“Forgive me, sisters,” she said. “When I knew I had drunk poison, I locked my channels lest I signal falsely and draw others into danger. Now I cannot open them.”

“Very . . . prudent,” said one. “And how did you know to do such a thing?”

“Lily 500 gave me her knowledge.” Flora did not react as they released her, but she could feel the glands in her mouth moistening. She longed to hold her egg again, and the smell of the Sage made her want to flee.

“Very agitated, Flora 717.” A third priestess came to study her. “Good communication is even more vital in these difficult times—let us help you open your channels again.” Her scent was far more powerful than the others’, and Flora knew this was the priestess who had chosen her in the Arrivals Hall.

“Accept, Obey, and Serve,” she said loudly, to cover her fear. “Forgive me, Sister Sage, but I saw much harm, and I must dance without delay to spare our hive.” She ran onto the dance floor where the tiles were scuffed by the feet of a thousand foragers past. The scent of flowers rose up from the wax, and Flora began to dance.

To begin, she copied the style of Lily 500 as her steps told of the huge full fields she had traveled, bare of forage but stained by the low dank vapor of the road that cut between them. Then she danced the scanty hedgerows and then the great golden field of poison, with all the creatures dead upon the earth and the ants that ate them. There were murmurs of horror and cries of disappointment at the great waste of pollen and nectar when Flora danced its vastness, but all the Sage watched in silence. Then she danced the field of corn and the crows, and the sunken hedgerow at its edge giving sanctuary against the avian Myriad—though at the price of other lives. At this, some foragers gave solemn applause.

“The hive comes first,” called out one, “else how could we return?”

“You did what any of us would,” called another, and the applause grew.

“Silence!” Sister Sage signaled to stop her dancing. Flora stood with her sides heaving and the electrifying choreography still running through her body as the priestess addressed the assembled sisters.

“The true passage of bud to bloom to fruit to seed is coded in the walls of Her Majesty’s Library—but this new season of flood is not inscribed. Every sister knows our forager losses, but coarse wings may endure more than those of highborn kin—and so for reason of these extraordinary times we announce an exception to the ancient order of our hive. Flora 717 is permitted to forage.”

At first there was total silence. Then one forager began to clap. Then another, and another, until every sister in the Dance Hall was applauding and humming her approval. Joy and gratitude ran through Flora’s body as she felt their blessing and saw their shining faces—and also a thread of fear at the sight of every priestess staring at her.

FLORA’S LONGING TO BE CLOSE to her egg was now a physical ache, but she stood in the lobby accepting congratulations from sisters who had never before spoken to her. It would now be much harder to visit the Nursery, for though Sanitation was regularly called in to clean, foragers famously had no interest in eggs or children—whereas the kin of Teasel lived for nothing else. As Flora smiled and thanked the passing sisters, a daring thought occurred to her. She would publicly visit Sister Teasel for old times’ sake, and take a nostalgic and admiring tour of the Nursery.

But that plan would have to wait, for the next cadre of foragers due to depart came out of the Dance Hall and smelled her low fuel supplies. Now that she was one of them, they insisted on taking her with them to the canteen, even the most taciturn of them stressing the importance of proper energy supplies before a mission. All the other bees gave them precedence, and then after they received their food—one tongue of honey on a thick slab of pollen bread—they ate without speaking, for every atom of fuel was precious, and gossip squandered strength.

Flora was grateful for their silent camaraderie, for in the privacy of her own mind she needed to calculate how long she had to visit before her egg would hatch, grow, and leave the Nursery. Her time in Category One felt very distant, but she remembered the sun bell rang three times before an egg hatched to a larva-baby.

She ate her bread and concentrated. Yes—then three more sun bells while the babies were fed Flow, then they were big and healthy and moved to Category Two. She knew nothing after that, except the children were at some point taken off and sealed for Holy Time, that mysterious interval before a bee was born. Flora could not think where in the hive it happened. Every single bee had passed through that sacred phase, but she had no memory of it, and her own emergence was now a blank.

Flora returned to her immediate concern—the need to visit Category One before six days had passed. If she did not, it might be impossible to find her child amid thousands. The very thought of her egg made her mouth moisten with sweetness.

The closest forager looked up and sniffed her. Flora stood up.

“I am ready.”

When the foragers smiled, their beauty shone past their cracked and weathered faces. They stood and bowed to her, then unlatched their wings all together with the sound that so long had thrilled her. Flora pressed down her secret and let her wings unlatch too, proud and grateful to be one of their elite and honorable number. Before six days passed she would visit Sister Teasel and find a way to see her child. But first, and with all her strength and passion, she would serve her hive.

Seventeen

TO SECRETLY ATONE FOR HER EGG, FLORA GATHERED more pollen and nectar than any other sister. Because of the threatening skies the foragers each made hundreds of flights while they still could, but later in the day when the clouds darkened and the wind gusted, Flora alone stayed out, fighting her way toward the sweet distant flower wealth she could still smell.

Through watching other sisters she quickly learned the pleasantries some blooms demanded before they would release their nectar, but she studied the bumblebees as well, and their cruder ways, until she could also barge at mallow flowers and pump her tongue, forcing them to give up every drop of nectar. Lily 500’s data was immaculate at factoring the imminence of rain, distance to the hive, and fuel remaining, and Flora used it to pack her panniers so full of pollen that only a bee of her strength could carry it. When she landed back on the board just as the first raindrops began to fall, even the Thistle guards cheered at her daring and profit.

When the shower had passed and the sun shone bright, the foragers went out again, and the increased warmth brought new pollen and nectar to the flowers’ lips. This time Flora took pleasure in the delicacy of her approach and studied the ways of the smallest, sweetest blooms she could find, tiny pimpernels and forget-me-nots hiding in the pockets of the fields. The energy of the sun on her body and the joy of foraging filled her soul, and when she thought of her egg, it was as a bright bud she had not yet visited, glowing as it grew. She flew the fields and gathered until the light began to fade and she heard the sound of her forager sisters’ wings turning for home. Then she joined them.

As Flora’s feet touched the sun-warmed wood of the landing board, a great weariness filled her body. She gave her nectar to the ardently admiring receiver, too tired even to register her kin. Then she stood quietly as careful hands unpacked her pollen panniers and voices marveled at the double load she had brought—and then she was free to rest.

It was all Flora could do to latch her wings, then take herself to the canteen and eat whatever was put in front of her. She sat at the foragers’ table and drew comfort from their presence, and now she understood why they did not speak, for it was not possible to do any more than eat, drink cool water to rehydrate her burning wings, and find a place to rest. The idea of going to the Nursery, and the energy required for her planned interaction with Sister Teasel, was unthinkable. Flora took herself off to a dormitory and collapsed. It was almost too tiring to seal her antennae, but she did it, lest she dream of her egg—and then her exhausted body took her down into sleep.