by Bowes, K T
Limah’s gaze slid to the old man’s face as the drone nodded. “It will seem right when it needs to. Those who are not for you are against you, Lady. They can infect a hive from within and produce apathy or rebellion. They are a disease and the queen wields the cure.”
I narrowed my eyes in the torchlight and inspected a large bee near my shoulder. “Is this Limah?” My gaze slid to his. “I should rather like to dig him out.”
Limah snorted and the sound echoed around us. The drone moved his head from side to side as the vibrations ricocheted and confused him. “The Bee Keeper is not your subject,” he said, his voice solemn. “You do not rule over him.”
“Pity,” I breathed and Limah dug his teeth into his lower lip. His face creased into another laugh, but he didn’t release it. The scar bisected his features, appearing white in the torchlight. “At least Hosta has no part of me,” I concluded, searching for a bright point in the invasion of my body.
The old man’s features creased into a wrinkled frown. “Oh, but she is there,” he said.
“You didn’t name her.” The words gushed from my lips, desperate for denial.
Limah lifted the torch in his left hand and gripped the old man’s elbow in his right. “Let us find food,” he said with an exhausted sigh.
“You didn’t. Her name didn’t cross your lips.” A burgeoning panic rose in my breast and the effigies which trooped from my shoulder to my heart seemed to burn more. “Please!” I cried, watching the men’s backs as they moved away from me and took the light.
The drone stopped and turned his body, forcing Limah to do likewise. “She is there,” he replied, his glassy eyes glinting as they danced in his head. “I named only the ones I could touch. It is inappropriate for me to inspect further.”
My moan of anguish trebled and raised from floor to ceiling, reverberating around us in the tunnel. “No! This can’t be.” I yanked the shirt from my chest, but the darkness enveloped me as the light bounced away in Limah’s hand. “Give me your knife!” I demanded, raising my voice to call after the men. “Limah, come back here!”
“No, Estefania.” He spoke over his shoulder without stopping. “No. A good ruler attempts to win her subjects around first.”
“I can’t!” I shrieked. “And what then?”
“Cull her in the physical world,” the old man cackled and dread ran through my bones to my core. “Or you will regret it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Enchantment of Apples
The room contained a vaulted ceiling and windows which opened onto a snow-covered valley. Hand blown glass bore myriad imperfections which marred the vista and forced me to peer through. The landscape appeared bleak, yet bright with the whiteness of a frozen world. Dining tables littered the space, hewn from planks of raw wood and accompanied by benches. The primitive dining room felt recently vacated. “I did not eat here.” I clasped my fingers together and assessed my level of isolation in my previous stay. The surge of anguish at the people’s rejection surprised me with its bite. “Only in the chamber I slept in or the wash room.”
Limah shrugged and his dark eyelashes fluttered. I saw a flash of sympathy which came and went without leaving a trace. “They feared to trust you,” he said. Straightening a table until it became perpendicular with its adjacent mate, he hauled a bench beneath it. “They still do. You give them no cause to think otherwise.” He tapped the rutted seat. “Sit. I’ll fetch food for us.”
“You don’t need to wait on me.” I stayed with him as he walked towards a corner of the room. Inclining his head without comment, he showed me a roughly hewn loaf of bread and a pot of golden honey. I swallowed, my stubbornness not extending to any knowledge of food preparation. I watched his fingers, waiting to copy whatever he did.
“You think I would abandon you?” His question struck at the central thread of my anxiety and I turned my face away.
“No,” I lied, the word not convincing. I feared I must play his game or end up alone.
“You hate it here so?” His brow knitted and sadness flitted across his face in the down turned lips. “Are we cruel, Estefania?”
My mouth opened to utter the affirmative, but his question had been asked before and it jolted my memory. “The boy!” I gasped, my gaze drawn by the hunk of bread. “A boy accompanied me from the town. The chimney sweep chased us.” I swallowed and the words piled forth. “Sorrel is his name and he ran ahead to fetch help.”
Limah’s brow knitted. “I saw no child, Este. Perhaps he got lost.”
I swallowed and pity struck a dissonant chord in my chest. “Perhaps Galveston intercepted him. Even now, he sits in a dire chamber in the Wasp Lord’s realm and waits for rescue.” My fists balled by my sides and anger surged through my heart. I took a decisive step towards the door we entered through and Limah whirled around and caught my wrist.
“And you would be his rescuer?”
I looked for mockery in the twist of his lips and saw none. But the anger burned still. “I will do what it takes. The child risked his life for me.” Sorrel’s face loomed in my inner vision, open, honest and desperate for acceptance. I stuck my chin in the air and saw pride flash through Limah’s eyes. Then it began again, the searing pain in my arm.
I closed my eyes against the fire’s refining as the burn spread to my shoulder and across my chest. Limah’s grip on my wrist faded as my body fought the takeover of my mother’s genes. When it released me, I collapsed onto my knees and opened my eyes.
Limah still gripped my wrist and a curious paleness made the glossy sweat stand out on his brow. He looked sick and I snatched my arm away, seeing him stagger against the force. “This battle will rip you apart, Este,” he whispered, his wide eyes anguished. “I cannot counsel you through such a thing. You resist your destiny.”
“Then don’t.” My words sounded lacklustre and dead. When Limah backed away and left the room, I stayed on my knees and listened to the metal segs on his boots click against loose stones in the corridor.
Relieved of an audience, I collapsed forward and rested my forehead against the sandy floor. My arm throbbed as though the circulation pushed through empty veins and I waited for the pain to subside. I did not wish to see what had changed, nor witness my own agonising birth as a hive queen. I wanted only to remain as Estefania Melitto, the spoiled and indulged daughter of a king.
A touch on the back of my head made me jump and I cried out as my arm jerked. The sensation radiated across my shoulder and lodged in my heart. I turned my face sideways and spied two little bare feet, with cute toes ringed with sand. “Lily,” I breathed. “I don’t feel like playing.”
“I know, Lady.” Gentle hands took my battered cap from my head and I saw it fall to the ground next to her feet. “Your hair’s a mess,” she said, her tone containing a faint rebuke. “Will you let me take care of you?”
I nodded, possessing no energy to fight her childish desire to mother me. She held out a tiny hand and I took it, allowing her to urge me upright. The blood rushed from my head and I clasped my left arm close to my body while I swayed against a sensation of vertigo. Lily’s hand felt cool in mine and it helped to lower my temperature and ease my panic. “Thank you,” I said, forcing humbleness into my tone.
“Sit and I will make you bread and honey.” Her amber eyes widened with an open sincerity which plucked at the finer threads of my heart. I obeyed, daring to loosen the buttons on my shirt and peer inside. The bees marched with force across my chest. A final dark shadow rested over my heart as though one had sunk below the surface. I shivered and closed the shirt against a sight which sickened me.
Lily used a butcher’s cleaver to sever a hunk of bread, wielding the tool like a sword fighter and making me fear for her delicate fingers. She drizzled honey over the mangled chunk as though it were finest caramel and brought it over. Her left hand bore the bread while the right helped with balance, her arm swinging wide like a tightrope performer. The look of concentration switched to annoyance as
honey dripped onto her skirt.
“Thank you.” I accepted the result of her labour with good grace and bit into the dry crust. Lily’s lashes fluttered with pleasure at my open acceptance.
“May I perform the role of first maid?” she asked, thudding onto the bench next to me.
I winced as my thoughts turned to Bliss. “First of whom, Lily?” I asked, swallowing the stale bread with difficulty. The honey stuck clumps to the roof of my mouth and threatened to choke me. Dehydration gave me nothing with which to make it palatable. “I have no other maids.”
“So, can I be the first?”
“Please may I have a drink?” I asked, coughing over a knotted ball of dough and honey at the back of my throat. Lily skipped away with enthusiasm and returned with an earthenware pot filled with sweet water. I guzzled it with little of the etiquette drilled into me from birth. A stream escaped down either side of my mouth and Lily giggled. “More,” I demanded, gasping from the onslaught of the cold liquid in my chest. An extended bout of coughing ensued as the breadcrumbs dislodged from my around my teeth. But the pain in my arm and chest lessened with each cleansing mouthful of the tasty drink.
I drained the contents of Lily’s pitcher and she ran back and forth with eagerness. “What is the sweet taste?” I asked, upending the pottery mug so I could swallow the last drips. A wonderful numbness subdued my aches and pains.
“Water laced with apples from the Master’s last crop,” she replied, pointing to the view through the window in a suggestion of orchards buried beneath the snow. “Do you like it?”
“Do I like it?” My words slurred and I started in surprise. The room swam before me, reminding me of the time Bliss swung me too long and I fainted from dizziness. I put out my arms in front of me, nauseated as they swayed and shook. The thud surprised me most of all and the sight of the sandy floor at my cheek. My stomach issued a resounding belch and I closed my eyes, giving into slumber induced by the strong inebriant.
CHAPTER NINE
Never Again
The innards of my skull throbbed as though a blacksmith beat it, each crash of his hammer against the anvil like a body blow. I groaned and placed an instinctive palm over my chest. The lack of hive activity infused a sudden grief into the pain and I groaned beneath the weight of it. Feather light fingers brushed my brow.
“I’m sorry,” a child’s voice whispered. Warm damp breath and spittle doused my cheek. “The elders drink it. I thought you’d like it.”
My replied moan seemed to reverberate around the cavity of my head and I ceased all noise and movement for a while. A little hand pushed its way into mine, grasping and impatient. “Help me, Queen Estefania. I am in deep trouble. I got you to your chambers but everyone will soon know what I did.”
“Am I poisoned?” I winced and emitted another groan. My eyelids cracked apart. The flicker of a candle moved nearby and I shuddered with relief at not facing daylight.
“No.” I heard a sniff and the hitch of a chest. “I sozzled you by accident.”
“Sozzled.” I repeated the word and let it permeate my addled senses. An image of bees giddy with fermented nectar drifted across my inner vision and I tightened my muscles in fear. The action hurt. “Guard bees execute those drunk on fermented nectar. Is that my fate?”
Lily patted my cheek and I moaned at the echo which moved around the cavernous halls in my head. “Master Limah protects you, but it has damaged your cause and he is angry with both of us.”
“Wonderful.” I squeezed my eyes closed and rolled onto my side, yelping at the sharp pains which ran up my left arm. A tingle ensued and I sensed rage burning through the delicate flesh. It resembled a hundred angry bee stings and I squeezed the bridge of my nose between finger and thumb. “Just let them kill me,” I demanded. “I should be grateful for death.”
Lily exploded next to my face, a hail of liquid grief projecting from her lips and eyes. “No!” she wailed, sounding as though her heart snapped in her breast. “Please don’t die. I’m in enough trouble already.”
I rolled away from her leakage and settled on my right side. My head throbbed too hard to concentrate and irritation burgeoned as the persistent child appeared again, squeezing herself between the mattress and wall. “I can’t think, Lily,” I begged. “My head hurts.” I made a beckoning motion with my fingers and like an eager cork from vintage wine, she popped onto the bed next to me and snuggled close. She sniffed for a while, the echoing sounds reminding me of Bliss sweeping the sun-room floor of my island palace. I plunged back into slumber without resistance, eager to dream of a life filled with indulgence and ease.
I stirred a while later, feeling a gentle pressure against my chest. The sleep had provided healing and my head thudded less although my stomach made disgusting sounds beneath my ribcage. I moved and parted my eyelids, squinting into the darkness. My right shoulder ached from the weight of my body resting on it and something felt wedged under my ribs. When I moved, a clamp tightened around my neck and fear prickled in my breast. I opened my mouth to scream and a hand slid from behind and covered the sound. Warm breath coasted across the shell of my ear.
“Be sensible, Este,” Limah whispered. “The child stayed with you all night and screeching in her face will traumatise her for life.” He paused and I resisted the urge to bring my teeth closed around his fingers. “Can I let go?” he asked.
I nodded and his hand slid away, his palm stroking my cheek as he released me. “What happened?” I asked, my voice rasping and croaky.
I listened to Limah’s footsteps as he moved away and a light flickered to life in the corner of the room. He released Lily’s fingers from around my neck with gentleness and scooped her fragile body into his arms. She grumbled and he kissed her forehead. Around his neck dangled the tiniest jar I’d ever seen and bee smoke drifted upwards into Lily’s face. “I will return,” he whispered. “Hosta is deprived of the child and grows restless.”
The door opened and then closed behind him and I used his absence to stretch, testing my limbs one at a time. The ache in my head produced a dull throb and the threat of nausea aggravated an already sensitive stomach. I pushed myself into a sitting position, recognising the chamber allocated to me during my previous stay. Deep within the centre of the network of caves and tunnels, it absorbed no light and the air seemed cloying and musty.
My own scent assailed my nostrils and I coughed in disgust. “I need a bath.”
“You do indeed.” The cackle made me jump and set my head on another wave of throbbing. I groaned and rested my forehead on my palms.
“Go away, old man,” I mumbled. “You’re the last witness I want at my death.”
His laughter echoed around the rock walls and instinct sent my fingers to my breast to assess the hive. As they contacted the rough material of my shirt, dread reminded me of my loss and I halted the action, not wishing to feel pain again. The thing which had begun to replace my mother’s hive frightened me, neither bee nor human. Its call began again as a faint whisper and I worked to shut off its influence. Feet shuffled across the sandy floor and gnarled fingers clasped my head. “Don’t resist,” the old man whispered. “The death of seed gives rise to the birth of a mighty oak. The generations are permitted to exceed the expectations of their forebears.” His palm searched past my ear, moving over my shoulder and along the arm frozen in position over my heart. His fingers clasped mine and he closed the distance, connecting my own hand with my chest. Even through the tattered fabric, I felt the raised emblems beneath my skin. Raw and painful like an open wound, they squirmed in position as though keen to escape. Dizziness consumed me, plunging me into a swirling blackness without end. In the colony, I felt my physical body tip and heard the strangled shout wrenched from between my lips.
Blackness surrounded me, so dark I saw nothing. The drone’s fingers ceased to pain my wrist and a metallic tang filled the space in my breast where honeyed halls once resided. I felt nothing from my physical body, but my soul squirmed in pain
and I writhed beneath its agony. Something cried out my name, the sound like the crash of shields meeting. Though I had never heard the noise of such a bitter warfare, I knew its call. Worse than the sense of isolation, was the realisation I’d landed in the wrong place. Another destiny awaited me around the dark, forbidding corners which robbed me of vision. The voice called again, challenging my queen-right. A blur of muffled words, I didn’t hear the rest of its proclamation. I opened my mouth to scream and nothing emerged. But the bitter taste of iron filled my throat. No essence of Sonora remained in the dark place within me, even the ruins of her hive obliterated. I doubted I sensed her approval when I stood up to Limah before. The hollowness of the black pit meant I doubted even my own existence beyond it. I had met the black core of my being. And I hated myself.
Strong hands gripped my shoulders and oxygen filled my lungs in a gagging inhale which almost split my chest in two. A voice called to me from the Outer and I struggled to surface, obeying the urgency and authority in its tone despite the urge to stay and wallow in misery. “Este!” Limah shouted into my face and shook me. I smelled hyacinth and honey on his breath and felt the warmth of it on my cheek. It reminded me of summer and I choked on the safety and comfort the memory evoked. I popped free of the dark, abandoned place where Sonora’s hive once lived. Murder and futility had taken up residence. Candle light blinded me and relief flooded my mind. Words jumbled in my head, desperate for clarification and a need to purge the image of the dark place. When I opened my mouth, no sound emerged, not even grunts of fear or frustration.
Gulping air, I snatched at Limah’s face, feeling rough bristles and soft skin beneath my fingers. Wide and terrified, my eyes blinked and searched his expression for answers. Voiceless and without authority in the dark place, my powerlessness had followed me to the Outer.
Limah’s lips released a tiny sigh and he masked his pity best he could. I jabbed an accusing finger at the old man and Limah gritted his jaw, the line of the bone showing through his cheek. The drone tutted, a sharp sound which echoed around our heads. “She is broken already,” he snorted. “She saw inside herself and cannot even bear witness to her own destiny. What use is she now?” He pointed at me. “Did you see a new hive, girl?” he demanded. “Was it magnificent?”