Petra gave a small, trembling nod.
"They know you were kind to their sister. They will not hurt you, but you must be still. Very, very still. Can you do that for me?"
Petra nodded again. Her small hand crept out and gripped Vivienne's sleeve, and Vivienne let it remain.
Vivienne turned to the Duke. "Walk slowly toward the roses, not toward the house. Do you understand?"
"The house is closer," he said, his voice low.
"The hedge has flowers. They will follow the flowers and let you go."
He searched her face, then made his decision. "Very well."
They began to walk, Vivienne on his left and Petra held between them in his arms. The swarm moved around them like a living cloud, but as they advanced, it began to shift. Some bees drifted with them. Most turned toward the roses.
And yet, as they moved, it began to shift. Some of the bees drifted with them. Most turned toward the roses. Vivienne kept speaking, low and steady, words she barely heard herself. She spoke of the hive.
She spoke of honey. She spoke of her father. She did not know what she said. She only knew that her voice was steady and that the Duke was matching his pace to hers and that Petra had stopped crying. They reached the rose walk.
The bees fell behind them, thick around the blossoms, drinking. The roar softened into a hum. The hum softened into a whisper. They were through. Vivienne stopped.
She was suddenly aware of her own body. Her legs were shaking. Her hands were shaking. A single bee had crawled into her sleeve and was making its slow way along her wrist. She lifted her arm carefully and let it climb onto her finger.