Page 19 of This Vicious Hunger

“Oh, I’ve never smelled anything exactly the same as this,” I say hurriedly, sweetening my lie with a smile.

“I just wondered if it would be possible. If plant families have similar appearances, why not scents? When I was a little girl my father taught me that no two flowers ever smell the same and that always amazed me. It doesn’t feel as though it should be possible, especially when some types of flowers look similar—”

“No,” Petaccia says, appeased. Her shoulders relax—and only then do I feel my own drop from near my ears.

“Appearance and scent are not the same. But we can talk about that another day. Now, come—put on these protective armbands and gloves and help me lift this from the base. I need to check the soil.”

When I arrive at the dining hall later, Leonardo is being seated at my normal window table, his curls wild where he’s run his hand through them. He waves me over with a grin.

“Good timing,” he says. “I would have asked if you wanted to join me, but I didn’t see you around today.” His eyes travel to my arms. The cuffs on my sleeves are grubby, stained slightly green. I was too hungry to get changed before heading here.

“I was with Petaccia.” I sit and hide my hands under the table. “She called for me—all day. So I didn’t go to my lectures.”

Leonardo leans in with interest while the server pours our water. “Oh? Anything exciting?”

I hesitate. I’m sure Leonardo is only curious, but it feels wrong to share Petaccia’s excitement with him—not when she keeps it under lock and key the way she does. “It was a delivery,” I say honestly. “A fairly big one. She wanted an extra pair of hands.”

If Leonardo is disappointed in my answer, he doesn’t show it, just tucks into the warm bread and good, salty butter on the table. It isn’t long before I follow suit, letting him lead the conversation. My head aches, not badly, but the pulsing sensation is distracting.

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 I know Leo 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 look overgrown from a distance but through the gates they look healthier than any I’ve yet seen at St. Elianto.

And I definitely don’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 a garden unless 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.