" Is giving me useless cutlery really necessary?” I said, stabbing my toast with the knife instead of slicing it.
“The sovereign is concerned that you will try to end your life before the appropriate time,” Eijeh said.
The appropriate time. I wondered if Eijeh had chosen my manner of death, then. The oracle, plucking the ideal future from an array of options.
“End my life with this thing? My fingernails are sharper.” I brought the knife down, point first, on the mattress. I slammed it so hard the bed frame shuddered, and let go. The knife fell over, not even sharp enough to penetrate fabric. I winced, not even sure what part of my body hurt.
“I suppose he thinks you’re creative enough to find a way,” Eijeh said softly.
I stuffed the last bite of toast into my mouth and sat back against the wall, my arms folded. We were in one of the polished, glossy cells in the belly of the amphitheater, beneath the stadium seats that were already filling with people hungry to watch me die. I had won the last challenge, but I was running out of strength. This morning walking to the toilet had been a feat.
“How sweet,” I said, spreading my arms wide to display my bruises. “See how my brother loves me?”
“You’re making jokes,” Ryzek said from just outside the cell. I could hear him, muffled, through the glass wall that separated us. “You must be getting desperate. "

― Veronica Roth , Carve the Mark (Carve the Mark, #1)