Amber Honeywell's Arc

Chapter 8 of 14

Amber moved fast. Winter stepped back from the gate to watch the path. Durgan set the painted fox on the stone and rolled up his sleeves. "Lids first," he said. "Cloth after. We hide what we can." The bees did not sting. They flowed around her hands like warm water. She pressed the painted lids down. They lifted again. The comb pushed back, slow and steady, and the unnamed color seeped through the seams. She dragged the carved wooden arbor from beside the herb beds — the one she used for drying — and tipped it over the largest box. Ivy and doewood bars made a low tent above the hive. She threw sacking over it. The color still ran. It pooled in the grass and stained the stone path bright. "She is at the bend," Winter said. His voice was flat. Durgan did not look up. He took the last lid in both hands and held it down with his weight. "Decide now," he said. "One jar visible. The rest gone." Amber stared at the soaked sacking. She thought of the girl with the yellow flowers. She thought of eleven years. She lifted one small jar of the clean color from the tray and set it on the garden stone, plain as bread. Then she kicked fresh straw across the stained grass and pulled the arbor's ivy down over the rest. The gate creaked. A woman stood in the lane with a basket and a careful smile. Amber wiped her hands on her apron and walked to meet her. Behind her, the hives were hidden under wood and cloth and green leaves. One jar waited on the stone. The choice was made. Now she would learn what it cost.