Queen & Commander (Book One of the Hive Queen Saga)

Interlude 2: Beneath the Capital

For the third time in as many weeks, Queen Olivia sojourned to the capital city to answer questions about that troublemaking backbench MP, Llewellyn. The former Captain Ceridwen wished she’d never heard of him nor helped book his passage on her former ship. She could only hope that the new Commander hadn’t had as much trouble on his account. Last week, the questions had concerned the fact that he’d gone off-grid, untraceable somewhere between the Cauldron and the English station.

Bloody English. Probably their fault. Whatever the problem is.

Now they let her know that they’d tracked him down again, not that anyone appeared to be doing anything about the supposed breach of something. Was it a breach of technology, state secrets, propriety? No one felt like informing her. They just asked question after question, always the same. Have you remembered anything new since our initial interview? Would you tell us again exactly what you said that first day? When did you last see Llewellyn? Et cetera, et cetera.

This trip into the city, she hadn’t bothered to bring her Devoted along. By now, the meetings had a routine feel to them, and official buildings were safe enough. Let her men busy themselves with new hobbies and soak up sunshine on a crisp day beneath the shade of the silver maples.

Although her first official debriefing with Jay Rogers had taken place in the Senedd building itself, her subsequent audiences had all been off-site with a variety of government employees. This time she approached an old building, only one story above-ground with white paint peeling off the poured plastic. In her day, it had been part of the governmental complex. These days, it was an old, barely-maintained structure where minor functionaries held pointless meetings. Such functionaries never had important meetings; they only thought they did.

“Your ladyship,” a guard at the door greeted her. “If you’ll come this way.”

She’d never been met by a guard before. Of course, she’d never come without her Devoted before. Etiquette might require an escort since her own was absent? At least the man was polite.

She followed him down three flights of stairs, but balked at the fourth. She’d only ever been on the ground and first-underground floors.

“Wherever are we going, guardsman?”

His unhelpful reply: “If you’ll please follow me.”

She stopped. “No, I will not. You will explain or we will go no further.” She’d come here of her own good nature, willing to do her part for society’s safety. But she drew the line at mindless obedience. That was for children and the young Devoted, not for Queens who remembered when the paint on this building was fresh.

Seeing that she wasn’t about to budge, the guard grasped her elbow. He laid hands on her inviolate person.

“Please, your ladyship. Don’t make me hurt you.”

The very idea! And yet he was touching her. He dared to direct her this way. Would he be willing to hurt her in truth? He might.

Shoulders back, head held high with her white hair curling around her ears, she swallowed her disquiet and allowed him to lead her down, down, down. Twelve floors underground, she saw and smelled sour evidence of life. Women languished behind metal bars, many wearing the gowns and crowns that marked them as Queens of the realm. Some looked scragglier than others, hems torn or hair tangled. Food bowls of the kind one might give to a dog sat on some cells’ floors. Prison-style latrines offered no privacy.

“What is the meaning of this?” she asked, cold and in control. She wouldn’t struggle.

Off to the side, a young Queen’s black hair pieced from her braided crown. Her bare arms were scratched and browned with dried blood. Her cries echoed through the room.

“I can’t feel them. Where are they? What have you done with my Devoted? I can’t feel them!”

The guard pulled open the door to an empty cell. “Your ladyship.”

He gestured Queen Olivia inside. She saw no recourse but to enter the room with as much dignity as she could muster. She sat on a hard cot, the only furniture available, and crossed her hands in her lap. Prim. Proper. She inclined her head to the guard, dismissing him.

He locked her in before taking his leave.

The woman in the next cell, not wearing a crown or any finery, introduced herself. “I’m Marla, Queen-Captain Llyr of Llyr’s Llambo. I’d ask what you’re in for”—she grinned with wry misery—“but no one’s in for anything.”

Who would imprison Queens of the realm? She’d been duped. The official interviews had been an excuse to get her into confinement, not a way to acquire information about a missing politician. Foolish, Olivia. But she couldn’t truly condemn herself. She’d had no reason to believe her home planet was an enemy battleground.

“I’m Queen Olivia Jones,” she replied to her neighbor. “A pleasure to meet you.” Although it wasn’t, not if she had to be here.

The woman nodded as though she’d heard Olivia’s thoughts. Abruptly, she folded in half and vomited bile. Olivia did her best not to react to the noise or the stench.

Olivia would have liked to soothe her through the sickness. But the other Queen had fallen to her knees above the grated drain in her cell’s center. Too far for compassionate touch. Olivia raised her voice. “Shall I call a guard? Have them bring a doctor?”

Marla pushed back to sit on her heels. She spat into the drain. “Don’t eat the food. It’s drugged.”

Our captors caused such sickness on purpose!

Olivia felt despair rising like her neighbor’s gorge. Her Hive didn’t know she’d been taken prisoner, would not realize for some time, and certainly wouldn’t look for her here. She could only hope they’d be all right without her, that they wouldn’t descend into madness before she could escape.

Llewellyn. She choked on guilt. Would the new Commander Ceridwen be likewise penalized for his presence in her life?