CHAPTER 44
Miya
The Territories
The True Follower's Villa, Caspador
833 P.C. [Post-Collapse]
Hollowed logs smoldered red and black in untended fire pits, their light sinking with the setting sun until only torches burned in the night. The children spread out along the street, many running and dancing, while some struggled to keep their heavy heads lifted and others curled up, fast asleep. A woman stood on the steps of the cathedral, drawing her bow across the strings of her violin. The slow chirp of crickets pulsed with the long and haunting notes of her song.
Miya’s mother had played this every season when spring drew nearer. The music surrounded her like a tether to her mother, to her people, and to everything Miya had once hoped to become.
She hung close to the barrels of wine by the cathedral steps as she finished off her third glass of the bitter wine the villagers had fermented themselves. Tasted like death, but it still calmed her nerves. Miya thought through her plan to drop the information to Ashantae and turn over Bale and her boss to the United. She wanted Lance and this little family to escape once she did it.
That still didn't save everyone else in this village. It didn't guarantee the United could stop the Phaedra from having her family killed.
The music stopped when the violinist set her instrument down and hurried for an open door where a gray-headed man held a swaddled baby. The instrument rested against the top step, leaving the village with nothing to dance to. Her mother would never let them go without.
She ventured up the steps and traced her fingers over the glossy wood of the violin where it dimpled. This had been made by hand. Lifting the instrument to her shoulder, she tucked her chin against the rest, held the bow between her middle fingers and thumb, and angled it sharply against the strings. Miya didn’t take the time to warm up. She brought the bow down fast and jolted the people awake with a song they couldn’t resist dancing to. Eyes closed, she could almost feel her mother’s hair tickling her arms as she reached around her to show her fingers where to go.
She opened her eyes to the villagers dancing in one moving body, their feet kicking up dust, their laughter a refrain that drowned out the crickets. She spotted Lance at the end of the lit street, a short walk away down the stairs that separated them. Charlotte tugged at his hand with her feet pushing against his, straining.
Like a pebble lodged in a riverbed, the current of the crowd twisted around him. Lance watched Miya as if it were just the two of them.
Her finger slipped. She skipped a beat.
No one seemed to have noticed her mistake. She turned to the massive doors that were barred shut for the night and continued to play with the music bouncing off the stone walls, swelling around her.
After a few more songs that had served Miya well through the years, entertaining wherever her work at Rafferty’s had led her, the violinist returned. Passing off the instrument, Miya descended the stairs with no way to avoid Lance. Charlotte had climbed onto his feet, dancing with him as he made his way to her.
“Time to go with the other kids,” Lance said. He helped Charlotte down, lifted her hand above her head, and spun her in a circle. She fanned her dress as she leaped away.
Miya shifted so she couldn’t see them, but Lance followed her line of sight.
“Talk to me, Miya.” He searched her eyes. “That was the most emotion I've seen from you, and I didn't even know that you're a musician.”
She laughed. “I'm not a musician.”
“This is all we have,” Lance said. “If that means anything to you, then tell me what’s going on with Bale.”
Miya groaned. “You kept it a secret that I was coming. You’re the one who risked these people’s lives by bringing me.”
Lance looked at her as he had when she played the violin. Eyes full of wonder. “Let’s say I kept you from coming. It wouldn't stop the captain.” He lowered his voice. “Take a stand against him, and I’ll help—”
Miya covered his mouth with her fingers, lowering his head down by hers as she pulled him into a dance. “You never know who’s watching. Don’t say things like that when someone could see your lips.”
They swayed with the music. Lance held her hips, and she dangled her arms around his shoulders. He spoke against the top of her head. “We can work together. Hakym is right. There's no time to wait.”
Miya sighed. “It’s not your fault you trust me.” She drew him closer, twisting control of the conversation from his hands, directing his every movement, as if she were a magnet and he the steel. “I’ve been doing this a long time.” She slid one hand down to his chest. “I got under your skin. Whatever connection you think we have isn’t real. I planted it in you.”
“You got under my skin. Definitely.” The smile was never far from Lance’s lips. “How does it feel for someone to get under yours?” The hands at her hips eased over her lower back to bring her even closer. His body brushed against hers. “You can’t see your own tell.”
The wine left her dizzy. She felt it when she came close to nestling her head against Lance’s chest. His skin held the musky scent of an honest day’s work, the muscles in his torso shaped by years of labor. The captain trained his body for taking life. Lance had only ever tried to survive. To take care of the people he loved.
“I thought you were supposed to be shy and awkward.”
“I'm a little drunk.”
