The Lords of Blood and Honey (The Kingdom of Honey)

by David Gardner-Martin

  It was a world beyond her imagination.

  She turned and saw Camellia staring at her with gentle eyes. ‘It is wonderful!’ Allessia cried. ‘Beautiful. And wonderful!’ She turned to glory at the spectacle once more as the carriage started to claw its way up a steep narrow track carved into the mountainside.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Allessia asked at length.

  ‘Sir Horace is leading us to the Winter Castell,’ replied Camellia. ‘This pass is the only way to reach it.’

  Allessia smiled as Camellia slid over the deep silk cushions to share in enjoying the view.

  ‘The snows have already begun to fall,’ Camellia said, looking up at the mountain peaks. ‘This way will soon be closed. Then we will be safe.’

  ‘Are we in danger?’

  ‘Danger will always try to find you, my child, until you are in your rightful place.’

  There was a pause, Allessia allowing her thoughts to sweep through her mind once more.

  ‘I have been hidden for so long,’ she said, ‘and there is so much to learn, and to see.’ She turned her head to look out of the window once more. ‘But in my heart, I feel there is a place for me; a place where I belong.’

  ‘And so it shall be, Allessia.’

  A large shadow fell over the window and the heavily whiskered face of Sir Horace Underworth thrust its way into view.

  ‘We are making…good time…Your Ladyship,’ he panted, as he rose and fell on his saddle. ‘We will reach…the Winter Castell…before darkness.’

  ‘That is good,’ said Camellia. ‘And will we be stopping soon? We feel in need of a break from this constant bumping.’

  ‘Indeed we shall…Your Ladyship,’ Underworth replied. ‘I have already sent riders ahead…to prepare a small woodland glade…that is well known to me. A beautiful spot,’ he added wistfully, gazing into space before coughing and returning once more to military formality. ‘We will have time…to rest there…take refreshments…before completing our journey.’

  The glade was indeed a most beautiful place, with a rich canopy of leaves shading a soft blanket of pine needles from the stiffening wind.

  ‘The air grows cold, Your Ladyship,’ said Sir Horace, as he climbed from his horse and stretched his aching frame. ‘I would light a fire, but fear that would not be wise. But we have extra furs.’

  Several minutes later Allessia lay on her back, curled within a deep white fur, staring through the leaves at the sky. Falling snow now hid the peaks of the mountaintops. She heard the rustle of wind, the creaking of trees and the cry of birds. After the endless silence of her room in the Seventy-Third Wing of the Palace, the sounds of life that surrounded her were rich and fascinating. She wondered what had happened to her parents. Lady Camellia had told her of the arrest of many noble families, as well as reports of open fighting in the City streets between the Church and Hivedom. Was the Rumball household safe and well? A dark feeling came over her and she closed her eyes to try and see her parents faces, but only shadows filled her mind. Somehow she knew that she would never see them again, and tears began to flow down her cheeks.

  ‘Who am I?’ she whispered, and Camellia, seeing her distress, moved to stroke her forehead, her fingers as soft as silk.

  ‘Lord Hardknot has taken a young femone under his wing in the Hivedom,’ Camellia said at length. ‘Her name is Lasivia, and she was the first-born child of a femone named Yashishi.’ She smiled a distant look. ‘Yashishi became one of my husband’s favourite harmones, and the chosen vessel for his seed on more occasions than any other of my retinue. Many were the children she bore him before a sudden illness carried her spirit to the Blessed Afterwards. With such high parentage, the possibility that the Prime Scent grows within her first-born daughter, is strong indeed.’

  ‘Will Lasivia become the next Queen?’ asked Allessia.

  Lady Camellia stared deep into Allessia’s eyes, a moment of stillness passed between them, and then she spoke again.

  ‘What I am about to tell you, Allessia, came to me late last night. I had been pondering your heritage, and how it was you seemed so familiar to me, when I remembered something that had happened all those years ago. When Yashishi was brought to deliver Lasivia, the strangest event was witnessed. I myself was not present, but all in attendance at the birth later gave identical testament as to what they had seen. As the midwife cut the cord and Lasivia gave her first cry, a bright violet mist was seen to leave her mouth. It gathered into a ball, about the size of an apple, and then floated close to the ceiling. It remained there for several seconds, rotating on its axis as if a heavenly body, and then left the room, passing through the thick wall as if it was not there. No one had seen the like ever before, nor could anyone find any records or tales of such a thing happening previously, and so in time, it became forgotten. But not by me. One day some years later, as I was exploring the Gallery of Kings and Queens, I found a prophecy in an aged book on Pre-Ancient Mysticism that matched exactly what had been seen. The event foretold was called a Divergence of Oneness, but not of mortal flesh into twins, but of a single eternal soul into two distinct realities. What had taken on the appearance of a violet ball of mist was an essence drawn from Lasivia’s soul, an essence that had become detached, free of restraint, and was now seeking a second vessel within which to be born. For this event to have been brought into reality, somewhere in the City, and at that exact same moment, the strangest child ever to draw a breath must have been born; a child that had left its creator before it had been given a soul. Balance must be maintained, and so to restore order, another’s soul had to be split in two. Two infants were born that night, and two very different lives have been led, but between them both, only a single soul gathers the light and dark of existence. Then when I first saw you yesterday, Allessia, and there was something so very familiar about your presence, as if we had met before, it came to me. For it was not you I had met before, but your soulmate, Lasivia.’

  ‘My soulmate?’ exclaimed Allessia.

  ‘I remember the Earl of Rumball, your father, as a young nobleman charged with duties within the Queen’s Wing of the Palace. On the night that Lasivia was born to Yashishi, his wife, your mother, delivered their only child; you, Allessia. Last night I sent an emissary to the Recorder of Births and Deaths, and when they returned my intuition was proved correct. For as strange as it may seem, no other births were recorded that night in the City. There were but two. You were the vessel in need of a soul, and in accepting the gift drawn from a Queen’s femone, you became a femone too; a femone foreseen in an ancient prophecy that would be born a Vessel of Light.’

  ‘Me?’ said Allessia, struggling to keep up with the enormity of what was being revealed to her.

  Camellia smiled. ‘Your mother, Lady Rumball, was once the most beautiful lady at court, and as such was taken as a mistress by the King. Such Royal intimacy can often lead to an inevitable conclusion. With time your parents would have recognised you for what you truly are, a Queen’s femone and daughter of a King. And knowing this, is it not possible that your father and his friends would have seen in you an opportunity for advancement? All Kings are in need of a Queen, and had the noble conspirators succeeded in placing Lord Chillhide under the vacant Crown, as was their intention, there is no doubt in my mind as to whom he would have chosen as his Queen.’

  ‘But…all this is unknown to me. And how can I know if it is really true?’

  ‘Did you ever meet Lord Chillhide?’ asked Camellia.

  ‘He was a close friend of my father, so…yes. He came often to see him.’

  ‘And on those occasions, did he always take time to visit you also?’

  Allessia remembered the handsome young noble and the way he had smiled at her.

  ‘Yes. That was always so.’

  ‘It is true, Allessia. You have been hidden by the family Rumball in their wing of the Palace, and there prepared in secret as the future Queen for Lord Chillhide. But the Royal Honeybees are vigilant, and it would no
t have been possible for them to conceal your presence forever. One so rare as you will have the sweetest and most persistent scent of all. And so here you are before me now; recognised at last.’

  ‘But, what is a Vessel of Light?’

  ‘We shall have time enough in the Winter Castell to try to find answers to every question. Some are already known to me, some are not. It will be our adventure, Allessia, and for the time being at least, our closely guarded secret.’

  Allessia stared into the sky and saw the vast swarm of honeybees, larger now than ever against the clouds. She had listened to every word Camellia had said, but the thoughts spinning in her head were too confusing to make sense of.

  ‘They follow me still,’ she whispered, staring into the swarm.

  ‘They will follow you always,’ said Camellia. ‘You are the most precious jewel by far, and now that they have found that which was lost, you are the light of their world.’

  ‘What will happen to me?’

  ‘Lord Hardknot, being unaware of your existence, believes he has the vessel of Prime Integrity ready to become his future Queen. Such will be his downfall. For you, Allessia, tomorrow will be brighter than the brightest sun, and you will be the sweetest star in the heavens by far.’

  ‘But my mother,’ said Allessia aghast. ‘She said those exact same words to me often.’ She stared at Camellia. ‘And if this be true, what of Lasivia, my…soulmate, now confined within the Hivedom?’

  Darkness fell over Camellia’s face. ‘You must be kept secure, Allessia, until you are in your rightful place. More than this, I do not know. But let us speak no more on this today. Rest now, for we still have far to go.’

  Allessia lay back, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to be known, and sensing her love, the honeybees came to her. They did not swamp her, but filled the surrounding trees with the sound of their beating wings, a chosen few descending onto her hands and face to deposit the precious Gift of Ethemany. When the waves of pleasure finally subsided, she fell asleep and dreamt of her beautiful mountaintop once more.

  When Allessia awoke, black clouds had covered the sunlight, the air now cold with a biting intensity. Then when the bees left her to rise into the sky once more, she continued to stare after them, her breath held fast in her chest with shock. Though it had only been for a fleeting second, she had no doubt that what she had seen was not a figment of her imagination. For there amongst the swarm, she had glimpsed a honeybee like no other. A bee less real, almost ghost-like, and one that seemed to flash in and out of reality like a distant star through a clear still night. But most of all, a honeybee that just for a single moment, had seemed to hold a face.

  Would she tell the Lady Camellia still sleeping beside her, she thought? Surely there would be no point. Such dangers as there were would try to find her, no matter how much or how little Camellia knew of their existence.

  ‘My Ladies,’ Sir Horace Underworth said gently, as he approached. He stretched his ageing bones for a moment and then stared hard down the track from whence they had come, as if searching for movement. He turned to Lady Camellia, who was now awake. ‘We should depart now, My Lady, to be sure of making the Winter Castell before night.’

  ‘As you wish, Sir Horace,’ said Camellia.

  And so resolved, the small troop roused itself, and within but a few minutes continued its steep climb up the mountainside.

  Chapter 29

  Lord Hardknot, the 967th Keeper of the Royal Honeybees, High Lord of the Hives and the Oneness of All, strode once more down the long corridor leading to the King’s State Rooms, his heart bursting with exhilaration. He had found his true Queen, and she was more than he could possibly have imagined. The sweet intoxication of the young girl’s perfection had overpowered him completely. So strong was the scent surrounding her, that the pain of leaving had been unbearable. As with his Royal Honeybees, he simply wanted to be in the light of her presence. Truly she was a being who spanned the spiritual divide, and his heart soared at the prospect of consecrating their union. But who was she? And who had orchestrated such a lengthy and successful deception? Once she was in her rightful place by his side, as she would come to be, there would be time to find and deal with those who had blasphemed against the order of things.

  When he reached the Grand Hall the Palace Guards stood to one side and saluted. Hardknot marched by, his footsteps shattering the silence, and went to a large window. St. Butterbean’s Tower lay deserted, whilst beyond it he could see a storm heading towards the City. Flashes illuminated monstrous dark clouds as they discharged their pent-up energy. He opened the window and the rumble of thunder and the smell of rain swept over him. He imagined another world holding a fantastic celebration, giant fireworks streaking into the heavens to explode in a cascade of colour, whilst a bonfire threw clouds of swirling sparks into the sky. In his mind’s eye the storm became an ancient war, with huge siege cannon blasting iron balls into thick battlements and a waiting army caked with dust and fearful anticipation. Were such imaginations any less real, he wondered, than reality? He had imagined himself King, and soon he would be King. How deep could such faith go? For what was impossible, was also possible, if She desired it so. Thus would he reap his reward, his faith and devotion the rock upon which a new order would be created. And when he had secured such a Queen, nothing would split them asunder. He would fulfil his destiny; an endless line of Kings devoted to Her love his eternal shrine.

  He thought of Lasivia. Cruel as it was, another had supplanted her purpose and she would no longer become his Queen. A very different reward was already satisfying her insatiable appetites. He gave thanks once more for Her mastery over the fates that guided him.

  Several King’s Own Guards were on duty at the entrance to the King’s Private Quarters. They snapped to attention as he approached and then opened the huge double doors. Hardknot entered the Daylight Hall to be greeted by the nobles he had summoned to his presence. When they saw him enter the room, their murmur of conversation stopped in a heartbeat; they turned as one and gave a deep formal bow.

  To run the Palace and the City efficiently required management, and with many powerful nobles now gone up in smoke, there were several important vacancies to be filled. Besides, now was a good time to leave no room for doubt about what the future held. He would be their King, King Hardknot the First, and he would choose his Queen; woe betide any voice that was raised against him.

  Hardknot stayed with the nobles for several hours. As he had known would be the case, all but a small handful had seen the opportunity for advancement on the changing tide of fortune. Every senior position would be filled by a person of ambition and ability, and the City would continue to function smoothly. As for the few faces he had seen unable to hide their doubts, they would not be long for this world. Not one single hand could be given space or time to slow his Reformation.

  The Zenjo mercenaries were waiting for him when he arrived back at the Hivedom, their dark hoods concealing their features even in the white light of noon. As they rode their stout shaggy-haired mountain ponies through the gates the Hivecarls viewed them with distrust, their axes loosed by their sides and their eyes watchful for treachery. Hardknot had used Zenjos before and knew well their legendary ability to track and kill or capture a quarry. In daylight and in open battle they were no match for a hivecarl, but in the depths of night they were without equal. They served no master but gold, and held no allegiance beyond the weight of the purse proffered for their services. It was an arrangement that suited Hardknot well.

  He gave their chieftain a glass jar containing several Royal Honeybees, the lid pierced with holes.

  ‘They will be your guide,’ he said, and the man took the jar without a word and strapped it to the horn of his saddle. ‘She is to be found and brought to the Palace,’ added Hardknot. ‘No harm must befall her. As you value your life in this world and the next, do not fail me.’

  ‘We do not fail,’ said an expressionless voice from beneath a coarse fur-lin
ed hood, ‘if the price be agreed?’

  ‘The price is agreed,’ said Hardknot.

  The Zenjo troop turned as one to an unseen command and trotted briskly away towards the gates of the Hivedom once more.

  Hardknot made his way down to the Deep Hives and into a small private chamber. Soft light from shaded glowicks warmed the room. Lasivia was asleep, her breathing regular and her forehead bathed in sweat. She had survived the ordeal, as he knew she would, her constitution more than a match for the unnatural passion that had been visited upon her. He studied her nakedness. Scratches and bright red lesions covered her skin. Ugly purple bruises surrounded her wrists and ankles where the cruel ropes had held her fast upon the bed. Even under the spell of sopoforium, a powerful muscle relaxant, Lasivia had clearly resisted the intrusion, tugging on the ropes and crying for relief from the crazed thrusting. But she had been powerless, her legs held apart as the jazpah had delivered its instincts again and again into her being. Had the creature taking pleasure in the act, Hardknot wondered? It was impossible to know. For the mating of a Jazpah was also its death throe, its heart unable to withstand the frantic bursts of energy as the future was secured. At length, exhausted and empty, the creature had simply rolled to the floor. It lay there still where it had buzzed its last.

  Lasivia murmured something under her breath, but she was still too drugged to wake. Hardknot stared at her abdomen, the pool of sweat gathered within her navel rising and falling with every breath, and the beating of her heart causing tiny ripples to flash across its surface. Beneath it he imagined the desperate battle for life that would now be taking place. Millions of jazpah sperm would already have worked their way into her womb, each tiny spinning cell as determined and as ruthless as its creator. But they would not stop there in their search for life, but would drive themselves onward along her fallopian tubes like a rushing tide, seeking the mother lode of eggs that lay within her ovaries. Then would Lasivia’s future be raided in an orgy of premature fertilisation.