Telling the Bees

“I think I owe you an explanation,” Amber said. Her voice was almost a whisper, and it was as if she was worried about being overheard by their bedroom neighbors just next door.

It wasn’t an entirely unfounded concern, Mitsu would admit. The sleeping quarters in Reverb Inn weren’t exactly closed off with brick and stone. It was a tent—a huge one, but a tent nonetheless. And so, their bedroom—yes, their single bedroom—was more or less a large personal tent plunked down in a neat row of others much the same.

Mitsu could hear the sound of the man in the tent over spitting into his wash basin with gusto, and he wished the layers of fiber and linen could do more to block it. Alas, it was muffled at best.

Mitsu was surprised the bed didn’t whine more underneath their combined weight, but its supportive silence was welcome, allowing nothing between them but the sound of their own voices. That was frightening in its own way.

As they lay face-to-face, with only their arms resting in the space between them, a physical tension seemed to be building in the absence of distance—and yet, that wasn’t all it was.

“You might think you owe me an explanation,” Mitsu whispered, “but you don’t. And I'm not going to hold it against you if you're uncomfortable discussing any of this with me."

Amber took a breath. “I’m comfortable,” she said. “I just thought I’d put too much pressure on you if I told you about the Royal Beekeeper thing any sooner." She pulled the covers up underneath her chin. "Now, I... think it would be unfair not to expand on that a little.”

“Okay,” Mitsu said, wriggling just a little bit closer. “Am I allowed to ask questions?”

Amber laughed. “If you didn’t have any questions, I’d be shocked.”

Mitsu chuckled. “Alright," he said. "Then could you tell me more about the Royal Beekeeper thing? The audience seemed to think you were a pretty deal."

Amber bit her lip in thought. "...To answer that, I think it might be better if I try to explain things from the beginning." Amber thrummed her fingers against the mattress. “I told you about the god that sent me a message about you through a bee, right?”

Mitsu adjusted his arm so that it was resting underneath his head. “Yeah. Though I’m still not sure I believe it," he admitted.

She smiled softly. “You’re such a skeptic,” she whispered. “But it’s true. In Ferris, bees serve as messengers between our world and the spiritual world. Almost every town has a hive so the bees can provide them honey, but it’s more than that.”

“More…?”

“Bees aren’t just kept to produce honey,” Amber explained. “They’re just as much a part of the community and culture as anyone else. When a baby is born, when someone dies, when a couple gets married…you tell the bees.”

She laughed again, and the sound was light. “People even save a piece of wedding cake to give them so they can celebrate the couple with everyone.”

Mitsu blinked. That sounded nearly identical to the tradition of telling the bees in his world. Beekeepers always kept the bees up to date on any major life events in the family. In the case of a death, they’d often decorate the hives with black crepe cloth and whisper the news to the bees as to what had occurred so they could mourn properly.

The bit about the bees as spiritual messengers sounded familiar too. He felt like he’d passed upon that particular belief while reading one of his books about Celtic myths. It was fascinating to discover that Ferris and his world shared a connection like this.

“I’ve heard of telling the bees before,” Mitsu said.

Amber wiggled closer in excitement. “Really? So you talk to the gods and the people who have passed on too then?“

Mitsu blinked again. Swallowed. “…What did you say?” he croaked.

Amber held up a hand. “Wait, no,” she backtracked. “I remember how reacted when I told you about this when we first met. You didn’t believe me at all, so I’m guessing telling the bees is different in your world.”

“…It is,” Mitsu said, not elaborating further.

Amber frowned at his silence, and it seemed innocent. Of course, it was. She didn’t know. Hadn’t seen the spreadsheet Mitsu had filled out with all the mediums he had seen and been deceived by, spewing similar nonsense about the spirit world.

He sensed that she was waiting for him to elaborate. Whether it was out of curiosity or concern, he couldn’t be sure, but Mitsu didn’t want to be unfair. She was sharing her world with him; it was only right for him to do the same.

“Telling the bees is a tradition in our world, but the more…mystical elements are mostly superstition. We can’t talk to the gods through them or the people who have…moved on.”

“That’s hard to imagine,” Amber admitted. “Even from when I was littlest, I remember visiting to tell the bees.” She rolled over onto her back and raised a hand as if to touch the fabric of their ceiling.

“When my grandfather passed, we sang to them our goodbye. And when my cousin was born, we decorated the hives with yellow ribbons. The good and the bad, we told the bees everything. And without fail, they always carried off the news to the spiritual world.”

She lowered her arm and turned her head to look at him. “Do you know what a beekeeper’s role is?”

Mitt shook his head, almost in a daze.

Amber smiled. “The beekeeper’s role is to protect the bees, collect honey, and help ensure the connection is never broken between people. Even if we exist in different planes of existence, the bees give us the chance to say ‘I love you’ one more time.”

Her words were meant to be tender. They were certainly sweet, like nectar. And yet, to Mitsu, they tasted like the most bitter pain.

He could have howled at the injustice, the cruelty of his former world. Why was telling the bees purely symbolic? Why couldn’t they speak to the gods?

Why was it impossible to give Sakura that one final message?

Maybe the gods of Ferris held the answers; maybe no one did. Mitsu realized that the reason for the difference didn’t really matter. On Earth, he’d had no choice but to give Sakura up. He’d made the decision to let it go knowing he’d exhausted every possible avenue.

Ferris was different.

Mitsu felt a nervous, pathetic hope fill his chest.

“…Do you think that…the people from my world also go to the spiritual realm?” Mitsu asked, trying to keep his voice more curious than desperate.

Amber squeezed his hand lightly before letting go, her eyes soft. Mitsu instantly knew his efforts had been in vain. “It wouldn’t hurt to find out.”

Mitsu also rolled over onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. He choked out a laugh. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make this about me.”

Amber shook her head, and it rustled against the silk pillows. “Don’t be,” she said soothingly. “I’m glad you asked. While the next town we're going to doesn’t have a hive, the capital does. I was planning on taking you there anyways to see if you could find your friend.”

“You think he might be in the capital?”

Amber nodded. “They’re going to be holding the annual festival there soon. A lot of people use the festival as an opportunity to tell the royal bees of special occasions and celebrate them, especially if they don’t have a hive themselves."

Amber shrugged. "There’s no bigger event in Ferris, so I thought he might be there.” She gripped the covers tightly and continued, “My coronation as the Royal Beekeeper is also supposed to happen during the festival, so I also have my own reasons to be there, I guess. But…”

“But?”

Amber sighed as she plastered a brave smile on her face. “I think I’m going to have to turn it down.”

“Why?”

It was a simple question, but as tears gathered in the corners of Amber's eyes, he knew the answer was not.

“Being the Royal Beekeeper means being formally adopted into the royal family. As a member of the royal family, I’m expected to get married,” she said as she wiped away her tears.

Mitsu felt like he already had a picture of where this was going. “So the fake boyfriend thing…”

Amber cupped her hands over her mouth as more tears escaped. “I broke up with my last boyfriend so suddenly. I thought I would marry him, but now that I don’t have anyone…I don’t know what to do.” She sniffled. “I’ve wanted this for so long…! And just because I’m single, I can’t!”

“Isn’t there any way to postpone? Did they give you a deadline?” Mitsu asked, filled with a sense of urgency.

“If I was still a girl, they’d allow me to wait until I was of age, but I’m already 32. They expect me to get married right away.”

She took a breath, and it shook like the earth was trembling beneath her feet. “I don’t want to be forced into a loveless marriage, but besides asking you to fake it, it’s my only other option.”

“The whole fake boyfriend thing you were worried about when we came here. It wasn’t really about Mercy, was it?” Mitsu asked.

The real people that would have been upset if Amber showed up without a partner wasn’t her lifelong friend, but the people of Ferris, who only knew her as the printed words: Amber Lamannae, future Royal Beekeeper.

“It wasn’t not about her,” Amber said. “She really is unreasonable. Mercy would have found me a new partner in less than 24 hours, and he would have married me. But I don’t want to force anyone into this who’s unwilling.”

Now Mitsu understood why Amber had refused to tell him about this sooner. She hadn’t wanted him to feel pressured. Mitsu was right in thinking one night was no commitment to a bit, but a faux wedding for the sake of claiming a position she coveted? Mitsu appreciated just how considerate Amber was of him in all of this.

And while she hadn’t asked, there was a hidden question behind her words, one she was too afraid to ask him out loud.

Mitsu couldn’t say yes.

Sakura might be waiting for him in the capital. The love of his life, his wife. Tonight had proved to him that he could be in a relationship with someone else—with Amber—but that familiar desperation to speak to Sakura again was impossible to ignore.

Even worse, what Amber was suggesting still wasn’t real. It was a marriage under false pretenses, and Mitsu could never agree to it, especially when he knew what a real marriage felt like. Mitsu could push through acting for a night—but he didn’t live on a stage.

“…It doesn’t have to be me. Right?” Mitsu asked quietly. “You just need to find someone.”

“No,” Amber said, her eyes filled with affection. “No, Mitsu. It has to be you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling overwhelmed to the point of tears. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Amber reached out and stroked his cheek. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “It’s not a position worth hurting you over. I’ll just go to the capital and tell them I resign my candidacy. No big deal.”

Mitsu didn’t argue with her, even though he knew it wasn’t true. Instead, as they slept back-to-back that night, he had the decency to pretend he couldn’t hear Amber’s stifled sobs.

Mitsu had spent countless nights in bed overly aware of the empty space next to him after Sakura’s death. He never thought he’d wish to go back to that.