A group of Teasel carried the broken body of one of their own aloft, and stopped on the central mosaic.

“Left for dead in a corridor!” yelled one of them. No bee had ever heard such warlike tones from her kin. “A warning to us!” shouted another. “Murdered by the police, for speaking out!” The Teasel sisters looked around at the shocked bees. “That will be your body, sisters, if you dare to ask where their princess is!” They laid the broken Teasel down, and all who could see shuddered at the sight of the young brindled bee who had addressed them all the day before. Her lower jaw had been ripped from her head, her tongue with it.

“No Devotion,” shouted another Teasel. “No answers—we want the truth!”

“The truth?” Sister Sage stood in their midst, radiant and serene. She looked down at the dead Teasel and shook her head. “You lack the stomach for it.”

“Tell us!” The Teasel sisters were raw with grief. “What truth keeps you in power, yet you cannot give us a Queen?”

“Divine Right.” Sister Sage was calm, and as other priestesses entered the lobby, their strong opiate scent began to rise. As Flora closed her spiracles, she sensed the other sanitation workers do the same.

“The right to murder?” A Teasel in her prime shouted it out. “Is that what you mean? The Sage are corrupt and wicked!”

“Dear Sister Teasel.” Sister Sage held out her hands and walked across the lobby to her. “Uncertainty is very troubling to weaker kin, the Melissae understand that—”

“And the Teasel understand the Sage cling to power at any cost!” Sister Teasel kept her voice strong, but her body hunched in fear at the approach of the priestess. Sister Sage stopped, her hands still outstretched.

“Touch me, Sister Teasel. Divinity flows through me. Feel for yourself, before you further wound our hive by voicing such cruel doubts. Open your mind, and make your own decision.”

Sister Teasel stared at the other priestesses around the lobby.

“It is a trick. You will join together and hurt me.”

“Any harm that comes to you can only be from your own soul.”

“Then I am not afraid.” Yet Sister Teasel hesitated to clasp Sister Sage’s hands. “Our kin are loyal servants of the hive, and we deserve respect!”

“Then keep no secrets.” Sister Sage stepped forward and gripped her hands. Sister Teasel started, then stood rigid and still. All the bees stared at the joined pair, but only the closest could see the shuddering at the bases of Sister Teasel’s antennae. All the Teasel gasped as her legs collapsed and her body sagged. Then the priestess turned Sister Teasel’s lifeless body to face them. Her eyes were covered with a white film, and the bases of both antennae were cracked and seeping.

“Spiritual pollution destroys the bearer.” Sister Sage let Sister Teasel’s body fall to the ground beside her dead kin-sister, then wiped her hands.

Madness. Sister against sister. Disaster.

As if Flora had spoken aloud, Sister Sage turned to focus on her part of the crowd, her powerful antennae scanning. Flora felt the burning sensation in her own antennae, but stood motionless. Then the priestess returned her attention to the silent assembly.

“The wicked secret that just killed Sister Teasel is that her kin raise their own princess in secret, and now think of themselves as royalty.”

“We have as much right as you!” shouted another Teasel. “Your kin sicken so that you cannot make a healthy princess, but we are the kin of the Nursery and we know how to do it! There is no Divine Right; food means destiny! That is the truth and you know it: every girl child is born a worker but it is how we feed her that makes her Queen!”

At this, the bees broke into uproar. Something ignited in Flora’s brain. The Nursery rotas. That was why no one must see them, or learn to count. That was why the Sage had tried to destroy her brain when she left—in case she knew. Deep tremors began racking through the comb below their feet.

SILENCE! came the voice of the Hive Mind. At the mouths of the corridors joining the lobby, dark clusters of police had gathered.

“No!” shouted back the Teasel. “Three days for a worker, four for a drone—”

Sister Sage signaled, and the police began pushing through the crowd toward the Teasel. Bees scattered in terror as she tried to take cover behind them.

“And five days makes a princess—Flow is the great secret!” she screamed as the police surrounded her. “Any female could—” The police unleashed their rage on her body and the smell of her blood filled the air. An officer held up a wet red mass on her claw.

“The traitor made more eggs.” She ate them. “And was rich in Flow.”

Before the bees could scream, the priestesses drove their scent hard through the crowd, so that their brains were seized and the sound of terror died within them. The comb jerked beneath their feet.

Our M-Mother—came the voice of the Hive Mind.

Who art—Our Mother—from death comes—Our Mother—

At the stuttering of the Queen’s Prayer, the bees began to moan in fear. The comb hummed higher and higher until a terrible frequency went through the bees’ brains—then abruptly ceased. The air felt sucked dead.

Sister Sage held up her hand. “Hush.” She smiled at the bees. “Do not be afraid; the Hive Mind tires of conflict and must rest.” She turned to the chief Thistle guard. “Brave sister guards, surely you see the damage of discord? Stand not in martial judgment, but join your strength with our own officers, for the greater good.”

“How?” The Thistle’s face gave nothing away.

“Search the hive for queen cells. Those not guarded by our trusted police or a priestess, destroy. Leave nothing alive inside them.”

“We have never seen queen cells, Sister. How will we know them?”

Sister Sage permitted herself a grim smile.

“They will be unlike any cell you have ever seen. Leave nothing inside them alive. That is all you need to know.”

Sickened, the Thistle nodded. The Sage withdrew, their scent lock slowly releasing the bees’ bodies. Confused and panicking sisters collided as they tried to pick up instructions from the floor-codes, but the comb transmitted no information. Only the sanitation workers remained calm and industrious. Flora looked around—the Thistle guards were already conferring with the fertility police, standing in groups at the head of every corridor to the lobby, so that every bee must pass between them to leave. Her mouth filled with the sweetness of Flow and it spilled out onto her fur. She swallowed, but more came and it would be impossible to hide. Any moment someone would smell it and kill her—and then her baby would die—

She would not let that happen. As yet no Thistle guards had returned to the landing board, and no police stood at the entrance corridor. Foragers were only just moving across the lobby to return to the landing board, and Flora ran to join them, pushing past to get out before anyone could challenge her scent. Unless she took to the air now, she would never be able to get to her baby in time.

The sun shone on the board and the skies were clear. Flora did not wait to lay a marker signal, but roared her engine as hard and loud as she could to signal she was going a great distance, then made an almost vertical takeoff. She rose up high above the hive and orchard and then circled around behind it and dropped down onto its sloping roof.

Keeping her scent glands tight to prevent any sisters on the wing from smelling her, Flora began walking down the side of the hive. Every insect that crawled there had left a trace, as well as the bird droppings that seared her brain, and the film of dirt deposited by the wind—but there at the bottom was the ragged black gap. Even after the winter, the gnawed edges held the rank scent of the mouse, but beyond it came one much sweeter. Flora crawled inside.