Splintered

Chapter Seventy-One: Planted Questions, Pruned Answers

"Stop!" Lily cried, seizing Hazel's wrist. "You're going to kill them."

Her younger sister was scowling at a butchered rose bush.

Hazel feigned ignorance as Lily towered over her, "What? You asked me to cut them."

Lily's free hand settled on her hip in a mini-mirror of Fern. Her gardening apron was coated in leaves and fine mud from her day's activities. "I told you to prune them, not cut them down."

"That's what I'm doing, isn't it?" Hazel shrugged.

"I'll prune, you plant," Lily demanded, releasing her iron hold. Whirling to a little purple wagon, she began rooting around the early spring flowers she'd been waiting months to plant. And since it was finally a decently warm spring day, it meant the time had arrived.

"I don't think it's that bad," Hazel mumbled, squinting at the hacked-up roses. They were leafless, scarred stubs just inches from the earth.

"She's right," Leo's voice came from behind. He was leaning against the wall of the peacekeeper quarters, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. "You're definitely a better lumberjack than gardener."

He'd been gone for weeks after the assassination, and for a while, she worried he would never return. He hadn't talked about what happened in the Capitol, but she knew it had changed something in him.

A few weeks prior, Dr. Savi stopped by for an unannounced checkup. Hazel noticed how, once finished with her, he disappeared into the Peacekeeper hut. An hour later, he emerged, clapped Leo on the shoulder, offered a farewell, and left without another word.

Leo hadn't mentioned what their meeting had been about, and she hadn't asked, but he had been more withdrawn. Quieter. More careful.

At the same time, he still appeared to be unable to stop himself from siding with her siblings to goad her.

Hazel scowled at him while Lily huffed in agreement. She wasn't about to admit that she wouldn't mind if the roses didn't quite make it through her 'pruning' session.

It would be one less reminder of ... him.

Not that those weren't everywhere. If Coriolanus Snow was a thorn, then she was practically a porcupine, or at least looked like she'd rolled through a blackberry bush.

The man had taken up space in her mind every day for months, ever since he'd kissed her in the tundra of District One, that hopeful, dangerous look in his eye and undoubtedly a backup plan in his pocket.

Besides that, there were the gifts.

Oh, the gifts.

He'd sent them for her, her parents, and each of her siblings. They'd even received dog treats for Bao. He'd sent updates on Rowan's schooling and had arranged for video calls.

Rowan looked healthier and more grown-up every time she saw him. Despite her brother's infrequent letters, he had assured her he was settling in and making friends, though the world of the Capitol had been a shock to his system the first few weeks.

Besides all of the other things Snow had done, the most frustrating of all were the roses. Every day, another was delivered. All were the same.

Each morning, a peacekeeper would bring her a deep blue bloom. Over the last several months, they had accumulated to the point that she had to start storing them outside of her bedroom. Lily took more than her fair share, of course. Linden agreed to one or two, Sage a vaseful, and her parents did their part, spreading them in pots, containers, and cups throughout the house.