Perception

by A. K. R. Scott

  “Is there a way to reach him?” she asked, her voice quavering in tandem with her gut.

  “Certainly, though I’m afraid it would be of little use. He is entrenched with the guard, assisting them with a matter they are investigating.”

  “Oh.” The gelatin melted, leaving an empty hollow.

  “But don’t worry. When he returns, we will do everything within our power to help you find your joy again.”

  Helaine managed a small smile. Before she could offer him her thanks once again, her brain finally caught up with the conversation.

  “This investigation . . .” She hesitated, not wanting to seem impertinent, but hungry for information. “Does it have anything to do with the Heartstide Festival questionings?”

  A commotion behind Grandmaster Westbrook drew their attention to the large plate glass window. A green jay, his dark head overshadowed by his bright jade body, stalked a caterpillar along the windowsill. In one precise move, he had the insect in his beak. He ticked his head to the side, almost as if he knew he was being watched, before launching into the air and disappearing.

  The grandmaster turned back to Helaine. His eyes narrowed as he rested his chin between his thumb and forefinger. She could almost see her question rolling around in his mind. After a moment of silent scrutiny, he lifted his head and took a deep breath, his decision made.

  “As a matter of fact, it does. They have identified someone they suspect was involved in an offense that took place that night.”

  “What kind of offense?” Helaine blurted.

  “Some unfavorable activities that require legal intervention.”

  His diplomatic response shut down any further questions. It had been a long shot, anyway, which was why Helaine was surprised when the grandmaster continued.

  “The guard have gone to retrieve a Wanderer woman whom they believe has information leading to the suspect. It was also determined they may be in need of Doctor Corinson’s medical expertise. Hence his current absence.”

  Helaine did her best to keep her features smooth as she tried to reconcile this new information with Vatara’s claims.

  The grandmaster stood. “So, if you can bear with it a little longer, we will meet with the doctor as soon as he returns from his current assignment.”

  She knew a dismissal when she heard it and rose to her feet as well. “Thank you again for all your help,” she said.

  “You are welcome,” he replied, ushering her toward the door. “And, Miss Vastrof, think about what I’ve told you.”

  He had told her quite a few things. She wondered to which he was referring.

  “I will.”

  Helaine set her violin case atop the trunk at the foot of her bed and wandered over to the window. A pair of gardeners worked the rosebushes below. The conservatory grounds stretched out lush and verdant before her, but something drew her gaze further out. Beyond the curved wall of the inner ring, the government district stood in stately display. Her eyes roamed over the Delegates Hall and Prime Residence. Both buildings, crafted from the same cream-colored limestone as the Music Conservatory, gleamed in the sunlight. Another reminder of how closely linked they all were.

  A bright purple flag flapped in the breeze above the Prime Residence. The Delegate Prime was still in the city.

  “What are you thinking?” she murmured.

  Assuming all the recent revelations were accurate and a Mevocali was at The Hen and Harp the night of the Heartstide Festival, what did that have to do with the Wanderers? As cultures went, they were about as far apart as you could get.

  The bit of lip between her teeth began to tingle, and she switched to nibbling the other side. For the hundredth time, she wished she had been able to attend the festival. She would have some frame of reference to put around this new information. Maybe she would have seen something.

  Instead, she had gotten herself sick and spent that evening in bed. It had been the painful consequence for her inability to keep her affection in check.

  Warmth crept up her neck and face as thoughts of Petrin intruded on her contemplation.

  He loves me.

  An involuntary smile sprang to her lips.

  Wait.

  Soft, blonde waves grazed her cheek as she shook her head. As tempting as that line of thought was, she had a more pressing matter to consider.

  She blew out a steady stream of breath and centered her thoughts once more.

  How would a Wanderer have information about a Mevocali in Cantio? The Wanderers kept to themselves, and the women in particular. And the Mevocali, if they still existed, had kept to themselves as a rule for survival.

  A chill washed over her as if someone dropped an icicle down her back. The truth about Nadja was so new to her, she had nearly forgotten.

  But Nadja had been gone by the time the guard began their inquiries. They must think she knows something.

  Which left the question: how did the they learn of her heritage? Helaine couldn’t believe Pax would give Nadja away, not when he was so obviously in love with her, regardless of what she said to the contrary.

  The wind that had played with the flag above the Prime Residence made its way to her window, fluttering the neckline of her blouse and carrying with it the fragrance of roses from the garden below.

  Yes, Pax’s heart was set on Nadja, Helaine was certain. If his constant attentions over the past few months hadn’t been enough evidence of it, their display at the Heartstide Festival left no one in doubt. Helaine hadn’t seen it for herself, but she’d heard enough about it to feel like she had. Nadja and Pax had enthralled the audience with their amorous performance of The Tide of Love. Vatara called it steamy, claiming it left a few couples rather inspired. In fact, Helaine knew of more than one relationship that traced its beginning back to that evening.

  The breeze changed directions, this time bringing in the small, orange flowers that owned the western wall of the ground floor. Helaine inhaled deeply and wondered if she’d ever fully experience her roommate’s singing again. Nadja’s honeysuckle-scented voice was a sweet anomaly in her extra-sensory experience of music.

  “What!” she shrieked.

  The gardeners looked up at her, shading their eyes from the sun.

  Helaine backed away from the window, overcome with the sudden urge to hide. But that was silly. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

  The thumping of her heart did its best to distract her from her dreadful realization.

  First came the denial.

  “No. It’s not true. It can’t be. She’s my best friend. She’s Nadja, for goodness sake.”

  But that dissolved as her mind connected the pieces.

  “Of course, she did lie about being from Grenyan. And if she’d lie about that, why not about this?” She whirled away from the window and stalked to the fireplace. The muscles in her jaw pulsed as she clenched and unclenched her teeth. “How dare she?” she hissed. “I thought we were closer than that. I would have kept her secret.” A charred bit of wood, remnants of Petrin’s last visit, turned to ash under the toe of her boot. “She’s probably the reason I wound up in the infirmary to start with. That’s the last time I ask her to sing me a lullaby. Oh, I wish she was here right now. I’d give her a piece of my mind.”

  Helaine remembered the last time she’d seen Nadja. Her anger vanished in an instant when she recalled her roommate’s genuine concern—her reassuring tone and gentle encouragement. She didn’t even feel her feet as they trudged to her bed where she collapsed in a broken heap.

  “They’ll kill her,” she wailed into her pillow. “I just know they will. I’m glad she’s not here right now. She’d already be captured. Or dead. At least she has a few more days.” Her shoulders shook with grief as she tried to draw a breath. “If only I could warn her.”

  But she didn’t even know where the Wanderers were, exactly. Between her sobs and hiccups, her mind still churned.

  Were all Wanderers also Mevocali?

  Since Mevocali abilities
transferred through bloodlines, it seemed likely.

  At the same time, it seemed preposterous the Mevocali had been roaming around right under everyone’s noses like that for over two hundred years.

  Perhaps Nadja was adopted.

  Nadja’s coral flute had been a gift from her mother, but other than dropping that bit of information, she’d never really spoken about her family in the time Helaine had known her. She had cut all ties when she came to the conservatory and kept her lips sealed about her past. Maybe she’d received the flute before being adopted into the tribe.

  Helaine’s cries silenced. She sat up, wide eyed, swiping her hands over her wet cheeks. There was one family member Nadja spoke of. And if anyone knew how to help, he would.

  She retrieved a pencil and some paper from her bookcase and flew to the table. The graphite scratched across the paper, leaving a swooping script in its wake.

  Helaine had never met Nadja’s Uncle Tau, but from the things Nadja had said, he seemed a capable, caring sort of fellow. He’d helped Nadja when she arrived in Cantio, and he knew she attended the Music Conservatory. And if he was her uncle . . .

  But now wasn’t the time to chase that rabbit.

  Helaine read over the letter once, giving a firm nod when she reached the end. Her sense of purpose, the idea that there was something she could do, had gone a long way in calming her breathing. The tremors, which rocked her body only moments earlier, were gone, and a steady hand signed her name.

  She’d just lifted her seal from the warm wax when a rap at the door made her jump. She stood and opened it, fanning herself with the letter.

  “Gilburt,” she said, greeting the young servant who stood in the hall. “I’m so glad to see you.” She always was. Gilburt had been invaluable during her time in the infirmary. He’d been hired to replace Timothy when the latter had quit without notice.

  “Can you deliver this for me?” she asked, handing the letter to him. “It’s urgent, so as soon as possible, please.”

  Gilburt took it. “Right away, Miss Vastrof. But, if you please, Dov sent me to fetch you. The bees have swarmed.”

  Helaine was sure they were swarming right in her stomach as she traded one revelation for another.

  She snatched up her violin case and followed Gilburt out the door. With her letter in his capable hands, she knew it would reach Nadja’s uncle within the hour. She had to trust he would be able to help.

  Because right now, she had a swarm to lead.

  Chapter 10

  “How long has it been?” Helaine panted. She bent forward and rested her hands against her knees, trying to regain her breath.

  “Only just now,” drawled Dov. “And only just the first.” He wandered away from the work table. Helaine followed him past the boles and through the narrow entrance.

  Four small tables, each topped with an empty skep, stood apart from each other in the lawn on the outskirts of the apiary.

  Dov pointed at them. “Pick one.”

  Helaine nodded. “Where are they?”

  “Orchard. Not too far in. Shouldn’t be hard to find.” With that, he turned and strolled back into the apiary, leaving Helaine on her own.

  “Right,” she said. She sucked in a deep breath and straightened her spine. Doing her best to ignore the tingling in her fingers and toes, she marched off in search of the swarm.

  The orchard had already begun to cast off its surplus crop, and tiny fruitlets pressed into the soles of her boots as she made her way through the trees. Dov was right. It didn’t take long before the familiar hum of a honeybee choir caught her ear and pulled her toward the source.

  Helaine’s jaw loosened when she first saw it. Thousands of bees hung in one enormous cluster beneath a sturdy limb. Together, they resembled a dollop of honey in a perpetual state of dripping, without ever completing the task. Tiny bodies wiggled and crawled in every direction, causing so much movement in a mass that never actually went anywhere. Every so often, a scout would peel away from the swarm.

  At that gentle reminder, Helaine sprang into action. She dropped her case on the ground beside her and removed her violin. The instrument moaned as she bowed a few test notes. Her forehead creased in displeasure, and she flipped her bow over, narrowing her eyes at the horse-hair. With a huff, she knelt down and reached into her case, her fingers closing around something hard and slick. She stroked the little rosin cake precisely six times across the bow. This time, when the horse-hair met the strings, the tones were bright and crisp. At the sound, the tension in her face and neck melted. She rolled her shoulders and brought her arms into position.

  The first few bars seemed to have no effect on the bees. But no sooner had Helaine begun to worry than she noticed a shift in the swarm. One by one, scouts separated themselves from the mass and headed in her direction. Her heart raced as they investigated her, zooming past her ears or hovering inches from her face in closer inspection. At first, she closed her eyes. The frenetic movement so close to her, and by creatures so well-armed, triggered her adrenaline. Her palms began to sweat, and she fought to maintain a relaxed grip on her instrument. But, after making it halfway through the first section of the piece and not once feeling the tickle of a set of little, fuzzy feet, she dared to take a peek.

  What she saw made her gasp.

  Twenty or so honeybees circled her in a perfect, even formation. Round and round and round as if they were a hurricane, and she was its eye. An involuntary giggle sprang to her lips, and her belly spasmed as she tried to stifle it. Her eyes bounced back and forth, trying to catch the movement of individual scouts. Almost immediately, her head began to swim, and she abandoned that idea in favor of focusing beyond the scouts on the rest of the waiting swarm. The first section of the piece was nearing its end, and she inched her way toward the cluster. The scouts moved with her, continuing their laps.

  When she made the seamless transition to the second part of the piece, the scouts departed from her and returned to the swarm in unison. As soon as they landed, they began to dance.

  Helaine had seen bees dance in the apiary, but never so many at once, and never in such perfect synchronization. She delighted at the sight and caught herself grinning like a ninny. She snagged her lower lip between her teeth and pulled her focus back to the music as she approached the difficult passage.

  Her fingers, which had, until this point, favored the lower three strings of her instrument, crept higher. She moved with confidence through quick turns and intricate rhythms. As she bowed, her opposite hand walked up the neck of her violin.

  The first snag happened when she added the fourth, and highest, string into the mix. The bees stumbled in their dance, but found their footing again once the music dropped back down from the upper register. Helaine’s eyes sharpened, and the world around her grew dim. There were only the bees and the music.

  The melody once again pushed her fingers to the fourth string, and once again, the bees faltered. Up and down the neck her fingers marched, and every time they left the lower register, the dance fell apart.

  She stopped playing. With deft movements, she twisted one of the tuning pegs to the left, then to the right, bowing a test note once, twice, then a third time, before bringing the violin back to rest under her jaw.

  Helaine began again. The bees spun around her. They returned to the swarm. They danced.

  They stumbled.

  She started again.

  And again.

  Over and over, each time making minute adjustments, and each time as unsuccessful as the previous one.

  She played until frustration stiffened her fingers, rendering them useless. Her limp, sweat-soaked hair clung to her face and neck, and her shoulders rose and fell with gasps and puffs.

  Refusing defeat, she secured her instrument in its case and stalked back to the apiary.

  Dov was inspecting a skep in the far wall when she strode through the entrance. He didn’t acknowledge her when she approached, keeping his eyes on his work instead. Thin whips
of dust erupted from the ground as Helaine tapped her foot on the dirt. Finally, Dov straightened his back and flicked his eyes at her before walking back toward the worktable.

  “I need your help,” she said.

  “Nope.”

  Taken aback, Helaine paused just long enough for Dov to put two steps between them.

  “Fine,” she said, skipping to catch up. “Then I need to speak with Grandmaster Brightwater. Do you know where she is?”

  “Yep.”

  Helaine was in no mood to deal with Dov’s taciturn behavior. “Do you mind telling me where I can find her?”

  “Yep.”

  She bit her tongue. “Why?”

  They reached the worktable, and Dov took his time making a selection from the array of hive tools. “She doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Helaine pursed her lips. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t dream of interrupting a grandmaster who had requested privacy. But the swarm wouldn’t wait. She had to get them moved into one of the empty skeps before they found a new home on their own. The choice was clear.

  “I understand. But this is urgent. Please tell me where she is?”

  The beekeeper favored her with one more brief glance before heading back to the far wall.

  “Marine vivarium,” he grunted.

  Chapter 11

  The air in the hallway oozed in and out of her lungs as Helaine sped past the practice rooms. The draft that had refreshed her only this morning was stagnant in the heat of the afternoon. She veered to the right when she came to the atrium, taking a hallway she rarely used. Her footsteps echoed in the otherwise empty corridor. Glittering gems winked at her through the window of the mineralogy laboratory, but she ignored them, hurrying past their draw. The thick, metal doors that kept the meteorology workshop contained whisked past in her peripheral vision.

  A bouquet of sweet, floral aromas signaled her approach to the nursery. The airy glass room, with its promise of warmth and life, had tempted her to explore once or twice during the winter. But today, she barely spared it a glance. That is, until she noted something else on the air. Something not so sweet. Or alive.