you're talking to your highness . zori

V A S C O

Morning came with all its aching bones and a bubbling coffee pot, with sunlight creeping out onto the stair, with ‘you’re going to be late for school’ and a laugh over whether or not Emmanuel would take us up on the offer to watch the baby.

Joy could still fill these halls, even as dark as they’d been because we’d discovered how to treasure these quiet moments. Whether Yani babbled about traveling to the moon, or I gossiped with Emma about the latest districter complaint, we could greet the day knowing how full our hearts could be. Strength to me was a lot more than the physical; to be whole you needed to recognize not just who you were but what pieces of you were borrowed and stitched together. And any Izar would tell you there’s quite a few stitches holding me together at this point, I think.

I lingered in the doorway an extra moment to brush back the hair over Emma’s ear and plant a kiss on her lips. Seeing her in the light of the morning on the porch, how could I not be reminded of what a lucky man that I was? Someone so brilliant standing beside me, a shoulder to lean on, a mother and teacher, she’d done more for us than the district could know. It's why I wished I could stay pressed against her lips, my hands at her waist, me dreaming of the nights when we were young and hidden out under the stars. Where my children may hold my heart, Emma has always been a deeper part of me – half of my soul, the woman whose grace had brought out a potential I’d never have seen without her.

I practically skipped my way to the justice building that morning, Yani giggling as she held my hand and kicking up gravel as we meandered along. We did our secret handshake just before she turned the corner for school. A high five above her head, then down below, a turn in a circle and a few finger guns at one another as we backed away – a combination we’d experimented with over the summer until Yani had at last declared she’d no more edits.

Sipping at a cup of coffee from a campaign mug with my face plastered on the side, I turned over the papers on my desk to set about work for the day. Magdalena had scribbled something illegible across my schedule, but then, she hardly gave complete notes for what the day was supposed to look like.

When the door flung open and a woman wearing what I guessed could’ve been worth half the district stood in the doorway, I sat still in my old leather chair. Quite the contrast to the old black tee shirt and jeans I’d put together than morning (but at least they were my ‘fancy’ pair and not my ‘comfy’ ones).

Was she the capitolite that’d sent me the chocolates?

‘You’re uglier than I thought you’d be.’

“Oh.”

Octavia.

There’d been – celebrating, the night the election results came down – Druso feeding me more alcohol, some of us coming up to the mayor’s office to smoke cigars, and spliffs, and drink whiskey. Until one of us had the great idea to get on the telephone to call up the other mayors and let them know what I thought about all of it, inviting them to the fields of eleven, whenever they wished.

“I see you’ve found your way to me. Please – would you like some… coffee, tea? I hope the streets didn’t do too much harm to your clothes,” I smiled and stood, “We’re headed into harvest season.”

District two had its weapons and training. But Eleven?

We could kill with kindness.

“It’s so good of you to come.”