Page 147 of Seasons of War
“It’s not best,” Hakym said, holding the edges of his robe.
Lance smiled. “We’ll see. Where’s the key to the greenhouse?”
“Ah.” Hakym rocked back on his heels. His face lit. “Let an old man boast about his gardening and do be kind enough to pretend to be impressed.”
Miya bit her cheek to keep from smiling. This Takja might be her ticket to a deal with Bale, especially with how friendly he seemed toward Lance.
They wound through a maze of halls until they entered the greenhouse. Warmth met her as she stepped into the room and breathed in the fresh scent of growth. Peas spread out to her left, beans beside them, the green sprouts of baby carrots after that, and then bright spinach leaves.
Lance pinched the leaf of a bean plant without breaking its outer membrane. “Looks good.”
“What did I tell you? I wouldn’t let a single one die.” Hakym made a bridge with his fingers. “Let me enlighten you with the secret to my gardening. For forty days, three times a day, mind you, the plants found nourishment in the wisdom of the Old Ones alone. As did I.”
Miya raised a brow.
Hakym pivoted her way, whispering from the side of his mouth. “I watered them and kept them warm, but the boy here loves my parables. I must indulge him.”
“I don’t, actually.” Lance lifted a watering can from the ground, his back to them.
Hakym shook his head in disagreement. “On the fortieth day, we feasted. A long, but fruitful wait.” He lowered his voice to such a whisper that she struggled to hear. “Your highness.”
It could have been the captain squeezing her throat for how her breath caught.
Lance rounded the soil around the base of a tall bean. “She doesn’t want to hear your stories.”
Hakym’s gaze found the mark on her finger. With the smile still on his face, he met her stare again, tears misting his eyes. He lifted his weathered finger to his lips as if to say hush. Miya’s stomach twisted.
“I’m sorry,” Hakym said. “Very sorry. I won’t say a word.”
“Say what you want as long as you’re not annoying her,” Lance returned.
Her hands trembled as she clutched them into fists. If Miya had met him, it couldn’t have been when she was anything more than a child. Even if she did look familiar to him, why would he be so certain that he was face-to-face with adead girl?
Miya hung behind as the two men exited the greenhouse. Her heart thumped off the stone walls of the tunnel and echoed down to where the entire village could hear her panic. The men’s conversation faded to a hum until someone came for Lance and took him to Bale.
Miya had nowhere left to turn except for the life she’d left behind, as though the past could provide refuge from the future. No running.
The jovialness vanished with Lance gone. Hakym bowed his head.
Miya’s voice tightened. “Get your head up.”
“I won’t tell Lance, and he won’t figure it out. It’s just that you took me by surprise. Here you are,” he said. “Alive.”
“Of course, I’m alive. I have no idea what—”
“As soon as I saw you, I knew. You look so much like her.”
Miya stepped back for the exit, not sure of where to flee to, but ready to run.
“When I sat at the foot of your mother’s bed, haunted by all I’d failed to do… You stared at me with those eyes.” His expression scrunched. “I should have stopped Bale from abusing his power. He's brought us to ruin. And he stole your mother’s future when he offered her hand.”
The memory returned to Miya as if covered in dust and unearthed from a box best left packed away. She saw Hakym’s face as it had been, smoother, with fewer traces of old age.
“How could I ever forget such eyes?” He lowered his hands to his side. “So, when you looked at me today, and you asked me how I could let Lance go into a war zone…” The tears broke free and fell down his face. “There was no denying it was you, my dear.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong. I don't know you, and I don't care about Lance or you or any of this.”
Hakym’s eyes softened.
