“What reeking princess is this?” he yelled. “Brothers, I leave her to you, for she is the foulest-looking thing I ever saw—”

“That is no princess,” cried another. “What pestilent sister dares climb up to Congregation? Smite her, someone!”

“Careful—she makes to spray again!”

Flora let the last jet of poison fly from her body, and the drones exclaimed in disgust and reared back in the bright air.

“Forgive me, Your Malenesses.” Flora wiped her mouth. “I was sent out to bring news, but I swallowed poison in the field of gold, so do not go there.”

“Do not come here either!” It was the large, pale drone whose plume she had defiled. “If there is an uglier sister, then I have never seen one. Linden, by her livery, is she not from your hive? What a poor, ill-favored place it must be!”

“Then pray do not visit! And forgive the sabotage of your fine looks, but it gives the rest of us a chance.”

Flora saw that Sir Linden hovered a safe distance from her, and hundreds of drones in different livery hung in the air all around, idly curious about the female intruder. Some of them teased the large, pale drone, and he flew away in anger.

The breezes stirred the great sycamore boughs and music shimmered from its leaves. Flora looked around in wonder. With her body cleared of the poisoned nectar, she could now draw in the deep, earthy fragrance rising through the bark and feel the life-force of the tree, and see how all around it drones from different hives hung in the air competing to rev their engines louder or tried to outdo each other with displays of aerial prowess.

“Yes, I think you will live.” Sir Linden settled nearby. “Why are you here? Please tell me you did not follow me. I would be so ashamed—”

“No! I was sent as a scout—”

“Yes, well, go back and report that Congregation is exceptionally crowded with large and stupid fellows from better hives than ours, who clearly eat better food, surely served by more comely and well-tempered sisters. You have not been a good advertisement—” Linden stopped short, his attention caught.

All the drones turned to face the same direction and began roaring and cheering, their chests revving like thunder and lifting them up into the air. A thick, sexual scent billowed from their abdomens and flowed across Flora’s antennae, and with it another scent, strong and intimately female.

“Today! My princess comes!” Sir Linden pumped his scent glands furiously as he threw himself up to the height of his comrades, and Flora heard the slightly higher timbre of his roar as he joined in the great, growling chord of lust.

The air churned and the leaves trembled at the approach of the virgin princess. She scythed past the treetops on a blade of air, too fast for capture but slow enough to flaunt her gleaming tawny bands and the luster of her golden fur, a cloud of musky perfume swirling in her wake. The drones threw themselves into a frenzy of aerobatic displays, roaring and posturing and thundering to and fro to draw her attention, and in response she spiraled and plunged, the better to show her long, shapely legs folded under her elegant body, her tiny waist, and her full, regal abdomen that tapered to a pouting golden bud.

The drones cheered and bellowed out her praise and again the princess shot past them, this time letting her wings murmur of her pleasure in sex, and her command that the drones provide it. Flora caught a glimpse of her beautiful face before a great wave of her royal scent drew music from the leaves and the drones roared off after her in a rage of lust. The air echoed and Flora felt the reverberations go through her body as she watched them disappear into the bright air.

When the winds dispersed the vivid erotic odor of Congregation, Flora raised her antennae and searched for the hive. The faint thread of the orchard came across the vast, monotonous fields—a long flight into the wind on an empty crop—but Flora knew the lives of her sisters depended on her hard-won knowledge. She raised her wing-power and sped for home.

Far below her on the dun-brown field, black shapes rose cawing into the air. By the blue-black flash of their wings, Flora knew they were crows—and that they blocked her path to the hive. If she kept her course they would catch her; if she fled too far her fuel-strength would give out. Either way, without her warning, more sisters would die in the field of gold.

The cawing rose to a higher pitch and Flora knew they saw her.

Sixteen

BURNING WITH ADRENALINE FROM EMPTYING HER fuel reserves, Flora flew higher and faster into the headwind. The smell of the crows hit her antennae, and her brain screeched as Lily 500’s hoarse voice cut in.

Low! she shouted in Flora’s mind. Drop lower!

As she saw the red eyes and black beaks Flora swerved low and hard beneath the crows, dropping through the air currents toward the smell of the earth and corn. The strobing shadows of the flock passed over her. All except one.

A sudden downdraft bounced Flora’s body higher in the air as the crow dived for her and snapped its massive beak. It whirled around looking for her, cursing in vexation. Flora rolled and tumbled in the swell from its huge, stinking wings and sped low above the spiking cornstalks. The crow flapped and cawed in excitement as it searched for her, and she did not dare stop.

Shelter by the edge! came Lily’s data, but there was no edge; the field was vast as the sky, and all Flora could see were the racing spears of grain that would beat her from the air if she misjudged her level. The wind threw a carrion-footed scent over her like a net, and Flora knew the crow was close and low behind her.

The edge! The edge! There it was—a low line of green hedging hidden in the moist division of the crops. She fled toward it not knowing what good it would do—and then she saw the bright flutter of other insects above the flowering weeds—flies and gnats and white butterflies spiraling in the sun—

Use them!

Flora sped at them, the crow hard behind her. She had one glimpse of the butterflies’ surprised faces and the beautiful bronze tips of their wings before she burst through the crowd of insects, sending them into a whirring panic in the path of the crow. She heard its flapping wings as it thrashed along, snapping up as many as it could catch.

Flora drove herself high above the hedgerow and spun until she locked onto the scent of the hive. Beneath her the crow cawed in triumph, and she did not need to look to know the butterflies were gone.

THE ORCHARD WAS A SWEET-SCENTED SIGHT, the little gray square of the hive even dearer as she descended from the turbulent heights down to the landing board.

“Halt, Sister.” Two Thistle guards came forward as soon as her feet touched the wood. When they had scanned her and could find no trace of the gray film they escorted her to the Dance Hall, where a crowd stood behind a sickle of identical Sage priestesses. She felt their keen attention rove her body and draw deeply on her scent.

“Your smell has changed.”

“I had to void myself,” Flora said, “in the field.” As another Sage priestess walked behind her, she felt her antennae begin to throb. It was so unexpected and intimate that for a second Flora did not react. The priestess began pushing the probe of her will into Flora’s mind.

My egg!

Flora’s war gland flared at the threat. Without knowing how she did it, she felt her antennae lock so hard that the priestess instantly withdrew her attention.

You will not hurt my egg!

Anger shining in her beautiful eyes, the priestess came round to face Flora.

“What strange sister is this, who can hide her thoughts?”

Another priestess joined the first, and Flora felt their combined will focusing on breaking into her mind. They probed her antennae with their powerful scent, trying to force their chemicals into her brain—but despite the burning pain, Flora maintained her lock. She concentrated on speaking calmly.