Without a Second Thought
Rain hissed against the turrets with vengeance, inundating the great hall with hollow pings. After Naokah’s bee sting relapse and subsequent meltdown, she’d returned to her chambers before breakfast to scream into her pillows – a purge to avoid future humiliation.
It didn’t work.
She used the veranda. Even with her brown cape, she ended up damp. Naokah now shivered, but not from the downpour. The leering eyes from yesterday had returned. She peered around the candelabras sprouting from the table like dead trees. The other envoys spoke in muted tones about Kjell’s poisoning over the clatter of flatware. Did they not feel it too?
A cold finger stroked Naokah’s cheek. Her breath flickered, and she shut her eyes, exhaling like Lenita had shown her. The woman from the mural was just that – a woman from a mural. Painted, not three-dimensional, not here in the great hall stroking her face, and certainly not showering her in bees. Her pulse slowed, and she opened her eyes.
Only envoys.
Exhaustion was to blame. Stay keen, Patri had warned. Tonight, one way or another, she’d force herself to get some sleep.
Clisten and Dazarin sat across from her and engaged in a heated debate. A string of pearls spiraled around Clisten’s braid, an inventive creation with wispy fins spiking from the center, a sharktail, and every time he disagreed, it plunked against the table. Dazarin would counter by slamming his inked arm down, his chunky ring clinking against the wood, vibrating the table and startling Mila and Laerte, whose only accessories were blank stares. The Mids had apparently gotten about as much sleep as she did.
She wolfed down her cheese pastry without tasting it. A mistake. She sipped on her coffee, hoping the steaming hazelnut would help break down her greasy breakfast. Luckily, Brielle was more focused on scouting out her competition than talking. The mere thought of carrying on a conversation without grimacing only increased her stomach’s gurgling. She’d expected an awkward encounter after her disastrous attempt at a kiss, and especially after her melodramatic performance in the Hall of Keepers, but Brielle was fine. Thank the Divine Daughter. What had Naokah expected after knowing her all of a day? The Poler was an ally, a friend at most. Nothing more.
Brielle winked at her – blurring that final thought.
Naokah absently grazed the grapes on her plate, then stopped. Grapes weren’t furry. Nor did they drone. She jumped back, knocking over her chair. The other envoys jolted up too.
“What’s wrong?” Brielle tugged Naokah’s sleeve, but all she could do was point. The Poler followed her finger, then swiveled back with a concerned frown. “What?”
“You don’t see them?” she choked, eyes pinned to her wriggling plate. Hundreds of bees crawled over it.
Brielle shook her head.
“Impossible.” Naokah looked to the other envoys, hoping for someone, anyone, to acknowledge she wasn’t losing it, but was only met with winces. She rubbed her eyes. Brielle was right. There were no bees, only grapes.
“Shall we get the healer?” Brielle asked gently.
“No.” Naokah feigned a yawn. “I’m fine. Just need more sleep, clearly.”
The rest of breakfast blurred by with envoys sneaking glances at Naokah. She tried to ignore them and sipped on her coffee, wishing it were wine. The bees had seemed so real. Furry and pulsating against her fingertips. At least her stomach’s bleating had lessened. A small blessing. Two upsets were enough for the rest of her stay. Too bad Brielle had seen both. No doubt, she was relieved she’d bowed out of a kiss with a madwoman.
Naokah trailed the others, a flurry of pastel chiffons and silks, to orientation. They passed through a door wreathed in trumpet flowers to a dome outside the citadel. With the rain, the conservatory had fogged up, washing the room in a thin, hoary light. White blossoms climbed overhead, spicing the air with nutmeg and home.
She drifted back to her kitchen with Matri, Tati, and Lenita, baking ginger cookies that melted in her mouth like warm butter. One of their favorite pastimes, before the latter two vanished and Matri lost her will to speak. Lenita, true to form, had helped with the first batch and now lazed on a woven chair, dunking a cookie in coconut cream. Naokah just shook her head, but Tati called her out, sprinkling flour in her hair.
“Tati!” Lenita jumped up, spilling cream down her trousers. “Why’d you do that?”
“Baking cookies was your idea. And now that you’ve had your fill, you’re forcing little sister to do all the work?” She tsked and winked at Naokah. Tati often stood up for her.
Lenita shook off the cream, earning a dirty look from Matri. “But she likes baking, right, Nao?”
“When you help.” Naokah cocked her chin, leaning against Tati, who laughed.
“See?”
“Fine. I’ll give you a hand.” Her sister grabbed an egg and tossed it. “Catch.”
Naokah did, unfortunately. The egg exploded, oozing through her fingers. Matri snorted, grabbed a cup of sugar, and flung it at Lenita. It pelted her pants, and she gasped before bursting into giggles. Then the room whirled into a tempest of baking supplies. By the time Patri returned, bewildered as he was amused, the cabinets and women alike dripped with eggs and flour.
“Any gingers left for me?” he teased, shells and sugar crackling beneath his boots.
“Hello?” Brielle tugged Naokah down on the bench beside her. “Something wrong, love?”
“No. I’m just…doesn’t it seem less eerie here?”
The Poler’s eyes, bright as emeralds, rolled over her competition. “Fewer shadows.”
“And murals and bees,” Naokah said, still in a daze.
“You don’t like bees?”
“It’s just nice, the quiet. The bees kept me up last night.”
“Are you frightened of them?”
Scondra tai. She chose her next words carefully. “No. They’re…brilliant, hardworking. I respect them.”
“You can respect something and still be terrified of it. Perhaps even respect it because you are terrified.” Brielle gave her a roguish look. “But that’s interesting. An envoy for Keeper, Ruler of the Bees, and you’re scared of them?”
“No one rules the bees,” said a sharp voice from the front of the conservatory. “Not even their queens.”
Both women started. The savvy had arrived, and worse, they’d overheard their discussion. But Samara wasn’t upset. They ran a finger over the jasmine climbing the lectern.
“Can anyone tell me what the Keeper’s role is?”
“Apparently, it’s not ruling,” said Dazarin up front, placing his bulging, inked arms behind his head and lounging back like he was at the beach. Did he take anything seriously?
Silence.
Samara tsked, walking between the aisle of envoys, red pants swishing. “Surprising. Such a historic year, hosting the Praxis for Keepership so close to the last cycle, and not a single one of my envoys knows the answer to the most important question that will drive their tenure?”
“The same role you’d serve in your family,” said Naokah.
The Polers chuckled, but Samara didn’t. Their gaze crept over her like a high tide, patient but persistent. “What role is that, Naokah?”
“You protect them no matter the cost, even sacrifice your life if that’s what it takes.”
No one laughed this time. The hall stilled, save Brielle fidgeting beside her.
“Precisely.” Samara returned to the front, braid thunking their back. As they spun around, the clouds split, and the sun gleamed off their square jaw. “The Keeper will be updated on your progress daily. After reaching senior phase, you’ll have the honor of gracing her presence. Not a moment before. The bees are her family. You are not.”
“When’s senior phase?” asked Clisten.
Samara’s face went grim, unimpressed by ignorance. “Anyone?”
“Week seven,” said Brielle.
The savvy nodded. “And why does the Praxis run for sixteen weeks?”
“A queen bee is created in sixteen days, but it takes much longer to form a Keeper, the guardian of bees.”
“Excellent. Glad someone’s prepared.”
Brielle beamed, and Naokah returned her smile, even though adrenaline-fueled rivalry charged her veins.
“All right. Before I give you the grand tour and you meet the staff who happen to be my family, who you’ll treat with nothing less than respect, as they are the worker bees who keep this citadel running, each of you will come up front and give a brief introduction.” Groans resounded, and Naokah tensed; public speaking was as nerve-racking as the indoor hives, but the savvy laughed. “I wouldn’t complain if I were you. Easiest step of the Praxis.”
* * *
By the time introductions were complete, Naokah viewed the envoys in a warmer light, even the Polers. From wealthy nations, she’d assumed they bought their spots to compete.
That wasn’t the case.
Clisten had constructed a line of farrowing houses that filtered the Razing’s ash from the air, allowing the lungs of newborn piglets the chance to expand properly before being exposed to the elements. Using her uncle’s stitching techniques, Brielle had sewn soft, bubble greenhouses that expanded the vineyards’ growing season three extra months. Even Dazarin, the jester she’d yet to take seriously, had developed a hybrid strain of coffee-cacao plants, cacafe, he called them, making Naokah’s mouth water. Mila and Laerte had worked together to win their respective bids. Mila was from Bizou, a Mid nation almost wholly ravaged by the Razing, yet still squeaked by on their almonds. Instead of tossing their shells, Mila had begun exporting them to neighboring Okse, Laerte’s home known for cattle. The almond hulls provided the perfect amount of fiber for the cows, thus increasing milk production. In turn, Laerte had been exporting the by-product, manure, to Bizou, which nourished the almond trees, thereby burgeoning their harvest too.
You can respect something and still be terrified of it. Perhaps even respect it because you are terrified, Brielle had said about the bees. But perhaps she meant the competition. Naokah’s contribution – spraying rosemary mint water on the base of cloudcane stalks to prevent spidermite infestations – no longer felt so grand. Lenita had one-upped her, as always, easily securing her Praxis bid. When a plague of soot locusts swept through southern Croi Croga, devouring the young cloudcane blossoms, it was her sister’s idea to build bonfires between the open rows and smoke the voracious pests out. She’d saved sixty-seven farms that day. Naokah had never been prouder. Nor more envious. It was cold and lonely walking in her big sister’s shadow, a shadow that, even after her disappearance, persisted.
Thankful that segment was over, Naokah was anxious to meet the staff. They, not the former envoys, were here the night Lenita disappeared. She’d already met Samara, the savvy. With their kind demeanor, they didn’t strike her as guilty, but often the least suspicious was the one holding the knife. At least, that’s how Patri’s stories by the ice pit always ended. She liked the savvy, but they seemed to be hiding something, judging from their behavior at the ball. Naokah hadn’t officially met the healer last night, as she was busy saving the northern prick, but she was also last in the line of suspects. Healers swore an oath to protect their patients, not to harm them. Still, she’d get a better reading today when the healer wasn’t in a frenzy.
The rain finally stopped, and the clouds thinned. The class rose to follow the savvy, when the pounding of boots echoed from the hallway.
“Captain Avice,” Samara welcomed the sentry. “Didn’t expect you.”
“Nor did I.” The woman had a pretty face, high cheekbones, but her features were pulled into a scowl tighter than her bun. Naokah wrung her hands. The same sentry she’d run into last night. “The healer identified what poisoned Kjell. Foxglove.”
Whispers shot through the group, and Brielle tottered beside her. Just yesterday, she’d scolded Naokah for trying to touch the cone-shaped flower.
“He’ll be fine. If any of you care. The healer caught it early enough, but I find it interesting that on the day you all arrive, one of your pals falls ill to a flower only a fool would eat. So, let me remind you. The Praxis is about finding the best caretaker for the bees. Despite whatever ridiculous rumors you may’ve heard, it’s not a slit-throat, stab-your-friend-in-the-back kind of deal. The only person you must compete against is yourself. And the hives will give us an answer. But, since someone has taken it upon themselves to eliminate the competition, be it known, now the citadel is on high alert. You’re all being watched closely. I’ll be making rounds this week, questioning each of you. I will find the guilty party. And you’ll be charged as such.” She hmphed, then left the hall as quickly as she’d entered, a smudge of angry red.
None of the envoys were here when Lenita disappeared, so why did the citadel assume it was one of them who poisoned Kjell and not the staff? Naokah tamped down her irritation. The clock above the savvy’s head chimed through the silence, each tick pinging Naokah’s sternum. Finally, Samara, raising their brows, waved for them to rise.
“Follow me closely,” they said, looking over their shoulder. “Don’t want you venturing off alone. Good way to get in trouble.” Their eyes landed on Naokah and held. She swallowed hard. Had the captain told them about her late-night rendezvous? “We’ll start the farthest out, tour the farm and ranch, the vertical gardens and barrier wall, then work our way back and finish in the great hall for our midday meal.”
“Had hoped we’d start with the distillery,” Brielle whispered. “Could use some strong melgo right about now.”
Naokah almost wrapped an arm around her, but not after last night’s rejection.
They filed through the flower-thatched door, directly into a sprawling hedge maze. Humidity smacked Naokah like a sticky hand. She let the others go ahead of her while she lagged behind. She preferred being able to see everyone, knowing where they were at all times. Brielle, after noticing Naokah’s position, slowed to match her pace.
“It’s only morning, and I’m already sweating like a vintner with a dying grape harvest. What possessed them to grow these walls this high? Like a pathway straight to the Razing.”
The hedges were thick; only scant gray light filtered through. She glimpsed above Brielle and nearly tripped. The girl from yesterday glided atop the sky-high foliage. Her gauzy dress billowed up around her from a nonexistent breeze. Her eyes, big and bottomless, met Naokah’s. Sweat hardened to sleet.
“Do you see her?” Naokah whispered.
“Where?”
“Up.”
“I see a hedge. And a crow just suicided into the warded mesh. But no her. Unless you mean the bird. And I don’t know how you could possibly tell from here that the bird is a girl.”
Naokah rubbed her eyes. The girl was still there, but her face had darkened, matching her eyes. When she saw Naokah staring, she snarled, then leapt off the opposite side. Naokah ran to the wall, pulling the waxy leaves apart. No thud of a body. No shadow. Where had she gone?
“What?” Brielle asked, irritated.
“She just jumped off the hedge. It’s a good twenty feet high. No way she survived.”
Brielle grabbed her arm, tugging her forward. “The savvy told us no wandering. They’re going to leave us behind if you don’t hurry up.”
“Tell me you saw her,” Naokah pleaded, peeping back with every step. The shadows rolled over the path behind them like eaters of time, preventing her from returning.
“Would be a lie.” She sniffed dismissively. “I’m impressed, though.”
Naokah brushed Brielle’s hand away, earning a wounded look. “Your grip was too tight,” she said, rubbing her forearm. It wasn’t. But Naokah couldn’t juggle her deteriorating brain and a misguided heart. Brielle’s touch gave her palpitations. “And what are you impressed about?” she pressed after a few beats of disquieting silence.
Brielle grinned. “Mids sure know how to relax. It’s not even noon, and you’re already floating on something supreme. Now—” she held out her palm, “—aren’t you going to share?”
* * *
The fields were farther away than Naokah had imagined. In fact, Abelha was much bigger than she’d first given it credit for. It was as if the fog had unclasped its grip on the isle and sketched a bow, trying to redeem its frigid manners. Rolling hills covered in sunset red and purple foxgloves filled her view on each side. A small meandering stream cut through the western half, opening to a sparkling lake with a small island in the center. Unlike the Mid nations that had fallen to the Razing, Abelha was far south, missing its smoldering touch. The sun was still bright, though, despite the veil of thinning fog, and she should’ve brought a hat to shield her eyes. At least she didn’t have Brielle’s wavy locks, which now hung limp with sweat.
The Poler sighed every few minutes, and Naokah would’ve found that funny were it not for that eerie feeling of being watched. It had to be that girl in the white gown. She turned back about as often as Brielle sighed. The girl was never there, but that didn’t ease the dread swelling in her belly with the gob of cheese bread. Lenita could’ve been anywhere. The lake they passed. Buried beneath foxgloves. Drowned at sea. Trapped in that cave of a citadel. The grottos in the south. Naokah was anxious to find her sister, but wasn’t overly excited about the possibility, the very real, very evident possibility that Lenita could be more than missing.
What if she were dead? Would knowing what happened to her older sister ease her pain? Her family’s? Could give them all closure, perhaps. Lightness fluttered beneath Naokah’s rib cage as she pictured herself meeting with world leaders. They shook her hand with respect, with dignity, for she was the new Keeper. Maybe that’s what she wanted. Without her sister’s shadow, she could finally breathe.
No.
What kind of life could she live without Lenita? Despite their differences – and there were many – her sister had risen up when Matri faltered. Had mentored, raised, and loved her. Lenita was her better half in every way and, if soulmates did exist, Matri had given birth to Naokah’s.
The flower mounds gave way to a valley hugged by a wall of mountains. As they got closer, the terrain grew steeper, blocking out the sun, leaving them in a cool shadow, as noted by Brielle cheering up and rolling her shoulders.
“Wow,” was all Naokah managed.
“You can say that again.” Laerte slowed beside her.
Naokah supposed any farm kid would’ve been awed. The mountains formed a large ring, cradling them like a giant’s arms. But it wasn’t their staggering height that stole her breath. Cultivated terraces rainbowed the mountains, abounding with vegetables and fruit.
“Wish Patri could see this,” she said softly.
“Wish mine could too.” Laerte crossed his arms. “Would’ve solved a lot of our problems.”
Naokah nodded, eyes still wide on the innovative terraces. Croi Croga didn’t have mountains like these. Just flatlands. Farmers had been squabbling over the lack of land since the Razing burned away most of their tiny nation.
A man in clay-stained trousers, long sleeves, and a wide-brimmed hat leaned over one of the middle terraces, plucking weeds around a tomato plant circled by wire mesh.
“That’s Mateus, head farmer.” Samara hiked up their trousers, pinning them above their calves, and wove around the mature plants, thick with red globes.
The envoys shared confused looks. Mateus wasn’t close. Perhaps a quarter-mile up.
“Come on,” yelled Samara without looking back. “Mateus is one of the hardest workers in Abelha. The farmer doesn’t come to us. We go to him.”
Groans commenced, especially from the Polers. Brielle was close behind, complaining. Naokah poured herself into each step, focusing on the damp, spongy soil, the whisper of brushed leaves. The terraces were steep, and her legs ached, but she welcomed the pain. It cleared the must from her lungs, flushing her skin. Fresh air was exactly what she needed.
“Naokah, well done.” Samara smiled, then motioned to the farmer. “Meet Mateus.”
“Miss,” he said, voice husky. His terracotta eyes met hers briefly before returning to weeding.
“I envy your terraces, sir. They would be life-changing back home.”
“I know,” he said in perfect Midese. “Your home was once mine.”
“But—”
“Didn’t pick up on my accent?” He winked. “Don’t blame yourself. Only comes out when I drink or curse. Moved here a lifetime ago. Had to, after the Razing took our farm.”
Naokah’s throat tightened. Another Crogan, here with her? Home seemed that much closer.
Gasping and wheezing, below. Samara scanned the approaching group, then stopped, eyes narrowing. “Where’s Dazarin?”
Mutters and whispers, swishes of chiffon as the envoys turned, looking for him. Naokah peered over the bustle. No sea god.
“Last I saw him was in the hedge maze,” Brielle said.
White flashed behind Naokah’s eyes, cold slicking her neck. The girl had been in the maze. Had she taken him? But no one had seen the ghost except her. Besides, Dazarin wasn’t small. Would need a squad of sentries to take him down.
Samara shared her unease, clenching their jaw. “Glorious. Anyway—” the savvy bobbed apologetically at the farmer, “—Mateus oversees one thousand seven acres. He, along with our humblebees, is how we survive. We have everything we could ever need only because of his hard work and expertise.”
“Hey, look.” Brielle pointed at a small creature with a bushy red tail. Its erect ears flicked. It twisted around, pointy face frozen between fight and flight.
“A fox,” said Laerte, “I’ve never seen—”
The air whizzed, and the fox crumpled to the dirt. A white feather stuck in its side, a dart.
“Was that—” Brielle started.
“Necessary?” said Mateus, dropping his gun. “That beast you find so cute is destructive to my crops. Chews the roots right out of the ground. Worse, foxes love to tear apart hives. Can’t resist the honey.”
“So, you kill them?” Brielle crossed her arms over her chest.
“What else am I to do?” said Mateus evenly. “Can’t ask the beast nicely to leave my crops and bees alone. Don’t know how you handle things in the north, but here, there’s one thing that governs every decision. Above all else, the only lives that matter here are the bees. Any threat, animal or human, will be crushed without a second thought.”