Chapter Text
Coriolanus sat on the park bench and let the air grow cold around him. He told himself that it was the temperature that had him shaking, not the newest revelation from Tigris.
The taxes on their apartment were due in a matter of days. And they had no way to pay them.
With his and Lucy Gray’s victory in the Games, the Plinth prize was his, but he had no access to the funds. It was housed in a separate account to be doled out for educational expenses only. He couldn’t use it to pay the taxes. Coriolanus had been so focused on winning, so set on obtaining that prize as a way to fix his family’s situation that he didn’t even stop to consider that it may not be enough. So he had a full ride to the University. What good was that if he was living in some pitiful place on the outskirts of the Capitol?
Deep down, Coriolanus had been expecting to receive an Academy prize as well. Counting on it. How could he not? He had the best grades of anyone, had made the best showing in the Games. And he was a goddamn Snow. One of those prizes should have belonged to him, should have been in hand now for them to pay the taxes until he could get a prestigious job after university.
But Dean Highbottom had made sure that Coriolanus didn’t see a cent. Highbottom had threatened all kinds of things—revoking his diploma, sending him to the districts as a Peacekeeper. But Dr. Gaul had stepped in. Without her, Coriolanus would probably be rotting in some backwater district right now, but she’d plead his case. Thanks to him, these were the most successful Games to date. His suggestions would continue developing and improving the Games for years to come. She didn’t want to waste him in the districts as a nameless grunt.
In the end, her word carried more sway. She was the Head Gamemaker, the one who called the shots. She ruled that nothing Coriolanus had done was considered cheating as far as the Gamemakers were concerned. Highbottom had no say beyond his jurisdiction at the Academy.
But that was what mattered. It was what kept an Academy prize out of Coriolanus’ hands.
So now he sat hunched on this bench, mulling over what to do. He had to scrape up the money to pay the rent within the next couple of days. That was the immediate issue. The next month, and all the months after that until he was done with university were too overwhelming to think about right now. He had to focus on this month. Where was he going to get the money?
He mulled over his options. His thoughts strayed immediately to the Plinths. They had far more money than they needed, more than they deserved, and a reputation for throwing it around. Coriolanus had heard whispers that Sejanus had faced his own risk of exile to the districts but that Strabo had paid a small fortune to keep his son from becoming a Peacekeeper. There was the new gymnasium for the Academy, plus a brand new research wing at the university for Dr. Gaul, and it was a poorly-kept secret that the bill for President Ravenstill’s new luxury hovercraft was footed by Strabo Plinth. All that money spent to keep ungrateful Sejanus in the Capitol and Coriolanus hadn’t received a penny for saving his life. Didn’t old Strabo have any idea how much he owed him?
But Coriolanus wouldn’t beg, just as he hadn’t the first time he had visited the Plinths’ apartment. If he didn’t have his honor, he had nothing. So the Plinths were not an option.
What else then? Coriolanus thought of Satyria. She liked him, and his success at the Hunger Games had reflected well on her, but he knew instinctively that she would not help him in this way. And he didn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut.
Possibly Tigris could beseech Fabricia, her employer. Would she give them a small loan, potentially to maintain the image of having an assistant who lived on the Corso? That was a long shot. There was very little evidence that Fabricia even noticed Tigris at all.
None of Coriolanus’ classmates or their families would do. They were all just more flapping mouths that he didn’t need.
So what did that leave? When he thought of discretion, Coriolanus only thought of Pluribus Bell. It wasn’t ideal, but Coriolanus knew he could rely on him to keep his mouth shut at least. And he’d proved that he still had some affection for Coriolanus after how he’d helped Lucy Gray with the guitar and the canned milk.
His mind made up, Coriolanus got to his feet. He was out of trolley tokens, so he would have to walk. He reached Pluribus’ nightclub half an hour later.
Coriolanus felt encouraged by the smile Pluribus gave him when he opened the door.
“I was hoping you would come by,” Pluribus said, “So I could congratulate you on your victory.”
Coriolanus put on his most magnanimous smile. “Thank you,” he said, “And I can’t thank you enough for the use of the guitar. It may have made all the difference with the sponsors.”
Pluribus waved his hand. “I was just happy to see it used. Your girl was incredible. Did you get to see her after she won?”
“No,” Coriolanus said, shaking his head. That was a disappointment, but he was trying to swallow it down. After all, what did he expect? For all his strategizing in the Games, she was still district. There was no future there. “They sent her back to Twelve as soon as it was over.”
The sympathetic look that Pluribus gave him was annoying—like Coriolanus was someone to be pitied—but maybe sympathy was the most useful emotion to him right now.
“It’s all in the past now,” he said, trying to work out how to pivot the conversation to asking for money without sounding desperate. “We have other things to worry about now.”
Fortunately, Pluribus had always been perceptive. A certain understanding lit in his eyes. He obviously knew about the taxes—it affected everyone in the Capitol—and maybe he had already been expecting Coriolanus to come to him. Well, at least it would save Coriolanus the embarrassment of explaining.
“I’d hate to see your family out of that place,” Pluribus said.
“I think it would kill the Grandma’am to leave it.”
“And her beautiful roses.” Pluribus looked Coriolanus over, apparently thinking. Then he nodded slightly, like he’d reached a decision. “I can help you,” he said, “Give you enough to cover the taxes this month.”
The weight that fell off Coriolanus was so much that he thought he might actually be hovering above the ground now. But he kept his composure, kept his voice level. “We’ll pay you back,” he said.
Pluribus was already shaking his head before Coriolanus had finished speaking. “We both know you can’t,” he said, “It’s alright. But it can only be for this month. I won’t be able to afford it every time with the new taxes on my place too. You’ll have to figure it out from here.”
“Of course,” Coriolanus said, voice still measured. But he was burning on the inside. We both know you can’t. Who was Pluribus to patronize him like that, to imply that the Snows had nothing to offer anyone, that they were a charity case? It was an insult.
Carefully though. Coriolanus was not about to ruin his chances here. Instead, he graciously accepted the money that Pluribus pressed into his hand. Thanked him profusely. And vowed to never have anything else to do with Pluribus Bell.
The joy and relief that Coriolanus felt after paying the taxes was short-lived. He’d bought them a little time, but the same amount would be due in a month. And he’d exhausted his only option. His only good one, anyway. Maybe there were a couple people he could still entreat, but that would only give the Snows a few more months. He had to figure out something more permanent.
“We’ll be alright, Coryo,” Tigris told him in the kitchen the morning after paying the taxes, when Coriolanus had already begun to spiral. “Wherever we end up.”
He didn’t agree. This was where they belonged, their birthright. Coriolanus couldn’t bear the shame of leaving it, of letting it be bought by the likes of the Plinths. Just the thought of Ma Plinth hanging her pathetic District 2 needlepoint on the wall made him sick.
The Plinths. Why did it always come back to them? Strabo Plinth replacing Crassus Snow as the foremost munitions baron in the country, Ma Plinth’s sandwiches feeding Lucy Gray when Coriolanus could not, Sejanus forcing Coriolanus to follow him into the arena. They represented everything wrong in the world, everything about the changing tides of the Capitol that threatened to drag the Snows out to sea. But they had money. Which Coriolanus so desperately needed if he was going to save his family from ruin.
As Coriolanus went for a long walk in the park, hoping the fresh air may encourage his brain to find a solution faster, he started to reconsider the idea of getting money from the Plinths. They still owed him for saving Sejanus. They hadn’t repaid him at all other than a few baked goods from Ma. Could it be worth it to go back there and try to meet with Strabo again? Maybe Coriolanus had been too subtle before. Maybe if he made his intentions more clear, the man would understand. And pay up.
The very thought turned Coriolanus’ stomach.
As if Coriolanus’ rumination had conjured him, Sejanus was suddenly before him on the path. He looked miserable, but then he always looked miserable these days. It bothered Coriolanus because, unlike him, Sejanus had nothing to be miserable about. He had a father who could buy him the world, while Coriolanus would be in the districts right now if not for Dr. Gaul’s intervention.
Sejanus looked up and noticed Coriolanus. “Oh, hey Coryo,” he said. The nickname still pricked at Coriolanus. He resented the notion that Sejanus thought he deserved to be so familiar. And yet, maybe that familiarity could come in handy.
Coriolanus adopted a friendly expression. “Hello,” he said, putting a hand on Sejanus’ shoulder. “How are you holding up?”
Sejanus gave a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know,” he said, “Better since the Games ended, I guess. Now I can just try to pretend they never happened until next year.”
Though he nodded, Coriolanus couldn’t help hoping that most in the Capitol wouldn’t be trying to forget the Games so quickly. More specifically, that they wouldn’t forget his part in them. He’d started to grow used to the looks of recognition when people passed him on the street, the approving nods. He liked it. But to Sejanus, he said, “It’ll be easier next year. You won’t have to be involved.”
That earned him another shrug. And something else. A lip quiver. Dear god, what did Sejanus have to be so upset about?
“It’s just—” Sejanus’ voice broke and he buried his face in his hands. Coriolanus slid his arm over Sejanus’ shoulders and gave a quick glance around. The park wasn’t too crowded, but he didn’t want to risk anyone seeing him with a weeping man.
“Come on,” Coriolanus said, tugging Sejanus slightly to get him to follow. “We can talk about it.”
Fortunately, Sejanus came along without resistance. Coriolanus led them off the path and to a bench that was secluded in some trees. The perfect place for Sejanus to have a meltdown without prying eyes to link it to Coriolanus. Still trying to seem accommodating, Coriolanus pulled Sejanus down onto the bench, patting his shoulder while the man cried.
“It’s terrible,” Sejanus whispered once he’d shed out his tears. “It was bad enough the other years when everyone pretty much ignored the Games. But now people are still talking about them. They’re getting excited about next year. It’s sick.”
Frankly, Coriolanus couldn’t see how people being excited about the Games was much of an issue. Wasn’t it better if they were such an event? Something to look forward to rather than something to dread? And it didn’t hurt that he and his fellow mentors would always have their own part in the Games memorialized. Everyone would remember how they were the ones to turn the Games into something special.
“And home is hell right now,” Sejanus went on, “My father is still so angry at me for going into the arena, and for not taking the Games more seriously. I think he sort of blames me for everything that happened with Marcus.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” Coriolanus said, “You had no idea he’d try to run away.”
“Yeah, try telling my dad that,” Sejanus said bitterly. He looked at Coriolanus, who could see tears still clinging to his lashes, binding them together in wet clumps. “Did you know the government wanted to send me away as a Peacekeeper?”
Of course Coriolanus knew, but he feigned surprise. “What?”
“Yeah,” Sejanus said, sniffing. “My dad said he was barely able to change their minds. And you better believe he’s holding that over my head.”
So would I, Coriolanus thought. If he ever had a son that caused him half as much trouble as Sejanus, he wasn’t sure he’d be willing to spend the fortune that Strabo did to clean up after him. But maybe he would. To preserve the Snow name. Which is what it all came down to in the end. Coriolanus knew he had to do whatever it took to keep his family afloat.
“I almost wish he’d just let them take me,” Sejanus admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Take him where? The districts? “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. I’m not Capitol, you know I’m not.”
“You are now,” Coriolanus said, even though he didn’t believe it. He rubbed a steadying hand over Sejanus’ shoulder. “You belong here. With us.”
Sejanus clearly didn’t believe him. Not that Coriolanus could blame him for that.
“Anyway, how could you leave Ma behind?” Coriolanus asked. “You’d break her heart.”
At the mention of his Ma, Sejanus’ face softened. “I know,” he murmured.
More than anything, Coriolanus needed Sejanus firmly on his side. Needed his trust. Without it, he would have no hope of getting anything out of the Plinths. So he chose his words carefully, infusing them with a tenderness he did not feel. “I wouldn’t want to lose you either.”
What happened next was entirely unexpected. They were already sitting flush since Coriolanus had kept his arm around Sejanus’ shoulders for the entire conversation. But if possible, Sejanus shifted somehow closer and put his head on Coriolanus’ shoulder. All he said was, “Thank you, Coryo.”
What was happening, exactly? As the silence stretched out, Coriolanus was at a loss. He could hear Sejanus’ breathing, could feel the even rise and fall of his shoulders. Surely this could only be a positive thing. For Sejanus to be leaning on him so literally, so entirely, it had to mean that Coriolanus had his complete trust. Which was exactly what he needed. And yet, something about it felt so odd. This move on Sejanus’ part could very well be only an act of friendship, but something about it seemed like more, or at least other than that.
If so, Coriolanus was out of his depth. He was frightfully inexperienced when it came to matters of the heart. He didn’t think he could really remember feeling anything for anyone before Lucy Gray. Certainly he felt nothing more than disdain for the boy beside him. But was there a chance that Sejanus felt something for him? And if he did, how to use it?
Coriolanus’ mind went tumbling off through the possibilities before he could reign it in. When he’d thought about it, he’d always pictured himself marrying into another one of the families that made up the old guard of the Capitol. He wouldn’t need any of them for status, but they could offer something in the way of financial security that his own family desperately needed. But now Coriolanus imagined a world where he married into the Plinth family, became heir to that seemingly unlimited fortune. His own Snow name was untouchable enough to survive a match to a district-bred line, especially one that carried that much money. The name would maybe even be enough to convince Strabo to welcome the pairing, as desperate as he seemed for the kind of status it would bring. It could be the perfect solution to Coriolanus’ problem.
But he was getting ahead of himself. He had no real evidence that Sejanus cared for him at all beyond friendship. All he was basing any of these fantasies on was a head on his shoulder. But he would keep his eyes open, search for any sign that Sejanus may feel something for him, look for any little spark. And if he found it, he would play it for all it was worth.
Snow lands on top.