In her trance, Flora felt the presence of the Queen close beside her, and she wanted to reach out and touch her but her body was not hers to move. The Queen spread her wings again, and the beautiful scent renewed itself across her sleeping daughters.

“And as you slew my sons, your brothers, in sacrifice to winter, so did I slay your several fathers, in sacrifice to spring. Each one’s life I took for love, and each year I tell this tale. When you wake you will forget every word of it. By my Love, you shall be cleansed of sin and made whole again.”

Flora sighed as the Queen touched her with a wing-tip, then walked among all her daughters, covering them with the mantle of her scent.

“Wake, beloved daughters,” she said. “Attend your sister and wash her, every one of you healed and reborn in your Mother’s Love.”

The sisters roused themselves and obeyed. The air was pure and sweet again and Flora washed every sister near her, combing and grooming clotted fur until it was smooth as thistle silk. Not since she had been taken into the Queen’s private chambers by the ladies-in-waiting had she felt any kind and gentle hands on her, and her heart filled with love and gratitude to all her sisters. Only when she felt the delightful feathering touch of her antennae being groomed did she understand the wonderful feeling. They were wide open, and she could not close them.

“Thank you, Sister.” Flora pulled away. She scanned about her. Every bee’s antennae were the same—wide open to absorb every molecule of the Queen’s Love and enraptured by the story trance. The relief was exquisite, and with it came the beauty of the hive, rushing upon her after being held so long at bay by her narrowed senses. Now she saw it all again—the curved, vaulted ceiling of the Dance Hall with its frescoes of flowers and leaves carved into the ancient wax panels, and her sisters—her beautiful, beloved sisters, with their warm, clean smell.

Flora tried again to close her antennae. All it would take was for one bee to grasp them, as Sister Teasel had done, and her secrets would pour out. She did not know when the spider’s prophecy would come true, but her egg might be forming at this exact moment, and any bee might scent it. One more egg—

At this thought, Flora’s antennae opened to their full extent. To her joy and terror, the radiant scent memory of her last egg began to form in her mind, then in her body. She began to smell it and feel it as if she cradled it in her arms, and its fragrance seemed to drift around her, mingling with the Queen’s Love.

Possessed by the ghosting memory, Flora could not move one step, though all around her the different kin-scents began to rise as the sisters returned to work. As she smelled the distinctive tang of the fertility police, Flora felt someone watching her. Fear released her and she spun around, expecting to be confronted by a masked sister. But the beam of attention came from a huddle of sanitation workers. Realizing she had seen them, they dropped their eyes and antennae and busied themselves with grooming each other. Flora went to them.

“Honor to you, sisters,” she said. “You work for the police now?”

The first worker shook her head in horror, and the others bobbed their antennae to emphasize that they did not. They gazed at her with bright, intelligent black eyes.

Flora could not look away—and the image of her last egg returned bright and clear in her mind’s eye, the memory of its fragrance pouring strong from her antennae.

My beloved egg, my lost child—

She waited for them to screech the alarm, but instead they shuffled closer to her. Then they lifted their kin-scent stronger and joined it around her. With a shock of gratitude, Flora knew they used it to shield her from discovery. They knew she was the laying worker, and they did not reveal it. The wall of scent thickened as strong steps approached. At the astringent scent of this particular Sister Sage, Flora’s antennae sprang shut, and their roots throbbed in warning.

“Overwhelmed with love for your kin, I see. You no longer shun them?”

Flora curtsied. “No, Sister. Accept, Obey, and Serve.” She felt Sister Sage’s penetrating attention examining her antennae, taking particular note of the fine line of the seal.

“Always diligent, 717. In all you do.” The priestess studied her. “Now that you have found your way back to Sanitation, you will remain until further notice—is that clear?”

“Yes, Sister.”

Sister Sage indicated the Dance Hall. The Queen had gone.

“You and your kin will restore this chamber to its immaculate state.” With an elegant foot, the priestess pushed aside a drone’s broken torso. “You will transfer all debris to the morgue, which you will then clean from top to bottom, and in all corners. You will completely empty that chamber, and permit nothing to interrupt this task. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sister.” As the great calmed crowd of sisters filed out of the Dance Hall, Flora signaled to the sanitation workers to wait for her.

“I see they recognize your authority.” Sister Sage scanned Flora again. “Do not close your mind to us, 717. Soon it will be time for the Winter Cluster. Do you know what that means?”

“No, Sister.”

“Life, for those who join it.” Sister Sage looked at the sanitation workers, who were already sweeping and scrubbing the Dance Hall clean. “But not all sisters can. When the last task is completed, send that detail to the spiders.”

“The spiders? Sister, why? They are fit and strong—”

“Silence! Winter is merciless, your kin is legion, and their few lives traded will help the hive.” Sister Sage paused. “The Melissae care for every kin, 717, even yours. I assure you their sacrifice has value, and their end will be quick.” The priestess walked away.

Flora stared at her kin-sisters as they swept and cleaned. She picked up a broom and went to join them. Feeling her sadness, they touched her in concern. This time, their kindness hurt.

Twenty-Nine

FLORA DIVIDED THE SANITATION WORKERS INTO TWO details. One ferried drone remains directly from the Dance Hall to the landing board while the other started from the morgue. It was full since Flora’s last visit, the storage racks near the front tight with compacted dry bodies of old sisters, crushed together for maximum storage. The older dead were stored farther back in the long chamber, from where came a strong odor of propolis disinfectant. To Flora’s surprise, all her workers crowded away from it, little jabs of fear bursting from them.

Heartsick at her imminent betrayal, Flora did not force them deeper but went herself. It was usual to treat the storage racks with propolis, and the large number of dead sisters was unsurprising, for all were old and from the early summer—but as she walked farther between the racks, she felt the difference in the air. A stillness . . . a secret. Beneath the bright antiseptic top note of the propolis, there were clots of decay. The bustling sounds of the workers faded and the blackness thickened.

Flora stopped. Stored bodies in the morgue were always dry—but here the comb underfoot was wet. The seepage came from a soft and shapeless pile in the corner. Forcing back her instinctive revulsion, Flora extended her antennae to decipher the material. She stepped back in horror.

The pile was made of brood of all ages, from collapsed eggs to decomposing larvae to perfect, fully formed young sisters, their limbs compressed as if their emergence chambers still held them safe.

Sister Sage could not possibly know about this, for no bee would tolerate this decay and concealment, and Flora’s time in the Nursery had taught her that dead brood were always promptly removed. Tightening her spiracles against the polluting smell, she touched her antennae to the freshest-looking corpse. It could not be—she moved her antennae to scan the kin-scent of other heads protruding from the pile. All were Sage.