Chapter Eight

Rivalry

Naokah had never felt so small. She could’ve been an ant peering up at the steep slopes of the isle, the imposing walls blocking out the sky. There were no stars, no sparkles of promise – the clouds above were thick as the fog at her waist. Vines clawed at her trousers, and the mist had gone from whimpering to weeping. It seemed all of Abelha had conspired to stop Naokah in her tracks, but Abelha didn’t have a sister to find.

“Even the rain is hot here.” Brielle kicked the brambles, skirt flapping. “Feel like we’re plodding through soup.” The Poler slipped beneath a slab of fog.

Naokah was drenched and miserable, but the corner of her mouth crept up as she reached down. A muddy, nonetheless dainty hand latched on, and she hoisted the disheveled, curse-spewing Brielle up.

“You were saying?” she asked, unable to suppress a grin.

“The Divine Daughter let her wind-thieving brother off too easy, exiling him,” Brielle spat, brushing muck from her lips. “The wretch should’ve been chained to this very isle, where he could forever slog through his own filth.”

Naokah didn’t disagree. Wind, if it truly was anything like what the pollinating flocks conjured, would’ve been close to divinity. Fatigue gnawed at her calves as they trudged up the scarp, and her tunic and trousers stuck to her like a gross second skin. She’d been a cloudcane farmer since she could hardly walk, but no amount of digging, planting, or picking could’ve prepared her for this trek. Croi Croga was flat. From the looks of the runners-up above and below, hunched over, crawling through the sheets of rain, she wasn’t the only one taken aback.

Still, they pressed on. Despite the fact that the Keeper-select had gone missing and Abelha was clearly dangerous, there was too much at stake to turn back. Not a single nation of the seven had declined the Keeper’s invitation to compete. A spark of anticipation burned deep within. A whisper of a thrill. The same fluttering ache she felt when she’d competed against her perfect sister. How might it feel to be sworn in as Keeper? To have something of her very own? To have people bow instead of pity her for being Lenita’s shadow? A cramp shot through her calf, and she bent to massage it. That’s what she got for trying to steal her sister’s dream.

The Poler stopped beside her, panting.

“Could be worse,” Naokah said. “At least we aren’t carrying that coffin of a trunk you brought too.”

Brielle snorted. “Thank the Divine Daughter for that.”

“Probably best to thank them instead.” Naokah gestured at the port, now a couple hundred feet below, where sentries struggled with a cart loaded with luggage. The least they could do. With the citadel’s complete lack of decency, it was no wonder Lenita went missing.

With Abelha secluded and heavily guarded, one could only visit if they were expressly invited by the Keeper herself. Most citizens of Vindstöld would never know what lay beyond these spiky walls. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t conjecture. The Council spoke of clement weather, of tropical fruits and vegetables and exotic flowers. Of a kind, genteel staff who treated both bees and humans alike with the utmost care and respect. Hah. Not the case so far. What else had they been wrong about?

As the slope leveled out and they neared the outer gate, the rain tapered off, but the fog stayed. A low, collective hum rumbled Naokah’s bones, and the hedges flanking the entrance rattled. Beasts with long snouts, erect ears, and tusks – the latter of which particularly caught her attention – surrounded them. Her mouth went dry, and she froze. So did Brielle.

“Guardhogs,” said one of the runners-up as he approached. He ran a hand over the animal’s coarse hair as if it were a pet, not a feral creature eyeing her up like dinner. “They’re friendly, as long as you aren’t attempting to smuggle something on or off the isle.” Doubt terraced Naokah’s brow, and he smiled. “I’m Clisten of Svinja, if that helps?”

“It does,” she managed with a fat tongue. Rain dripped through her cropped hair, into her eyes and down her back. “So, this…beast is one of yours?”

He nodded, tucking one of his many long braids behind his ear, and waved her through the gate. Svinja was a southeastern Poler nation known for its prolific swine operation. As they were absurdly wealthy like all Polers, Naokah had assumed its citizens’ manners would match their precious resource. But Clisten wasn’t so swinely. He had an affable, open face with bronzed skin and strong shoulders that spoke of a life outdoors. Quite the contrast to the fine-boned Kjell, whose sharp, ivory cheeks pressed his lips into a permanent pout.

Clusters of coned flowers, dark purple in the gloaming, leaned into Naokah’s path. Enchanted, she moved to stroke a dripping petal, but Brielle grabbed her hand.

“Don’t touch.”

“Why?”

“They are the bees’ greatest allies, but are no friends of humans,” she said. “Poisonous. You don’t have foxgloves in Croi Croga?”

“Just cloudcane. Anything that doesn’t produce fruit is weeded. Need the farmland.”

“That’s sad.” Brielle slid her a pitying look.

Lack of flowers wasn’t the saddest thing in the Midworld, but she shrugged it off.

Hills of foxgloves and other strange, barbed flowers oozing viscous fluids spilled shadows over the path, and fog, having stalked them from the port, snaked their knees. Despite the rainfall, the night was hot, thick with scents of foliage and decay, but still. Unnaturally still, save for their boots crunching over gravel and that deep, resonating hum from earlier. Every step was like wading through a sinkhole and, the closer they got to the inner gate, the more Naokah’s stomach clenched. The guards, rigid in their carmine uniforms, stared her and Brielle down before allowing them through the portcullis. Yet, even after they passed beneath the vine-strangled arches, Naokah’s skin crawled. Someone or something was watching her.

With a web of flying buttresses, spiny turrets, and glaring windows, the citadel sprawled over the envoys like a beast loosed from the Razing. Blanketed in silence, the group of seven shuffled to the entrance, a scaling, stained-glass beehive, fogged up from the rain. The hum deepened to a resounding growl, vibrating the stone beneath Naokah’s feet. Spiking her pulse. The apiary was close. Behind the courtyard, perhaps. But from this angle, cloaked in shadows, she couldn’t actually see it. No fear clawed deeper than that of the unknown.

The doors flung open, and the staff lined up on each side, stiff as statues. They wore the same, blood-red uniform as the sentries and the same wary gaze. One of them had to know what happened to Lenita. Maybe more. Maybe helped vanish her too. Naokah fought the impulse to stop right then and there and beg for answers. If only it were that easy. But no. She had to play their game first.

The door slammed shut, startling a few runners-up and painting the foyer in damask shadows. The air was heavy, laden with candle wax and flowers, a failed attempt at masking some sour, underlying stench – hopefully mildew, but this place had all the charm of a crypt, so she assumed worse.

“Follow them,” said a raspy, disembodied voice.

Naokah squinted at the staff, their faces now obscured by dust motes, as a cortège of white-gloved hands pointed at a tall figure leaning against a pillar beyond the foyer.

No one moved or even breathed until a draft swept through the huddled group, raising the hair on Naokah’s arms. Candles flared above, revealing a daunting, fan-vaulted space hundreds of feet high and dozens of chandeliers hanging from faded frescoes. For an isle that was supposed to be a cornucopia of wealth, where its inhabitants wanted for nothing, it reeked of gloom. What had she and Lenita gotten themselves into?

“I’m Samara, head savvy and curator, for I know most everything worth knowing here at the citadel.” The androgynous staff member traced a foxglove carved into the pillar. “And, due to the extenuating circumstance—” that phrase again, as if Lenita’s disappearance could be reduced to canceled dinner plans, “—you seven are no longer runners-up, but official envoys vying for the most coveted job in Vindstöld. A job that will ensure your nations want for nothing for the next fifty years, or for however long you’re lucky enough to carry this burdened blessing. It is earned through diligence and perseverance, through duty and selflessness. All of which don’t stop after you’re sworn in but expand a thousandfold.” Their gaze, hard as cobalt, rolled over each envoy and stopped on Naokah.

Her knees jittered, but she stood her ground. Feigned confidence was better than no confidence. At least, that’s what Lenita would’ve said. The savvy finally looked away and continued to speak, but their words dulled to a murmur as buzzing increased behind them.

The iron chandeliers clinked, their flames skittering over the envoys, and Naokah’s chest hollowed. No wonder she hadn’t spotted the apiary outside. Corridor after corridor forked from the great room. Each long and serpentine and, like the barge they’d passed today, wriggled with millions of pulsating shadows. The bees were housed inside. The citadel and apiary were one and the same. The room grew hot, the frescoes a whirl of blurred colors—

Cold hands vised her waist. “Steady,” pressed a husky voice. Kjell’s dark eyes assessed her, amused, as she regained her balance. “Forgive her,” he told the savvy. “Mids don’t get out much.” He placed a hand on the small of her back, seemingly to offer more help, but his placement was too low, and she twisted from his grasp.

“We were just talking of room assign—”

“No need to repeat yourself, Samara. I was listening. She’s in the room beside me.” Brielle winked at the savvy and tugged Naokah after the group. “We share a lavatory. Isn’t that grand?”

Naokah forced a nod, too overwhelmed to speak.

The mezzanine’s railing, a lacy assemblage of crimson metal and glass, glittered as they walked beneath. When they entered a corridor, Naokah quickly switched sides, opting for the wall that held only doors, no bees. Brielle lifted a brow, but she ignored her, trying to keep her eyes ahead, trained on Kjell’s swishing hair. It was too dark to notice before, but now, under the torches, the tips looked like they’d been dipped into a sunset. Someone had too much time on his hands.

Naokah’s shoes squeaked, dropping her attention to the floor. They walked on glass that sealed a meandering stream. Fish with metallic scales and feathery fins zipped through bioluminescent algae. The citadel was trying too hard to appear welcoming.

Naokah spent years studying late at night, compiling tomes of research to improve cloudcane yields. A vain hope to impress the Council of Croi Croga so they’d choose her over Lenita. This dark, creepy place that stank of decay was a far cry from what she’d pictured. She never thought she’d miss their shack, but she also never dreamed she’d be imprisoned in an apiary. How was she to sleep, to eat or even function with no reprieve from looming danger?

“I apologize for the abbreviated tour.” Samara turned, walking backwards. “The welcome ball will be upon us soon, and I’m sure you’re eager to change into some clean clothes.”

A ball, tonight? Lenita’s disappearance really meant so little?

“Samara,” a woman called from the far side of the corridor. “She’s coming.”

Samara scowled. They flung open the nearest patina door and waved everyone in. “Hurry up.”

After Naokah brought up the end and filed into the stuffy room with the others, Samara snicked the door shut. With no torches nor candles, the envoys crowded around her were silhouettes, the dark walls pushing in like a cave.

“Is that her?” Naokah asked.

Samara nodded absently. The sharp click of heels ricocheted outside the door, matching Naokah’s pulse, hot in her neck. As the Keeper approached, the adjacent hives crescendoed, then softened as her steps faded.

“Why can’t we meet her?” asked a rough voice, Kjell.

Samara opened the door, and Naokah almost ran them over. They threw her an odd look, then turned to Kjell after closing the door.

“The Keeper isn’t…well these days. Your presence would only cause her undue stress—”

“Her undue stress?” Naokah scoffed. “My sister went missing on her watch and instead of doing the honorable thing and meeting the ship, she sent a guard. And now, even still—” her voice bladed, “—she’s too big of a coward to face us? Keeper or not, how dare she?” A cool hand wrapped around Naokah’s. Brielle tried to soothe her, but flames coursed through her veins. “Lenita deserves justice. Respect. Honor. Not to be written off as an extenuating circumstance while everyone drinks and dances and acts like she never razing existed.” If the others stared, she couldn’t tell. Didn’t care. Tears stung her eyes, and her ears whirred.

Her mind shifted to Croi Croga, years prior to the dreaded fight. When sisterhood had been easier. On that final day, before the Raptors seized their flocks, she and Lenita ran together, zigzagging between rows, tilled soil hot beneath their feet. Starlings soared above, and her big sister swung her, going faster and faster while singing, ‘This is how the wind dances.’ So simple yet magical – Lenita’s eyes gleaming in the fading light; Naokah squealing as the air kissed her cheeks; specks of pollen glittering around them.

After, they lay on the soft dirt, heads touching as the starlings’ orange bellies floated above like paper lanterns. She’d asked her sister if the Scorned Son would ever return the wind, so that the world might heal. No, Lenita had said, a drifting shadow clinging to her face a fraction too long. You know how it is with sibling rivalry. It never ends.

“Please.” Samara motioned to the throbbing wall, and Naokah took a wobbly step back. “You have every right to be furious. I am too. Lenita deserved…deserves better. But I advise you all to keep your emotions in check. Humblebees don’t take too kindly to being disturbed.”

Naokah nodded, wiping her eyes. Her temper had always been a liability but would undoubtedly get her killed here. Stay keen, Patri had warned. That’s how she’d find Lenita. Not brute force. Brielle rubbed her back and, as her breathing slowed, so did the swell of the hives she’d riled.

“This isn’t so much a citadel with an apiary,” Samara continued calmly, “as it is an apiary fortified by a citadel. Abelha is home to all sorts of bees, from orchid to carrion, but our breadwinners we like to keep close.” They held out their hand and a fluffy bee crawled over their thumb. “Humblebees, a cross between honey and bumble, are who you’ll be rooming with. They are tenacious, resilient and, for the most part, inherited the mild temperament of their origin species. However, no fiery exchanges unless you’d like an expedited trip to your afterscape. Unlike honeybees, humblebees can sting for infinity. On that note, steer clear of the west wing too. The Keeper’s wrath will make an angry swarm feel like a sneeze if you trespass into her quarters.”

Sting for infinity? The night couldn’t get worse.

The wall opposite, hosting patina doors with scrolling rose vines, was a collection of murals. Women with seductive eyes held lovers in passionate embraces.

“Exquisite, aren’t they?” Brielle whispered, warm breath tingling Naokah’s ear. She placed her hand on a mural’s nipple and circled it.

How might it feel to touch Brielle like that? She blushed, tamping down her desire. She was here for Lenita, not an affair. Besides, what would the beautiful Poler want with her?

“So you’ve noticed another shiny facet.” Samara smiled, nodding at the back of the group where Brielle and Naokah stood. “Every Keeper since Abelha’s rise to power has contributed something special to the citadel during their time. The stained glass, ubiquitous you’ll come to find in the daylight, was a gift from our very first, the aquatic floor from seventy-seven, and those murals you’re admiring now? Painted by our reigning Keeper Gabriella França Costa. If you’re so inclined—” they laced their fingers, “—now’s as good a time as any to think about what you’d contribute if you’re worthy enough to win.”

“A harem,” said one of the Polers, earning snorts from his pals and eye rolls from everyone else.

A shadow crossed the savvy’s face and, when it receded, took their warmth with it. “All right, that’s enough for now.” They pointed at the sequence of patina doors. “See you in the great hall at the twentieth hour. No stragglers.” Shoulders rigid, they strode briskly through the group.

“What about the rest of the tour?” the jester asked. His hair, a waterfall of raven black, glowed jade beneath the turrets. Dazarin, she’d heard someone call him, of Zerşil.

The savvy didn’t slow.

“At least tell me where the fitness arena is?” Dazarin called after them, cracking his knuckles.

Without stopping, Samara said, “Check next to your harem.”

Startled giggles echoed as the savvy dissolved into the shadows.

So much for getting a lay of the land. “Where did Samara say I was rooming?”

Brielle finally stopped caressing the mural, allowing Naokah to breathe. She nodded at the closest door. “Right beside me.” She thudded it open and yanked Naokah inside.

The room was dark and musty from disuse, so Naokah’s mood didn’t improve. Brielle wasn’t affected, though, and bounced about lighting sconce after sconce until the room was filled with hazy light. Naokah absently pushed on the mattress beneath the canopy of black sheers.

“Feathers?”

Brielle studied her, lips quirking, but didn’t answer and leapt on the bed instead. “Find out for yourself.” She patted the silk duvet. It was a dark wine, almost black, blending in with the rest of the unsettling décor.

“Better get dressed,” Naokah said, reluctantly dragging her eyes from the curve of Brielle’s hips.

The room was larger than her home in Croi Croga, which wasn’t saying much. Her father, mother, brother, and sister lived in a tiny, sun-stripped shanty, nestled in a valley between fields of cloudcane – just north of the Razing. There was no privacy, hardly any room to move, in fact, but it was home, and she already missed it. The sweet musk of soil beneath her nails, the stalks shielding her from the sun’s glare, the sticky cloudcane nectar running down her chin. More than anything, she missed Lenita, swinging her between the rows.

Therein was the problem. Croi Croga wasn’t home. Lenita was.

A surge of renewed purpose coursed through her as she eyed up the velvet drapes, the bronze windows, the mural of a woman, wild hair wreathed in flowers, butterflies hovering over her nipples. She stopped at her bag, a worn leather thing Tati had gifted her. It leaned against the floor-length mirror, the latter of which she wanted no part of making its acquaintance. The trip, days upon days of heaving, followed by the muddy trek to the citadel, had done a number on her even the hottest bath couldn’t fix.

The bed squeaked as Brielle rolled off, shooting her a crestfallen look.

“What?” Naokah tugged open her bag to the scant pile of eclectic attire Tati had acquired on her many trips around the world. Not fancy in the least, but colorful, quirky as her aunt.

Brielle tapped a recess in the wall, and it hummed, sliding open. Naokah rose from her bag and followed her into their shared lavatory. The tub, shaped like a cell from a beehive, matched the sink. Both were coated in glossy black, but as moonlight seeped from the turret above, threads of crimson glittered across the marble. The floor matched the rest of the citadel. Glass, fish swimming beneath.

“Hmmmm.” Brielle trailed her fingers along the sink’s edge, making eyes with Naokah in the mirror. “We’ll have to take turns.” She nodded at the adjacent door that led to a room almost identical to hers, save the colors. And the mural. The woman on her wall jutted out from beneath the lip of a waterfall. Long black hair streamed down her chest to the juncture of her hips.

The Keeper couldn’t be faulted for honoring the female form. A gifted artist and bee whisperer, she was also the youngest envoy to ever win the Keepership. At only age fifteen, she’d sworn in. Naokah buried her envy and plodded after Brielle to her chambers, noting her sky-blue trunk leaning against the bed frame. The Poler tugged at the buckles, and it splayed open, silks of pink and purple, green and crystal-trimmed aquamarine billowing over its edges. A sword-nosed fish beneath the floor, enamored by the colors, tried to nibble at one of the shiny stones on the blue gown.

“What do you think?” Brielle picked up the violet gown, holding it up to her chin. Iridescent beads on its gauzy train clinked the floor.

“It’s lovely,” Naokah said. It would’ve looked better puddled around Brielle’s ankles, but she kept that to herself. She wasn’t sure if the Poler liked her or was just toying with her, nor did she have any business flirting. Lenita was missing. That’s all that mattered right now.

Brielle’s face lit up. “What will you wear?”

“Whatever has the fewest holes,” she joked.

The chartreuse curtains by the canopy shimmered beneath the sconces. Even they had more elegance than the bundle she’d brought. Pity eddied in Brielle’s mossy eyes but then settled like sediment in calm water, thankfully. Naokah would rather be punched than pitied.

“The ball’s in an hour.” Brielle shoved Naokah back into the lavatory, handing her a fluffy towel and slippers. “Since you don’t have much hair to wash, you go first.” She winked, then shut the bedroom door behind her, leaving Naokah alone in the cave.

Brielle wasn’t being snotty about her cropped hair. Just logical, straightforward. Still, she rubbed her hands over her scalp. Not a single Keeper had ever boasted the clipped cut of a Crogan, or any other Mid for that matter. Not one. Lenita would’ve been the first. Could that be why someone took her? They couldn’t stand the thought of a dirty Mid controlling the world? Was one of the Polers Lenita competed against responsible? But they’d already been sent home the night she vanished. That didn’t mean they didn’t have supporters within these walls. She sighed. She didn’t even know where to start.

Naokah tossed the towel and slippers by the sink, then turned the faucet to the hottest setting, filling the room with steam. Maybe Brielle feigned kindness because she didn’t see her as competition. Naokah had told Patri there was no choice but to vie for the Keepership to find Lenita. It wasn’t a lie. Finding Lenita was top priority. Yet now, something she was ashamed of, something she’d attempted to sequester as it had ultimately caused the rift with her sister, floated to the surface of the water as she scrubbed off the trip’s grime – rivalry.