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Arachne should have been the eldest.
Ulysses is smart, but that's all. He doesn't have the mettle to be heir to the Crane's fortune, and it vexes Arachne that she will have to suffer for it. They all will.
The family business has already taken a hit from the war. They haven’t fully recovered. With the new regulations, they might never.
Her father and mother tell her not to worry. It won't be hers to manage, but how can she not? She might not be inheriting the bulk of their family’s fortune, but whatever does pass to her, will be reliant on her idiot brother not squandering it all with his incompetence!
Arachne gets passable grades. Respectable ones for a Crane. She knows she can't compete with Ulysses in the sciences or maths.
Ulysses must marry someone just like him. It's probably for the best—compatibility and all that.
Perhaps, he will not marry at all. That may be even better. He’s always got his head in his books, and he has plenty of friends but no lovers she’s ever heard of. Well, maybe one or two. Actually, had Ulysses gotten together with that last boy?
It was irrelevant. Her brother always had his mind on other matters besides romance and marriage matches. This could work in her favor.
Then, her children would become her family’s heirs. The Ravinstills set up a good precedent.
If she decided not to have children, then the task would fall to Ajax. That is fine. Sure, he’s a heavy baby and her legs fall asleep when he sits in her lap, but at least Ajax doesn’t nag her about homework like their elder brother.
Arachne brought up the matter of succession to her mother only once. She’d been twelve and just starting to understand what it truly meant.
She’d tried to be tactful of course, bringing up Ulysses’ successes as school first. Then she’d pivoted to his faults: soft-spoken, timid, unambitious— the list went on.
“Do you think,” Arachne’s mother says drawing herself up to her full height from her seat at the end of the table. “That I raised a Crane who does not know how to fight back?”
Arachne does not look up from the floating bits of cereal.
The Capitol is not like the barbarians of the past. Arachne could have inherited it all just as her mother had, but by some trick of fate, that honor goes to Ulysses.
“Your brother has his faults, but I have never doubted his ability to succeed me.”
Arachne opens her mouth.
“Don’t speak. Your mouth belies your intelligence.”
Dutifully, Arachne closes her mouth, and Arachne’s hands curl into fists behind her back. Her new artificial nails cutting crescents into the palms of her hands.
She’d asked for red polish to match her mother.
Everything about Minerva Crane is immaculate. Her blazer are pristine white over a dark blouse. Her lips are painted red to match her nails. There are never any cracks in her mask of perfection. Even during the war.
Arachne’s mother would apologize later. She’d spin some tale about how there was always something else that Arachne could do to help their family. There were plenty of families with whom marriage ties would be beneficial. There were her father’s business interests that she could run. These attempts at placation fall on deaf ears.
Arachne doesn’t want her father’s side projects or some spouse’s business. She wants the same riches passed down from her grandfather to her mother— the things owed to her as a Crane.
For now, she contents herself with the fact that her elder brother cannot stand the clack of nails on had surfaces and that he only ever came with them to the salon once. For now, she can smile at the fact that her mother joins in with Arachne’s tapping on the tables and counters of their home when the eldest child walks by.
…
Seated in Heavensbee Hall, Dean Highbottom reads out her name and assigns her the girl from District 10.
Arachne cannot help but be disappointed. She’s a Crane after all, but at least, her tribute is whole and on the older end of the tributes. She’d hoped for a boy from One, Two, or Eleven, but of course, those go to Livia, Plinth, and Clemensia. People with enough money to spare to buy them.
The Cranes have money too, but it’ll raise questions to flaunt it too much. Besides, it’s gauche.
Felix Ravinstill got the short end of the stick with his sickly girl, and he’s already feeling the sting, ducking away from anyone who might tease him. He takes refuge in Pup and Hilarius’ equally bad luck.
She wonders how much influence Admiral Harrington had to wield to get his flunky son a spot in the mentorship program at all.
Arachne takes her dessert. She can’t stand listening to Livia gloat, so she scans the hall and only half-listens to the other girls’ chatter. Arachne had expected Coriolanus to be sitting over at the losers’ table or perhaps with Festus who has middling chances. At least his girl is from Four.
Instead, he’s nowhere to be found. The Snow heir is Arachne’s neighbor, living in the penthouse in the building across from hers. If he’d gotten a tribute with a chance at making it any further than ten minutes into the Games, then she might have tried to work together somehow.
Perhaps, she still could find some way. The Snows are struggling with life after the war. They aren’t as adaptable as Arachne’s family. It would be good of her to help him, and one day, he could return the favor.
At least, his Lucy Gray Bird— Baird? At least, Coriolanus’ tribute is entertaining to watch even if she does dress like a clown. From the brief glimpse, she’d gotten Arachne’s own girl is as unremarkable as they come.
She didn’t even know to smile for the camera. That’s the first thing any child should be taught— to smile for the camera. Doesn’t she know that people are watching?
Livia’s laugh pierces through her thoughts, and Arachne reminds herself not to grind her teeth.
Sometimes, she thinks that Livia and Coriolanus have more in common than they think with how they both manage to get under her skin. Oh, she’s friends with both of them. It’s useful to be. When she gets sick of one group, she can drift over to the other.
There are, of course, the times that she can’t stand the both of them. Then, she typically sits with Etruria, Phyrne, and Servilia. They’re always happy to have a Crane in their presence. Only Etruria had any small hope of being a part of the mentorship program, and Arachne had not been surprised at all that she had not gotten it.
It is for the best. Those three are milling around somewhere no doubt. Perhaps, Etruria and Servillia would come congratulate her. She and Phyrne had exchanged words unbecoming of both of them in one of the dark corners of the Academy.
Her hand still stings from the impact of that slap. An unfortunate way for it to end, but Phyrne Gregory isn’t exactly a match made for her no matter how pretty she is with her golden curls, green eyes, and rosy lips like a bow.
Arachne’s top incisors dig into her bottom lip. She forces her mind back to the present.
Livia’s tribute’s victory is all but assured, and Coriolanus is no doubt plotting to make some sort of impact. Arachne is not one to be overshadowed.
She’s smart. She can spin her girl into a story worth telling.
…
Keeping up appearances has always been important. The years during and after the war had been tough, but certain arrangements had been made by the family during the war that secured their future. No one in the Capitol is interested in traveling or vacationing to visit the places where people who had laid siege to their city lived. Besides there was no money to be spent on such luxuries.
Whatever permits the Cranes still had before the war are still valid. Arachne doesn’t know what exactly happened behind the closed doors of her parent’s office, but she knew that luxuries their family enjoys has to happen behind closed doors, and some of those luxuries change hands.
The black market trade didn’t die down after the war after all. She hears her parents whispering about it. Travel is a sinking ship. The Cranes need something else. And they found something else, because they’re smart and resilient.
It’s after the war and after Felix finally joined them at school when he brought up Arachne’s name.
“It’s strange,” he said. “That your mother’s name is Minerva and your parents named you Arachne.”
The children of the elite tease and rough house all the time. That’s what she thought he’d been doing at first— teasing.
“The goddess Athena— Minerva,” he continued. ”Turned the mortal Arachne into a spider after surpassed the goddess’ own work with a tapestry that doubly insulted the gods.”
The next day, he brought a book to school to show her the story printed in ink. As if the Cranes did not have their own library! Arachne had gone home and sorted through the books herself. First, in a dusty old book of myths, and then in an even dustier book with a torn paperback cover and only the name Ovid left on the spine.
She had an uncle with that name. He and mother did not talk much. The book was too old to be his.
Pre-Panem books always had interesting details that you didn’t often find in literature of merit, although Arachne has been know to guiltily peruse some of the other girl’s trashy novels.
She came to school with a response ready.
“My mother knows that I’m the only one who can match her.”
Arachne’s proud of how natural the retort sounds.
Felix nods before he rambles on about the origin of his name. A few others gather around asking him for the origins of theirs, and it’s turning into an awfully boring lecture that only serves to puff up the Felix’s chest.
Gaius Breen made a joke about being named after so many illustrious men.
Other children chimed in with their own explanations for their names. With each new voice, Arachne fought off the urge to smile as Felix struggled to remain control of his audience. The spotlight was clearly moving.
Livia demanded the origins for her name from anyone but the president’s grandnephew. Not that he was in a rush to enlighten her.
Florus Friend was quick to offer up an explanation, but Livia doesn’t seem to hear it until Vipsania repeats it in her ear.
Arachne couldn’t blame Felix for disliking Livia. Fate knows that Arachne can’t stand her half the time.
Three years ago, before the War had gotten truly bad, They’d gotten into an awful fight. Over what? Arachne doesn’t remember. All she remembers is that the irritation that simmered and boiled over into rage.
Sharp words were exchanged. Who knows who struck first?
By the end of their scrap, however, Arachne was missing a chunk of hair behind her right ear, and Livia’s arms were scratched and her face bruised.
The school had to call their parents, and Mrs. Cardew and Arachne’s mother talked with their teacher and principal while Arachne and Livia sat with one empty chair in between them outside the school office.
Arachne felt the weight of Livia’s glare, but she refused to give the other girl the satisfaction of looking over.
On the car ride home, Arachne’s mother did the same to her. Unlike, Livia, however, Arachne could not stand the silence.
Her mother picked her up with pursed lips. They didn’t have a driver yet, but they could afford a car again.
“I’m sorry, mother,” Arachne ground out, peeking through a curtain of light brown hair. Her pigtails had come undone in the fight.
At the time, they didn’t have a driver again yet. It was an indignity to her mother to have to drive chauffeur herself around, but Arachne’s glad that there’s no one else to hear her groveling.
Minerva Crane scoffed.
“You’re sorry, for what?”
“I’m sorry for getting in trouble,” Arachne and then amended herself a moment later: “I’m sorry for hitting, Livia.”
“It’s not just you who could have gotten in trouble, and you are right about that. You certainly are in trouble.”
“Her mother runs the Capitol’s largest bank! We’ll be lucky if we don’t face repercussions for this!”
Mother glanced backwards at Arachne through the rearview mirror before staring back out onto the road.
“They might not let us—”
Arachne watched her mother’s lips purse together
“We are lucky,” she muttered under her breath. Arachne wasn’t supposed to hear that, so she pretended not to. It did not save her from her mother’s continued scolding.
They carried the now one-sided conversation from the car, into the elevator, and up to their penthouse.
At the time, Ulysses had been dutifully studying at their dining room table. He could just study in his room, but instead, he saw them walk in.
It’s Arachne’s bad luck that his chosen spot could see into the foyer, living room, and kitchen. Even if he couldn’t see them, their mother’s voice would certainly carry.
“You said that people should know better than to make an enemy out of a Crane!” Arachne snapped.
Her mother looked away, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“I also said that our enemies should not know what hit them. Livia Cardew certainly knows who to blame.”
Arachne opened her mouth.
“You,” her mother cut her off before she could utter a word, “will fix this.”
“Apologize,” she commanded. “Fighting is uncivilized Arachne. Any enemies we may or may not have should not have the satisfaction of seeing us so shaken.”
Minerva smiled at her. “If you must play with your peers, then they must never even know the game. The rules are harder to dictate then.”
Her eyes drifted. Arachne followed her line of sight over to where Ulysses was writing something in a notebook.
“Subtlety is key,” she fixed Arachne with an appraising look. “And something you lack.”
Mother’s hand squeezed Arachne’s shoulder.
In her periphery, she saw her mother turn and leave. A sharp exhale of air sounded beside her. Arachne’s own eyes had not moved from Ulysses’ hunched form, his hand slowing slightly as he wrote.
“Arachne,” Ulysses says gently. “Don’t pick fights you can’t win.”
She bit back a comeback that would only have her mother rounding back into the room to continue her lecture.
Useless. That must be why he doesn’t fight anyone.
That’s not her enemy, she reminded herself. That’s her brother.
The next morning, she went to school. Livia accepted her apology, and it only took about three weeks for the girl to actually mean it and forget the offense.
It was that three months later when Arachne stumbled across the perfect opportunity for revenge— nap time.
Arachne had not had the time to clean up and put away her school supplies when the teacher had told them to. She’d been listening to Iphigenia. Normally, Arachne didn’t like hanging around the other girl, but Iphigenia had always been good at crafts. Besides, she was most interesting when she complained about her stepmother, and today, she was feeling particularly chatty. She always had the most colorful ways to describe the new Mrs. Moss.
The resulting collage earned the compliments of their teacher, and Iphigenia passed her the their school supplies under the table to put away. They didn’t want to be chastised for getting distracted. She’d gotten the markers, crayons, and glue sticks to their respective bins. Unfortunately, the box for the scissors had been put back on the shelf.
Luckily, as they all lay in their cots, their teacher had to step out.
Arachne clutched the school supply close to her chest and waited for everyone’s breathing to even out before slowly rising and creeping towards the shelf where all the supplies were kept.
It’s just luck that she caught sight of Livia’s sleeping form. Her mother’s chastisements echoed in her ear as she stole closer to the other girl’s cot and bent down.
She wanted to grab fistfuls of those blonde locks but restrained herself. She couldn’t be too rough or else she’ll be caught. It happened so fast that she barely gets to enjoy it.. One moment, she imagined the scissors slicing through some of Livia’s hair carefully held taut with her free hand; the next moment, she was doing it.
Arachne cut jagged lines into that perfect hair before lightly wiping the blades on the sleeve of the sleeping girl’s blazer and depositing the scissors back in the bin with the rest.
Then she curled back up on her cot and closed her eyes. She didn’t sleep. She waited.
Arachne’s muscles had begun to ache from the effort of keeping still when Livia finally screamed an hour later.
It’s surprisingly easy to keep a straight face, especially when the teacher’s attention goes to some of the boys who are giggling. Festus Creed and Gaius Breen were dragged by the ear with the repeated shouts of “I didn’t do it!” trailing behind them.
Another good suspect would have been Clemensia. Clemmie and Livia are on the outs at the moment. A few weeks ago, Livia had made some thoughtless comment about Coriolanus, and the dark-haired girl had pushed her to the ground, but the Dovecotes did not get called to the principal’s office which Arachne thought was unfair.
The Dovecote heiress just laughed at her and said that since no one had lost any hair or gotten a black eye, parental interference was unnecessary. Arachne just thought that the other girl got lucky that the teachers liked her so much.
Everyone liked Clemensia, Arachne included. Unlike everyone else, Arachne liked that spark, simmering below all the fluff. She’d spend more time with Clemmie if she wasn’t sure that more prolonged exposure would lead her to grinding her teeth into dust.
Without their teacher, the ensuing silence was broken only Livia’s sniffling and Vipsania and Persephone Price’s pathetic attempts to placate the other girl. Iphigenia met Arachne’s eyes, and her stomach dropped.
Punishment is coming. It’ll be on the entire class if no one steps forward, and Arachne certainly wasn’t going to but—
Iphigenia stared, tilting her head slightly in thought.
This was why Arachne disliked her, but when the teacher came back, she said nothing.
It’s just as well.
Arachne didn’t like Iphigenia much. There’s no reason to hang around her. It’s not like she has much of a chance of inheriting anything. It’s clear that her father favors her half-siblings. The rest of the Old Guard may frown at the eventual setting aside of his eldest child, but no one will dare interfere. No one wants to set a precedent to allow for the meddling in their own family affairs.
Besides, the Mosses always love to play with their inheritance. It was three generations ago, but the last major squabble between sibling and inheritance is still fresh in everyone’s mind.
It’s their fault that mother doesn’t want Arachne poking around in the family business.
Iphigenia owed her this silence.
Still, Arachne decided that she liked the other girl a bit more after that.
…
Sometimes, Arachne has the foolish urge to apologize to Livia for some nonsense from when they were younger. Every now and again, there is a fleeting pang of guilt, because despite being insufferable, Arachne does consider them friends. It doesn’t mean much. She thinks that she’s friendly with most of her peers. The children of the Capitol’s upper crust has to stick together after all.
Thankfully, every time some Arachne feels some misplaced pang of her conscious urging her to admit to something or apologize for nothing, Livia turns her head and says something that makes Arachne want to slap her.
Today, Livia’s around, only making enough of an effort to flaunt her money. She tried to get her boy to do something and when he refused she’d dumped whatever she’d brought into his hands and on the floor and gone to talk with a few friends who hadn’t been included in the mentorship program.
Arachne finds her tribute easily. She sticks out with her reddish-blondish hair.
She brought bread and cheese from home, and after Ulysses suggested she get something extra at the market, Arachne had bought a bunch of shining green grapes. Sandwiches were easy enough to make, and plenty of her peers were probably thinking the same thing. As much as Arachne wanted to dismiss her brother’s suggestion out of hand, she knew that she wants to stand out.
When she arrives at the zoo, Arachne’s tribute is not making a move to cajole food out the Capitol citizens clustered around gawking outside the enclosure bars.
There’s plenty of other tributes eager to entertain the crowd in place of Arachne’s girl, and they’re getting nuts and fruit from their audience.
Well, isn’t Arachne’s tribute so lucky that she brought some food just for her? It’s not like she could attract any attention sitting on a rock, scowling but throwing an occasional comment to her district partner or the boys from Two or Eleven.
Arachne pushes through the crowd. She doesn’t have to be careful about how hard she shoves. Anyone who is here and isn’t dressed in an Academy rouge is irrelevant. They can’t complain if a Crane shoves them over.
She pauses, catching sight of the cameras. The press are here.
She slows down, eyeing where the cameras and reporters are looking, but she continues to elbow her way through the crowd.
Exclamations and insults are cut short as people catch sight of her uniform.
Finally, she crouches to the ground by the bars close to where her tribute is sitting.
Brandy does not need to be called over which is good. She walks over and sits down on the opposite side of the bar.
“Took you long enough.” Those are the first words her tribute says.
Arachne frowns.
She already knew that the girl had a mouth on her. She’d yammered on about her district and their slaughterhouses, not realizing how absolutely disgusting it all sounded. Not realizing or not caring.
No, it must be the former. Of course, it must be. Only an idiot would not notice how Arachne had wrinkled her nose and turned her head away as if getting the dirty mess of a girl out of her sight would stop whatever was spewing out of her mouth.
“Stop it!” Arachne had said. “I don’t want the Capitol to think I have some no-brained blood fiend for a tribute! Tell it to the other tributes!”
They might think twice about attacking her tribute if they think she’s insane.
Really, you’d think even someone from the Districts would know how inappropriate running their mouth about such unpleasantries is.
Nearby, Coriolanus is talking with his songbird. He wants her to sing, and it seems that she’s willing but only for him. How sweet. And sickening.
The Rings have their tributes dancing to their tune. Literally, it seems, although it’s not any dance that Arachne’s seen in the Capitol.
Arachne hates the Rings. Oh, she likes them most of the time, but they’re so upbeat. Everyone is so upbeat— Diana and Apollo, Persephone, Domitia. Again, they’re fine most of the time, because they never do anything to get on her nerves. Except they do. They smile or say something in just the right way, and Arachne hopes that someone drips jam or sauce on their clothes and ruins their day just like they’ve ruined hers.
Today is one of the days that she hates the Rings.
With all the laughter and cheer ringing in the air, it’s just Arachne and her tribute stooped on the ground grinding their teeth at one another.
At least someone is miserable with her.
Arachne lays out her little picnic, pulling everything from a basket their new maid gave her.
She takes her time even if she knows her tribute is getting impatient. The longer her preparations go on, the more attention she receives.
These people at the Zoo don’t have jobs. How much food do they really have waiting around at home?
It’s why they’re really making the tributes work for it.
Now, these Capitolites watch Arachne lay out what must be a feast for some District girl. This will show them how far above them Arachne is.
She laid a thick slice of cheese on the bread to make a sandwich.
Arachne put her knife down. One of the children in the audience a little red-haired girl with two plaits ‘ooohs’ at the pearlescent handle.
Arachne had saved this particular piece of cutlery from being pawned away during the war. She’d thought the mother-of-pearl as beautiful as the scintillating blade.
“It might be beautiful, Arachne,” her mother had said when she’d seen her daughter holding it up to the light. “But it’s dangerous.”
*Like me, Arachne had thought.
“Like us,” Arachne had said.
Mother had taken the knife away then, but she had not sold it.
She returned it to Arachne when she’d turned thirteen. It was one of the few times she had pleased her with something she’d said.
Arachne proffered the sandwich to her tribute whose hands grasped out past the bars.
Graceless.
Arachne withdrew the sandwich away, and her audience laughed.
Her tribute gritted her teeth. Arachne laughed too, waving at the crowd and for good measure— taking a bite out of her sandwich.
When the final curtain falls on Brandy’s life, Arachne knows what she’d say. She’s practiced it in her head. She can’t look like a fool in front of all of Panem.
“I mean what else can we expect from someone from the Districts.”
The victor would be from the Districts too of course, but it would probably be someone lucky enough to be born with more strength or cunning than Arachne’s average girl.
A microphone would press in close to hear what more insight Arachne would have about her tribute.
“If she’d been borne in the Capitol,” Arachne imagines looking out across a sea of faces.
She imagines her mother’s heart-faced shape and her light brown hair tied back so tight that Arachne wondered how it was her father with the receding hairline and not her.
“She might have been the only one here worth talking to.”
Arachne imagines the gasps of shock and outrage. A handful of her fellow classmates would raise their hands with question. Others would gape like fishes.
Her mother’s perfect face would be marred with a frown cutting lines and creases into her face.
“Could you elaborate on that Miss Crane?” The interviewer would say.
“Of course,” she’d say summoning all of Domitia’s cloying cheer into her voice. “What I mean to say is? If she’d been Capitol, her character would have been quite admirable. She wasn’t meek. She didn’t back down.”
She certainly went after what she wanted.
“Some people in the Capitol are sheep. They’ll be given a bad hand and tuck their head between their knees and suck it up. There are others who will turn their bad hand into a good one. Whatever it takes.”
The interviewer would nod, unsure how to proceed.
“Brandy got a bad hand being District.”
And Arachne got a bad hand with Brandy, but she it used to that. She had been making the most of it from the very moment she was born.
“But what could she do,” Arachne would relish in her imaginary audience’s discomfort— in poor dead Brandy, who could never really have anything either. “She was District.”
District with misplaced pride. After all, what could she have taken pride in?
Her bloody awful slaughterhouses. Her clothes that smelled like shit. Arachne’s tribute’s parents couldn’t be anyone of importance for her to have ended up in the Games.
Because Arachne is nothing like some girl from the Districts.
…
Arachne got a bad hand with Brandy.
She feels the tug on her hair and sees the shining arc of her own knife.
Her head tilted backwards so that she can see the blue of her tribute’s eyes.
Beautiful and dangerous.
How had she not noticed before?
Her eyes.
Arachne opens her mouth to snap. What comes out is a scream.
Pain. She understands it. Knows it. Does she even feel it at first?
Her hands rush to her throat.
Arachne smells blood and roses and shit, and she hates it. This is how she’s going to die?
Lighter blue. Another pair of eyes.
Coriolanus.
Her knee tries to buck him off on instinct. She wants to claw at his arms and drag him closer. Instead, her nails bite into her neck.
There’s screaming, more than her own.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
More screaming.
Blood pools around her.
Something thuds nearby.
Arachne had always had a strong voice. Her mother saw it as a fault, but her daughter had gotten it from her.
Disgraceful.
Brandy is dead on the other side of the bars. Her sandwich abandoned in the dirt with a single bite taken out, her mouth wide open filled with bread and cheese.
Coriolanus shifts his weight slightly. He means to leave!.
Wait! Keep trying!
Nothing but a rasp escapes her throat.
She tries to blink back the darkness.
Keep trying.
Coriolanus flinches away as her breath leaves flecks of blood on his clothes.
Sorry—
Coriolanus is glancing at something over his shoulder.
Don’t go!
Her hands still at her throat. The pressure of her own fingers grounds her more than the pain.
Dead, lifeless eyes.
She can’t see anymore.
Sorry.
She could get lost in the pain.
Maybe she does.
She doesn’t feel it anymore.
Coriolanus.
Where—
Livia.
Sorry.
She tries to lift her head up. She’s not sure if she succeeds.
Doctor!
Ulysses.
Medic.
Mother.
As good as—
Sorry—
Her mouth fails to form these words into anything other than a hiss.
Mother—
Then, it makes no sound at all.
Arachne’s mouth betrays her to her last breath.