“It will not last,” said the Sage priestesses in cheerful voices as they went about the hive swinging their censers filled with a strange fragrance. “By the time the new Queen arrives, the sun herself will come to greet her.”

“Tomorrow,” was all the bees dared whisper to each other, breathing in the new scent. As she scrubbed the midlevel lobby floor with her kin-sisters, this new smell made Flora feel sick. Glazed with a top note of honey and bound by the complex scent structure of the Melissae, it referenced every kin except flora, and its message was simple and clear: Strength in Sage. Some of the bees even murmured it without knowing, and as they passed, the priestesses smiled.

The scent forced its way into Flora’s spiracles, and then her bloodstream. It made her head hurt and sent shooting pains through her belly. Nauseous, she excused herself and ran down to the bottom story, intending to flush her body with cold fresh air near the landing board.

She got as far as the lobby outside the Dance Hall before the egg within her began to pulse. Sage priestesses were within, and Flora hurried away. Footsteps and voices came from all sides and now she did not know where to go. This egg had grown so quickly and given no warning—and now with frightening force it pushed at her body, telling her it was coming. She could smell the cold rain falling outside on the landing board and she longed to breathe more fresh air, but she had not a second to lose, for her body was opening to lay.

She could not go up to the busy midlevel, nor into the Dance Hall, so in desperation Flora ran down the dark corridor that smelled of propolis disinfectant. It was marked out of bounds since the Cluster because it was where the dead mouse lay embalmed, but the swelling egg left no time for choice. Covered in the scent of propolis, Flora dropped to the raw wax floor as the egg pressed her body apart. It came so fast and the pain was so startling that she could not even cry out—and then it was done. Gasping, Flora turned around.

Like her two other eggs before, this third one had a pearly skin and in its depths held a tiny point of light. Unlike them, it did not lie on its side, but balanced on its narrower tip, as if supported by some invisible force. It was also very large. Flora moved her body to block it from the corridor entrance, then feathered its skin in wonder. She could feel its radiant life-force warming her as she touched it.

Madness and disaster.

Flora raised her claw over her egg, as if the Minerva spider scuttled in the darkness—but all was still. Above her loomed the vast propolis tomb of the mouse, and the only thing that moved was a cold curl of air, coming from behind it. Flora raised her antennae. The hive creaked in the wind, and the air moved with it.

She knew what had happened—in their Cluster-dulled state, the defending bees had completely sealed the mouse to the hive floor—but when it was done they forgot the gap it had gnawed in the hive wall. Flora listened for footsteps. If the fertility police were coming, she would fight them to the death to protect this egg.

There was no sound, and she put her claws down. She breathed deeply, realizing the thick propolis veils would cover the scent of an egg even better than that of her own kin-sisters.

Flora flushed fresh air through her spiracles to rid herself of the controlling scent of Sage. Her brain cleared. It was cold in here, and her egg needed protection. In one more day the new Queen would come and start laying. Surely in all the excitement there would be opportunity to smuggle one new egg into the Nursery. Until then, she must protect it.

Flora bent herself forward and stared at her dry abdominal bands, harder and older since she had last looked. There was no trace of those soft, sliding glands that would give her wax, and she knew that since the Queen’s death, her prayers were as dry as her belly. She concentrated—but there was not one single synapse of response. The strong smell of propolis made it hard to think what she should do.

Propolis.

Flora looked at the sarcophagus of the mouse, hurriedly built with great lumps and crags sticking out of it. It was not wax, but made from the blood of a thousand trees, it had its own ancient purity. A sister with the strength and endurance to work it could mold it as she chose.

It was night before Flora had finished her task. The hive was silent, and her jaws ached from chewing, but the amber walls of the crib glowed with the spark of life within. Flora’s tongue was numb from the long contact with propolis, and no pulse of Flow lit her cheeks. Her time in the Nursery was so long ago, she struggled to remember how many days before an egg hatched. Three sun bells chimed—

Three days—Flora was sure of it. And then the pearly skin would molt to reveal her baby, beautiful and hungry for Flow. She cleaned the crumbs of propolis off her fur in preparation for returning to her dormitory. The new Queen was coming tomorrow, and the anxious fast would be over. In the time of celebrations she would let herself feed and love her baby, then she would smuggle him into the Nursery—and this time, put him in the right section. She would make no more mistakes.

Not until she was lying safe and quiet in her dormitory berth, surrounded by the reassuring kin-scent of her sleeping sisters, did Flora become aware that her heartbeat had an echo, as if a tiny second heart pumped inside it. She hugged herself in silent joy, for even though she was one floor above, and on the other side of the hive, she knew that it was her connection to her living egg, growing stronger with every pulse of her blood.

Thirty-Seven

ON THE MORNING OF THE THIRD DAY, THE BEES SPRANG from their beds and rushed to make all ready for the coming of the new Queen. Foragers ran to the landing board to check the weather and kept their spirits high despite the Thistle still blocking their exit, for the rain fell thick and cold. No Sage priestess appeared to announce the period of fasting over, nor did the Hive Mind speak, but the hungry bees milled around outside the canteens waiting for some signal, some smell of the upcoming feast.

There was none. By afternoon, every sister’s belly was clutching at itself, and even the most devout had no more energy for pacing in prayer. They were ready to welcome the new princess, they were ready to eat, and they were ready to cheer to the skies for the return of order and security.

It was almost evening before the Sage appeared, and they did so en masse in every lobby and canteen. Barely three days since the Queen was killed, and now they all wore mantles, the style of dress last favored by Her Majesty and her ladies. The Sage were decorated—the time had come at last! Whirring in joyous excitement, the sisters rushed to be close to their priestesses—but at their somber expressions, they fell silent.

“Due to the inclement weather”—the Sage used their choral voice—“the arrival of the new Queen has been delayed. The period of fasting is over, but the Interregnum is extended.”

The bees burst out with questions but the Sage held up their mantles.

“There will be no questions. Accept, Obey, and Serve.”

There was the briefest pause before the bees responded.

“Accept, Obey, and Serve.” They watched the priestesses go, a cordon of police around them.

As soon as they were out of sight, a ravenous hunger seized the bees. They ran into the canteens and pulled whatever rations they could from the stores. With some difficulty, they forced themselves to pass and share. Nobody wanted to be the first to speak. Flora ate what she could, but she knew it was not enough. She felt her cheeks. If the princess was late, then her egg would hatch and need feeding before the Nursery was fully operational again. Her baby would need Flow—and if there were no nurses, it would die.