Dyva will be enthusiastic and friendly with everyone, but she's especially interested in talking to Ken, since, well, gardening. Does a young world like this have any special concerns for a gardener? Does it have any particular joys? 

Ken is certainly free to be chatted with, her contribution to the cooking having been primarily the ingredient which she brought, and she is absolutely happy to discuss gardening! There are some concerns, especially when growing plants of entirely new character, such as how they'll impact the relatively delicate ecological balance that currently stands, or what sort of conditions they will help create if they are being grown in the new-earth further out from the valley. There is certainly an abundance of joy as well! There's the intuitive and enlivening feeling of power when she sees the impacts that the medicines (and poisons, when times call for it) she grows have on the people around her, and there's a parallel feeling when she is simply tending to the plants themselves and can feel the chains of cause and effect connecting her actions to the futures of her plants in an almost-physical way.

Naturally, she is also interested in Dyva's experiences gardening, what her homeworld is like, both in terms of plant-life and in a broader sense.

To Dyva, her gardening and horticultural traditions are rooted in the twofold desperate survival of a villain living in a ruined land; the soil itself requires constant costly tending, powered by human sacrifice of condemned criminals to remain remotely fertile, and even with that, famines recur like clockwork whenever trade routes fail to import enough food. But it's her family that invented the magical arts for ensuring fertility without further damaging the environment in the long-term, thus putting a halt to the long slow decline of the land, even if they cannot repair it sufficiently to keep up with all of the other, less-inevitable forms of magical damage. But Dyva herself can hardly spare time to focus on that, so vicious is the backstabbing politics, so the simple wonder of her garden is one of the few things that keeps her sane through all that. (and the poisons and minions it provides are vital tools in her own schemes). 

Dyva doesn't seem particularly sad about any of this; it's somewhere between an inconvenience to her personally, and a sad inevitability that she's sort of distant from emotionally. It's totally outweighed by her enthusiasm about her garden and the plants in it (which range from the mundane to the fantastical - at her home, she has both a climate-controlled shed full of mundane exotic orchids and another, similar, climate-controlled shed containing a jewel-like flower which will apparently grant a wish once every 1000 years, starting 600 years from now).