC, rough and tumble have been her preference. Lucy Gray grew out of wantin’ to play dolls, and now the only one that doesn’t sit in the wicker basket is Harvest.

“I want to go to the lake!” Maude Ivory declares after a beat of awkward silence. Everyone seems to prefer this idea.

“Ain’t it a bit cold?”

“We’ll be fine, Barb Azure,” Billy Taupe leisurely drawls, “you shouldn’t worry so much.”

“I don’t worry, I care!” She snaps back. “Maybe you should try it sometime, it’ll help you learn the difference!”

Billy Taupe smirks, seemin’ to gain a little kick from irritatin’ her. “You’re too old to play with dolls anyway.”

“Just go. Go to the lake.”

So they do. Tam Amber stays behind.

For a few seconds, Barb Azure sits, defeated, by the wicker basket. She inspects one doll that used to be Maude Ivory’s favourite. “Do you think I’m too old for dolls?”

She’s fifteen, and, to anyone else, the answer might seem obvious. “No, ’course not.”

He ain’t lyin’.

“Billy Taupe says I am.”

“What does he know?”

Barb Azure shrugs. He doesn’t seem to remember any of her sacrifices or anythin’ she’s protected him from. Maybe that’s a part of the problem; Billy Taupe is so used to sacrifice and protection, he doesn’t realise it’s the only reason Old Man Thorn lays off him. Sure, he might be the protector at school, but Barb Azure is the one who keeps them safe at home.

“I’m gonna see if Zinnia wants to play.”

Barb Azure likes Zinnia, the dollmaker’s daughter. Sometimes they spend hours at each other’s houses. He ain’t sure what they do, exactly, but she’s happier with her than she has been in a lifetime.

“I’m gonna have a quick nap, then.”

“What’s this, Lu?”

“A song,” Lucy Gray says, showin’ Barb Azure her notebook.

The ink on the last few verses is still fresh as she looks over it, occasionally noddin’ in approval. “Looks good.”

“Can I perform it?”

“Of course,” says Barb Azure, “we’ll find a tune for it and, hopefully soon, we can perform. Do you have anythin’ in mind?”

“Hey, y’all,” Lucy Gray says, smilin’ “we’re closin’ off tonight with a new song. For this, we encourage some boot stompin’.”

The crowd is receptive to dance numbers, happy to move for somethin’ that ain’t work.

You can’t take my past,

You can’t take my history,

You could take my pa,

But his name’s a mystery.

The Hob performances ain’t used to new songs, but this one seems to be a success even a verse in. Lucy Gray had insisted on singin’ it.

Nothin’ you can take was ever worth keepin’,

Oh, nothin’ you can take was ever worth keepin’,

They’d thought the song morbid before, and, to an extent, it still is. But it’s freein’. More freein’ than it is depressin’.

Tam Amber feels this freedom as he plays. He doesn’t pay attention to or care about the audience. An audience he, long ago, decided were hypocrites. Exiled by day; entertainment by night.

Thinkin’ you’re so fine,

Thinkin’ you can have mine,

Thinkin’ you’re in control,

Thinkin’ you’ll change me,

Maybe rearrange me,

Think again if that’s your goal.

Even he can’t resist movin’. It’s hard when the music they picked is so damn lively, when the audience is dancin’, too. The movement comes to him as naturally as breathin’.

It’s like the weddin’ all over again because, in a swarm of half-familiar faces he doesn’t care for, there’s one he does recognise. One he does care for. Towards the back, with his hardened sister and dishevelled pa, Jessup Diggs.

He recognises him in an instant. It’s hard not to.

Tam Amber smiles first. Or maybe Jessup does. In truth, it doesn’t matter: the events will unfold in the same way. They always have and they always will.

After the show, they get a drink. Proper ones: Jessup orders white liquor; Tam Amber a light beer.

“Won’t you be hungover tomorrow?”

“Won’t you?”

Tam Amber shrugs. “Ain’t got much to do.”

Jessup traces the rim of his bottle with his finger. “I don’t, either. Day off.”

He knows Jessup is askin’ for an invite, to whatever it is he’s doin’. “There’s a lake,” he says, “we’re goin’ tomorrow. I’m sure the rest of the Covey wouldn’t mind you comin’ with us.”

“Can’t swim,” Jessup commiserates. “Shame, I’d’ve loved to come with you.”

“Come anyway,” he takes a long swig of his beer, as if he couldn’t possibly say this with his wits about him, “I’ll teach you.”

Leah answers the door, hair in a hasty knot and a weary smile. “Jessie said you’d be coming!” She wraps him in a hug. “Come on in, he’s just getting ready.”

The household has seen a change in layout since he last saw it. Mr Diggs’ bedroom is now clearly the side room while the lofted area is divided in two.

Leah herself has changed, too. She’s older and thinner with little wisps of grey that slip out of the haphazard knot on her head.

“Been a while,” she says. “You should come over more; Jessie likes you.”

The birds are caught in a lullaby, hummin’ to pass the time as they migrate. Lucy Gray sings; Maude Ivory and Clerk Carmine scamper ahead, findin’ sticks to use as swords. Barb Azure tells them to be careful. Billy Taupe tells them to stop worryin’. Says she should loosen up a little.

“My feet hurt,” Maude Ivory announces halfway through the walk. She looks to Jessup, doe-eyed, “can you carry me?”

Jessup pauses, seemingly unsure if he’s allowed to. Barb Azure gives him a nod, helpin’ Maude Ivory clamber onto Jessup’s back. 

“Thank you kindly,” she says, puttin’ her head on his shoulder. “We’re halfway there now. Not too long now.”

Jessup shifts Maude Ivory — who’s already startin’ to nod off — on his back. “Tam Amber,” he whispers, “thanks for invitin’ me.”

“Anytime.”

“Hope you’re a good teacher,” he jokes.

“Just trust me, you’ll be fine.”

“I do trust you.”

“Let go of me, then.”

Jessup shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t.”

Tam Amber can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it as his toes graze the rocky bottom. “Your feet are touchin’ the bottom, Jessup.”

Tam Amber’s bare skin brushes against Jessup’s. It’s an odd sensation, alien in nature. But, instead of pullin’ away, Tam Amber pulls Jessup closer. And closer. And when they’re chest to chest, Tam Amber puts his head on Jessup’s shoulder, tracin’ circles on the defined blade.

“Do you want to stay here for a bit?” He asks. “Just so you can get a feel for the water.”

“That sounds good,” says Jessup. His grip does not loosen, but he seems to ease up ever so slightly. “That sounds good. I’d like to do that.”

They prune in the water.

“There’s a song I know,” he says. “My mama used to sing it to me. It might soothe you a little.”

“’Course there is,” Jessup allows himself a little smile, “go on then, canary. What’s the song?”

He rolls his eyes affectionately at the nickname. It’s hardly the worst thing he’s been called.

This summer I went swimmin’, 

This summer I might have drowned,

But I held my breath and I kicked my feet, 

And I moved my arms around.

I moved my arms around.

While the rest of the Covey are further into the lake, they stay near the pier. Tam Amber continues to sing quietly. The stray mockingjays in the sky don’t pick up on the tune. Good, Tam Amber thinks, it ain’t for them.

This summer I swam in the ocean,

And I swam in a swimmin’ pool,

Salt my wounds, chlorine my eyes,

I’m a self-destructive fool.

I’m a self-destructive fool.

“I like this,” Jessup remarks. “This is good.”

Jessup’s in the audience again, this time with his miner friends. They all look older than him — his pa’s age; maybe they’d been his friends first. 

An olive-skinned man has an arm around Jessup. Sometimes he appears to tease him, rufflin’ his hair.

Down in the valley the valley so low,

Hang your head over, hear the wind blow,

Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow,

Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

The olive-skinned man whispers somethin’ to Jessup. He laughs, noddin’. Tam Amber silently aches to know what they’re talkin’ about. He wants — almost needs — it to be him.

Roses love sunshine, violets love dew,

Angels in heaven know I love you,

His ears start to burn.

If you don’t love me, love whom you please.

Put your arms round me, give my heart ease,

Give my heart ease love, give my heart ease,

Put your arms round me, give my heart ease.

Maybe he’s tellin’ him about their lake trip; tellin’ him about how scared he was. The olive-skinned man lets out a hearty laugh, clappin’ Jessup on the back.

Write me a letter, send it by mail,

Send it in care of, the Birmingham Jail.

Birmingham Jail love, Birmingham Jail.

Send it in care of, the Birmingham Jail.

Whatever it is, he’s invested. More than he would be if Jessup was dronin’ on about work.

There’s always a few stragglers, mostly couples on first or second dates who don’t want their night to end yet. Tam Amber and Jessup ain’t out of place.

“We should go to the lake again,” Jessup says. “It was a good way to spend my only day off.”

“We can go again next Sunday.” Tam Amber says, “only it’ll be too cold to soon, so we’ll have to make the most of it.”

Tam Amber is a good teacher; Jessup is a better student. 

He lets Tam Amber guide him into deeper waters and doesn’t seem betrayed when his feet no longer graze the floor.

“District 7 has great lakes,” Jessup says one day. “My ma used to live near one of the biggest. She’d’ve loved this.”

He remembers the picture on the mantel, pride of place, more important than even Mr Diggs’ medal of valour.

“How’d she end up in 12?”

“Met my pa visitin’ family.” Jessup settles into a leisurely paddle, keepin’ his head above water. “What about your ma?”

“She took me here a lot,” Tam Amber says, “taught me how to swim here.”

He thinks about tellin’ Jessup the truth: that he has no ma or pa. That he never has. Why bring the mood down?

Tam Amber splashes water in Jessup’s face. Jessup yelps, splashin’ back in retaliation.

He finds himself worryin’ about Jessup durin’ the school day. At lunch, he wishes he could slip out to the mines, just to catch — to steal — a glimpse of Jessup.

“Babs, do you know if there’s any flower shops in town?” He asks, halfway through a plain cheese sandwich.

“Yeah. There’s one near the bakery,” she says. “Why?”

“I’ve had an idea.”

Jessup’s movements are still fear-lined. He still wants to hang around Tam Amber, but now he’s willing to follow him into the lake, no longer scared indigo by the premise of drownin’.

“You’re gettin’ the hang of it,” he says one day. “Quicker than I ever did.”

“You sure?”

“Incredibly.”

Jessup splashes in the water, tryin’ to keep up with Tam Amber. He can’t do nothin’ fancy just yet, but he can keep himself afloat. 

“What’s the song you sang? The first time we were here.”

This summer I did the backstroke, 

And you know that that’s not all, 

I did the breaststroke and the butterfly, 

And the old Australian crawl.

The old Australian crawl.

Jessup smiles, careful to keep his head above water as he wades closer to Tam Amber.

This summer I swam in a public place, 

And a reservoir, to boot,

At the latter I was informal.

At the former I wore my suit.

I wore my swimmin’ suit, yeah.

Jessup lies on a towel in the grass, Tam Amber plays with his hair, now cropped and close to his head.

“When’d you cut it?”

“My pa did,” says Jessup, “when I started minin’.”

“Shame.” He does his best to twist a curl around his finger. “I liked it long.”

“You don’t like it now?” Jessup makes a faux wounded expression, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“No, I do. I do.” Tam Amber’s skin flushes red. “I dunno, it just—” He diverts his attention to a blade of grass, “we should get goin’. The Covey’ll want us soon.”

Jessup seems disappointed.

“I’ve been wantin’ to ask, Jessup,” Tam Amber begins halfway through the walk back, “do you have a favourite flower?” 

He tries to seem nonchalant about it, as if it’s as mundane and meaningless as askin’ his favourite colour.

Jessup looks at him, appearin’ flummoxed at the question. “Never thought about it.” Then — perhaps upon seein’ the flicker of disappointment in Tam Amber’s eyes — he coolly adds, “I’ll pick one if it’ll make you happy.”

“It will,” he smiles, face suddenly hot.

“What’s yours?”

“Baby’s breath,” Tam Amber says. “My mama used to collect sprigs of them in the spring.”

Jessup smiles gently, lookin’ around for a flower that can be his favourite. Tam Amber focuses on that smile, how it lingers, and tries not to think too much about how he’s the cause of it.

“What are those?” Jessup uses a stick to point to a patch of vibrant flowers. “They’re colourful, I like them.”

“They’re wildflowers,” Tam Amber says. “There’s a patch outside our house that I sometimes tend to.”

“I think they’re my favourite. Not sure if I could pick just one.”

They linger outside Old Man Thorn’s house. 

Tam Amber fiddles with nothin’, “I have somethin’ for you, Jessup.”

He dips into the house, pickin’ up the better-lookin’ of the two green flowers on the counter. 

“Here, take this,” Tam Amber says after they’ve hauled their equipment to the Hob. He pins the flower to his lapel.

“Oh? What’s this for?”

“You’ll see.”

Jessup smiles gingerly, adjustin’ the flower so it’s straighter. “It’s pretty. What kinda flower is it?”

“Carnation.”

“Hey, y’all,” Tam Amber smiles. He hope it ain’t obvious that he’s so nervous he could be sick, or that, as he’s on stage and avoidin’ eye contact, regret is startin’ to seep in.  “Now, I know I don’t sing normally, and I hope y’all don’t mind. This is for a boy.” He catches Jessup’s eye and smiles. He’s with his coworker again — Yorke — who seems to catch on quicker than he does. “I love you.”

Come live with me and be my love, 

And we will all the pleasures prove, 

That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields, 

Woods, or steepy mountain yields. 

And we will sit upon the Rocks, 

Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks, 

By shallow Rivers to whose falls 

Melodious birds sing Madrigals.

Jessup’s dark eyes are wide and starry. He still has the green carnation pinned to his lapel, now matchin’ with Tam Amber.

And I will make thee beds of Wildflowers 

And a thousand fragrant posies, 

A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 

Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle; 

A gown made of the finest wool 

Which from our pretty Lambs we pull; 

Fair lined slippers for the cold, 

With buckles of the purest gold;

It’s a slow song; it warrants a slow dance. Deep down, Tam Amber wishes he wasn’t the one on stage.

A belt of straw and Ivy buds, 

With Coral clasps and Amber studs: 

And if these pleasures may thee move, 

Come live with me, and be my love.

He wants to steal more moments — more seconds — with Jessup. He can after the show; an extra hour at the Hob before they need to sleep because Jessup has work and Tam Amber school, but that will never be enough. And in his heart of hearts, he knows no amount of time will be enough.

The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing 

For thy delight each May-morning: 

If these delights thy mind may move, 

Then live with me, and be my love.

He’s off stage for the next two performances; a ten minute reprieve — ten minutes to steal with Jessup.

They’d had the same thought of meetin’ each other outside. It’s more private than backstage, where Old Man Thorn smokes and snores.

“I love you, too.” Jessup hugs Tam Amber. Tightly, like some force will take him if he ain’t careful. “You’re shakin’,” he laughs, “were you nervous?”

“A bit. I thought you’d hate it or somethin’.”

“I loved it.” Jessup says, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They stay outside for a while, unsure of what to say in each other’s company. 

’Friend’ is an easy label. He thinks he’s had friends. What was Jessup if not a friend? He knows he’s never had a boyfriend.

Tam Amber leans against the fence, admirin’ the stars as they speckle the ink-like sky. He thinks back to the time his mama told him that the dead ain’t dead. That they live on in the stars. 

“When I die, Tamby, I’m going to be that one,” she had told him, pointin’ to a small yellow-tinged star.

“You’re not goin’ to die, Mama.”

She couldn’t die because then he’d be on his own.

“No, of course not,” Ruth Alabaster had said, kissin’ the top of his head, “silly me.”

If only for a moment, Tam Amber thought she’d live forever.

He looks for the one she said was her, small and yellow-tinged. “Which one’s your mama?”

Jessup, who’s been leanin’ against the Hob wall, pulls away, surprised. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Haven’t you?”

“No — not sure if it’s our thing in 12 — but I’ll bite,” Jessup throws his arm around Tam Amber, a pensive look on his face as he tries to figure out which star screams Lydia Diggs. “That one.” He points to one in the centre of a large constellation Tam Amber doesn’t recognise, “my ma was a Pisces.”

“There’s a little café in town,” says Jessup, takin’ a couple of strawberries from a bowl between them. “Could go there.”

They’ve quickly learnt that there’s very little for them to do in 12. With their conflictin’ schedules, there’s even less. 

After some hagglin’, Leah was nice enough to let Jessup stay the night at Old Man Thorn’s. That’s another eight-ish hours Tam Amber gets with him. 

“I’d like that,” he says, countin’ up the last of the earnin’s. “Sunday?”

“Of course.”

Bein’ the breadwinner of the family, Jessup can’t afford time off. Twelve hour shifts have been the norm for him since before he was a teenager.

“Do you think you’d go back to school? If you could?”

Jessup looks up, bewildered. “I don’t think so. More people like me at work.”

“I always liked you.”

Jessup smiles, tiltin’ his head to one side, his dark eyes soften. Tam Amber reddens. Jessup has a way of lookin’ at people, carefully, as if he’s trying to memorise them. An artist studyin’ his muse with all the love in the world. Like he — Tam Amber Kennedy, precious to no one — is more meaningful than anythin’ else in the world. He anxiously clicks his knuckles. 

“Here,” Jessup takes his hand, “let me. My pa has awful joints. The medics recommended all of these fancy massage techniques. Might work on you.”

Tam Amber can feel his heart race at the gesture. Jessup’s fancy massage techniques work on his achin’ joints, better than any oil or home remedy Old Man Thorn begrudgingly recommended.

When he’s done, Jessup kisses his knuckles. It’s a gentle motion, one that makes him almost laugh with how ticklish it is.

A smatterin’ of kisses that eventually land on Tam Amber’s lips. His eyes flutter open, smilin’ against the kiss before he sinks into it. Sleep-laden. Honeyed. Jessup brushes some of Tam Amber’s hair out of his face, sunlight splatterin’ his own. And for the first time, Tam Amber belongs. 

Jessup is his and he is Jessup’s.

Tam Amber is his and he is Tam Amber’s.

Jessup pulls away first, causin’ Tam Amber to whine, feeble in his attempt to pull him closer. He wants him close. Needs him close. “Please, Jessup,” he breathes, “please.”

“I need to go, canary.”

“I don’t want you to,” complains Tam Amber, “that ain’t fair.”

Jessup rolls his eyes affectionately, pullin’ him in for another pepperin’ of kisses, more deliberate than the first round had been. 

He pulls away again. His mouth hovers just out of reach; when Tam Amber pushes up onto his elbows to chase him, Jessup pulls away with a self-satisfied grin.

“Don’t be mean,” Tam Amber pouts, fingers slippin’ through the holes in Jessup’s sleep shirt.

“Quit your whinin’. I’ll see you after work, okay? Promise.”

Jessup slips away, sneakin’ out of the house as Tam Amber reaches into the empty spot he left.

“You’re restless today,” Mrs Smeed says, “more restless than usual. Somethin’ the matter?”

“Nothin’, Miss.”

“Maybe take a moment outside?” She touches his shoulder. “Fresh air might calm ya.”

Tam Amber glances at the empty spot where he can imagine Jessup as he leaves the classroom. 

In the mornin’, he’d had all the light in the world beside him. And now that light is stuck in some mine shaft, the same one that’s blown off his pa’s legs and killed hundreds of others. How is he meant to calm down?

Jessup has Yorke to watch over him and he’s been doin’ a good job since he was twelve. But if it came down to it, if there was another explosion, would he prioritise Jessup’s life over his own?

Tam Amber’s eyes prickle with tears, saltwater fallin’ against his cheeks. He curses this stupid district and the stupid mines for disablin’ Mr Diggs, for makin’ the family depend on Jessup.

He can’t go back in. He’ll go to the Diggs’, other people who love Jessup as much as he does.

Tam Amber knocks on the Diggs’ door, hopin’ it ain’t obvious he’s been cryin’. 

Leah greets him, a surprised smile formin’ before she purses her lips. “Ain’t it school hours for you?”

“Teacher let me out early.”

It ain’t technically a lie. Technically.

Leah nods, “come on in, then, dear. I was just making some tea. Would you like some?”

“Please.”

He sits on one of their beaten down armchairs, lookin’ at the decorated mantel. The picture of Lydia, pride of place, beside Mr Diggs’ medal. It could feed the Diggs for weeks — months, maybe; he can’t understand why they haven’t sold it. He’s never taken them for the vain type.

There’s a shelf above the mantel with a row of glass butterflies that have seen better days. One’s wing is broken and another’s antenna cuts off at an angle while several are chipped. The centrepiece, a vibrant purple butterfly, is in near perfect condition. 

“Do you take sugar?” Leah calls out.

“No, thank you.”

Leah serves him the tea in a floral porcelain mug, one of the finer things Tam Amber’s seen. She sits across from him, sippin’ from a mug with a tiny chip in the rim.

“Jessie told me about your song last night,” she’s makin’ a face, head tilted to one side in the same way Jessup does, “it was sweet.” She traces the rim of her teacup with her finger, eyes pannin’ to a flower pressin’ kit on a wooden table. “Take good care of him, okay? He’s a sweet kid, a good kid, and I don’t want to see him hurt again.”

“’Course I will,” Tam Amber promises.

Leah smiles. “And don’t ever let him make you think he ain’t delicate.”

Jessup Jeremiah Diggs: a delicate protector at his core. Maybe he’ll get a medal of valour like his pa, Tam Amber thinks.

“I wasn’t dismissed early,” he confesses after a pregnant pause. “I couldn’t... concentrate knowin’ Jessup was in the mines.”

“Yorke’s a good’un. Our Jessie’s in safe hands,” she says plainly, “and you get used to it. You know he’ll come back safe at the end of his shift.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Pa and I can’t afford to think otherwise.”

After Leah starts to tend to Mr Diggs, Tam Amber returns to Old Man Thorn’s empty house. He curls up in his bed, exhausted from nothin’ much at all, and buries his face in BonBon, a fat stuffed rabbit Barb Azure bought for him years ago. Jessup’s scent still clings to it. Or maybe he’s imaginin’ it. It doesn’t matter: he falls asleep regardless.

A pillow thrown in his face wakes him up.

“Leave me alone, Ives,” he groans, turnin’ away from her, “give me five more minutes, ’kay? I’ll do whatever you want after that.”

She throws a second pillow. “You asshole, Tam Amber!” Barb Azure chokes out. “You scared the shit out of me!” She throws a third for good measure.

“All right, all right. I’m up!” He props himself up by the elbows, wipin’ the crust from his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought somethin’ happened to you, Tamby,” she blubbers. “You just left school, and I... I...”

Tam Amber opens his arms and Barb Azure crawls into them like she used to with her own parents when she was little. He’s half inclined to rock her like they used to, but he knows she’d loathe bein’ babied in such a way, especially when she’s already curled and cryin’ in his arms.

“I thought somethin’ happened,” Barb Azure sniffs, wipin’ her eyes, “someone took you or... or...” She takes a deep breath. “You’re my best friend, Tamby, I wouldn’t forgive myself if anythin’ happened to you.”

She’s called him a lot of things — her twin, her baby brother — but never friend, let alone best friend. She is his best friend.

“I’m sorry, Babs,” Tam Amber rubs her arm as she sobs, “I really am.”

Tam Amber picks up Maude Ivory, CC, Lucy Gray, and Billy Taupe from school, an apology for frightenin’ Barb Azure as much as he did.

“Where’s Mama?” Maude Ivory asks, holdin’ Tam Amber’s hand.

“She just wanted some time to herself, Ives,” he explains. “She had a good fright today.”

“Will she be okay?” Lucy Gray pipes up.

“I think so.”

After dinner, a knock. Tam Amber all but jumps out of his seat, glad to be up and movin’ in spite of his exhaustion. The door reveals a wet, shakin’ boy.

“Jessup!” He hugs him, buryin’ his face in his shoulder. “Jessup, I’m glad you’re safe.”

Jessup weaves his hand into Tam Amber’s hair. “Leah told me you were worried,” he says quietly. “You don’t need to be.”

“I know, I know. I panicked,” he murmurs. “I just don’t want to think about you like that.”

“You’re sweet.” Jessup kisses his cheek, squeezin’ Tam Amber tighter. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He’s gotten changed since finishin’ work. Tam Amber runs his thumb over Jessup’s collar. 

“The wildflowers look nice.”

“I started tendin’ to them more.” He wants to say somethin’ about how rewardin’ it is. But it ain’t. Yet. Instead, he asks: “You got time for tea?”

“No,” says Jessup ruthfully. “I will tomorrow, though. Same time?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.” 

Jessup squeezes Tam Amber’s hands, tracin’ the lines and lookin’ for the smile in his eyes as it tickles. Another tight hug. Another quiet I love you.

He goes to bed after Jessup leaves. Tam Amber is still exhausted and wants to savour what time he can get alone in such a crowded household. Jessup’s scent no longer lingers on BonBon. Maybe next time he’ll find a way to soak her in it.

Autumn unfolds around them. They sit atop a chequered picnic blanket, heart-shaped hamper between them. Tam Amber unpacks jam sandwiches and glasses of pink lemonade and ginger ale.

“I bought you somethin’,” Jessup says. There’s a shadow of a grin on his face. 

Tam Amber’s own face colours. “A gift?” 

Jessup nods. He gets gifts for his birthday. Today ain’t his birthday. His birthday ain’t for another three months.

Jessup’s hand dips into his pocket, revealin’ a silver rabbit brooch — or maybe it’s a hare — with a golden moon and stars specklin’ it. 

“I just saw it in the Hob and thought of you,” he bashfully smiles.

Tam Amber moves closer to Jessup, allowin’ him to pin the brooch to his thin blouse. His breath hitches at the motion. He watches Jessup’s hands, admires even the grazes and scratches from his years in the mines. It’s hard not to.

“I had a rabbit,” Tam Amber says, “Annabel Apple.”

He thinks back to the little kit, trapped in barbed wire. His mama had healed her, as was in her nature, and let him keep her.

“I remember you mentionin’,” Jessup says.

He’s mentioned her once to Jessup, when Old Man Thorn had turned her into pie and he was inconsolable for days after.

He shakes his head, tryin’ to rid himself of the horrid memory, already desperate to change the subject.

“I got you somethin’ too,” Tam Amber says shyly. “Not got, exactly, but I prepared it for you.”

“Oh?” Jessup’s eyes widen as he opens a bottle of ginger ale for Tam Amber and pink lemonade for himself. “Birdie, you didn’t have to.”

“You got me somethin’.” He pushes a plastic tray of the last summer strawberries closer to him. “It’s only fair.”

Jessup takes a strawberry, rollin’ his eyes with affection. “I suppose.”

“Oh, well now that I have your permission.” He adjusts himself so he’s comfortable, mandolin in his lap. “I’ll start.”

As often-times the too resplendent sun

Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon

Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won

A single ballad from the nightingale,

So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,

And all my sweetest singing out of tune.

Jessup’s eyes light up a little, autumn sun highlighting every colour in them and the small dusting of freckles he doesn’t see normally.

And as at dawn across the level mead

On wings impetuous some wind will come,

And with its too harsh kisses break the reed

Which was its only instrument of song,

So my too stormy passions work me wrong,

And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.

The gentle breeze cools them. The sun shimmers on the lake. 

But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show

Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;

Else it were better we should part, and go,

Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,

And I to nurse the barren memory

Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung

Tam Amber hopes he finds Jessup in every life.

“Zinnia asked me on a date,” Barb Azure says, watery-eyed. “I said no.”

“I thought you liked her.”

“I do,” she chokes, “I do, I just... I just know she’d hate me.” Tam Amber lets her sprawl over his bed. She squeezes Harvest tightly.

“Zinnia looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars,” Tam Amber attempts to soothe. “She does love you, Babs.”

“But she shouldn’t,” she wails, “and she wouldn’t, either, if she knew me.” She turns to face him, nose red. “She looked so sad. I didn’t know how to tell her it was for the better.”

“Oh, Babs...”

He rubs her back gently, wordlessly lettin’ her sob. She thinks she’s the most awful, dirty person alive, and there’s nothin’ he can do to convince her otherwise.

Maude Ivory clambers out of bed, tiptoein’ over to them, “what’s wrong, Mama?”

“Oh, it’s nothin’, Ives. Don’t worry about it, okay?” Barb Azure sits up. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I had a bad dream.”

“I see,” she squeezes Tam Amber’s hand. “Do you want me to sleep in your bed or do you want to sleep in mine?”

“Yours.”

“Come on, then.”

Tam Amber lies on his bed, face turned to the window as he looks at the twinklin’ night sky. In his half asleep state, he can hear Barb Azure’s gentle voice singin’ both him and Maude Ivory to sleep:

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,

Smiles await you when you rise.

Sleep,

Pretty baby,

Do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby.

It’s one of Maude Ivory’s favourites, one she’s had sung to her since she was a baby. Pretty soon, she falls asleep, snorin’ gently against Barb Azure’s chest.

Cares you don’t know,

Therefore sleep,

While over you a watch I’ll keep.

Sleep,

Pretty darling,

Do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby.

“Hey, y’all,” Tam Amber smiles, “uh. I’m not great at these things, but you know who you are. I love you.”

Devourin’ time, blunt thou the lion’s paws,

And make the earth devour her own sweet brood

Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,

And burn the long-liv’d Phoenix in her blood;

He looks for Jessup in the crowd, instinctively. He’s with Yorke again, the one Leah said was a good’un. 

Jessup’s eyes are alight, shinin’ with all the admiration in him. And there’s a lot. More than even he’d known.

Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,

And do whate’er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,

To the wide world and all her fading sweets;

But I forbid thee one more heinous crime:

O, carve not with thy hours my love’s fair brow,

He smiles gingerly, cheeks hot and surely flushed. And in the audience, Jessup smiles back, cheeks crimson and earthen eyes wide.

Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen!

Him in thy course untainted do allow

For beauty’s pattern to succeeding men.

Yet do thy worst, old Time! Despite thy wrong

My love shall in my verse ever live young.

“Avon!” A woman calls out. There’s a man close behind her, carefully balancin’ a baby on his hip, with dark skin and eyes and curly hair. And for a split second, Tam Amber thinks the baby could be him.

His heart sinks to the earth’s core, grateful only for the fact she had the alleged decency to wait until the performance was over. But that doesn’t help much. It doesn’t do anythin’, really. 

She’s still crashed the show and everyone knows she has. She’s still his mother, comin’ to reclaim him. A decade and a half on.

“We should go outside,” Tam Amber manages, lookin’ down at her from his position onstage. “I’ve got ten minutes.”

“Avon,” the woman hugs him. It ain’t received, “your father and I... we’ve been lookin’ for you everywhere. We’ve missed you so much.”

The man with a baby on his hip emerges. The baby is asleep now, head lollin’ on his shoulder. Tam Amber can’t help but feel ambushed. He’s wanted to know them, his parents, his entire life. 

But now that they’re standin’ in front of him, metres from where they left him and his sister in a cardboard box a decade and a half ago, he thinks he ought to hate them.

“Are you goin’ to leave her, too?”

Tam Amber doesn’t want to cry any more over them, strangers who’ve abandoned him, but his eyes burn viciously.

A baby. Six months. Like he was. He ain’t sure who looks more taken aback. He ain’t sure why they’re taken aback. That’s what they did, ain’t it?

It feels like the minutes have slugged into hours by now, silence filled by cicadas’ song.

Finally, the man speaks, “you have to understand, we didn’t want to, Avon.”

Avon is a strange name. It doesn’t register as his. As the only thing that could’ve tied him to the Covey, he’d always loved his name. Tam Lin, his mama’s favourite ballad. Amber, the colour the sky had been when he’d been found. To him, at least, Avon is meaningless.

“Avon,” the woman says the name softly, as if she’s read his mind, “you should come over on Saturday, for lunch.”

“Only if you want to,” the man says. “Are you free then?”

Numbly, Tam Amber nods. He hates their smiles; he loathes the fact he can see his in theirs. It makes the years he spent studyin’ Ruth Alabaster’s mannerisms to copy her feel wasted.

He hates the fact that they’re pleadin’ for forgiveness without an apology.

“Here.” The man’s hand sinks into his pocket, pullin’ out a white slip of paper. “It’s our address. We’re free every Saturday, so just pop in.”

“And bring your sister, we’d love to see her, too.”

He looks them both up and down like they’ve just said the most absurd thing in the world. To him, they have.

“She’s dead,” he snaps, dippin’ back inside before he can finish his thought.

Jessup, who was waitin’ by the door, greets him with a somewhat drunk hug. Tam Amber buries his face in his chest, breathin’ in the faint scent of wildflowers. And then he does cry. It’s more of a sob, really. A horrendous one.

“What’s wrong, birdie?” slurs Jessup, attemptin’ to cup Tam Amber’s face in his hands.

“It’s nothin’, deer.”

He doesn’t know why deer is what he lands on, but he thinks it goes well enough with birdie. Jessup seems to catch on to what he means, lettin’ out a wobbly roar of laughter.

“Anyway, you’re drunk,” Tam Amber says, cheeks still wet as he attempts to hold him up. “Leah’ll kill you.”

“Shh, shh, we won’t tell her. I’ll stay the night,” Jessup soothes, brushin’ the tears from Tam Amber’s cheeks. He plants a clumsy kiss on his forehead. “Tell me what’s wrong, birdie.”

For what it’s worth, he’s doin’ his best.

“It’s just... my parents, I guess,” Tam Amber says bitterly. “The people who crashed the show. They want to see me on Saturday.”

Jessup nods carefully, movement exaggerated by drunkenness, takin’ in all the information the best he can. “Are you goin’ to?”

“Maybe. I haven’t thought about it,” he sniffs. “I just... I don’t get it. Why now? And the way they were talkin’. It was like I owed them somethin’.”

“You don’t owe them shit,” Jessup says.

Tam Amber smiles weakly, “I know. But they sure make it sound like I do.”

Jessup pulls him into a hug again, managin’ to slur further niceties. It’s more comfortin’ than he would’ve expected.

Barb Azure watches Tam Amber get ready. She’s taken to watchin’ him a lot since his ’parents’ crashed the show. She watches him sleep, eat, and breathe. Like she’s convinced he’ll disappear if she stops.

“Be back before dark,” she says as he weighs out which one of Old Man Thorn’s ties is smarter.

“I will be, Babs. It’s just lunch.” He shows her the tie options. “Which one’s better?”

“Does it matter?”

“To me, yes.”

She stares wordlessly at him. He asks Billy Taupe instead.

“I ain’t comin’ with you,” Barb Azure says, “if that’s what you’re expectin’.”

“Oh,” he falters with his tie. “I thought you were.”

“Well, I ain’t,” she snaps, returnin’ to bed.

Helplessly, he turns to Billy Taupe, who sinks more into the sofa, avoidin’ eye contact. Lucy Gray shakes her head, just as helpless. Maude Ivory is asleep.

“I’ll come,” a quiet voice from their sleep area says.

He’s initially surprised. He ain’t close with Clerk Carmine, but he’s so earnest in askin’ that sayin’ no feels almost cruel.

“Come on, then,” Tam Amber smiles.

CC smiles, carefully climbin’ down and wrappin’ himself in his coat and scarf.

“Is it because they’re rich?” Tam Amber teases as they step out of the house. 

“No.” CC looks shocked, as if it’s only just occurred to him. “No, I just thought... maybe you needed someone.”

“That’s kind of you.”

The house isn’t what he’d expected. It’s enclosed by a white picket fence, the front garden filled with flowers. He’s not sure what he was expectin’, if he’s honest.

“Avon!” The man opens the door, rockin’ the baby on his hip. “Avon, we’re so glad you came. And who’s this?” He indicates to CC, attemptin’ to squeeze his cheek. CC pulls away, wrappin’ his arms around Tam Amber’s.

“My cousin, Clerk Carmine,” he says, “most people call him CC.”

“Come in, then,” the man smiles, “you know what they say, the more the merrier!”

The inside is even more bafflin’ to Tam Amber. It’s a small house, carefully maintained and decorated. Several framed pictures hang on the wall, of their weddin’ and family gatherin’s.

In the kitchen, there’s a table with colourful frosted cookies in the centre. The man sets up an extra spot.

Tam Amber doesn’t tell CC to stop gawkin’ because he is, too.

“Bet you don’t have much sweetness at home.” The man winks, settin’ the baby down in its high chair.

CC shakes his head.

“Can we take some home? For the rest of the Covey?” Tam Amber asks.

“Is that what you call yourselves, hm?” The woman asks, smile falterin’. Tam Amber nods. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

“Oh, come on, Nell. I’m sure they’re good kids.”

Nell seems to soften, only for a moment, as she divvies the potatoes into five portions, “there’s four of you? Take one each.”

CC diligently takes one for each of the Covey, wrappin’ them into napkins.

“Can I take one for my boyfriend?”

“Don’t push it,” the man says, noddin’.

Nell mutters somethin’ about how she might as well make cookies for the whole damn district while she’s at it.

“It’s only five people, Nell.”

“Don’t undermine me, Chappell.”

The kitchen becomes tense. He doesn’t know if they were at odds with each other when he and his sister were born, if their birth was meant to fix whatever problems they have. 

Five minutes pass, lunch is served, and they sit around the table. For a while, they eat in silence. Nell has cooked lamb pie with potatoes on the side. Tam Amber’s resentment sours the air and everyone can feel it. He remembers what Jessup had said — he’s right; he doesn’t owe them shit — but what about what they owe him?

A million questions float in his mind, but it’s Chappell who asks the first one: “how did Luni die?”

“Chappell, we agreed—”

“She was my daughter, too,” he says coolly, “I’ve a right to know regardless of what you want. How did she die, Avon?”

“I don’t know,” Tam Amber admits. “She was dead when the Covey found us.”

“The Covey? Is that what you call yourselves?” Nell asks, stabbin’ a chunk of lamb with her fork. “It’s an interesting name. Where’s it from?”

“I ain’t sure,” Tam Amber admits. “It’s generations old.”

“Oh.”

More tenseness. CC shrinks into himself, now takin’ only small bites of his pie.

“Why did you leave us?” He wants to add to die at the end; he ain’t sure why he doesn’t.

“We thought you were going to a community home,” Chappell says.

“We paid a man to drop you off at one,” Nell elaborates. “He took the money and ran.”

“But why?”

“We didn’t want to, Avon, we—”

“I didn’t want to, Chappell,” Nell says sharply. “We weren’t ready to have a child. Let alone two.”

“It was a difficult decision for us,” Chappell almost pleads. “We would have never wanted to give you up in a million years.”

“But you did,” he snaps, “you did and Clementine Saffron is dead because of it.”

A pregnant pause. Chappell and Nell aren’t stupid; they know Clementine Saffron is what the Covey called Tam Amber’s sister. If they cared so much about names, they could’ve left something to indicate theirs.

“But we’ve found you now,” Nell says weakly, “and we’re ready to have a child. We’ve got Milo, she’s doin’ well—”

“Doing, Nell,” Chappell interjects.

“Milo’s doing well. And, Avon, we might’ve been too hasty to, but we made a room for you,” Nell says, pushin’ a chunk of meat around her plate. “Would you like to see it?”

A room of his own is somethin’ he’d like. The Covey household doesn’t offer privacy. If he wants any, he has to go to the cabin by the lake. But he doesn’t value privacy more than he values the Covey. Certainly not. While his parents had not wanted him and his sister, they had. And they had welcomed them when no one else had.

“No, it’s alright,” Tam Amber says, “save it for your next child.”

He wonders what life in a community home would’ve been like. Maybe Avon wouldn’t sound so alien to him; maybe Clementine Saffron would still be alive. He’d have never gotten to travel or discover music. He’d never have known Ruth Alabaster or Barb Azure or Jessup. And he’d be okay with that because he wouldn’t know what he was missin’ out on.

Nell hugs him tightly and for a second Tam Amber feels bad for findin’ it so immobilisin’.

“Will you come over again?” She asks. “I’ve liked having you over.”

“Maybe.” 

He doesn’t want it to be a hard no, but somethin’ about the house is heavy. No matter what happened, he would’ve never grown up in it. It’s the worst part of it all; they want him now after the brunt of childhood is over, when they don’t know him, and can’t get their story to align.

“Well, if you do, we’re free every Saturday.”

“And you know where to find me.”

CC pulls on his scarf and hat, wrapped up so tightly that only his eyes peak out. “Thank you for the cookies, Miss,” he says shyly.

“Oh! You must take the rest of them. Chappell and I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.” She darts into the kitchen, stuffin’ the remainder of the cookies into a paper bag. “Here. A parting gift.”

“I’m sorry it was so awkward.”

“It’s fine. I knew it would be.”

CC offers a cookie with amber frostin’, decorated with pink star shaped sprinkles. 

“CC?”

“Yeah?”

“You won’t ever treat your partner like that, will you?”

He shakes his head, lookin’ at him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Tam Amber ain’t sure how much of his father, Henry Indigo, CC remembers, but he was a kind man who’d want his sons to grow up kind, too.

“You never corrected them on your name.”

“Oh,” Tam Amber says flatly. “I don’t think I noticed.”

“Didn’t you?” CC stops walkin’, breathin’ and blinkin’ back tears. “Babs said you’re goin’ to leave and replace us all.”

“I’m not, CC. Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” he cries.

“Oh, CC,” he sighs, wrappin’ his arms around him. “I couldn’t leave the Covey.”

“Are you sure?”

“’Course I am.”

“We brought back cookies.”

Maude Ivory leaps at the opportunity, takin’ a one with pink frostin’ and rainbow sprinkles before Billy Taupe and Lucy Gray can even get up. Lucy Gray gently takes a lemon yellow frosted cookie for herself and a seafoam green one for Billy Taupe.

Barb Azure sits on the sofa, face in a book, the only one to remain unmoored by the sweet treats.

“Your mama make these?” Lucy Gray asks, takin’ a hefty bite.

Tam Amber nods.

“Mama! Tamber brought us cookies!”

Barb Azure doesn’t look up, even when Maude Ivory shows her hers.

“I don’t want one,” she says, curtly.

Maude Ivory takes a second cookie, azure frosted with red, white, and blue sprinkles, and sets it on the page of Barb Azure’s book. She looks, unimpressed, at the cookie and Maude Ivory.

“I don’t want one,” she repeats through gritted teeth.

“Babs, I don’t think you’re bein’ fair on Ivy.” Tam Amber attempts.

“What would you know about fairness?” She slams the book shut, causin’ an explosion of blue frostin’ and cookie crumbs. “You’re the one tryin’ to get rid of us all!”

More tenseness. Billy Taupe gives Tam Amber a look and mouths somethin’ to him. There ain’t much solidarity between them, but a look’s a look and Billy Taupe scurries to get the others out of the house.

“I’m not tryin’ to get rid of you, Babs. I didn’t think meetin’ them would cause any harm.”

Barb Azure sits with her arms folded, dark eyes clouded by storms. “Well it did. You did.”

Tam Amber says, “I couldn’t replace you, Babs. Any of you. And I ain’t tryin’ to, either.”

Barb Azure looks up at him through her eyelashes, eyes wide and watery. Her arms are still crossed but her demeanour has softened. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” Tam Amber assures. “Anyway, how could I?”

“I don’t know, Tamby,” she sobs. “I just don’t want you to replace me. Us.”

“Oh, Babs.”

She crawls into his bed in the night, silently buryin’ her face in his chest. He rubs her back and lets her cry over how terrible and ugly and dirty she is.

“How did it go with your parents?” Jessup asks, helpin’ himself to a cookie.

“It was awkward.” Tam Amber watches Jessup. “I knew it would be, but it was somehow worse than what I’d imagined. No one argued or fought, it was just tense.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Jessup commiserates, breakin’ a cookie in half. He offers the bigger piece to Tam Amber, brushin’ the small amount of brightly coloured crumbs onto the grass.

“It’s not like you could’ve done anythin’,” he says, takin’ a bite of the cookie. It’s mauve with rainbow sprinkles. “I dunno it just— I wish it could’ve gone differently.”

“How so?”

“I think I just wanted them to tell me more,” he says ruefully. “But I don’t think either of us were ready to confront each other. I don’t know if I’ll go again.”

Jessup takes a bite out of the cookie. “Did they tell you why?”

“Not exactly. Just that they weren’t ready, and that they paid someone to get rid of us.” It occurs to him then, somethin’ that hadn’t in the moment. “They didn’t even have the guts to say goodbye.”

His eyes sting at the memory, fresh once again. He knows Chappell and Nell hadn’t wanted him, but that ain’t what wounds him. Instead, the small, naïve part of him that had clung to the idea that there had been tenderness in their abandonment is wounded.

“Oh, God. I’m sorry, birdie.” Jessup pulls Tam Amber closer, weaves his fingers into his curls, and scratches his head gently. It tickles, and Tam Amber’s urge to cry is overtaken by an awkward laugh.

Jessup’s gentle hands soothin’ him without effort. He groans softly, happily, eyelids heavy with sleep.

“Would you ever want kids?” Tam Amber asks, a yawn in the back of his throat.

Jessup seems startled by the question, as if he’s never thought about it before. He probably hasn’t. 

He’d be a good father. Tam Amber tries to imagine it all: maybe their children will like paintin’, and they’ll come home with pictures of fields and meadows. Or maybe their children will like music, they’ll take them to and from recitals and teach them chords.

“I think so. Ask me again when we’re eighteen.” Jessup smiles shyly, rosied by the idea. “Would you?”

Tam Amber nods, a little more fervently than he’d expected in his tired state. “And I’d like rabbits, too.”

“I’ve never thought about pets, really,” Jessup admits. “I’d like goats, though.”

“We could have a sanctuary.”

It’s admittedly a folly idea. Two people who can barely afford to feed themselves carin’ for a hoard of needy animals and kids. But it’s nice to imagine.

“I’d like that.”

For a second, Tam Amber wonders what life would be like if they were still permitted to travel. 12 ain’t what they’d choose to be their home. The smallest and poorest of the districts. 

He tries to imagine all sorts of lives with Jessup, silently plannin’ their future as Jessup hums tunelessly to himself.

CC emulates Billy Taupe. At least, he does his best to. While Maude Ivory and Lucy Gray scatter across the woods and Barb Azure and Jessup engage in quiet conversation, Tam Amber watches CC watch Billy Taupe. He ain’t sure if it’s what boys do — Billy Taupe never copied him, and the only man in his life he could take after is Old Man Thorn. The thought makes him shudder. — or if it’s a sibling thing.

He can’t say it doesn’t worry him. For now, it’s just the way he walks and talks. But what happens if — when — it’s the way he treats Barb Azure? When he starts tellin’ her to loosen up, or says she worries too much?

“What’s got you so quiet, canary?” Jessup throws an arm around his shoulder, pullin’ him in for a side hug.

“Nothin’, really. Just thinkin’.”

Jessup kisses his cheek.

This’ll be their last lake trip for the year; come November, it’ll be too cold. Billy Taupe and CC go for a swim while Barb Azure sprawls on a blanket in the shade and Maude Ivory, Lucy Gray, and Jessup pick flowers.

“I know you might not care for my opinion, especially not on your love life,” Barb Azure begins, “but Jessup is good. I’m glad you found him.”

“Of course I care, Babs.” She looks a little bemused, as if he hasn’t spent his whole life carin’ what she thinks. “What were you and Jessup talking about?”

“He thinks I should give Zinnia a second chance.” Barb Azure sits up, leanin’ on her elbows. “Not romantically, he just doesn’t think we should stop bein’ friends over it.”

“I thought I said that.”

“You did, I just...” She fiddles with a daisy. “It’s weird acceptin’ advice from you. You’ve always been my little brother.”

Tam Amber swallows. He supposes she’s right. Her stoicism and his fragility has always made the two months between them feel more like years. And, sure, Jessup is younger than the both of them, but she’s never had to look after him.

“Hello.” Jessup smiles giddily. He’s hidin’ somethin’ behind his back. “I’ve got gifts.” He lowers himself into a bow, presentin’ two posies of wildflowers and baby’s breath. “For you, madam. And for you, my love.”

Barb Azure fills two jars with water and sets them by their beds.

“No one nice has given me flowers before,” she says fondly. 

She sits on the edge of her bed, admirin’ the bouquet as she braids her hair to sleep. 

He notices, but tries not to dwell on the fact, she says no one nice. So people have. Even if she’s never come home with the bouquet.

She shows Harvest the flowers, gets her to give them a big overexaggerated sniff as she cuddles her.

He wonders if she’s aware of her Freudian slip — if it was a Freudian slip at all — as she changes Harvest into her night clothes, gently settin’ the flowers in the water-filled jar.

“No one nice?”

“I don’t know many nice people, Tamby.” She doesn’t make eye contact with him, instead tucking herself into bed. “Go on to sleep now, hm?”

He begrudgingly settles, head buried in BonBon’s stomach as his gaze switches from his own flowers to Barb Azure. He thinks about openin’ the stichin’ on BonBon’s back and stuffin’ the flowers in her.

At some point, she crawls into bed with him, arms wrapped around Harvest and face buried in his chest.

“Happy birthday to you!”

They present Tam Amber with a cake, burnin’ with sixteen candles. Mr Diggs made it: plain vanilla with buttercream frostin’.

Jessup puts an arm around his shoulder, kissin’ the side of his head. He’s the one who insisted on a birthday party, knowin’ the Covey normally let them pass without much fanfare. But he’d insisted, and for once it feels good to be the centre of attention.

“I got somethin’ for you,” Jessup says, pullin’ a box from his pocket.

He sets the box on the table in front of him. Tam Amber opens it, revealin’ a necklace, decorated by a small amber gem. He flushes red, allowin’ Jessup to put it on for him.

“Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”

Chapter Text

“What’s wrong, Tamby?”

He stood in the doorway, bitin’ the inside of his cheek anxiously. Ruth Alabaster sighed, shiftin’ so Tam Amber could crawl into bed with her. He curled up beside her, buryin’ his face in her side.

“I had a bad dream,” he lied.

“Oh, baby.” 

She planted a kiss on his forehead, brushin’ his curls aside to do so. He felt bad for lyin’ to his mama as she hummed to him and wrapped him in his amber baby blanket, earnest in her comfort despite the fact he didn’t need or deserve it. Barb Azure could sleep on  her own — preferred to, even — so why couldn’t he? Why didn’t he prefer to sleep alone?

Still, Ruth Alabaster unquestioningly tucked him into bed beside her, arms wrapped around him like a shield. It made him feel worse for lyin’, as if it’d all catch up to him in the form of some cosmic justice. He’d tell her one day, he thought. That day just wasn’t today.

“I got you somethin’,” Tam Amber says.

The early July heat burns their skin, a bittersweet reminder of both tomorrow and overmorrow. It’s only Jessup’s birthday Tam Amber wants to think about as they sit alone by the lake, serenaded by the bird’s songs.

“It ain’t my birthday yet.”

“I know, but—” a stillness holds in the air at Tam Amber’s pause. He’s sure Jessup knows what he’s inclined to say. Two days until he’s out of the Reapin’ forever. But that’s two days from now. There’s still tomorrow. “—but we don’t get much time alone, and I felt like I wanted to give this to you,” he says. “And it ain’t for your birthday exactly.”

Jessup looks sceptically at Tam Amber, but doesn’t say what’s in the back of both of their minds. Tam Amber can’t say he ain’t relieved; the mood is bitter as it is.

“What’s got your beak, canary?” Jessup teases after a moment of silence.

A hole burns in his pocket.

“No, I just— I’ve never done this before.” Of course he hasn’t. Most people haven’t. He hopes he’ll never have to again. He swallows. “Will you marry me?”

The words float in the air like a ghost. No. Not a ghost. They hover in the air like hummingbirds over a lake, awaitin’ a response. It must only be seconds, if that, before one.

“Yes. Of course—” Jessup stumbles over his words several times, formin’ new sentences before his last one dies. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

With shakin’ hands, Tam Amber takes two rings from his pocket, holdin’ Jessup’s calloused hands to slide one on. They’re rings he made himself, engraved with their favourite flowers, inscribed with a poem.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Jessup pulls him close, pressin’ his lips to Tam Amber’s. It’s soft and sweet, but it ain’t gentle. He hadn’t wanted it to be, really. Jessup holds Tam Amber’s face in his hands, fingers brushin’ across his cheek. The cold metal sensation on his finger is new, almost alien. But he gets used to it. After a while, likes it.

“I love you,” Tam Amber repeats, trailin’ kisses down Jessup’s jaw. “I love you. I love you. I can’t wait to spend my life with you.”

“I love you, too.” Jessup’s face is scarlet.

Kids. A sanctuary. It’s so close. Tangible.

“I want a haberdashery, too.”

“What don’t you want?” Jessup chaffs, hands on Tam Amber’s waist. His thumb grazes bare skin.

Tam Amber shifts, movin’ so he’s now squarely in Jessup’s lap, legs around his waist. It pulls a smile out of him. “I’d want anythin’ if it was with you.”

Barb Azure can never sleep the eve of the Reapin’. Even less now that she’s convinced Lucy Gray will end up reaped. And the worst part is that Tam Amber can’t even tell her otherwise. No one can. Not when the mayor’s daughter has had it out for her for months. “All talk, no action,” is what Billy Taupe always says, but it always sounds more like he’s failin’ to convince himself.

She sits on the sofa, azure baby blanket wrapped around her shoulders with Harvest in her lap, shakin’ like a leaf. They talk in low voices.

“What if it’s CC, too?” She asks, attemptin’ to bite off a hangnail. “You know he wouldn’t last a moment in there.”

“I don’t think it will be him. CC would be too far, I think. Even for her.”

“What about Jessup?”

“It’ll be a stranger, Babs. Just like it is every year,” he dismisses, wilfully ignorin’ the voice in the back of his head that nags him. Yes, it could be Jessup. Yes, it could be your fiancé. She doesn’t care that you’re engaged. She doesn’t care that it’s his birthday tomorrow. Tam Amber’s eyes are dry in spite of the fact he wants nothin’ more than to bawl his eyes out.

Barb Azure’s dark eyes go wide, overflowin’ with tears, “I don’t want it to be anyone, Tamber.”

“The District 12 girl tribute is Lucy Gray Baird.”

So much for all talk, no action. They’ve all been expectin’ this, but some part of him had wanted to cling to the idea it’d be two strangers.

Before movin’ to the stage, Lucy Gray grabs Mayfair, slidin’ somethin’ down her dress. The girls pull away from Mayfair as she falls to the floor, writhin’ and screamin’. Lucy Gray makes her way to the stage with grace, ignorin’ the commotion behind her. 

Mayor Lipp flies down the stage stairs, cryin’ out for someone to help, though all attempts at it are thwarted by the thrashin’ of Mayfair’s limbs.

It seems like an eternity passes before a small, opaline green snake shoots out of Mayfair’s dress and into the crowd. Mayfair’s distress is replaced by embarrassment as her father tends to her.

After Lipp hands Mayfair over to a Peacekeeper, attention shifts to Lucy Gray on stage, about to lose her fight to tears. It’s as she starts to cry that Maude Ivory pipes up, little voice carryin’ across the now silent square.

You can’t take my past. 

You can’t take my history.

And Tam Amber joins in, compelled by no other reason than the fact this is the only way he can say goodbye to Lucy Gray.

You could take my pa, 

But his name’s a mystery.

Lucy Gray is able to pull herself to her feet, stridin’ to the centre of the stage.

Nothin’ you can take was ever worth keepin’.

You can’t take my charm.

You can’t take my humour.

You can’t take my wealth,

’Cause it’s just a rumour.

Nothin’ you can take from me was ever worth keepin’.

The Peacekeepers make no effort to stop her, instead suppressin’ smiles as she glides around the stage. Defiant in the face of death. The show doesn’t stop for a few minutes, the audience enthralled by her song. As they always have been. 

No, sir,

Nothin’ you can take from me is worth dirt.

Take it, ’cause I’d give it free. It won’t hurt.

Nothin’ you can take from me was ever worth keepin’!

She blows a kiss to the audience before the microphone is taken, “my friends call me Lucy Gray — I hope you will, too!”

Silence. There’s no male tribute yet. Peacekeepers bring Lipp back onto stage. He sticks his hand into the bag of boys’ names, pulls a handful of slips out, most of which flutter to the floor, and reads from the remainin’ one.

“The District 12 boy tribute is Jessup Diggs.”

When they get back to the house, Billy Taupe sits on the sofa, head in his hands, apologisin’ to Barb Azure like she can grant eternal forgiveness. He’s always been close with Lucy Gray, sometimes even closer than he was with CC. They’d had a short lived relationship, decidin’ they were better off as friends.

That’s what they both said.

“What are you sorry for?” Barb Azure asks a red faced Billy Taupe. He’d apologised to anyone who’d listen on the walk home, but, by now, he’s given up on that, instead cryin’ hard enough to hyperventilate in Barb Azure’s lap.

Tam Amber stares at him, cursin’ his own dry eyes when he’d previously been able to cry over the slightest provocation. Does he not care for Lucy Gray? Jessup? Doesn’t he care that, a week from now, both will be dead?

Why ain’t he givin’ either of them a chance at survival?

He must’ve zoned out — images of their various, gruesome deaths flashin’ in his mind — because the next thing he hears is Barb Azure consolin’ Billy Taupe and CC doin’ his best to console Maude Ivory. He feels so useless, sittin’ gormless and wordless on the sofa as the rest of the Covey’s world shatters around them. Even Shamus, the damn goat, is in on the mournin’.

“It shouldn’t’ve been her. It shouldn’t’ve. I’m sorry. I really am, Babsy.”

“It ain’t your fault,” Barb Azure says numbly as she strokes Billy Taupe’s head. Her own gaze is a little soulless, eyes wide and dry.

Billy Taupe lifts his head, eyes still teary, “you’re sure?”

“’Course I am.” Barb Azure brushes the tears from his eyes. “You didn’t do anythin’.”

Tam Amber curls up in bed, facin’ away from the rest of the Covey. Billy Taupe has been like a cloud of guilt since Lucy Gray and Jessup’s reapin’. He doesn’t talk unless it’s to apologise — somethin’ that, by now, everyone is sick of.

A few beds down, he can hear Maude Ivory tossin’ and turnin’. She hasn’t slept well, or at all, since they took Lucy Gray. If he wakes her up now, she won’t wake up screamin’.

He gives her a gentle shake, and she awakes with a start.

“You were havin’ a nightmare,” he attempts.

Maude Ivory looks wordlessly at him for a second, eyes adjusting to the dim light.

“I want a bedtime story.” She squeezes his hand. “And I don’t like sleepin’ on my own.”

A copy of Alice In Wonderland sits on her bedside table, bookmarked halfway through. He sighs. He can’t do the voices like Lucy Gray can, but she won’t let Barb Azure read to her anymore.

“Alright,” he says, takin’ her hand. It wouldn’t hurt to read little Maude Ivory her bedtime story, and maybe — as much as he remains unwillin’ to admit it — he needs the company as much as she does.

Jessup hates storms, he’s terrified of them, Tam Amber thinks as one brews overhead. He always had, since he was a little boy, anxiously countin’ the seconds between bursts of thunder to gauge how close it was to them.

“ Are you scared you’ll be struck ?”

“Maybe,” he whispered.

Tam Amber giggled lightly, lettin’ Jessup bury his head in his shoulder. “That’s silly, deer.”

“ I know .”

“Would you like a song to sleep? I…wrote one.”

“ Did you ?”

Tam Amber nodded . “ You’d be the first to hear it .”

“Oh, I’d be honoured,” he said without a hint of irony. He gently kissed Tam Amber’s shoulder, placin’ his forehead where the kiss had been, “go on then, canary.”

He ain’t alone now. He’s with Lucy Gray, he hopes, and she’ll comfort him the best she can. Maybe with the same song.

Deep in the meadow, under the willow

A bed of grass, a soft green pillow

Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes

And when again they open, the sun will rise.

Maude Ivory’s had horrific nightmares since Lucy Gray was reaped, worsened by the storm.

Here it’s safe, here it’s warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you .

Maude Ivory smiles sleepily, eyes flutterin’ closed. For what it’s worth, she’s easy to comfort, far better and far less restless than he’d been at her age.

Deep in the meadow, hidden far away

A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray

Forget your woes and let your troubles lay

And when again it’s morning, they’ll wash away.

Here it’s safe, here it’s warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you .

“Are Lucy Gray and Jessup dead?” CC asks. His face is red. “Mayfair told us they are. She told us about the bombin’. She kept tellin’ us Lucy Gray and Jessup died.”

Maude Ivory sniffles. “She ain’t dead, is she?”

“What does Mayfair know?” Billy Taupe slurs. He’s been drinkin’ since the Reapin’. He goes squeeze CC’s cheek, wobbly on his feet. CC pulls away, holdin’ Tam Amber’s hand instead. Billy Taupe looks wounded, takin’ another swig. “Tell them, Babsy. They ain’t dead, are they?”

Barb Azure, ever the Covey’s voice of reason, stares at him from her position on the sofa. She’s started to stay out until the sun is up, her gaze is more vacant. “I don’t know,” she confesses. “I’d like to think they’re not. But I don’t know.”

“So they’re dead?” Maude Ivory’s voice quivers.

“That’s not what I’m sayin’—”

“But it’s what you think, ain’t it?” snaps Billy Taupe.

“I don’t know what I think.” Barb Azure throws her hands up in a surrendering fashion. “I don’t know, ’kay? Please, I don’t know,” she begs, voice wobblin’. “I’m goin’ out.”

“What? You can’t just go out and leave us—”

“There’s food in the fridge.”

Barb Azure returns at some ungodly hour, somethin’ Tam Amber is used to. What he ain’t used to, however, is the second set of footsteps and giggles as she re-enters. A part of him can’t understand how she’s managin’ to laugh at a time like this, another thinks she deserves it. 

“Can you stay the night?” Barb Azure whispers. “Just tonight. I’m just overwhelmed right now.”

“Of course, Barbie.” It’s Zinnia. Her soft voice sticks out like a sore thumb in contrast to the rest of 12. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

“You’re too sweet.”

“You need someone as much as the Covey needs you.”

Tam Amber tries not to appear awake as they clamber into Barb Azure’s bed, knowin’ that her vulnerability is somethin’ that’ll embarrass her in the mornin’.

Barb Azure giggles anxiously as Zinnia braids her hair. “Thanks, Zinnie.” She says, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Zinnia kisses Barb Azure’s cheek and the side of her head as she settles into bed.

He finds himself wonderin’ how the Diggs are copin’ without Jessup, knowin’ how the Covey is without Lucy Gray. He knocks on the door, guilty for not bringin’ anythin’, guilty for not doin’ this earlier.

“Oh! Tam Amber, you’re…” Leah’s face is tear-streaked. Her hair is greyer than he remembers, loose around her shoulders. “Come in, dear. Would you like tea?”

“If it ain’t too much.”

“No, no. ’Course it ain’t,” Leah manages. “Why are you here?” She doesn’t sound suspicious, just curious.

“I just… wanted to know how you were dealin’ with it all.”

Leah knocks on the side room door. “Pa, Tam Amber’s here. Says he wants to check in on us.” Jeremiah grumbles in response. “Come on, Pa.”

“I don’t wanna talk.”

Leah sighs, turnin’ her attention back to Tam Amber. “It’s tea you wanted, right?”

He nods, settlin’ into an armchair. She shakily pours him tea, servin’ it in what she knows to be his favourite mug.

“Why didn’t you visit us earlier?” Leah asks, runnin’ a sweaty palm over her leg. “I know you have Lucy Gray to worry about, but… I thought… I don’t know what I thought. I haven’t been thinkin’ straight since the Reapin’.”

“I was scared to, I guess,” Tam Amber says. “I do care for Jessup, if you ever thought I didn’t.”

“I know you did.” Leah says, then swiftly corrects, “do. I know you do.”  

Does she think Jessup will die? Or does she think Tam Amber stopped carin’ for him?

“Did you hear about the arena bombin’?”

Leah nods. “Lipp told us. He said Jessie was fine. Close to fine as he can be. I asked after Lucy Gray for you, but he said we weren’t privy to that information.”

“Thank you for askin’ at least.” He fiddles with the ring, rememberin’ everythin’ they did. Mournin’ everythin’ they didn’t. “We were goin’ to get married — Jessup and me.”

“I noticed,” Leah smiles weakly, “Jessie never told us — think he was waitin’ ’til after the Reapin’ — but I’ve never seen him happier.” She moves closer to Tam Amber, takin’ his hand to look at the ring. “Did you make it?”

Tam Amber nods, watching as Leah admires it, tracin’ her finger across the inside. “What’s the inscription?”

“Mine is ‘else struck with music and madness’ and Jessup’s is ‘I track him in vain’. It’s from a poem. An old one. The first I ever dedicated to him.”

“You match.” Leah’s voice cracks as she passes the ring back to Tam Amber. “I’m sorry. I really am.” She does her best to dab at her eyes. “You know me. I’m not normally like this, but it’s been a lot for Pa and me. I’m glad you visited. Thank you. Yorke’s been checkin’ in, too. You’re both very kind.”

“’Course,” Tam Amber says. “I was thinkin’… the interviews are soon. Maybe we could watch them together? Yorke can come, too, if you’d both like.”

Leah nods, snifflin’. “That sounds good.”

It’s dark when he returns to the Covey household. The only people still up are Zinnia and Barb Azure. Zinnia moreso, Barb Azure has all but fallen asleep in Zinnia’s lap.

“Hm? Oh, Tamby,” she slurs. She’s a bit wobbly on her feet. The faint scent of whiskey lingers on her breath. “You’re back! God, I’ve never known you to spend so much time with a woman.”

Tam Amber rolls his eyes. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Like…three.” He doesn’t want to fault her for copin’. They all are. He just wishes she hadn’t mimicked Billy Taupe, of all people, in doin’ so. Barb Azure buries her head in Tam Amber’s shoulder as she hugs him. “I miss them. I really miss them.”

“I know you do.” He wishes he could tell her they’ll be back soon, but he doesn’t even know if one of them is alive.

Barb Azure squeezes Tam Amber so hard he feels he may burst. “Don’t go. Ever.”

“I’ll do my best not to,” he says, squeezin’ Barb Azure back.

“Come on, Barbie. You need to go to bed.”

The tribute interviews, the first of their kind, are broadcast across all channels. Tam Amber bites the inside of his cheek, joinin’ the rest of the Covey, the Diggs, the Vernes, and Yorke on the sofa. Leah’s hand is shyly entwined with Yorke’s, but she seems too focused on easin’ miner aches for it to mean anythin’.

Barb Azure and Maude Ivory cuddle up to Zinnia. Billy Taupe sits cross-legged on the floor, more sober than he has been in days, quietly braidin’ CC’s hair.

Lucretius Flickerman talks and talks. He talks about the gamblin’, bettin’, and sponsors. The districts have never been human to the Capitol, this much they all know, but Tam Amber’s stomach churns at the idea of people puttin’ bets on Jessup and Lucy Gray. It’s a new low, albeit one he should’ve expected. 

“I wish they’d hurry up already. It’s not like any of us want to watch it,” Mrs Verne remarks, scratching her son, Rayn’s, head.

Mr Diggs grumbles in agreement.

Lucretius manages a few magic tricks before the interviews, all but ignorin’ the cue cards.

Finally, after a seemingly agonisin’ eternity, the interviews begin. They start off with Jessup. Tam Amber pulls his knee to his chest, lookin’ mournfully at his coal stained clothes and nails. He didn’t lose the ring in the bombin’. He’d been careful not to. 

His mentor, a girl a foot or so shorter than him called Lysistrata, talks to Lucretius about Jessup’s strength. She’s careful to use his name rather than ‘my tribute’.

But Jessup seems disoriented. Overwhelmed by the swathe of unfamiliar faces waitin’ to bet on him like he’s a fightin’ dog. He wants to say: I’m here. I’m here, Jessup, we all are. It’s okay. But he doesn’t, because how foolish would he be to talk to a television screen? He pulls his other knee to his chest, eyes fixed on the screen.

After some talkin’, Lysistrata sits on a chair that Jessup lifts high above his head with ease. And the crowd cheers. The audience cheers for the strength Jessup uses for kindness. The strength he uses to carry Maude Ivory on their lake trips, to help Barb Azure with her bass to and from the Hob. The strength they think he’s goin’ to kill with.

“Now, I’m not a betting man, but, if I were, I’d bet on you.” Lucretius beams as if it’s some high compliment. He notices Lysistrata tryin’ to suppress a grimace, concerned by Jessup’s vacant and overwhelmed gaze.

It’s Leah who squeezes his shoulder, bringin’ him back to reality. “I know what you’re thinkin’.”

He puts his own hand on Leah’s, rendered mute by disgust.

Each interview passes with no sign of Lucy Gray. Tam Amber starts to wonder if Mayfair was right. The boy from 8 describes five ways to kill someone with a sewin’ needle. The boy from 10 and his mentor get so caught up in slaughterhouse techniques that Lucretius cuts them off. 

After a disaster of an interview with a girl who couldn’t stop coughin’, Tam Amber feels like he’s lost all hope. Lucy Gray died in the bombin’, scared and alone.

His gaze becomes fuzzy, pressin’ his forehead against his knees.

“It’s Lucy Gray!” Barb Azure cries out, grabbin’ and shakin’ Tam Amber’s arm, “she’s alive!”

Her Reapin’ dress is clean and vibrant, in its best state despite the circumstances. And of course, she’ll sing. A song to close the show makes sense, he supposes, probably requested by her fancy, silly-named mentor, who wouldn’t’ve had any way of knowin’ that they were worried sick.

The Ballad of Lucy Gray Baird. A new song, one she’d started writin’ back here, in 12, but hadn’t finished until recently.

When I was a babe I fell down in the holler.

When I was a girl I fell into your arms.

We fell on hard times and we lost our bright colour. 

You went to the dogs and I lived by my charms.

I danced for my dinner, spread kisses like honey. 

You stole and you gambled and I said you should. 

We sang for our suppers, we drank up our money. 

Then one day you left, sayin’ I was no good.

Billy Taupe’s face drops as the song goes on. It’s a sombre, almost hauntin’ melody. But there’s a warmth to it, too, its familiar tune mesmerisin’ the Covey and Capitol audience alike.

Well, all right, I’m bad, but then, you’re no prize either. 

All right, I’m bad, but then, that’s nothing new.

You say you won’t love me, I won’t love you neither. 

Just let me remind you who I am to you.

’Cause I am the one who looks out when you’re leapin’. 

I am the one who knows how you were brave.

And I am the one who heard what you said sleepin’.

I’ll take that and more when I go to my grave.

Barb Azure’s face goes from excitement to unease, eyein’ Billy Taupe. It’s a number obviously inspired by him, given their history. But she doesn’t say anythin’. No one does. They’re waitin’ for the other shoe to drop.

It’s sooner than later that I’m six feet under.

It’s sooner than later that you’ll be alone.

So who will you turn to tomorrow, I wonder?

For when the bell rings, lover, you’re on your own.

And I am the one who you let see you weepin’.

I know the soul that you struggle to save.

Too bad I’m the bet that you lost in the Reapin’. 

Now what will you do when I go to my grave?

All at once, Billy Taupe’s actions make sense. The sobbin’ apologies, the drinkin’. The gatherin’ breaks up quickly, in spite of the audience’s calls for an encore. Zinnia waves her ma and brother off, Leah squeezes Tam Amber hard enough he feels like he might burst. Mr Diggs shakes his hand. CC and Maude Ivory clamber into bed.

“You can stay the night, Billy Taupe, but after that we want nothin’ to do with you,” Barb Azure says lowly. “You hear that? Nothin’.”

“What happened to ‘it ain’t your fault’?” He imitates Barb Azure’s voice, too shrill and too gratin’. “Yeah? What happened to lettin’ me sleep in your bed?” An accusatory prod of the shoulder. “What happened? You a liar, too? A liar and a whore?”

Barb Azure slinks away from Billy Taupe’s touch, tryin’ to avoid appearin’ wounded by his remark. “Don’t think I won’t kick you out right now.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Barb Azure says coolly. “Get out, Billy Taupe. You ain’t welcome here anymore.”

Billy Taupe looks at her, wounded. As if he’d actually believed what he’d said. “Can’t I say goodbye to CC?”

“Why did you kick him out?” CC asks over breakfast. “He didn’t do anythin’!”

“He betrayed us, CC. You miss Lucy Gray, don’t you?” Barb Azure says, stabbin’ an egg with her fork.

He nods. “But I miss Billy Taupe more!”

“You wouldn’t have to miss either if he hadn’t been responsible for her reapin’.”

Zinnia has taken to braidin’ Maude Ivory’s hair over breakfast, engrossed in a conversation about fairies and the book they were readin’ the night before. 

CC silently broods as he eats, eyein’ Barb Azure like he fears he’ll kicked out next.

It’s awkward again, with an odd number of people in the household. Billy Taupe had never been his favourite person, but he had been family and, by extent, company.

“Maybe we could go to the lake?” Zinnia suggests. “You know, it might let off some steam.”

“I’d like that,” Barb Azure agrees.

The food in Tam Amber’s mouth becomes stale and cold. Zinnia doesn’t know. And he can’t fault her for it. But he ain’t sure if he could return to the lake.

“I actually didn’t sleep too well last night,” he says suddenly. “I’ll pass on the lake trip.”

“Oh. Alright,” Barb Azure says. “Are you sure?”

Tam Amber nods. “Yeah, I just need a few more hours to sleep.”

Zinnia offers, “we can wait—” 

“No, no, it’s fine. Really.”

He can’t stomach the lake. Not right now. Maybe never again.

“I’ll stay, too,” CC says.

Zinnia frowns, but Barb Azure and Maude Ivory still seem eager, so it’s decided it’ll be a girls’ trip.

“I know the last time you went to the lake it was with Jessup,” CC says. “That’s why you didn’t want to go, ain’t it?”

Tam Amber nods, clearin’ the last of the dinner plates. “I just couldn’t stomach it. Anyway, the last time you went was with Billy Taupe, that why you didn’t want to go?”

CC nods. He still hasn’t taken the braids Billy Taupe did out even though they’re unkempt and loose from sleep. He normally has by now, but normally Billy Taupe is there to do them again.

Is it oversteppin’ to offer to redo them?

“I’ll watch the Games with you.”

It’s more like an instance than an offer, and a laughable one at that. CC, whose stomach churns at scrapes and grazes, who all but faints at the sight of blood, offerin’ to watch the Games.

CC frowns. “I mean it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Tam Amber doesn’t know what the arena’s looked like before, but he knows it’s destroyed now. His eyes survey the landscape, a pile of rubble in the centre decorated with weapons, the fourteen remainin’ tributes stand in a circle, but it’s neither that catches the eye of the camera.

Instead, it moves to a pair of twenty foot high steel beams close to the arena’s main entrance. In the centre, the corpse of a boy, beaten beyond recognition, has been strung up.

CC quickly pulls his knees to his chest, breathin’ heavily. Frozen and sickened, Tam Amber can’t move his eyes away, watchin’ as the boy’s swollen lips move, revealin’ a set of broken teeth. There’s no microphones where the boy is, and he tries desperately to imagine what he must be sayin’.

The gong sounds, and the boy no longer has the camera’s attention. Most of the tributes scatter into the tunnels without hesitation, while the stronger ones — Jessup included — grab what weapons they can before dispersin’. Only one boy — the one from 11, maybe 10 — remains in the arena, positionin’ himself in the stands.

They cut back to Lucretius Flickerman, who once again talks about bettin’ in his silly, gratin’ accent. Must every aspect of the Capitol be so irritatin’?

CC unfolds himself, sayin’ he’ll get a drink before the Games go on. By now, his hair is in dire need of redoin’. He wants to do it for him, but still ain’t sure if it’s oversteppin’. CC’s never let anyone but Billy Taupe touch, let alone do, his hair.

“How are Jessup and Lucy Gray?” Barb Azure asks. Her hair is mussed from sleep, sippin’ a mug of hot water in her night dress. “I would’ve watched with you, but I didn’t sleep well.”

“Alive.”

“Good. Good.” She traces a finger around the bottom of the mug. “Where’s Maude Ivory and Zinnia?”

“Oh, they went to the Hob. Maude Ivory needs new shoes. Zinnia and I didn’t think you’d want her watchin’.”

She raises an eyebrow, settlin’ on the sofa. For about half an hour, the camera cuts between various shots of the tunnels — including Lucy Gray and Jessup — and of the above ground arena, waitin’ for somethin’ to go on.

“How’s CC?”

“I’m not sure.”

On the television screen, a redheaded girl Tam Amber doesn’t recognise climbs the beams where the boy is strung up. Lucretius Flickerman graciously introduces her as fifteen-year-old Lamina from District 7.

“Is he alive?”

He nods as CC sits back on the sofa, mug of milk in hand, wrappin’ Billy Taupe’s baby blanket around himself for comfort.

After a few attempts at a beheadin’, the boy is put out of his misery by Lamina. Tam Amber squeezes his eyes shut, expectin’ more brutality and bloodshed, but after a too joyous cry from a boy — presumably her mentor — and a failed attempt at a sponsor, nothin’ more happens.

Nothin’ happens for hours. Zinnia announces her and Maude Ivory’s return as they jump between shots of the tunnels and shots of the arena. One shot lingers on Jessup and Lucy Gray for longer than it should. Jessup twitches and writhes, mutterin’ seemingly nonsense to himself as Lucy Gray attempts to soothe him.

The camera’s focus changes again, this time showin’ the plaza outside the arena where most of the attention falls on two dogs dressed like Jessup and Lucy Gray. But then they leave and they choose to interview the Head Gamemaker.

The interview plays in the background over dinner; a silent, sombre affair. Zinnia and Maude Ivory had no luck findin’ new shoes and no one wants to talk about the Games beyond Lucy Gray and Jessup’s status. But it hangs in the air like a body from the gallows.

“I think there’s somethin’ wrong with Jessup,” Tam Amber says, breakin’ a piece of bread. “He wasn’t actin’ himself in the tunnels or durin’ the interviews.”

There’s some activity in the arena, but a glance tells them it’s neither Jessup nor Lucy Gray, and no one pays too much attention.

“What d’you think is wrong?” Barb Azure tepidly asks, soakin’ a ball of bread with the remnants of stew.

“I wish I knew. I just know he’s… not himself,” Tam Amber commiserates. “I might stay up to watch the Games, in case anythin’ happens.”

“Do you think he’s been tortured? Like that boy was?” Barb Azure goes on, earnin’ a look from Zinnia.

“I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t know what it is, I just know somethin’ is wrong.”

Zinnia frowns, less like she disagrees, and more like she’s tryin’ to put the pieces of a puzzle together. She doesn’t know Jessup well, nor has she been watchin’ the Games closely, but if it’s obvious to even her that somethin’ ain’t right, then somethin’ ain’t right.

At some point, the sickly little girl from 11 must’ve died as her bloodied body lies on a plank of charred wood. The camera pans out to a full view of the arena, where Lamina’s figure can be seen atop her beam. A few more shots of the tunnels, includin’ Lucy Gray and Jessup strugglin’ to sleep. The microphone manages to pick up a few of Jessup’s ramblings, about beds of wildflowers and fragrant posies. About willows in meadows and beds of grass. Nonsense to anyone else, but Lucy Gray knows. He knows.

“As night falls on the arena, most of our tributes have bedded down, and so should you. We’ll keep an eye on things here, but we don’t really expect much action until morning. Pleasant dreams.”  

Pleasant dreams. He makes a bed for himself out of the sofa, draggin’ his blanket from the bed and usin’ BonBon as a pillow.

He’s awoken at some point in the night, not by the television, but by the creakin’ of footsteps.

“CC?”

CC looks at him like a deer in the headlights. His bag slips off his shoulder, landin’ with a gentle thud on the floor. “I had a nightmare.”

“What’s the bag for?”

Silence. And then CC’s little face breaks. “I miss my brother,” he sobs. “I wanted to find him.”

“Oh, CC…”

“He hasn’t visited us. Why hasn’t he visited me?”

“I don’t know, CC,” Tam Amber pulls himself into a sittin’ position. CC crawls onto the sofa beside him, curlin’ in his arms. “I really don’t know, CC. I’m sorry.”

He buries his head in Tam Amber’s chest, at this point wailin’. He’s never lost a brother before, he doesn’t know what to say as CC cries and shakes in his arms. But after a few minutes, CC cries himself into a slumber, positioned awkwardly and uncomfortably on the sofa.

A boy died overnight. His body is slumped on a chunk of concrete close to the entrance of the arena, bloody limbed with a dislodged eye. The cameras don’t focus on him too long, though, cuttin’ back to Lucretius as he speculates on who was responsible for the boy’s demise.

But the sombre tone doesn’t last, as a mere moment later, confetti falls from the ceilin’ and Lucretius has the audacity to celebrate the halfway mark. He pulls a string of colourful handkerchiefs from his sleeve, swingin’ it around his head, dancin’ and cheerin’ like it’s a party.

Tam Amber rolls his eyes at the ordeal, pryin’ CC’s still sleepin’ body from him so he can feed Shamus. It’s too early for the rest of the Covey to be up. They’ve taken to sleepin’ in longer since the Reapin’.

Shamus, used to the routine despite how fractured it’s become, eagerly follows him to the fridge and happily accepts his offer of carrots and lettuce.

“You won’t tell anyone about last night, will you, Tamber?” CC asks. “I won’t do it again. I just had a nightmare, and I really, really missed Billy Taupe.”

“Did you have a nightmare when you went back to sleep?”

CC shakes his head. “Please don’t tell Barb Azure, I don’t want to frighten her.”

“I won’t,” he gives in. “As long as you promise not to again. I’ll see to it that you see Billy Taupe, but runnin’ away ain’t the solution.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Tam Amber gives Shamus a hearty scratch. “It’s okay. C’mere.”

CC hugs him again, puttin’ his head on Tam Amber’s shoulder.

By the late afternoon, only one of the other tributes, a girl, dies. A trident to the throat, admittedly grim and Tam Amber is grateful he skipped both breakfast and lunch. Some of the mentor seats have been removed, now only accommodatin’ the mentors whose tributes were alive. A few tributes pop their heads out of the tunnels, there’s no activity worth focusin’ on.

“Maybe we could play a game!” Zinnia perks up.

“Like what?” Barb Azure asks. 

“I’m not sure. I didn’t get this far in my head.” 

“Charades!” Maude Ivory, who’s been peelin’ apples in the kitchen for pie and supervised by CC, suggests.

It feels wrong to, but no one can deem the distraction unnecessary, and some part of Tam Amber argues that it’s what Jessup and Lucy Gray would’ve wanted. So they act out various plays — Antony and Cleopatra, Julius Caesar, and Romeo and Juliet — in front of the TV. It works well: Maude Ivory dances around tryin’ to represent Alice in Wonderland, a guess Zinnia gets; CC whispers somethin’ to Tam Amber about his hair and gets his hairbrush.

For too long, he gets too comfortable, forgets the Games are even ongoin’ even though he can see the action — or lack thereof — through the gaps in their moments. CC sits in front of him on the sofa, knees drawn to his chest as he reluctantly allows Tam Amber to pass a comb through his hair.

“Maybe we should get somethin’ to eat. I know some of us haven’t,” Barb Azure says. In an instant, the mood is brought back to earth. He tries not to think of it as a mood killer, knowin’ how much she hates to be one.

But no one gets the chance to respond before a lone Lucy Gray darts out of the tunnels. 

She’d never leave Jessup on his own. Never. Would she? Surely not.

He freezes, watchin’ Jessup stumble out of the same tunnel Lucy Gray had run from, feverishly swattin’ at the sun before continuin’ his pursuit of her. He tries to speak to her, stumblin’ over his words, new sentences formin’ before his last one dies.

All manner of things could be responsible for his erratic, unpredictable, and uncharacteristic movement, but the white foam that overflows from his lips says enough.

Barb Azure quietly urges CC and Maude Ivory to feed Shamus, sayin’ to help themselves to whatever they want for dinner.

“Tam Amber, do you want to go?” Zinnia whispers. “I’ll tell you what happens.”

“No, it’s ’kay. I think I need to stay.”

Zinnia squeezes his shoulder, askin’ if he’s sure. He nods, blood runnin’ cold. For someone who left his mama to die, scared and alone, stayin’ with Jessup is the least he can do.

He wonders if there’s anything he could’ve done. The audience mutters about how he could’ve gotten it, watchin’ eagerly like it’s a spectacle and not a death sentence.

Jessup stumbles towards Lucy Gray, who’s makin’ her way up the stands, reachin’ out to her like a song’ll cure him. Nothin’ will, of course, but he’s lost reason. Sense. A part of Tam Amber wonders if, without the grace he maintained all through childhood, he could even still be Jessup.

But no. 

No matter how sickly, how crazed, he’s still Jessup. If he keeps nothin’ else in death, he can keep himself.

It’s all too slow, watchin’ Jessup climb the stands, wounded and confused by Lucy Gray’s rejection, and falls twice, but not to his death. Tam Amber gnaws on the inside of his cheek, willin’ it to be over already. The second fall creates a gash on his forehead, and instead of continuin’ his pursuit, Jessup sits, stunned. He still reaches out to Lucy Gray, the only remnant of home he has in this horrible place.

Jessup swats at a drone carryin’ a water bottle of water, causin’ the drone to shatter against the stands and water to spill around him. The movement agitates him and he continues his chase. Nothin’ distracted him from her, the only person who didn’t want him dead in a city of people who did.

“Tamby,” Barb Azure says delicately, “I know you feel like you owe it to Jessup to watch, but he’s not goin’ to die alone.”

“I know. But you’d stay if it was Lucy Gray.”

“And you’d tell me I don’t have to.”

Lucy Gray has worked herself into an awkward position, back pressed against a glass box. When Jessup comes within twenty feet of her, she tries to talk to — to reason with? — him, hand gently reachin’ out to him. It stops him, only for a second.

On the other side of the arena, a second water bottle flies in. Lucy Gray shouts, pointin’ out the drones to Jessup, whose eyes widen in terror. He swats at them to no avail, and as they release their bottles, explodin’ into puddles of water. But the drones are programmed to target the tribute, and there’s no way for Jessup to escape them.

He falls down into the front row of seats, catchin’ his foot and tearin’ forward onto the field. Tam Amber’s ears ring with the sound of shatterin’ bones, watchin’ as Jessup lies motionless apart from heavy breaths. He moans in pain, revealin’ a small series of gaps where his teeth must’ve fallen out. The last time Jessup had a gappy smile, they were twelve and he was the last one in their class to still have baby teeth.

“Don’t let him die alone,” Tam Amber whispers.

“She won’t. You know she won’t.”

True to form, Lucy Gray tepidly climbs down the stands and kneels beside Jessup, knowin’ now that she’s safe.

“You go on to sleep now, you hear, Jessup? You go on, it’s my turn to stand guard.” Her voice seems to register and, in turn, his face eases. “That’s right. Let yourself go. How are you goin’ to dream if you don’t go to sleep?” She lays a hand on his head, Jessup stares up at her as the life slips away from him. “It’s okay. I’ll watch over you. I’m right here. I’m stayin’ right here.”

Tam Amber stumbles to his feet, ears poundin’ with blood. It’s dark out, cold in spite of the summer air. He ain’t sure where he’s goin’ as he walks, but he knows he has a pursuer, her distorted voice in his ears.

The forest passes by in a blur, dark silhouettes reach out to him, tryin’ to tempt him into an embrace. But eventually, he loses all desire to continue, knowin’ his destination is the lake and that he ain’t yet ready to confront it. Barb Azure’s voice is closer now, less distorted.

“Don’t push us away, Tamby. Please,” she pleads, holdin’ his head between her palms. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t. I won’t, I promise.”

“You’re goin’ to come home. You’re goin’ to have somethin’ to eat, okay? And then you are goin’ to go to sleep.”

Tam Amber wakes up from a nightmare, the sound of Jessup’s bones breakin’ over and over and over. His eyes water at the memory, tears fallin’ down his cheeks as he tries to stay quiet. He can hear the TV downstairs, static mixed with Barb Azure and Zinnia’s faintly snorin’.

“I had a nightmare,” CC says.

“About Billy Taupe?”

CC hesitates, then nods. He’s lyin’, whether about the contents of the nightmare or the nightmare itself, he ain’t sure.

“I’m sorry about Jessup,” he says, tepidly climbin’ into bed with Tam Amber, his own stuffed toy between them.

“It’s fine, I think… I think I knew it’d happen.” Jessup would’ve never wanted to kill, too gentle to bear the thought. “We were engaged,” Tam Amber eventually spills. “We were goin’ to announce it at his birthday party, but…”

There’s no need to complete the sentence. Tam Amber buries his head in BonBon’s chest. She smells like Jessup, thankfully. He goes to bed thinkin’ about it: kids, a sanctuary, and a haberdashery. Less than a month ago, it’d all been so close, so tangible. In Tam Amber’s mind, there’d never been another option. It was always their future.

Ten — no, eleven — years ago, Tam Amber had met Jessup for the first time. It was September, autumn was bloomin’ like a flower in a field. He had been nervous, scared of both a new school and a new district.

But Jessup had smiled, revealin’ a gap in his teeth, and, if only for a second, everythin’ felt a little bit better. He was their ‘buddy’ for the week, or until they felt comfortable movin’ around the school on their own.

He hadn’t known what to call what he felt, just that it was there, simmerin’ within and it was different to how he’d felt about anyone else. It was love at first sight, even when he hadn’t known.

He thinks about that day over breakfast, plays it in his mind over and over and over as the TV blares. Over and over and over.

“Tamber?”

“I think I’m goin’ to visit Leah. I’ll be back.”

“Tam Amber…you’re here. Of course you’re here.” Leah blinks rapidly as if tryin’ to quell tears but her eyes are dry. She sniffs, wipin’ sleep with the back of her hand. “Yorke and I were havin’ tea and scones.”

“Scones?”

“Cheese scones. Yorke made them,” Leah says. “Come on, I’m sure there’s still some for you.”

Yorke sits on the sofa, small plate in hand. There’s a few of Jessup’s things on the table: a small bottle of perfume he made himself; unfinished paintin’s of weddin’s he’ll never have; his beloved old watercolour pallet. All of Jessup Diggs’ life is laid on this table like they’re about to conduct an autopsy. There ain’t much. His life wasn’t long.

“This one’s of you.” Yorke carefully hands him a paintin’ of the Covey all together. “Several are, but this one’s his first.”

J.J.D. — April 19th 2555

It’s mid-performance, and for a second, the colours don’t make sense to him. But then he remembers a conversation with Jessup about the Covey shows and the colours he associated with each song, poem, and ballad.

He tries to will himself back to that day, a memory of a memory of a memory, to no avail. Will he spend the rest of his days tryin’ to go back to happier days, tryin’ to live in them like an eternal fairytale? What’s the point in livin’ if all he’s tryin’ to do is go back?

“I wanted to go through his stuff,” Leah says, settin’ his favourite mug beside Tam Amber, then perchin’ on the sofa beside Yorke. “He had so little. It didn’t feel right.”

When Tam Amber was eight, he almost drowned. He’d wanted to, sneakin’ out in the middle of the night to make sure no one followed him. At least, he’d thought no one followed him. By all accounts, it was a suicide attempt, even though he’d lied to Barb Azure’s face about it.

He feels the same way he did then, like his head is bobbin’ above and below water, and the only thing he knows to feel is regret.

“Tamber, are you cold?” Barb Azure suddenly asks. “You’re shakin’ like a leaf.”

Wordlessly, he steadies himself. It’s a bit of a feeble attempt, but it works. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been talkin’ around him. His head throbs. He ain’t sure if they ever initiate conversation with him, head too foggy and waterlogged to take notice. Is it better or worse if they don’t?

“I wish we could swim at the beach. 4 has great ones.”

“You’ve been to 4?” Jessup asked. “Did it reek of fish?” 

Jessup rolled onto his stomach, pickin’ the petals from a dandelion. For a moment, Tam Amber wished he was the artist. Jessup lay serenely in sun bleached grass, dandelion stem woven between his fingers, skin gold as sunlight sprawled over him.

“Once. I was seven.” Tam Amber’s eyes scanned him, fingertips swirlin’ circles on Jessup’s warm, sun-kissed skin. “And yes, it did. Wasn’t bad, though. You got used to it.”

Is the TV more staticky than usual? The redheaded girl on the beam — Mina? — now lies on the floor below, side by side with the boy who’d been strung up, the boy who’d talked about slaughterhouse techniques in his interview and… Jessup?

Someone has moved Jessup’s body.

“Killed by his own allies,” Barb Azure murmurs. “Ain’t that awful?”

“Yeah,” Tam Amber agrees without thinkin’. It’s about the slaughterhouse boy, he’s sure, neither the other boy nor the girl had allies, but he can’t quite find it in him to care. “Who moved Jessup’s body?”

“I don’t know. It must’ve happened overnight.”

Zinnia, Maude Ivory, and CC are out apple pickin’, unwillin’ to watch the Games since Jessup’s death. He’d wanted to go, too, but Barb Azure seems to have latched onto the idea that she’s the only one allowed to look after her little brother because everyone else is younger than him. He doesn’t think ignorin’ the elephant in the room — a dead fiancé; a dead best friend — constitutes “lookin’ after”.

“We were engaged.”

Barb Azure stares at him, a doe-like look about her. “I’m sorry, Tamber,” she mutters.

“I don’t want an apology,” he says, not accusin’.

“I don’t know what else to say.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

Barb Azure looks him up and down for a moment, face becomin’ heavy with concern. “When was the last time you ate?”

If he’s honest, he doesn’t know, but the question itself makes his stomach ache in a way it hasn’t since last winter.

“I’ll make you somethin’, okay?”

It’s lime soaked apples, somethin’ Jessup put him onto a few years back when Leah started a garden.

“I love you, Tamby,” she says, settin’ the bowl in his lap.

“I love you, too, Babs.” 

After about half an hour of focusin’ on the tribute fan clubs outside, they skip back to the arena where a young, rawboned girl emerges from the tunnels. A mentor sighs in relief, claimin’ her name is Wovey. Another interviewer swoops in, and Wovey’s mentor talks endlessly of her merits.

“And look at her! She’s in the final eight!” He exclaims as six or so drones fly into the arena. The presence of the drones further excites him. “That’s her food and water now! All she has to do is grab it and go back into hiding!”

The audience watches, flummoxed yet invested, as Wovey struggles to unscrew a bottle of water. After a few gulps, she lets out a small burp and goes still.

Another mentor announces her death, met with instant denial from Wovey’s mentor. But she stares, glass-eyed and unblinkin’, into the sun, and no one believes it.

Barb Azure wraps one of Tam Amber’s curls around her fingers. “Poor girl. Poor, poor girl,” is all she says after a moment of silence.

Wovey’s death goes unnoticed by any tribute until the afternoon when a male tribute — 11? — emerges, draped in the flag of Panem. He kneels beside little Wovey, examinin’ her face before pickin’ her corpse up, makin’ a beeline towards the rest of the deceased tributes. 

So that’s who moved Jessup’s body. 

Tam Amber ain’t sure how to feel at first; there’s the question of why, followed by questionin’ the boy’s sanity. But he appears sane, careful, deliberate, and respectful in movin’ the bodies. If he is mad, there’s a method to it.

“We’re back!” Zinnia announces. Maude Ivory and CC in toe. 

They all carry large baskets of apples, gleeful grins on both of their faces.

Little else happens in the arena as they focus on peelin’ the apples for pie and crumble. There’s a brief flash of Lucy Gray, huddled in the tunnels, but nothin’ too long.

By the late afternoon, the TV is little more than white noise. Lucretius resumes his live coverage. His parrot sits in a cage rockin’ back and forth in a vain attempt at comfort.

“Can we get a parrot?” Maude Ivory asks.

“We’re got a goat already, Ivy,” Barb Azure says lightly, “and what would we do with a parrot, anyways?”

“We’d get them to sing!”

“Well, that one doesn’t want to. Hasn’t said a thing for that man.”

“That one’s sad! Ours won’t be!”

Barb Azure rolls her eyes affectionately. 

“I like the colours,” Maude Ivory says softly. 

For the most part, the TV goes ignored, even as they announce the death of one of their own mentors. Zinnia hums happily as she peels an apple, a sense of tepid peace fallin’ over the quiet Covey house. It doesn’t last more than a few moments, though, when the TV background noise becomes louder.

“In response, we’ve planned something special for their children in the arena.”

Somethin’ special. The momentary peace is broken, taken over by a series of confused murmurs as to what the somethin’ special is.

It’s answered when an oversized drone flies into the arena, alarmin’ many of the tributes as they warily eye the intrusion. Then, in an instant, multicoloured snakes shoot out in every direction. The tributes scatter, and while two boys manage to climb their way to safety, another trips over a rusty spear and is engulfed by the rainbow of snakes.

No one moves, in spite of the silent consensus that CC and Maude Ivory shouldn’t be seein’ this. But the horrific shrieks of a girl distract them too much. She emerges from the tunnel, snake hangin’ from her arm. Her demise is thankfully quick.

Somewhere, the faint sound of singin’ — of Lucy Gray — can be heard. She emerges from the tunnel slowly, calmin’ the snakes in an instant. They flock to her as she lowers herself onto a chunk of rock. She spreads her skirt ruffles, invitin’ the snakes as they form a vibrant, slitherin’ rainbow around her.

You’re headed for heaven, 

The sweet old hereafter,

And I’ve got one foot in the door.

And so, this is it. Lucy Gray’s final song, her final performance, sayin’ goodbye in the best way she knows.

But before I can fly up, 

I’ve loose ends to tie up, 

Right here in 

The old therebefore.

It’s one of the first songs she wrote, one they never performed because Barb Azure took the lyric about shuttin’ down the band personally and wouldn’t allow her.

I’ll be along,

When I’ve finished my song, 

When I’ve shut down the band, 

When I’ve played out my hand, 

When I’ve paid all my debts, 

When I have no regrets,

Right here in

The old therebefore,

When nothing 

Is left anymore.

But every snake in the arena is enthralled by it, a forbidden song she still remembers the words to.

I’ll catch you up

When I’ve emptied my cup, 

When I’ve worn out my friends, 

When I’ve burned out both ends, 

When I’ve cried all my tears, 

When I’ve conquered my fears, 

Right here in 

The old therebefore,

When nothing 

Is left anymore.

Like the snakes, the mentors are enthralled by her singin’, some swayin’ as Lucy Gray climbs her way to safety.

I’ll bring the news

When I've danced off my shoes, 

When my body's closed down, 

When my boat’s run aground, 

When I’ve tallied the score, 

And I’m flat on the floor, 

Right here in 

The old therebefore,

When nothing 

Is left anymore

He can hear a hairpin drop, chills across the room.

When I’m pure like a dove, 

When I’ve learned how to love, 

Right here in 

The old therebefore, 

When nothing 

Is left anymore.

Lucy Gray softly hums, the snakes relaxin’ around her. The spell is broken the second they cut back to Lucretius, mouth agape and eyes twinklin’.

Tam Amber stares at the ceilin’ in the dark, admirin’ the ring as the moon shines through the window. He runs it over his lips, tryin’ to turn it into a kiss. It’s to no avail, of course, and the metallic taste makes him think of blood in his mouth.

“Else struck with music and madness,” he mutters to himself. A last-ditch effort to summon Jessup, as if there’s still a chance — however minute — that this is some horrible fever dream.

In his mind, Jessup responds, “I track him in vain.”

As he drifts off, he tries to imagine the cabin by the lake, conjurin’ memories of stormy and secluded nights. And for a second, Tam Amber is lyin’ on Jessup’s chest again, listenin’ to the slow, rhythmic beatin’ that had become his favourite song the moment he heard it.

“Psst.” Barb Azure whispers, “Tamber!”

He can’t say he ain’t annoyed by the disturbance, the reminder that he’s not in the cabin by the lake. That he and Jessup will never be in the same room again.

“Babs?”

He notices Zinnia isn’t curled around her, instead favourin’ Maude Ivory a few beds down. Is that what she wants? No, her affection has been stilted since Billy Taupe left. She’ll barely touch someone’s hand, let alone sleep in the same bed as them.

“Can we go into the garden? I want to talk.”

“Now?”

Barb Azure nods against her pillow. “Please.”

For a while, they don’t talk at all. Barb Azure makes a bowl of apple slices and folds herself into a chair. Is this what she wanted? To sit and make Tam Amber watch her eat?

“You said you wanted to talk,” he says after ten minutes of silence.

A momentary look of wide-eyed alarm. Barb Azure blinks rapidly, fingernails diggin’ into the last apple slice.

“We don’t have to, if you’ve changed your mind.”

It’d be annoyin’, but a late night conversation is seldom anythin’ good.

 Another moment.

“When I was sixteen, I had a particularly rough client,” she begins, tepidly, “and when I came back, Billy Taupe was the only one still awake. I hadn’t seen him angrier, but he still made me hot milk and did his best to look after me.” She ain’t cryin’, but her voice wavers like she might. “And he promised he wouldn’t tell anyone. Swore up and down, on his life, that what happened was between us.”

“I’m sorry, Babs…”

“I took it out on Lucy Gray when I shouldn’t’ve,” Barb Azure says. “I don’t care about the band lyric, I told Lucy Gray that, but she refused to sing it if she thought it upset me.”

The snakes drowned overnight — a storm. Tam Amber thinks of the storm before the Games, when he’d sung Maude Ivory to sleep and hoped Lucy Gray did the same to Jessup. He’ll never know, of course; even if Lucy Gray wins, Tam Amber doesn’t think he’ll have the stomach to ask. It’s better to think of Jessup as he was on July 3rd — newly engaged, happy, and healthy — than anythin’ else.

He skips breakfast, focusin’ instead on feedin’ a goat. Barb Azure notices, of course, noticin’ is in her nature, and manages to pressure him into eatin’ some apples. And then there’s a very long wait. Lucy Gray is in the final five. He hates to say it’s unexpected, but he is surprised. Maude Ivory seems happier, too, even if her nightmares are worse.

Barb Azure puts her head on Zinnia’s shoulder while Maude Ivory curls on her lap. They look like their own little family. And, even though Tam Amber has never wanted anythin’ but happiness for Barb Azure, he burns with resentment. While he sits with a book in his lap, desperately tryin’ to find an appropriate poem for a funeral, she cuddles up to a gal on the sofa, seemingly unaware of his grief. 

No, that ain’t fair on her. As much as anyone, she deserves happiness. She deserves somethin’ — some one — she doesn’t have to sacrifice for the sake of others. Zinnia is that for her. And Jessup was that for him.

Is that all Jessup is now? Left to memories and past tense?

Jessup was. He runs the cord of his necklace over his lips, mentally soundin’ out the two words, seein’ how they pair. Jessup was. It doesn’t sound right. Will it ever? Some part of him hopes he never does, hopes Jessup can live on, even if only in writin’.

CC and Maude Ivory do their best to tend to the garden, supervised by Zinnia, who, by now, is runnin’ out of ways to distract them. It’s the last day, hopefully, though. After the thrills of yesterday, if they can be called that, the arena has settled into an unnatural calm. A couple of tributes receive sponsors, though one instead chooses to drink from a puddle. Somethin’ in his stomach churns, rememberin’ the state Jessup had died in. He barely remembers when rabies had been rampant, but he remembers it had been why Old Man Thorn was so reluctant to let him keep Annabel Apple, and the hours of research poured into provin’ she wasn’t rabid.

It’s enough to know this boy — Reaper? — is rabid. He hates that he can recognise the signs in him, a boy he’s never known, but not Jessup, a boy he spent nights next to, a boy he knew enough to marry.

What could he have done, had he known? Found a cure? He did all he could and, as much as he hates it, all he could do was sit at home and watch — let — it happen. Even watchin’, an act done so Jessup wouldn’t die alone, was in vain. What’s the point in not dyin’ alone if you still die scared?

As a boy falls to his death, his killer is able to take a moment to celebrate before bein’ cut down by another boy’s axe. Tam Amber’s stomach lurches at the sight, wantin’ to throw up despite havin’ nothin’ to throw up.

Lucy Gray’s victory feels… imminent, almost. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, not with her final opponents being a boy far bigger than her and a boy skilled with an axe, but he has a good feelin’. He can’t remember the last time he had one.

“If Lucy Gray does win,” Barb Azure says, “what does that mean? For her?”

“She’ll come home…” Tam Amber trails off. Truthfully, he hasn’t thought about it until now. He hasn’t really counted Lucy Gray as a victor until now.

“What about after?”

“I… I don’t know, Babs,” he admits. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, hm?”

Barb Azure nods. There’s still the possibility that, despite gettin’ to the top three, she can die. It’s a reality Tam Amber hates, one he feels guilty for even thinkin’ about.

It’s noon when Lucy Gray emerges from the tunnels. She briefly scans the arena — Tam Amber can see Barb Azure’s brow furrow at the sight of her mud caked dress — and makes her way to the puddle Reaper had been drinkin’ from, washin’ her face and quenchin’ her thirst. Sponsors, sponsors for her, fly in just as she finishes. But she doesn’t spare them a glance. Instead, she…

“What’s she doin’?” CC asks.

No one answers. No one knows. Moreso, they know what she’s doin’, but they don’t know why she’s doin’ it. She mixes water from a bottle with water from the puddle, mixin’ them together for a few seconds before pourin’ the water back into the puddle.

A few more tense moments. 

Lucy Gray pulls the flag from Reaper’s makeshift morgue, revealin’ the series of bodies he’s collected. Tam Amber’s stomach churns at the sight of Jessup’s corpse, laid beside Lamina. Zinnia mouths to him, a general question of his wellbein’. He nods, grateful to at least be asked. By now, Barb Azure has found herself in a light doze, head and arm pressed against Zinnia in an almost cat-like fashion.

The moment of peace is finally over when Lucy Gray turns on her heel and runs, various sponsor gifts fallin’ out of her pockets in the process. One of the boys is able to catch her wrist as she passes under the beam. She twists, fallin’ to her knees as he raises the axe. Oh, God. Is this it? Had they worried for nothin’?

Her mentor seems to share the same concern, jumpin’ to his feet and pushing aside one of the interviewers as he cries her name.

As the boy’s axe falls, Lucy Gray throws herself into his arms, careful to avoid his blade.

It doesn’t matter how long passes. It’s too long. This bizarre embrace, unwarranted in the arena, goes on for too long before his eyes widen in horror. He pushes Lucy Gray away, crumplin’ to the floor with his hand around a vibrant pink snake. He smashes it into the ground, over and over and over, until they’re both dead.

Two.

Reaper is still in the stands, watchin’ over the scene. Lucy Gray spreads her food out around her in an orderly fashion, an act that reminds him of the Covey’s picnics by the lake. Should they take it as a message? They’ve just seen her kill; does she want them to know she’s the same Lucy Gray?

The sun dries out the puddles in the arena. Lucy Gray rests on some rubble, dress spread out to soak up the sun. The lull brings out a weather forecast from Lucretius. Barb Azure yawns and stretches, pleased to see Lucy Gray is alive.

“Last two,” Zinnia says.

It feels wrong to be pleased that twenty-one other children are dead. And he ain’t. Truly, he ain’t. In an ideal world, none of these children would’ve met, let alone died. 

Seemingly hours pass before Lucy Gray moves, draggin’ the corpse of the boy she killed to Reaper’s morgue. The action alerts him, shoutin’ somethin’ inaudible that causes Lucy Gray to drop the boy’s ankle and return to the tunnels.

After carryin’ the boy’s body to his morgue, Reaper makes his way back to the tunnels. But Lucy Gray darts out of a second tunnel, grabbin’ the flag from one of the bodies in the process.

It feels cruel to watch; to witness. An ailed boy chased to exhaustion, irritated by Lucy Gray’s constant disturbance of the bodies. She drags a flag to the centre of the arena, leavin’ it in the dirt and returnin’ to the stands. Now infuriated, Reaper reclaims the flag, but the chase has exhausted him. He presses his hands to his temples, pantin’ although he doesn’t appear to be sweatin’. He stumbles, clutchin’ the flag, his way to the puddle he’d been drinkin’ from earlier, takin’ gulps from the muddy sludge he doesn’t manage to keep down. He grips the flag as he makes uneven steps to his morgue, collapsing beside the other boy Lucy Gray had killed, barely able to pull it over himself before his limbs go still.

Silence.

“…Is that it?” Zinnia asks after a moment. “Hasn’t she won?”

But no announcement of Lucy Gray’s victory comes, not for another half hour, when she climbs down from the stands and checks Reaper’s pulse. She gingerly closes his eyelids and lovingly arranges the flag over the tributes. Like tuckin’ children into bed. Like Barb Azure used to do to her, and like what she used to do to Maude Ivory.

It’s this action that satisfies the audience, as Lucretius appears, boundin’ around like a manic child, announcing that, “Lucy Gray Baird, Tribute of District 12, and her mentor, Coriolanus Snow, have won the 10th Hunger Games!”

Lucy Gray returns today. It’s been all that Maude Ivory has spoken about for days, it’s all anyone’s been able to think about since they won. And, in the midst of it all, Tam Amber feels left out. As he sits and tries to decide on a poem for Jessup’s funeral, Maude Ivory buzzes with excitement. It feels cruel to bring the mood down.

They wait by the train station for Lucy Gray. He watches everyone else’s happiness, tries to mirror it in himself. But he’s maudlin by nature, intense sadness never matched by intense happiness.

“Lucy Gray!” Maude Ivory cries out as the train pulls in. She leaps onto her, buryin’ her head in her top. 

Lucy Gray tenses, but gingerly accepts the hug. “Quite a greetin’,” she smiles, beckonin’ the rest of them into a hug. “I’m not made of sugar.”

Once they pull away from the hug, Barb Azure smiles. “C’mon, Lu, let’s get you home and clean, ’kay?”

Lucy Gray nods, wipin’ her brow with the back of her hand. “You missed me, then?”

“Yes! Lots!” Maude Ivory beams.

“Well, I missed you lots, too.”

Tam Amber forgets he’s standin’ there for a moment, forgets he’s meant to be happy when he ain’t. But Lucy Gray acknowledges it, the inherent loss that comes with victory. She hugs him tightly.

“I’m so sorry about Jessup,” she mutters.

What does he say? It’s ’kay? It doesn’t matter? But she doesn’t wait for a response, givin’ him a final, tight squeeze before they make their way home.

“Thank you all for comin’,” Jeremiah begins. Already, his voice wavers. “I know my son is — was — well loved by 12’s community.” He pats a jar of ashes, the last remnants of his son.

There’s a moment of silence after Jeremiah sits in the pews beside Leah. The knot in Tam Amber’s stomach tightens. Requiescat. That’s the poem he chose for Jessup’s funeral. It’s Leah who speaks next, donned in her best white dress. Jessup wouldn’t’ve wanted them to wear black. He hated the colour — shade, he can imagine Jessup correctin’ — said it reminded him too much of the mines he spent twelve hours a day in.

“I love Jessie; he was my baby brother,” she says. “But he was so much more than that. He was a devoted friend, lover, and colleague. Anyone who knew him couldn’t help but love him; he was the sun on otherwise cloudy days. I truly think Jessup was one of the best aspects of our lives. The love he felt, the love he gave, is simply irreplaceable. And I think the world is worse off without him.”

Yorke gives him a reassurin’ shoulder squeeze. “You all right?”

Tam Amber nods. “Thanks.”

Barb Azure dabs at her eyes. The rest of the Covey insisted on comin’. Jessup had been their friend, too. Leah talks of his love for art and ability to paint. 

Tam Amber fiddles with the paper he wrote everythin’ down on, knowin’ he’s up next.

“The first paintin’ he took home was of a boy in his class.” Leah’s eyes make contact with Tam Amber’s. That day is one he all but forgot about, nestled in his mind alongside the memory of Jessup gigglin’ as he recounted it. They had been each other’s muses. “I think that’s the moment I realised how full of love my brother is. He spent days after tryin’ to perfect this one paintin’, of this one boy”—a giggle—“and, from there, he was able to paint masterpieces from dry acrylic paint at school.” Leah’s smile falters, as if the fondness of his memory is soured. “I think the worst part of all of this is knowin’ he’ll never be that eight year old boy again. Maybe it’s the fact I’ll never see him marry that boy, the first thing he ever thought to paint.”

Yorke stands, embracin’ Leah as she steps away from the podium.

“Leah asked me to perform a song for Jessup’s funeral,” Tam Amber begins, fiddlin’ with his ring. Else struck with music and madness, he thinks. I track him in vain! no one responds. “I chose Requiescat. A requiescat is a wish for the rest of the dead. As much as everybody else, I hope Jessup rests. I hope he finds peace wherever he may be.”

Tread lightly, he is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, he can hear
The daisies grow.

All his vibrant black hair
Tarnished with rust,
He that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.

He remembers the winter before last, when snow had coated the district and Maude Ivory and CC had dragged them into a snowball fight.

Lily-like, white as snow,
He hardly knew
He was a man, so
Sweetly he grew.

He remembers that day in class, the first time he’d ever met Jessup. The same day they were asked to paint somethin’ — somethin’ they loved — and Jessup had been terribly secretive about what he had painted while Tam Amber happily shown him a paintin’ of his mama and a rabbit.

Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on his breast,
I vex my heart alone
He is at rest.

Peace, Peace, he cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life’s buried here,
Heap earth upon it.

Kids, a sanctuary, and a haberdashery.