The Hive

Wherever you are in the Hive, you can hear the hum of electricity. I’m not sure why it hums. Most of the time, it’s just background noise, something so common that it doesn’t even register – like the earthy damp scent of the passageways. Like breathing. But at least once a day, as it has this morning, the hum changes to a more urgent pitch, and that’s when I know a storm is coming.

I touch the cool stone wall behind me for reassurance, then catch myself doing it and drop my hand. I’m a shield, raised with a single purpose: to protect my charge. I shouldn’t be afraid of lightning. I shouldn’t be afraid of anything.

‘Feldspar!’

Euphemie calls me, voice high and imperious. She’s in front of the mirror, her handmaiden arranging her braided hair in a complicated crown, stormglow from the wall panels bathing their faces in yellow light. I move smoothly to her side, bowing my head.