First, though, they made their way down three levels, through two more checkpoints. It was warm, as always in the Hive, with sunlight filtering through the walls to cast an amber glow over everything. All the Hives were made of treestuff, which was a particular mix of wood pulp and silk and clay and other things Blue would learn about if he was assigned to a construction crew. It looked paper-thin and allowed light to filter through, but it was solid as rock. Under his talons, the treestuff floor was dry and mostly smooth, apart from a few lumps where workers hadn’t been careful enough.
The problem was, the Hives had been built back when there were plenty of trees all over Pantala. Now that the trees were all gone (or mostly gone), the only wood pulp came from the shrubby little bushes that fought their way out of the dry soil of the savanna. So the only way to expand a Hive was to take the treestuff from somewhere else in the Hive and reshape it where you wanted it. It was hard, back-breaking work, usually given to the SilkWings who caused the most trouble in school.
Such as, for instance, Swordtail.
Blue was really, really hoping he didn’t get assigned to a construction crew. A silk work detail would be different — what his mom did in the sky between Hives was half architecture, half art. He wouldn’t mind a job like that. Blue had been a good, quiet, obedient student at Silkworm Hall his whole life. Surely he’d earned a better assignment than treestuff construction.
Finally, Luna took a path to the right instead of the left, and they came to the open market of Cicada Hive. This was a huge, vaulted space that hummed with activity. The best shops had permanent six-sided cells around the outer wall; everyone else had to scramble for stalls in the labyrinthian middle. Overhead, yellow and orange lanterns hung along silk filaments, crisscrossing the ceiling like necklaces of tiny suns.
And, as always, soldiers perched on balconies above the market, keeping a sharp eye on the hustle and bustle of the dragons below. Some of them held long, needlelike lances that looked like bigger versions of the stingers that could spring from the tips of Queen Wasp’s claws. Not that Blue had ever seen her use them, but they were featured in several of the posters. Some of those in here, in fact — her face loomed over the market in murals and posters until he almost felt as though he had a hundred lenses in his eyes, each of them reflecting her back at him.
Luna led the way confidently through the maze, until Blue realized she was aiming for the best nectar store in the Hive: a tall, imposing cell-front with delicate sugar confections arrayed in the window.
He jumped forward and stepped on her tail, yanking her back.
“Ow!” she yelped. “What was that for?” Three haughty-looking HiveWings nearly ran into them, and he tugged Luna out of their way, mumbling apologies. They wrinkled their noses and spread their wings, making a few other SilkWings duck to the side of the path to give them space, and then they swept away.
“Luna, SilkWings don’t go into The Sugar Dream,” he said. “Let’s go to Droplets, like we always do.”
“It’s my Metamorphosis Day!” she objected. “We’ve only never been there because we usually can’t afford it, but today is different. Mother gave me enough scales for it. She said to have the best last day ever.”
Blue shivered involuntarily. The phrase “last day” really wasn’t helping his anxiety about Silverspot’s face this morning.
“Stop worrying,” Luna said, nudging his shoulder. “They’ll take our scales no matter who we are. And these might be the best honey drops we ever get.”
She bounded off again and he followed, unconvinced, but aware that arguing with his sister would get him exactly nowhere.
There was only one other customer in The Sugar Dream when they entered: an older lemon-yellow HiveWing with black stripes on her wings and ruby scales freckling her nose and tail. She peered over a pair of spectacles at them, then went back to squinting at the shelves of pale pink and lavender candies.
But the HiveWing behind the counter stiffened and flicked his long red tail disapprovingly, his brows arching as high as they could possibly go.
“Hello!” Luna said cheerfully, ignoring his expression. “We’d like two honey drops, please.” She touched the soft gray silk pouch around her neck as she spoke so that the scales inside jingled.
“Who’s your mistress?” the clerk asked. “Is she new to this Hive? She should know that shopping for luxury items is not a task traditionally entrusted to servants.”
“We’re nobody’s servants,” Luna said indignantly. “We want them for ourselves!”
“Nobody’s servants yet,” Blue added quickly. “We’re still in school.” He pointed to their wingbuds. “It’s her Metamorphosis Day today, actually, so, we’ll know our assignments soon, and then I’m sure our … uh … the dragons we work for will … uh …” He made himself stop talking. Judging by the frown on the shopkeeper’s face, it was clearly not helping.
“Indeed,” said the salesdragon. “Well, as you can see, I am currently assisting another customer. I’m afraid you will have to wait.” He narrowed his eyes and tipped his chin at the spectacled dragon.
Blue and Luna glanced over at her. The elderly dragon had her snout down close to a box of honey sticks. As they watched, she nudged a bag of sugar cubes closer to her and tapped it with a claw, mumbling as though she was counting each cube.
Luna shot the clerk an “are you kidding me?” look. He pretended not to see it.
“We can wait,” Blue whispered to her. Causing trouble would only get them kicked out with no honey drops.
Several long moments passed. Blue studied the beautiful spun-sugar artwork behind the clerk: an elegant pale green praying mantis, a glittering blue-and-white dragonfly, an array of different jewel-colored beetles, and several miniature wasps. He wondered if it felt disrespectful to any of the HiveWings to eat something their queen was named after.
Was this clerk the one who had made the delicate sugar insects? Did he spend his early mornings in the back room of the shop, carefully pouring honey into frozen teardrops and lacing chocolate stars with speckles of orange peel? Did he love coming here every day, or was he so sick of sweetness that all he could stomach anymore was the saltiest gazelle jerky?
Blue guessed that the shopkeeper had hoped his rudeness would drive them away — and now he was regretting his choice, because it meant two SilkWings were lingering in his precious store, right where anyone might wander by and see them. He probably wished he had taken their money and gotten rid of them quickly, but now he was stuck waiting for his other customer to make up her mind, just as they were.
The door swung open, letting in a burst of noise from outside as two HiveWings entered. Their giddy chatter dropped away abruptly when they saw Blue and Luna standing by the counter.
“Oh,” said one of them. “Chafer, what … interesting new customers you have.”
The other one giggled and edged past Blue, keeping her wings canted away from him.
“Don’t worry, Weevil, sir. I’m sure they’ll be leaving soon,” Chafer said, somehow managing to be oily and tense at the same time.
“Yes, we will,” Luna piped up. “As soon as we get our honey drops.”
Chafer twitched his snout at her as if she were an actual moth he’d found nibbling on one of his rugs.
“By the Hive, what a bore it must be to be wingless,” Weevil said, pacing around the two SilkWing dragonets. “I bet you feel like half a dragon. Hardly a dragon at all. Such cute little wingbuds, though. Can I touch one?” He reached out toward Luna’s back.
“No!” Luna cried, jerking away from him.
Blue wasn’t sure which dragon was the most horrified: himself, Chafer, or the rude HiveWing.
“You can touch mine,” he said quickly. “It’s her Metamorphosis Day, so she’s — they’re — it’s, um, better not to touch them right before the change.” That wasn’t true at all. Luna was just being difficult and impertinent to dragons who could really get them in a lot of trouble if they wanted to. Tho
se soldiers outside could be summoned at a moment’s notice by any HiveWing.
“Ohhhhh,” said Weevil. “Right, of course,” he added, as though he obviously knew everything about Metamorphosis. “How exciting for you, little SilkWing.” He reached out his talons and poked Blue’s wingbuds roughly, as though Weevil was trying to unfurl them by force. Blue tried not to wince. He tried to make it better by imagining Weevil’s life—a family who loved him, perhaps, who hugged him good-bye in the morning. Maybe he’d desperately wanted to be a soldier but hadn’t qualified for the academies. Maybe he’d been reassigned to a management or gathering job instead, which made him bitter and imperious with anyone he could safely push around.
It was difficult, though, to slide into sympathy with this particular dragon. Possibly he was just a jerk and had always been that way.
The old HiveWing with the spectacles suddenly appeared at Weevil’s side. “There’s no need to be a brute, Weevil,” she said to him. “Could you help me with these nectar vials over here? I’m always afraid my old claws will drop one.”
“Of course, Lady Scarab,” Weevil said deferentially. He let go of Blue and followed her to the other side of the shop.
Lady Scarab? Blue thought. If she had a title, she must be related to the queen. A sister or an aunt, perhaps, but not one with her own Hive. Still, she would be way up the hierarchy of the HiveWings, which explained Weevil’s behavior toward her.
“Mmmm, someone said honey drops, and now I must have them,” said Weevil’s friend, who had been blissfully pretending not to see Luna or Blue. “We’ll take eight of those, six of the little sugar wasps, and a box of apricot taffy. Make it pretty.”
“Of course,” said the salesdragon. He took a pale pink box out from under the counter and started packing her order into it.
“Don’t say anything,” Blue whispered to Luna, who was giving Chafer her best murderous glare. “It’s just the way it is.”
To her credit (and Blue’s surprise), Luna bit her tongue until the two HiveWings were gone, sailing out of the shop with their candy and a few loud whispers about poor wingless street urchins cluttering up the place.
“So,” Luna said to Chafer, with strained politeness. “May we please have our honey drops now?”
“After I serve the Lady Scarab,” he said sniffily.
“But — those — you just —” Luna protested.
“I beg your pardon.” Blue turned and saw Lady Scarab eyeing Chafer like a bone she’d already chewed on. She had moved on from counting sugar cubes to checking nectar vials under one of the lamps, but her talons were suddenly still and her tail was coiled up like a snake. “Am I to understand that you are delaying these little no-wings on my account?”
“It’s no trouble, Lady Scarab,” Chafer oozed. “They can wait. You are my first priority.”
“Well, I don’t want to be,” she snapped. “Serve them right now.”
Blue poked Luna with his tail to try to get the smug look off her face.
“My lady,” said Chafer. “I quite insist. We do not serve second-class dragons before royalty in this establishment.”
“Even if I insist?” she said coldly.
They stared at each other for a long moment, and Blue suddenly got the feeling that there was something more complicated about Lady Scarab’s place in the Hive than he’d realized. Something that made this salesclerk willing to test the edges of her dominance.
And then the air shifted. Blue’s nose twitched and twitched again. It was some kind of … smell. It started small, a faint hint of rottenness, but slowly grew stronger and sharper and more horrible. Luna covered her snout with a gagging sound.
“My lady!” Chafer cried, stumbling back as though the odor had punched him in the face. “Please don’t! I’ll have to close my shop for the rest of the day! This isn’t necessary!”
“I said,” she hissed, “serve them right now.”
He scrabbled frantically behind the counter, grabbed a small white box, and dumped two honey drops into it. “Here,” he gasped at Luna. “Take it.”
“How much?” she asked through her talons.
“Just get out of here,” he begged.
Blue took the box, but Luna stopped to pull a pair of scales out of her pouch. She dropped them on the counter and darted toward the door.
“Thank you, I think,” Blue said to Lady Scarab, trying not to breathe through his nose. She looked serene and supremely unbothered by the smell.
“Choose an establishment friendlier to SilkWings next time,” she suggested.
He nodded and escaped out into the market behind Luna.
“Was that her?” Luna asked as they hurried between stalls. “Did she make that awful smell?”
“I’ve heard some HiveWings have that power,” he said. “But I didn’t think anyone would ever actually use it. I mean, why would they?”
“To terrorize their enemies!” Luna answered. “Moons, I sure would! If I had super stink powers, I’d have blasted that Weevil guy right in the snout the moment he got anywhere near our wingbuds. Oooo, that would have been awesome.”
“For about two heartbeats,” Blue pointed out. “And then it would have been the opposite of awesome, because you would be in jail forever.”
“Blue,” she said. “Don’t you think it’s unfair that HiveWings can use their weapons on us anytime they want, but we can’t do anything to fight back?”
“No!” He looked around quickly, but none of the nearby dragons reacted as if they’d just heard treason. It was loud enough in the market, and they were moving so quickly between stalls, that he could hope no one would overhear them. “The HiveWings saved us, remember? Our tribe agreed to accept their queen. Besides, there’s a reason why the universe gave them weapons and not us. That’s why they’re in charge.”
“But maybe if we fought back, they wouldn’t be in charge,” she pointed out.
“Luna.” He herded her into the tunnels that led to the other levels of the Hive. His voice dropped to a whisper. “For the love of silk, what’s gotten into you today? I know Swordtail is full of crazy ideas, but please don’t let him drag you into prison along with him.”
“Those are my ideas,” she said crossly. “He got them from me.”
“Well, then leave me out of it.” He covered his ears. “La la la, everyone’s a good Hive citizen here.”
His sister rolled her eyes. “Oh, Blue.” She hesitated, studying his face, and then shook her head as though she hadn’t found the answer she wanted there. “All right, I’m sorry.” She flexed her claws and looked down at her wrists. “It’s probably because of my silk coming in. It hurts a lot more than I expected it to.”
Her palms and wrists were glowing even brighter than before. Blue hadn’t noticed in the well-lit market, but here in the dim tunnels it was impossible to ignore. She seemed to have little balls of fire clustered under her scales, bubbles of molten orange and gold.
“That doesn’t look normal,” he said anxiously. “I’ve never seen anyone’s silk glands do that before Metamorphosis. Have you?”
Swordtail and his sister, Io, had gotten their wings not too long ago. He remembered their palms glowing a little bit, but not like this — and they hadn’t mentioned anything about it hurting.
Does Metamorphosis hurt? Why wouldn’t someone warn us about that?
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Luna said with a shrug. “Everyone Metamorphoses a little differently.”
“Should we take you to a doctor?”
“No WAY,” she said. She swiped the box of honey drops out of his talons. “I’m not spending my perfect last day getting prodded by some HiveWing who thinks we’re all weird and revolting. I’m totally fine! To the Mosaic Garden! Let’s go!”
Luna darted away up the tunnel. Blue rubbed his own wrists worriedly and then followed her. He could see the glow from her scales reflecting off the tunnel walls.
Is she going to be all right?
If everything has to chan
ge, could it at least be ordinary predictable change?
Spirit of Clearsight, if you’re listening: Please take care of my sister. Please let her Metamorphosis be normal.
And if you have time, please could you also make sure she’s not arrested for treason? That would be great, thanks.
The Mosaic Garden glimmered in droplets of amber and gold, cobalt and jade, obsidian and pearl. Fragments of dragons prowled along the walkways underclaw and coiled around the columns. In the pavilions, claws and teeth roared across the ceilings, ancient battles captured in bits of glass forever.
Here at the top of the Hive, the sky was allowed to run free. It was the only space where HiveWings could look up and see no roof, unless they wanted to climb to the top layers of the webs (which HiveWings never did) or venture into the dry savanna below.
Across the garden, sunlight drenched the grassy slopes and hedgerows, soaking into the obedient faces of the flowers that marched rose-carnation-marigold-violet in orderly lines beside the path. The scents were heavy and warm, like the drowsy buzzing insects that browsed the floral options. The path itself seemed winding and random, branching and wandering back, but it eventually spiraled everyone in to the central feature, the Salvation Wall.
This morning the garden was busy with dragons, but Blue and Luna found a spot on the grassy slope where they could sprawl with a view of the Salvation mosaic.
“I’m not sure why you like this scene so much,” Blue said as Luna passed him his honey drop. “It has a few too many dead SilkWings in it for me.” His wingbuds twitched and he glanced around, double-checking that there were no HiveWings in earshot. He didn’t think it was treason to criticize the Salvation mosaic, but it certainly might be.
“But even more dead LeafWings,” Luna pointed out. “Isn’t that reassuring?”
Blue didn’t argue with her, but he’d always found the mosaic sad instead of triumphant. He knew it showed the end of the war, so it made sense that there were dead dragons in it. It should make him glad that these were supposed to be the last dragons ever killed in the war with the LeafWings. He also knew they should all be grateful to the HiveWings for saving the SilkWings from the vicious green tribe.
Wings of Fire #11: The Lost Continent Page 3
