Chapter 21 #2
The guards block the way as they stare at Nora’s and my joined hands.
“She needs to be led,” I explain. “Now open. Keeping a Chief Harrower from his Queen is a crime that warrants immediate execution.” I feel confident in saying it, because just about anything warrants execution in the Nest.
The guards stand back and raise their weapons, and the opening to the Queen’s Royal Chamber opens.
I walk straight in with Nora in tow.
The chamber beyond is enormous. Passing through the relatively small entrance and into this vast space still affects me.
The ceiling disappears into darkness far above.
Thick nutrient canals cross the chamber like glowing rivers suspended in the air.
The pulse of the Nest feels stronger here than anywhere else, moving through the walls and floor in slow, powerful waves that seem to echo through my own body.
Then the smell reaches me. I've known this scent my entire life. Every audience with the Queen carried it. Every promotion, every triumph, every ceremony of consequence unfolded beneath it. It should feel comforting. Instead, something about it catches my attention for the first time.
There's a sourness hidden beneath the familiar odors of nutrient fluid, pheromones, and living flesh. It reminds me of old meat left too long in stagnant water. The smell has always been here. I know that with absolute certainty. Once I loved it. Today I don’t.
My eyes rise toward the central platform. The Queen rests there.
When I was younger, she seemed magnificent. Larger than life. The living embodiment of the Brood itself. Every story I'd ever heard about power and conquest found its source in her presence.
Today I see something different. Her body coils across the platform in immense loops of swollen flesh. Segments thicker than buildings disappear beneath one another before emerging farther along the dais.
Servants move constantly around her, cleaning armor plates, tending nutrient tubes, carrying away waste, and adjusting feeding vessels attached to the lower portions of her body. The activity never stops, and neither do the movement of her lower segments.
I know that the eggs drop into the floor below, where they are carried away by servants. For the first time I’m grateful I don’t have to see it.
Age marks every part of Queen Szum-zic. Her armor plates are discolored and uneven.
Cracks run through them despite the servants' efforts.
Some have been repaired so many times that they resemble patchwork more than natural armor.
Pale fungal growth clings stubbornly to the edges of old wounds.
One eye appears larger than the other. Even her antennae seem burdened by their own weight.
The royal crest behind her head still commands attention, yet it droops in places where it once stood rigid and proud.
For the first time in my life, I understand that the Queen is ugly.
The thought disturbs me enough that I immediately push it away.
The Queen is the Queen! Beauty has nothing to do with it.
She is the source of authority. She is the heart of the Brood.
Indeed, without her, there is no Brood, no meaning, no life.
Yet another thought follows immediately behind the first: Nora stands beside me.
The comparison can’t be avoided, though I try. The Queen is ancient, swollen, and rooted permanently to her platform. Nora moves quickly, lightly and with ease. Her body carries none of the weight of centuries. She looks alive in a way that makes the rest of the chamber seem dimmer around her.
I find myself wishing I'd left her behind, but it’s too late. Everyone has already seen her.
Several pairs of eyes fix on Nora immediately. Chief Harrowers. Senior servants. Officials whose names carry influence throughout the Brood.
The sight of an Inquisitor rattles me a bit, not just because he must be as young as me, but also because there’s been no Inquisitors at the Nest for many longcycles. What does the Queen fear?
At the base of the platform stands Royal Mate Morr'ak.
Unlike the Queen, he appears perfectly maintained, although he must be twice my age. His armor gleams. His antennae remain upright and alert. Every movement is measured and deliberate.
He stands close enough to the platform to imply intimacy with the Queen, yet far enough away to demonstrate that he understands exactly where his position ends and hers begins. That position alone makes him the most powerful individual in the Brood, after the Queen.
When the Queen chooses silence, Morr'ak speaks. When the Queen wishes something arranged, Morr'ak arranges it. When the Queen becomes displeased, Morr'ak is often the first to know.
His gaze briefly sweeps across me before it moves to Nora. Then to our joined hands.
The chamber grows still. Even the other Chief Harrowers stop moving. Nobody speaks until the Queen permits it.