Hive

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR Empty PlansI refused to eat anything not sampled by my host first, pushing Galveston past the point of courtesy to open irritation. “You’re no use to me dead!” he hissed, glaring as I slid my plate sideways yet again to prevent the servers piling more bloodied food onto its pottery surface. I shrugged and looked away, surveying the room with a warrior’s eye. The soldiers drank, their manner growing bawdier and their voices increasing in volume with every passing minute. I stole a backward glance at my new protector and found him behind me, legs splayed, eyes staring over my head and one hand on his sword. I shivered, not trusting him at all. A deep inhale moved the path-delineator in my bodice. Strong men guarded the only exit and my maids still hovered nearby, flirting with the armour-clad males with giggles wrought from behind fluttering fingers.

Galveston rose and sawed a hunk of flesh from a joint delivered between us. My innards cringed at the notion of devouring another creature, but my eyes sparkled at the sharpness of the knife in his hand and the two pronged fork he used for stabbing the slices. The volume in the room matched the level of intoxication, but I waited it out further. I declined anything but sweet water, careful to make Galveston pour my portion and sip from the mug first. It drove him wild. “Use your new guard!” he snapped, pushing away my drink. I lowered my eyes and fixed a sad expression on my face, forcing him to relent. “Very well!” he said with a sigh, shoving his own plate aside and lifting the refreshed pitcher. “I’m grateful for your trust.”

I cast my gaze around the dining hall, looking for any sign of Sorrel. My brow puckered as I saw only grown men.

Galveston’s face screwed up in concentration as he watched me and then he shrugged. “You search for that boy who betrayed you?” My eyes widened and I nodded. I spread my hands either side of me in question and he grinned. “Can’t remember. I have spies everywhere. I tell them what they want to hear and my guard takes care of the rest.” Sorrel’s foolish grin returned to haunt me and I pitied the silly boy his naivety.

“I read your thoughts.” Galveston pushed meat into his mouth. Specks of chewed flesh appeared on his full lips. “He isn’t dead. Just in prison somewhere.”

Shifting in my seat, I affected a fake lurch as though tipping sideways and grabbed his arm. The sticky tonic splashed from the pitcher and drenched the plate of meat. Galveston set the jug down with a crash and the action attracted more attention from the rest of the table than I anticipated. With a shake of my head and a hand wave which would have made Bliss beam with pride, I acknowledged the concern in the interested faces either side of me and rose with uneven, jerky movements. My hand steadied me against the table and my napkin fell over the meat plate. Affecting a dramatic swoon, I managed to grasp the two pronged fork but not the knife handle as I sank back into my seat.

“She isn’t poisoned!” Galveston protested to a man near his elbow. “I tasted everything first.”

“She didn’t eat much,” another voice remarked.

“Bees don’t eat flesh,” a woman’s voice commented, the tone dismissive and without concern.

Gripping the long fork beneath the folds of the napkin, I closed it within the swathes of my skirt and stood again. Fear and anticipation sent a tremble into my legs which added to my skilled play acting. Galveston clutched my elbow. “I’ll accompany you,” he said, his tone confidential. Using my free hand, I raised it to my head and tilted it sideways, closing my eyes and resting my cheek against my palm. Understanding flooded his handsome face and he nodded, his dark hat wobbling and the eye glasses slipping from their space above the brim. “Yes, the rest will revive you, Estefania. Sleep well.” He placed a kiss upon my forehead which made the smallest bee in my forearm wriggle and I struggled to keep hold of the napkin and its forbidden contents. His eyes widened as he stared at someone behind me. “Go with her!” he snapped.

I made the long walk down the centre aisle alone, affecting the occasional stumble as the revellers studied my progress. Footsteps sounded behind me when I reached half way and I resisted turning. My mind whirred with plans to extract the fork without anyone seeing. My maids rushed forward to assist and I waved them away as though too tired for their girlish chatter and antics. They shot nervous glances towards Galveston’s table but seemed heartened by my smile, falling back to flirt with the guards even before I passed through the wide doors into the outside corridor. At the bottom of the spiral staircase I halted and inclined my head, finding the Forlornn guard at my elbow. Leaning closer, he breathed in a tone slightly less than sinister, “Keep walking, Melanis.”

The heavy doors to the food hall shut with a dull thud and the Wasp guards resumed their position either side of the entrance. I saw their gaze slide to me and faltered. I had escaped with the fork hidden in the folds of napkin and skirts, but the spiral staircase meant stepping and required me to lift the heavy swathes of fabric. I knew without testing the action that I would either trip, or drop the fork with a clang onto the stone surface.

My new guard’s fingers infused me with warmth as they closed around my fisted hand. He snatched napkin and fork in a deft movement which looked smooth enough to pass unnoticed. His other hand moved up to take my elbow and with an impressive sleight of hand, he pushed the stolen objects inside his black waistcoat. I gaped as the napkin disappeared through the armpit hole and nestled against his chest. I closed my eyes in a long blink and bit into my bottom lip, grateful for my inability to laugh out loud. My eyes watered with mirth and I forced myself to clamber upstairs and avoid staring at my new guard’s long, single breast. “They’re watching you,” he hissed beside me, hauling on my elbow as I stumbled. His fingers pressed against the bee mark in the crook of my arm and at the top of the stairs, I stopped to check for observers before slapping his chest with my fist. His eyes narrowed in amusement. “Don’t test me, woman,” he warned, releasing my arm. “I would rather die from their sting than accept servitude to you!”

The sound of voices carried along the wide corridor and the man snapped to attention, his body stiff and his gaze facing forward. His left hand strayed to the sword at his right hip and my brow furrowed in surprise at the unusualness of the stance. Limah instructed me on the principles of fighting a cack-hander, but the opportunity to test my skill never arose. Quirking an eyebrow, I stalked towards my chamber and heard his footsteps creak the wooden floorboards in my wake. The servants left the door to my room open, inclining their heads and moving aside as I barrelled through their group. They turned the corner to the head of the staircase carrying away my male clothes as I shot through the open door. The man pushed a heavy boot into the gap as I tried to force it closed, blasting into the room with temper in his eyes. A tiny girl in the process of turning back the bedsheets jumped and squeaked. At the look on my face, she bolted without offering assistance.

Kuiti’s guard pulled a long key from the outside lock, closing the door and securing it behind him. I froze and surveyed the room for ready weapons, my gaze settling on an ornate plate hanging to my right. The man sighed, leaned against the door and raised his hands, palms facing outward. He tracked my gaze to the plate and back and shook his head. “Answer my questions, Melanis. I promise to leave you unharmed.”

My eyes narrowed and I moved so that both legs absorbed the weight of my body. My right arm twitched and readied itself to snatch the plate regardless of his empty promises. I counted the movements required to dodge sideways, crack the plate over his skull and then jab the remaining shard into his eye. Four. Five if I proved unlucky. My gaze strayed to his dangerous left hand. He hadn’t reached for the sword yet and my mind worked through his possible movements. Drawing the sword would tip his shoulder away from me. I could smash the plate across his back and then aim for his neck, but I’d need speed on my side. As if in answer, the skirts rustled around my trembling legs. Cut to a tighter design than I preferred, they obstructed my ability to stretch as far as I needed. Six moves then. Seven if unlucky.

“Stop it!” The words rapped out as an order and I jerked my gaze back to his face, my head c*****g to one side. His shoulders slumped and he ran a hand through his dark, unruly hair, reminding me of Limah’s stress tell. “I won’t hurt you, Melanis,” he said, the words emerging mid sigh. “Just tell me where Kuiti is, so I can rescue my king.”