Elmira Ashwood's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

Elmira slowed at a heat-blackened boulder in a small clearing. A melted sword jutted from its center, blade fused into the stone. She dropped the cracked spear at its base. The wood was finished. So was the plan that came with it. She needed steel, and she needed it before the boy told anyone what he had seen. She remembered the squat building near the arena's edge — barred windows, swords racked behind wood beams. Tributes called it the armory. Going in first was weak. Going in unarmed was worse. She moved. Halfway there, she froze. Pale birch trunks ahead were wrapped in torn cloth strips, each one soaked dark and still dripping. Someone was marking a path, and the blood was fresh. Not hers. Not yet. She crouched, counted her breaths, and slipped wide around the trail. Her lungs were already shaking. Fatigue was showing. She could not stop now. She reached the armory at dusk and found the door splintered open. Most racks were stripped. One short blade remained, wedged behind a bent bar. She worked it free, cut her palm doing it, and held it tight. It was hers. She had a real weapon again — and she had just walked into the place every armed tribute had already left. Whoever set that bloody trail knew exactly where she would come.