“Fine,” I say. “Who’s the Beekeeper, and how can I find him?” “Ah, Laia of Serra.” His white teeth shine like those of a smug horse. He offers me his arm, and under the brightening sky, I finally get a closer look at his tattoos—dozens of them, big and small, all clustered around a hive. Bees. “It’s me, of course,” Musa says. “Don’t tell me you hadn’t guessed.”
