The Bee Queen

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREEThe Remnant

“I do not wish to go in,” I whispered, my eyes widening as Limah cleared away ivy from the door marking the entrance. “There must be another way.”

Limah’s face channelled kindness and he rested his hand on my shoulder. “Were the hands which bathed you not kind, Este?”

His question caused me to falter and I wound the hem of my jacket around my fingers in a loop of vexation. Winding. Unwinding. Winding again. “Yes,” I admitted. “They were.”

He nodded. “And the hands which brought your food and laid you down to rest at night. Were they kind also?”

My shoulders slumped as the excuses tumbled away, one after another. “Yes, Counselor. They were gentle.”

“Then what?” he asked, lowering his voice and letting the ivy fall to cover the door again. “What is your reluctance?”

I thought of Hosta’s eyes, accusing and angry. Though her hands proved kind, her biting comments and spiteful glances portrayed an inner hatred of me. “The men are suspicious and the women hate me. I was an object to polish with care through obligation, not love.”

“Do you demand love then, Este?” Limah lowered his hand to his side and his eyes narrowed. “What of your maid on the island? Did she not provide an adequate service?”

“She loved me!” I exclaimed. “I never doubted it.”

Limah’s gaze hardened and he shook his head in a slow, terrible movement which revealed the extent of my naivety. “She treated you as a daughter,” he said, his tone heavy. “But it’s not the same.”

I inhaled, a ragged, awful noise. My feet moved backwards of their own volition. “You lie.”

Limah closed his eyes, joining the scar from forehead to chin and it overtook his face. He tested the gravity of his words with moving lips before speaking them. “Love is not a right, Estefania. For all but family members within the inner circle of our hearts, it is earned. If you found favour in the maid’s eyes then I’m pleased for you, but her task was to educate and protect the future Melitto queen. I’m glad you found the relationship conducive, but love comes because of our character, not status.”

“You’re saying she didn’t love me?” My words sounded strangled and Limah’s eyes flicked open, watching my struggle with an impassive gaze.

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m saying she wasn’t paid to love you. If she did regardless, then that’s proof of your worth indeed.”

My hand strayed to my lips and I felt I might vomit. His fingers closed around the shoulder of my jacket and he tugged me towards the wooden door. One handed, he dragged away the ivy and tried the handle. It opened to his touch. “But what of these captives?” I whispered. “Am I to spend my life served by those who detest me?”

Limah sighed and he hauled the creaky door aside. The tunnel yawned before me, a void filled with earthy scents and an endless darkness. I dug the heels of my boots into the loose snow and his brow knitted. He didn’t try to force me into his lair, but his hand remained on my shoulder as a continual pressure. “Who are these people?” I gasped. “Who and what are they?”

His hand moved from my shoulder to my chin and he lifted my face, so our eyes met. “They are the remnant, Este. They are your colony.”

“No.” My nostrils flared and my eyes widened. Fear prickled inside my chest where Sonora’s bees once lodged in my heart. I pushed at his armoured stomach with weak, fluttering motions. “I don’t believe you.”

“They’re the members of her swarm she selected for you. They need their queen.”

“No,” I groaned. “They don’t want me.”

“Este!” His grip on my chin increased as his fingers curled around my face. “They don’t know what they want. Your mother chose them for a specific task. They don’t see their fitness for great things or their role in the founding of a dynasty to rival all others. Bitterness has consumed their hearts and minds and left no room for more noble aspirations. Instead of feeling valued and revered, they experience rejection and abandonment. Feelings are a deceptive leader, Estefania. Choose instead to rely on facts. A sheep penned alone by a shepherd for his prized competition piece does not consider its chosen status. It sees isolation and panics at the prospect of segregation and death.” He sighed. “A princess set apart for greatness cannot see the vision placed upon her shoulders. She views all through the filter of imprisonment and certain failure.”