CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVENBees Under a Glass
“Estefania!” A rough shake jarred my shoulder and I moaned. Nerve endings fired in my limbs and I poked my tongue through the wall of ice accumulated on my lips. Bent double with my forehead pressed against the ground, I felt the weight of a snow drift resting on my back. Blackest night surrounded me, throwing the trees into sharp relief against the light of the moon. Rough shaking continued to rock my body. “Estefania, get up.” The voice sounded urgent and I stopped myself reaching for the bees. They wouldn’t come. “Este!” He yanked my chin upwards and I peered through lashes dotted with shimmering flakes. The sight of him wrought a groan from my lungs.
“Go away!” I heard the exhaustion in my voice. “I sent a small boy into your keeping. Be kinder
