Page 20 of This Vicious Hunger
We’ve finished our meal and the servers are clearing our plates when I get a whiff of that odd, bitter scent again—likely from my sleeve as I dabbed the napkin to my mouth. I realise I’ve not asked Leonardo about the garden again like I planned to. Petaccia’s strange response gives me pause, but I know Leonardo better than I do her and I don’t mind pushing a little harder.
“Leo, I was wondering…” I spin my wedding ring beneath the table and then catch myself, laying my hands on its surface instead. Leonardo shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry—can I call you Leo? Or did Cla—”
“No, no,” he says quickly, almost as if he can’t bear me saying her name. “She called me Ardo, actually. The same as my parents.”
“So…”
“You can call me Leo,” he says. “That sounds nice.”
I give him a small smile and he waits patiently. “Leo.I wondered if you’d had time to learn anything about the garden I asked about…? Only I tried to find out more myself today and I’m not getting anywhere.”
Leonardo sits back, and this time there’s obvious disappointment in his gaze.
“You said you’d help me,” I add, “but if it’s too much trouble—”
“You won’t find anything about it because it doesn’t belong to the university.” Leonardo’s eyes are dark and earnest in the dim canteen light, his lips quirking in a twitch I can’t read. I curl my toes in frustration but otherwise keep my face straight; I can’t pinpoint how I know, but in this moment IknowLeo was lying to me before. He knew which garden I meant from the outset, even though I’ve never seen any of the scholars go near it.
I lean my elbows on the table. “No?” I ask lightly.
“No.” He shakes his head, dark curls bobbing so that he has to brush them back off his forehead. “That land doesn’t belong to anybody.”
“How can that be? Somebody’s got to own it. It’s right there.” I wave my hand in the direction of my rooms, feigning carelessness. “There’s a tower in the middle and everything. Somebody had to build it.” I don’t mention the flowers, how they might lookovergrown from a distance but through the gates they look healthier than any I’ve yet seen at St. Elianto. And Idefinitelydon’t mention the girl. The more time that passes, the more I’m starting to suspect she was a figment of my imagination.
“It’s abandoned,” he says with a shrug. “But I’m pretty sure it’s locked up tight because it’s unsafe. Nobody locks up agardenunless they’re worried about people hurting themselves. Promise me you won’t try to get inside.”
“Oh, Leonardo,” I say. “Come on.”
“No, Thora, please. Promise me. That tower looks like it might collapse at any minute. There’s got to be a reason nobody goes there.”
“But there are some lovely-looking specimens in there,” I try. “Aren’t you curious? Maybe there are some plants we could use for our—”
“No, Thora,” he repeats, and this time his eyes darken further. Whatever the flash of emotion is on his face now, it unsettles me. While before I’d been playful, pressing him half out of curiosity and half out of a desire to see how much he cared, this new, commanding Leo reminds me too much of Aurelio to be a fun challenge.
I hold up my hands placatingly. “Will you promise to help me find out more about the garden, at least?”
“I’m sure there’s nothing more to find—”
“Please, Leo?”
“Fine,” he says. “But you’ve got to promise you won’t go there again.”
“Okay, I promise,” I say. “I won’t go near the tower.”
I’m quick to change the subject once more as we gather our things to leave the dining hall, and if he notices the careful way I phrased my promise, he says nothing.
Chapter Twelve
It is over a month before I see the girl in the garden again.
I check the window habitually as I study at night, or as I walk past the garden’s gates—which I do more evenings than not—but it has been still and dark, and Leo’s warning has never felt more asinine. Tonight is no different. The library would be quiet at this time if I chose to read there instead—I’d even likely get a carrel to study in, which is necessary as a woman studying after dark—but I’ve come to associate nights with the garden—and the girl. Deep down, I knew there was a chance I’d see her again, and I didn’t want to risk missing her.
It turns out I was right.
This second time, a night just as warm as the first, I spot her right as I finish making tea. The moon is a sickle, a silver seedling amidst a velvet blue. The air smells of jasmine and lemons and the fresh honeyed scent of the echinacea in my tea. This time I refuse to just sit and watch idly, but I am as entranced as before and it takes a moment before I can breathe.
She drifts amongst the blooms again, trailing her hands, thanking some unseen deity for each specimen she snips and addsto her basket—just like before. When she bends close to take each cut, it looks like she is whispering to the flowers and my hair prickles on my arms and neck. My pulse crashes in my ears like ocean waves. I feel hungry and thirsty and dizzy all at once, desire wicking away all sense.
I watch long enough to be sure she is definitely there—not some wistful trick of my tired brain—then ram my feet into my shoes so hard my toes protest, before dousing the candle and hurrying to the door. I close it quietly even though there’s nobody around, just in case it spooks her. It’s a ridiculous notion, but what about my behaviour, or hers, is normal?
