Hive Magic (Empire of War & Wings Book 2)

by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  “Why we must both do whatever we must to make this real. Because our blood can hold back something worse than the Forbidding. Our pain can save our people.”

  “And what is worse than the Forbidding?” I breathed.

  “The evil of man. The tangles of his pride and power. The insidious creeping of his lust to take and take and take.”

  “And more specifically?”

  “Have you heard of a place called Canaht?”

  I shuddered.

  “By your reaction, I know that you have. I was twelve when they brought those children to my estates. I watched them slay little ones with big tearful eyes clutching little blankets or sock toys in their chubby hands. Three they killed right in front of me and then I was given the rest to ‘manage’ as my father left again on campaign. I held their hands. I prayed with them in the dark of night. But any time I failed to please, one was taken from me. Taken and killed in front of me. And when I was named Osprey, they bound me with magic. If I defy an order, another dies that very moment. I feel it in the symbol they embedded in my chest. I feel each death like it is my own – only its worse, because I still live as they perish. Every one of them who dies in fear and terror without someone to hold them is my fault. What else could be enough to bind me? What else would lead me to plunge your head underwater until you nearly drowned? What would make me stand quietly as they tortured your father? I am bound by ties unseen and if I take my own life to be free of the burden, it will kill them all. So, tell me again that you hate me, House Apidae, but don’t expect it to matter. I already hate myself more than you ever could. I’m already cloaked in shame and winnowed by guilt. Nothing can wash it away. It sticks to me like tar. It blackens my heart and everything I touch.”

  I gasped, twisting in his grip to stare at him with my mouth open.

  His expression was bare to me. I could see through it to the torment seated in his soul. And yet his hands held me gently.

  “The Empire of War and Wings will never stop. It will never cease until it has crushed us all,” he whispered. “That’s what I want to show you. And I want to show you that you aren’t alone in fighting it. There is still hope for you. Tomorrow, when Ivo takes you away, he isn’t going to tell me where you are going. I vowed to try to protect you as much as I could. I plan to protect you from myself. It will be hard for me to track you if I don’t know where you’re going. Hard for me to betray you. I want you to fly free.” He tapped the leather cuff of his that I still wore. “I want you to be the symbol the people need to offer their blood for freedom, just as you and I offer ours.”

  I couldn’t hate him anymore. Not now that I knew. I couldn’t see him as anything but someone bent under an impossible burden fighting so hard to bear it.

  The walls of Karkatua cast a long shadow over us. I swallowed, overwhelmed by the need to show him everything I was feeling. I licked my lips, hesitating, and then – grasping all my courage – I leaned in to kiss him. He pulled back, a single finger to my lips.

  He cleared his throat, looking away with a sharp wince. “Not today, House Apidae. Not like this. Not when I almost took your life today.”

  He flinched as he said it.

  “Why not?” I asked, my cheeks flushing. If he was right and we were both only going to live a short time, what did it matter if I kissed him? What did it matter if I tried to show him that I didn’t see him as shameful and evil – not even after he’d almost killed me.

  I reached for his hand and he let me take it, but he looked away, turning his cheek to me and his face away.

  He let out a shuddering breath. “I can’t even look at you. Don’t cut me deeper than I already bleed. I beg you.”

  I swallowed and nodded but I held onto that hand as we reached the gates. He stepped off of Os’s back, drawing me after him.

  “Let’s go eat apple pielets and drink clover ale,” he said lightly as if nothing of significance had passed between us.

  I swallowed back the tears that threatened to burst over me like storm clouds. This world – this harsh horrible world – was too much for me. But I would not let it remain like this. I would be relentless.

  BOOK TWO: INTO THE NEST

  Blossom soft, petal bright,

  Bathe in sun, drink in light,

  Sing the charming thrum of grow,

  Let the rainbow colors flow,

  Buzz, buzz, hum, hum,

  We the bees, we the drum.

  Our rhythm makes the flowers rise,

  Our melody fills the skies.

  - Forgotten Folk Song

  Chapter Fourteen

  OSPREY LED ME INTO Karkatua. I would have been lost if I’d entered on my own. I’d only been here twice before and it had been many years. While I remembered the huge totems on either side of the city gate – eagles here to show strength and courage – I didn’t remember much else and the grandeur of the city surprised me. The guards on either side of the totems were Claws, dressed in the finely embroidered jackets of their order – a darker blue than those Swan Claws who had accompanied Juste Montpetit. They demanded Osprey give his name and mine for the ledger before allowing us in the city, frowning at our torn and stained clothing.

  “We’ve heard nothing of late from Vlaren or Portua Town,” one of the Claws said. “Do you have word from your travels?”

  “With reluctance, I must pass on the news that Vlaren has been lost to the Forbidding,” Osprey said, shoving one of his picks between his teeth. He didn’t touch me, but he kept himself slightly in front of me as if he was protecting me – or maybe hiding me – from the Claws.

  The guard cursed grimly but he let us pass.

  “Before anything else, we need clothing. We stand out in these rags,” Osprey said, flicking the tattered embroidery on the sleeve of his jacket.

  “I have no coin,” I said, feeling suddenly very ragged as I watched people already beginning their days, their clothing tidy and clean.

  “Allow me one last gift, House Apidae,” he said, maneuvering me into an alley and then to the back of a shop there.

  It stood on tall stilts worked with bird feathers and claws carved into them and Osprey led me up a winding, narrow spiral staircase to a tall walkway between two roofs. A tiny, perfectly round, door – just large enough to allow us to crawl through – was set in the belly of a carved white-wood owl, its wings cupped around the door and its head carved cocked to the side as if it was considering us suspiciously.

  Osprey pulled out his belt pouch, removed a tiny brass key, and opened the door.

  I wanted to follow him but the sight of the city below took my breath away. Smoke curled up from the chimneys, slender twists in the cool of the morning. The pink of dawn had faded into the jasmine of early morning, lifting up a scent fresh and bright over the cedar-shingled roofs and tall house totems that filled Karkatua. The city walls were set in rock and stone, with birds carved on every square inch by hands that varied from juvenile to master as if the citizens themselves had taken to carving their totems into the walls. Bright banners snapped in the wind and as the city rolled out toward the sea the bright sapphire of it kissed the sky in a molten haze, flashing water meeting pale expanse like two entangled lovers.

  My breath caught in my lungs at the sight.

  “It’s very like my home,” Osprey said, clearing his throat. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. He was getting worse. “Which is why I let this room. Come on. We have little time before Le Majest awakens and notices us.”

  Reluctantly, I followed him into the tiny round door.

  I’d expected to be disappointed after the beauty of the city from the rooftops, but instead, I paused within the door, surprised by the sight of the place. It was a garret. The beams supporting the roof were fully exposed and met the floor on either side. Opposite the round door, was a round window of equal size, lighting the small airy room. Someone – likely the person I had followed into this place – had carved ospreys in flight on every available su
rface, marching up the roof beams, soaring across the floor, over and under the window, wingtips meeting. It was like a song dedicated to the seabird. A heap of cloth and blankets and mismatched pillows in one corner – messy and lived in – was clearly his bed. And to the other side was a low bench covered in scattered items. One boot. A notebook half-filled. Spilled ink. A length of bottle-green silk.

  I looked to Osprey whose expression was suddenly nervous as he bit at the pick in his mouth.

  “Well, don’t stay hovering at the door. Let’s find you some new clothing.”

  “You keep women’s clothing in your rooms?” I asked.

  He snorted. “Make yourself at home and wait one moment for me.”

  He slipped behind a silk screen, dyed black and stitched with silver ospreys. His jacket flew over the side of it, sending the screen rocking. Then his ruined down-trimmed shirt. Then the trousers. By then, I was blushing but in moments he stepped out, in his trousers and boots, buttoning a feather-lined shirt. I could see the glowing feather peeking through where it was laid over his heart, the muscles of his body were hard and flat as if to show the difference between the rest of him and that one odd, upraised spot.

  I studied his torso, thinking about that feather. How had they put it within his skin? And more importantly, could it be taken out?

  He looked up, color washing across his cheeks. “I suppose there’s no need to keep it hidden from you, since you know it’s there.”

  He grabbed a fresh jacket from a chair and slipped it over the shirt, adjusting the cuffs of his dark jacket as he pulled osprey-feather edging from the sleeves.

  “Never mind,” I teased. “I see that you do have women’s clothing here.”

  He gave me one of those savage winks again. “Tease all you want. If you dress well, people listen. And these days, I need all the hearts I can sway.”

  I felt my cheeks heating again. In those tight black trousers and sharply tailored dark jacket, he’d be more than able to steal hearts.

  “Come on,” he said, walking to one corner and opening a trap door. He led me down a narrow, windowless set of stairs to the shop below – a shop, I realized that was a tailor’s shop. “This is where we’ll find what you need.”

  He snatched up a pair of dark trousers and boots, eyeing me and then the clothing and then me again, before shoving them at me. A linen shirt was next, cut in a way I’d never seen before and then a sharp-collared short-jacket just like the ones I’d seen on Wings before, but this one was a rich red with yellow trim.

  “Yellow for bees,” he said as he handed it to me. It had brass buttons trimming the edge and I felt my face heating just looking at it.

  “It’s too fine,” I said awkwardly. “I could never afford it.”

  “I told you it was a gift.”

  “This is a tailor shop!” I objected. “These are their wares!”

  “How shocking. And here I thought it was a cheesemonger’s shop.”

  “Osprey!”

  He rolled his eyes at me. “House Apidae, I will compensate the owner of the shop. Now, hurry up the stairs and get dressed. I have more to show you and I need you dressed properly before I can. Eventually, the crown prince will awaken, and he will want to know where we are. Do you wish to miss this last opportunity for me to show you something beautiful instead of always the horrible?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Then hurry up.”

  I raced up the stairs, ducked behind his screen, and began to strip off my soiled clothing. Something filmy and black sailed over the screen.

  “More clothing?” I asked before I realized what they were and my cheeks burned hot. He’d given me fresh underthings.

  I dressed hurriedly, feeling cleaner the moment my old clothing was off and the new began to replace them. I had stitches in a few places. I gave them a quick look as I dressed. Nothing was puffy or red. No infection. They still pulled and pinched as I tried to move, but what did I expect? I was tugging on the boots before I had time to catch my breath, amazed at how well all the clothing fit me. But maybe I shouldn’t be. After all, Osprey spent enough time watching me. He should at least be able to guess my size after all of that.

  I stepped out from behind the screen, buttoning my jacket and looked up to find Osprey there, staring yet again. He held out a comb in his hand, strangely still. Not even his toothpick moved.

  “I can’t use combs,” I said. “My hair is too thick.”

  I reached up self-consciously to run my hands through my hair, little bits of leaves and debris came out of my hair as I did that, but my thick curls remained.

  Osprey seemed to recover himself. He gave me a small key. “This is for you. If you need this place – for anything – you know where it is. It’s yours to use if you need it.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Whatever comes next – remember this. That you have a safe spot and that you stopped here for just a moment and that moment was beautiful.”

  His smile was sad as he jammed yet another of his endless supply of toothpicks into his mouth.

  “Where do you get those things?” I asked awkwardly, not sure what to do about the key.

  “I whittle. Helps the nerves.”

  “You can’t possibly carve enough of them for your habit.”

  “I do the impossible daily.”

  And then he was turning and leading me back out the little round door from this little temporary safety and back into the unknown.

  Chapter Fifteen

  HE LED ME DOWN THE winding staircase out into the small city as the first drops of rain began to fall from the sky. I looked up with a sense of foreboding. Where a bright morning sky had been only minutes before, dark clouds were gathering overhead.

  “I should have grabbed cloaks, too,” Osprey said, worry lining his forehead.

  He was surprisingly solicitous as he led me through the winding streets of Karatua, holding out. The city was waking up, where there had been only a few people when we arrived, there were now larger groups. Street vendors opened their carts, lifting fabric shades to reveal leather belts tooled with a variety of bird motifs, or juicy fruits, frying cakes, or sleek leather hats with wide brims – the newest fashion of Far Stones. Osprey snatched one up from a vendor, flipping him a silver coin as he jammed it on his head without missing a step. The man called a thank you and we moved on.

  He'd been right about our clothing. We blended in with ease – shockingly. I hadn’t realized that Karkatua was so much richer than Far Reach. Finely embroidered jackets were seen everywhere, and people even wore tooled belts with gilding over the buckles. Most of them had a bright, unworn patch where a scabbard used to be – empty now.

  But it was their eyes that shocked me. I was used to the bluff, honest looks of Far Stones. We prided ourselves that we could take the measure of a man with a single glance – and we measured everyone. But today the faces I passed were hardened and guarded. As we passed one of the squares, I saw why.

  A ring of Swan Claws was stationed around a platform at the center of the square – at least a dozen of them with pikes in hand. Between them, glowing braziers burned – likely to light the square at night or to warm the guards. Behind their ring, under the rough wooden platform, a variety of knives and swords had been piled – taken from the citizenry no doubt. But what was worse was the display on the platform.

  There were five of them. Or at least, there had been five of them.

  Five men in stocks, faces drawn and pale, eyes removed. I sucked in a hiss of breath, remembering my father like that. I could barely hold back tears and my body shuddered in response.

  Two of the men were dead already, slumped in the stocks with flies buzzing over them, flesh already hanging from bones. The other three looked close to death.

  Beneath them, painted in careful, beautiful script surrounded by scrollwork were the words.

  Speech shall be peaceable and lovely. Tongues that speak harsh prejudice will be removed. Eyes that cannot see the truth will be rem
oved.

  I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t stop the shaking in my hands and feet. I tried to take a step, but my leaden feet rebelled. These people deserved to be seen. To be remembered.

  Osprey’s hand found my upper arm, pulling me roughly to him and forcing my heavy feet to walk past and dip into an alley.

  “Get a hold of yourself or you’ll draw attention,” he whispered, toothpick bobbing wildly.

  I sucked in a long breath. “Did you see that? Those men are disfigured and rotting because they said something the Empire didn’t like. Words, Osprey. They took their eyes and tongues for words!”

  “Shhhh!” he hissed, glancing behind him and frogmarching me further down the alley and around a turn to a spot that squeezed between two buildings so narrowly that we could barely face each other. It smelled like rotten fruit and chamber pots.

  “That’s what we’re fighting, House Apidae. That’s why. But you can’t go saying that where people can hear you.”

  I couldn’t stop the shaking. Shivers ran up and down me, making me useless. Come on, Aella! Don’t let this overwhelm you!

  “I want to fight right now, Osprey. Why are we waiting? Why can’t I just bring down my bees and you leap on your Osprey and we go! If I remove the bees before you get back, Juste Montpetit won’t be able to say a word of command to you. And I’ll just tie you up here in this alley and then the children won’t be harmed.” I was pleading, tears tracking down my face as the rain picked up outside the narrow alley. “And then they won’t be taking any more eyes or tongues or anything else. Those are people’s fathers and brothers and sons! And they disfigured them and killed them like they did to my father – my old man who made me my little bow and taught me to shoot it, who carved little birds for me and taught me to ride wild horses – my father. And they left them to rot like they would have left him.”

  The buzzing in my head was almost uncontrollable. I could feel bees bubbling up inside me, desperate to release.