by Bowes, K T
He baulked at the suspicion which narrowed my eyes into dangerous slits. “I wouldn’t!” he protested, drawing his hand away from the expanding girth which strained his waistband. “But will there be dinner where we’re going?”
I shrugged and continued my preparations, eager to begin my personal war. Sorrel bounded off to pack his own meager belongings, but I suspected he aimed for the kitchens first. A slender paring knife I’d stolen from the food hall fitted into my belt and the path-delineator slipped into the pocket of my breeches.
“Take this.” Limah’s deep voice caused me to jump as I rummaged in a discarded drawer for spare clothing. I felt a fool as I turned to meet him with my favourite underwear dangling from my fingers. A quick movement stowed them in the bag. Limah held out an oilskin jacket, the collar suspended in his fingers. I shook my head, not wanting to take his weatherproof coat. “Take it!” he demanded, his tone harsh and authoritative. “You might not need me, but you’ll certainly need this.”
I crossed the room and took it, the fabric hanging heavy between us. Our fingers touched and I felt the flare of the old connection which months ago, would have dragged me wholesale to Sonora’s hive. “Thank you,” I mouthed and his smile looked sincere.
“Go well, Estefania Melitto,” he whispered. “We will not meet again.” The clatter of his boots on the corridor’s dull floor seemed to match the onerous thud of my heartbeat as he repeated my mother’s dreadful words. I pushed down thoughts of a life without them both, a sense of dread winding its fingers around my throat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Knitting
The labyrinth entrance nearest Limah’s workshop proved heavily guarded. Much had changed since my latest arrival. A girl in black armour stood behind the closed door, her sword at the ready. When she recognised me, her stance relaxed. “The Master instructed us to let you pass,” she said, standing to attention. She rapped on the back of the door with the hilt of her sword and it cracked ajar. A male teenage face poked through and his eyes widened. I had flattened him the day before during sparring practice and his left hand strayed to the bruise beneath his eye. “Let the Regina pass,” the girl instructed, her voice carrying authority.
The boy’s expression drew into a scowl. “The silent queen finally abandons us,” he muttered, pushing the heavy door inward and stepping back. His disappointment reached me alongside waves of fresh, outside air. “I’m not surprised.” He spat on the ground and stood back to let me walk over his insult. I heard the girl hiss in a shocked breath.
“Wait for me!” Sorrel’s feet clumped along the corridor behind and I turned to watch his progress. A heavy fur jacket obscured his moving legs above the knees and his sword clanged somewhere beneath. He resembled a cuddly bear cub from my childhood picture books and completed the image with an outstretched arm bearing a mushroom the size of his head. A trail of butter darkened the sand and tracked back to the fork leading to the food hall. Rolling my eyes, I turned away from the sight and stepped into daylight so brilliant, my eyes watered from the glare.
“It’s burning my fingers.” Sorrel nodded to the female guard and stepped after me. A handkerchief clothed the parts of the mushroom in contact with his flesh and I doubted the truth of his statement.
“You’re leaving too?” The teenage boy shot a look of contempt back towards the female guard and she shrugged and then nodded.
“The Master said they would,” she concluded. “And to let them.” The door closed with a clang and the scuffle of footsteps indicated her taking up her sentry position behind it.
“The old counselor was right,” the boy shouted at our retreating backs as we began trudging through the snow. “He said you’d be the death of us.”
Sorrel’s eyes widened to match the mushroom’s girth and he tried to push his prize into my hand. “Hold this!” he snapped. “Give me a moment to repeat yesterday’s lesson for him.” His greasy hand lay hold of the sword hilt beneath his furs, slipping and sliding in his haste. The only thing his fingers grasped was a handful of loose hair. I pushed away his lunch and shook my head. A dismissive wave of my hand told him not to bother.
“They wear the black armour of native bees now,” Sorrel commented, taking a final look back at the guard. I’d seen four more stationed at intervals through the undergrowth, archers with their bows cocked and trained on our progress. Their colour blended into the forest like exposed logs, unlike the yellow and black of their former regiment.
The tug in my chest intensified as we put distance between ourselves and the labyrinth. It seemed as though the colony there dulled my connection with the mysterious sword and its eerie call. The bees marching beneath my skin fell increasingly silent against the intoxicating call of the sword. I sensed they had released me in their virtual world as readily as on the Outer.
The world felt colder than I remembered. Limah’s jacket and the gloves I discovered in the pocket, provided me with much needed warmth. Though he resembled a strange brown snow creature, Sorrel trudged along next to me without complaining about the chill. Instead, he moaned about everything else. “I hate the way snow disguises the valleys,” he grumbled. “The canopy used to tower above the slopes and now the tree tops barely poke through the drifts.” Minutes later. “I’m hungry, Este. When can we eat?” A pause. “You did bring food, didn’t you?”
I stopped sharp and turned, holding out a gloved hand to prevent Sorrel barrelling into me. Pointing to the crusted grease on his coat, I spread my arms in question. He swallowed and ice glittered on his eyelashes as they fluttered, his eyes watering against the cold. “I ate the giant mushroom ages ago.” He patted his stomach. “It filled a little hole.”
I shook my head and extended my arms to encompass the landscape. Snow encased it in a freezing vice. “Where?” I mouthed, my teeth setting up a chatter as lack of activity cooled my muscles. Pointing to the floor, I widened my eyes to make the point.
“Oh. Where did it come from?” He smiled at the surprise in my eyes as he understood. My body sagged with relief. “Clover grows vegetables in a cavern. Limah fixed a blown glass ceiling over the holes in the roof and filled it with soil many years ago. The inner walls condensate and water the plants. But the mushrooms grow as big as a man because of the damp.”
I wrinkled my nose in disbelief and shook my head. Sorrel tugged on my sleeve and nodded, the movement exaggerated. White steam blew from his lips as he spoke, shrouding us and reminding me of the hot water system on the island. A pang of regret entered my soul and dispersed. No one ever knew what they had until the sting of its lack reminded them. I sighed. No sound, but a puff of white steam exited my lips. I’d seen no cavern filled with food stuffs and fought a sharp reminder of my isolation that he’d been allowed to explore the labyrinth and its mysteries. Oblivious, Sorrel tramped behind me as I restarted the journey, his chatter occupied with a new topic. Ice hardened the deeper levels and we battled only with the upper dustings of fine snow.
“Limah’s spent the last decade building the facilities within the cave system,” Sorrel gushed, repeating the tales he’d heard and adding his own embellishments. “I’ve known of him my whole life. He bought the land when nobody wanted it and kept bees. They scared the people of my village and guaranteed Limah privacy. But every autumn he brought honey as a gift and fed the least of us.” He smacked his lips. “It looked tasty, but my stepfather kept it for himself. Once, I stole some on my finger and he lathered my backside with a wide belt.”
I heard the swish of his fur coat over the crunching of the snow underfoot as he rubbed an imaginary sore spot on his behind. I wished he’d stop waxing Limah’s qualities and allow me to concentrate. His chatter continued regardless and I drowned it out with my own thoughts. The child had at least confirmed the source of Limah’s interest in the latter years of his service to me. His absences related to his building of the colony as he’d said. I contemplated Hosta and the others, cutting through the memory of their open hostility and viewing
them in their true form. Sonora’s remnant, shed off from the swarm which fled the Swift invasion. Abandoned by their matriarch, their tired sense of aggression made more sense. Compounding their hopelessness, I had betrayed them also by refusing to lead them. And leaving.
The weight of responsibility pressed down on me and slowed my steps. I tuned back in to Sorrel’s chirping with a mind filled with questions I couldn’t ask. “My ma said the honey’s healing properties helped us get through the winter,” he babbled. “Not that she ever gave me any.” I heard the smack of his lips and a deep sigh. “Clover let me taste a spoonful every morning and it cured my bleeding stomach. They’re down to their last few combs and she begged me not to tell. If Hosta found out, she said she’d kill her.”
A sharp pain in my wrist made me gasp. The tiny bee image which reminded me of Lily seemed to twitch as I wrenched back my sleeve and examined the flesh. Sorrel’s claim of Hosta brought a memory crashing forward and I saw Sonora standing over a stricken virgin queen. Gasping, I turned, seeing too late that Sorrel had his head lowered in concentration as he picked his way along my tracks. He hit me with the full force of his forward motion and I fell like a skittle, flattened before him.
I mouthed words he didn’t understand and the boy slipped and slid in his efforts to pick me up. I tried to spill my agonies as sentences in the snow, but a constant flurry of flakes dumped themselves on top as though attempting to conceal my fears. Sorrel floundered at my distress, compounding my speechlessness by tramping over my sentences in his haste. “What is it?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”
How could I explain in words? I had thrown away my queen-right. Limah said I was Sonora’s last chosen queen. As mother of the only child in the colony, Hosta’s hatred of me made sense. She saw herself as Sonora’s equal. Limah’s colony was doomed.
We remained in the forest while Sorrel picked through my bag of food. He ate too much and I proved tardy in preventing him. My mind ran over and over the moment in the ruined hive when I felt Sonora’s approval. She misunderstood my intention, misreading my appointment of Limah as counselor as acquiescence to their shared goal of survival. She saw it as leadership and assisted my return to the Outer. Yet my goal was vengeance and Galveston’s death. I sensed the Bee Queen would not approve if she saw my latest predicament. She’d gone, believing I would complete a mission begun long before my conception. “What do you want from me, Mother?” I begged, through lips hushed by the inner silence. “I need your wise counsel more than ever.”
It occurred to me as I confiscated the bag from a sulking Sorrel that I had abandoned my greatest asset along with my burdens. It wasn’t my first mistake and wouldn’t be the last, but I needed to correct it. The tug in my chest protested as I turned my body in a different direction, but the tiny bee mark hidden in the soft skin of my wrist settled.
“Where are we going now?” Sorrel demanded, placing his footsteps into the hollow of mine as he followed. When I resisted the effort of miming, his enquiries shifted to his favoured subject. “Will there be dinner?”
Bliss taught me to knit as a child and I proved hopeless. I trudged through the forest, barely able to pick out our earlier tracks as I remembered her berating me. “You did it wrong, Princessa!” she berated, her tone harsh. Snatching the wooden needle from my grasp, she ripped the stitches from it and unfurled the wool. I’d watched in dismay as my loopy work disintegrated beneath her ministrations. She presented it back to me, just a few rows remaining on the needle. “There!” she snapped, pressing it into my fingers. “I’ve undone your mistake, so continue.”
I couldn’t. My work had reached a decent length and she expected me to repeat it, using wool which appeared crimped and frayed compared to the graceful line it once was. It repulsed me and I deliberately messed it up, losing interest and making my escape. I suspect I sought the hive for comfort, sneaking into a queen cup and sleeping off my temper while Sonora busied herself nearby. I couldn’t remember that part, the memory focusing on my reluctance to face my error. It revealed a life pattern I needed to fix. Though our new direction sickened me, I would make things right.
“Where are we going?” Sorrel demanded again, his tone containing more urgency as the forest floor angled downward into the valley. His question saved my life. Turning to glare at him, the action moved my head enough for the arrow to miss my face. It embedded itself in a nearby tree trunk. Sorrel paled as the guard stepped from her hiding place, black armour mottled at the edges with flecks of grey. She had followed us.
“You are not welcome,” she said, her chin tilted high with the mark of arrogance. “Queen Hosta forbids your return.”
I heard Sorrel gulp behind me and dug an elbow into his ribs. Holding my arms out in surrender, I watched her lips peel back in a snarl. “Your empty gestures make no difference, Estefania of the Melitto. Leave. Or die. It’s your choice.”
I grabbed at Sorrel’s sleeve, dismayed by his look of confusion. The guard stiffened and another stepped from behind her, bow at the ready. I tugged the lapel of Limah’s jacket, feeling the draught the action let in. My eyes implored Sorrel to understand. Licking his lips, he spoke for me. “Este wants her jacket.”
I closed my eyes and ground my teeth, wishing I could swap him for someone less of a half-wit. Pointing to the gloves which hung too big from my fingers, I hoped he got the message.
“She wants her gloves too,” he said.
Sorrel jerked backwards at the venom in my eyes as laughter rang through the trees. Snow dulled its reverberation and saved me from intense humiliation. “Limah!” I mouthed, leaning so close my spittle landed on his forehead. “I. Want. Limah!”
Sorrel inhaled and faltered. “Estefania wants Limah,” he said, his voice shooting up a number of octaves to end in a squeak.
The female guard looked around at her gathered troop and silence filled the gap where laughter faded. “Is he still alive?” I heard her demand of the closest male. He shook his head and they stared back at me. My heart thudded in my breast as I feared this error too great to correct. The illusion of the knitting wool spun out of control, so knotted it could never be part of a beautiful creation. A catalogue of mistakes would represent my life’s work. Limah’s obvious sadness sent darts of pain through my soul, vying for dominance against the persistent tug of the sword. No wife or children awaited my faithful bodyguard and counselor. Only death. I knew the rules but had chosen not to follow them. Hosta would pick her own warriors and advisers. Anyone belonging to a defeated queen would find themselves the owner of a death sentence. I had killed my most loyal and dedicated ally.
The knitting needles and half made garment unravelled in my memory, obscuring the reality before me. Rusty red wool spiralled through my vision, ragged yarn the colour of dried blood.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Betrayal
My voice evaded me and the widening of my arms to encompass Limah’s rightful property led only to more bows pointing my way. The guard grew bored with our presence and levelled the tip of her sword at my face. “Leave now and I won’t kill you,” she said, forgetting how many times I’d tripped her during swordplay and planted her on her back. My gaze drifted towards the males in her company. Bee drones carried no sting and I’d found them lesser opponents as we sparred. Her eyes narrowed as she watched me size them up and her patience thinned further. “Do not try it,” she growled. “You bested their sword skills but their bowmanship is outstanding.” She jerked her head towards the arrow buried in the tree. “He aimed to miss.” The bowman looked away and swallowed. I regretted not being able to bewitch the colony males. It would have proved fortuitous in starting a rout. As I caught the armoured boy’s lowered gaze, I sensed deep unhappiness in his predicament and considered attempting to overthrow Hosta. I suspected he might follow me. Then thoughts of Limah ended any notion of rescuing my errant hive. Hatred burned in my chest at their ingratitude and faithlessness.
Sorrel provided no help. He wore the expression of
a fish pulled from the sea, startled at the sudden lack of oxygen. “Limah’s dead,” he whispered, tears filling his eyes. “But he owned this land and crafted the caves for your safety. How could you?” He swallowed and his fingers strayed to his sword. “He was a good man! There aren’t enough of those left!”
It sickened me how fast all mention of Limah descended into past tense. I resisted the urge to think of a world that didn’t contain his strong chest and capable hands, the quick sarcastic speech and never ending wisdom. After sixteen years I hadn’t yet used up the sum of his wisdom.
Guilt flickered in the guard’s eyes and her lips pursed. “It’s our way,” she replied, an edge of pleading in her tone. Those around her shifted on feet stirred by discomfort.
Sorrel shook his head, his fingers grasping the hilt of his sword and fluttering there as though unable to decide whether to begin a battle he couldn’t win, or just touch it for courage’s sake. His other hand batted away a tear. “You’ll let us go!” he spat. “Estefania isn’t a defeated queen. She never challenged Hosta or attempted to claim her rightful place of leadership. Limah was innocent!” His chest heaved and his fingers clenched over the hilt.
I saw the guard’s resolve falter and she waved a hand at the small company gathering at her back. “Stand down,” she ordered. “He’s right. Let them leave.” She leaned close, the white steam from her breath shrouding us both and warming my chin. “Do not return,” she threatened. “Or I will have no say as to your fate.” She took a step back and I dug my elbow into Sorrel’s ribs. He grunted and remained fixed in place. Another dig brought his gaze to my face and his agony mirrored my own. The next jab forced him to move and he inched away, twisting on the icy surface to turn his back on them. Keeping my hand close to the hilt of my sword, I backed up, allowing him to trudge ahead while not removing my gaze from the guilty company of treacherous warriors. Sorrel gathered his wits after a short distance and reached backward for me, grasping a wedge of my jacket in his fingers and steadying my balance. Together, we edged away until the guards stopped watching and reformed as a unit. I saw their leader bring them into a circle, perhaps attempting to mitigate our damage to their consciences.