Quercus is taken up to glory, by a princess fairer than any sister of hive or heaven, with limbs of gold and fur of brightest light. Recall how she roared upon us at Congregation, faster than a swooping jay, and swept us with her ray of lust, so that the leaves themselves shone gold!”
At this all the drones roared and cheered and some grabbed their crotches, shouting crude praise for the erotic perfection of this foreign princess. The sisters nudged and whispered to each other, envious and enraptured.
“Congregation, you simple sisters of the hive,” Sir Linden continued for the general benefit, and for the pleasure of being the center of attention for once, “means the place of air, near trees of such particular majesty they are gods in their own right, and only drones may dare ascend their heights, defying the birds to breathe our lust on all the winds.” He looked around to gather all attention. “It is the place where princesses come to find the sacrament of love, delivered by Our Malenesses.” At this all the sisters applauded and cheered, and their excitement drew forth more scent from the drones.
“Fine talk, Linden,” called one.
“Now my sword longs for action!” shouted another.
Urging each other on, the drones began revving their thoraxes. Streaming pheromones, they jumped up one by one, and there before the eyes of every sister, they grew strong and noble, their faces rugged and handsome. Even Sir Linden no longer looked petulant and slightly feminine, but elegant and finely formed, his face intelligent with mischief.
The drones stamped and shook their armor straight and Sir Linden motioned Flora to stand behind him. No longer spoiled and indolent but gleaming with grooming and bursting with testosterone, the drones formed their martial phalanx. Their scent rose and the sound of their armor reverberated as they began to stamp in unison.
“Congregation, Copulation, Coronation!” they chanted again and again, and the sisters cheered them on. Flora stood too, but Sir Linden pushed her back down.
“Oh, no—you will not leave this hall until they bring word of my triumph with a discerning princess. Believe me, hairy girl, it shall take place.” He looked at her. “Until then, you will stay here, by my explicit instruction.”
Furious at herself for choosing to help the Willow above following Lily 500, Flora forced herself to nod.
“Excellent.” Sir Linden banged his armor plates together like his brothers and marched out with the phalanx, plume held high.
F LORA LONGED FOR Sir Linden’s success, for it would free her from servitude in the Drones’ Hall, but by the afternoon every single one of the males was back, cursing and swearing that the rains had returned. Flora silently cursed as well, for confinement with the high hormonal smell of the drones made both her head and belly ache.
Sanitation workers had more freedom than drone maids—and Sister Cowslip would be only too glad to evict her when she knew the truth of her base kin. Flora waited until Sir Linden lay sated and snoring, and then went to confess her trespass.
Sister Cowslip did not react, even when Flora repeated herself, but stood motionless at her reception station near the doors. Flora sniffed her. She was a bee of late spring, and her time had come.
Flora let her natural kin-scent rise up from her body, then pulled in her antennae like the humblest of her kin. Making sure Sister Cowslip’s wing-latches were secure, she lifted her in her mouth and slipped out into the corridor.
Swirls of warm, fresh air came in from the landing board, and by the chains of sisters passing aromatic bales of pollen back into the hive, Flora knew the rain had stopped. She edged forward in the slow lane, her heart thrumming with excitement as she heard the sound of forager engines taking off and landing, so close outside. She felt her wings long and strong down her back, and the elastic tension of their membranes. Lily 500 had said
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