Juniper ruffled the little girl’s hair. “There, Tipster. Buck up,” she said. She sent a lopsided grin Erick’s way. “We won’t say any more about it. Only, after you’ve thought a plan through next time, think on it twice and thrice again, all right? This is a dangerous game we’re playing.”
“It’s not a game at all,” said Jess acidly. “But enough of this water dribbling. We all need to know what you two saw and heard down there.”
“Yes!” said Oona. “Did you find the king?”
Juniper shook her head. She looked around the assembled group at the Aerie. The room was much the same as the last time she’d been here with her father to check on the health of one of his ailing ghost bats. The wide round space filled the peak of the highest palace turret. Tall, gleaming windows encircled the whole room, filling it with light and giving a magnificent view of the castle grounds. Below the north-side windows was a bank of tiny straw-filled cubbyhole-nests, with a half dozen pale winged creatures tucked away inside. Because this room had been a favorite spot of the king’s—his private getaway nook, as well as his bat cave—the section of room apart from the animals had comfortable couches and one hairy sheep-pelt rug, a low rustic table, a porcelain washing basin, and a heap of pillows. (King Regis dearly loved pillows.) Now the bats were humming in their dens, a fresh pitcher of water lay beading on the table, and—as Egg had promised—a heaping bowl of fruit and nuts overflowed alongside.
Judging by the neat pile of belongings stacked in an empty wooden crate, it seemed that Egg had been living here for some time. Juniper noted with interest a tall bow and quiver of arrows propped against the couch. Another of the mysterious Egg’s skills, no doubt.
Over the steady sound of munching, Juniper relayed who was now occupying her father’s suite, and the conversation they’d overheard. Jess had sat them all in a circle where they would be easily visible to Egg, and kept up a running sign language interpretation. Egg nodded at intervals to show she was following.
“And that’s the long and short of it,” Juniper concluded. “Cut off by . . .” She waved a hand vaguely.
Tippy ducked her head. She reached to stroke the patchy mottle of Fleeter’s fur, where he lay sprawled on a plump mustard-colored pillow. He was sound asleep. Did that cat do anything but sleep? At least he had shown no interest in chasing the bats, which would have been a trial.
“Something caught their attention, just at the opportune moment,” Erick cut in, shifting the focus from Tippy’s error.
“So what was it they ran off after?” asked Leena.
“Oh, I can tell you that,” said Jess airily, though Juniper noticed that Egg had first started moving her hands to contribute. Seeing Jess, the older girl settled back on her pillow, her eyes flashing bright. Jess said, “Rupert and Malvinia Lefarge have a small offspring.”
That took the wind out of Juniper’s sails. “They have what? A child, quite aside from Cyril?”
“How can that be?” Erick asked. “Lady Malvinia has not lived at the castle with her husband for several years.”
Egg tilted her head in Juniper’s direction.
“Egg?” Juniper said.
“It is a little boy,” Jess said while Egg signed. “About three years old. Malvinia Lefarge first retired from court upon her confinement and never fully returned after the child was born.”
“Until now,” said Oona, frowning.
Come to think of it, Malvinia had been quite a fixture at court some . . . four years ago. Huh. So that was why she’d disappeared: to have a child. But— “Cyril, a big brother?” She shook her head. “I just can’t picture it.”
“Well, that’s paltry enough information we’ve got, to be sure,” said Jess, her hands flashing like quicksilver. “It’s impossible to predict which of our secrets that rat would have spilled right before your eyes if they weren’t interrupted.”
“I think it’s safe to assume that anything and everything he knows about our plans will come out eventually,” said Juniper.
“It seemed to me . . .” said Erick, shifting on the floor to tuck his legs underneath him. “Juniper, did you get a sense that he didn’t much care for his stepmother?”
“Definitely,” Juniper agreed. “I bet he’s saving the real juicy information to give directly to his father, once he’s on the mend.” She brightened. “So it could be we have a little more time. There’s some tension between those two, for sure. Cyril’s holding out on her. And he thinks we’re not coming back into the palace for another week.”
Leena nodded. “He thinks he can afford to wait.”
“We can’t take anything for granted,” said Erick. “But it is some relief.”
“We’ll need to keep our eyes on him,” said Jess. “As much as ever we can. The moment he finks on us, we’ll need to know it.”
“And anything else he’s up to along the way,” said Oona.
“More important than any of this, though,” Juniper interrupted, “is locating the king. Remember: All we have to do is free him. Then the whole jig is up.”
“All we have to do,” said Leena, half under her breath.
“About the king,” said Egg, through Jess, “I don’t know.” Her face was crimson, as though the admission gave her physical pain.
“It’s all right to not know things sometimes, Egg,” Jess said, but her tone had a slight edge.
Erick cleared his throat. Then he was silent so long that the others all turned to stare at him.
“What?” Juniper said.
“I don’t know how to put this,” he said, picking at a thread in the silky pillow on his lap. “But do we know for sure that, um, King Regis is still—”
He couldn’t say any more; he didn’t need to. Juniper felt her heart go still in her chest. She was unable to answer him.
Instead, Egg shook her head so firmly that her braid whipped around and smacked her on the cheek. Through Jess, she said, “King Regis is alive. He is in the dungeon. I meant only that I have not been in there myself, to see him. I do not know exactly where or how he is imprisoned.”
Juniper found she could breathe again. “Well,” she managed. “This is good. We know he is safe at least.”
“If you can call it that,” said Jess.
“I’m sorry,” said Erick. “I didn’t mean to . . .” But he looked no less shaken than she was at the prospect of the dungeons. As captain of the guard, his own father would be locked up right along with the king—and countless other parents and family members, including Tippy’s beloved older sister, Elly.
“It’s all right,” said Juniper. “So, the king is in the dungeons. And there are no Pockets down there.” Juniper’s pulse still felt jittery, and she forced herself to breathe. Just free her father—that was all they had to do! And then he could take control. That would fix everything.
But how?
“We should set up a spying rotation,” said Oona timidly, “like we did back at the Basin with guard duty.”
“A guard duty, but for information gathering,” said Juniper. “I like it.”
“Spying duty!” said Tippy. She shook her hair in front of her face as though she were hiding behind a bush, and flashed her hands out wide. “Look: spy hands!”
“All right, let’s get organized,” said Juniper. “There’s ever so much to be done. We need eyes on Malvinia and on Lefarge himself, sick though he may be. On Cyril, for sure. We need to know exactly what nobles and dignitaries are in the palace and where they are staying. And whatever we can learn about the dungeons—guards, servants, layout, anything at all. Any way we can get my father out of there.” Juniper looked up, catching Erick’s eye. “And the other prisoners, of course. Basically, we need to know what we’re up against. The one thing we lack here is information.”
“Do you?” asked Egg aloud.
Juniper blinked. What was it Jess had said whe
n they were back in the Basin? The Monsians had not imprisoned Egg—despite her being older than a fair few footmen and serving girls across the palace—because they’d underestimated her. Juniper had scoffed at this, yet hadn’t she herself done the same thing? She looked Egg in the eyes, took in her intelligence, the sharp wit that lay behind her tiny frame and measured speech. Egg wouldn’t push herself forward, Juniper suddenly knew. She had no desire to flaunt her own might; if she was not relied on, she would simply go about her own business, taking all her skills and know-how with her. But if she was truly brought in as part of the team . . . Juniper thought Egg might be very valuable indeed. She’d already more than proven this.
“All right, then. Egg,” said Juniper, “you’ve been right here in the soup, so to speak, and I can see that you’ve been paying attention. What do you have to share with us about the state of affairs in Torr Castle?”
• • •
With Jess as interpreter, Egg’s information came out in full and careful detail. Cyril’s stepmother, Malvinia Lefarge, while being Torrean born and bred, apparently had blood ties to Monsia. In fact, she was a distant cousin of the Scion of Monsia himself. Rupert Lefarge’s first wife—Cyril’s mother—had died in childbirth, and he had married Malvinia some years later. According to Egg’s sources (Juniper would have given a lot to know who or what they were!), the woman had taken yearly pilgrimages to a hot springs colony on Spyglass Lake in northern Torr. Only, it turned out that for well over a decade she had not been traveling to Spyglass Lake at all. Instead, she had been sneaking into Monsia, to reacquaint herself with her distant family.
“It would seem that her many-times-great-grandmother performed some invaluable service for the then Scion of Monsia,” Jess said. “And she was granted a Golden Bequest.”
“A golden whatsit?” asked Tippy.
Erick’s face lit up at this sliver of history brought into the real world. “Golden Bequest,” he said. His fingers twitched as though turning imaginary book pages. “It’s an ancient Monsian custom—virtually unknown in these times. It is a wish to be granted by the Scion of Monsia to one of his subjects—anything at all within his power. Only think of it!”
Egg nodded, continued signing, and Jess carried on the narrative out loud. “That relative having perished with the grant still unused, the Golden Bequest became lost to history. Until Malvinia uncovered written evidence of it in her research of her family tree.”
From Malvinia’s view, the plan had been simple. She and her husband, Rupert Lefarge, had conspired for nothing less than the throne of Torr. Their Bequest (for the throne of Torr was clearly not Monsia’s to give) brought in the support of the Monsian army to secure the overthrow.
And now here they were.
“So,” said Erick thoughtfully, “the Lefarges are behind the takeover, and not Monsia directly.”
“Is there any real difference, when it comes down to the fact?” said Juniper. “If they’ve got Monsia’s support, then it’s Monsia we’re coming against. The castle is crawling with their soldiers, after all.”
“What baffles me is how this moldy old something-or-other promise would be enough to take a whole kingdom to war. Who could think it?” said Jess.
“I don’t know how much encouragement was necessary to bring the Monsians against us,” said Juniper. “I should imagine that the promise of a traitor opening our impregnable gates would be lure enough. But tell me more about Lefarge himself, Egg. He is taken out sick, we heard?”
Egg nodded and began signing, while Jess interpreted. “Rupert Lefarge had a riding accident some weeks ago. He hasn’t regained consciousness since. Word around the palace is that the fall might have brought on a brain fever. In his absence, Malvinia is in charge.”
“Well, that’s a good thing, then, isn’t it?” said Leena. “We have the stepmother at the helm—a backup traitor rather than the real true original.”
“How is she managing the kingdom?” asked Juniper. There was something in what she’d seen of Malvinia’s bearing, her speech, that did not feel quite—how could she put it?—did not feel quite like “backup” material. This was not a lady, she suspected, who liked taking orders from anybody.
Egg frowned at Juniper’s question, and her hands started moving again. Jess went on: “She is . . . distracted. At first she spent most of her time in the sickroom caring for Lefarge. But increasingly she has gone about running the castle and catching up on affairs of state. She is . . .”
Egg brought her hands together. “Very capable,” she said aloud. She tapped the side of her head and gave a small shiver. “Smart. Too smart, maybe.”
At this, Juniper sat up straight. Egg seemed almost more intimidated by Malvinia than by Lefarge. Could things be even worse than Juniper had suspected? Had they gone from the kettle into the fire?
“We need a code name,” Juniper decided.
The others looked up, puzzled. “For Malvinia?” asked Oona.
Jess nodded. “I agree. We should say her name out loud as little as possible.”
Juniper looked at Tippy, who clapped in delight. “Oh, I do love me a nickname!” Then she knit her brows while the others waited. At last she said, “Don’t she look a bit like a praying mantis, though? Spindly arms like claws drawn up at her front, and ready to sort of munch down on anyone who gets in her way?”
This brought a round of hearty laughter, but Juniper loved it. “Malvinia the Mantis. That’s just right! The Mantis it is.”
With this decided, the group began plotting in earnest. In the end, they pooled their knowledge to reach the following conclusions:
• Aside from the charred fields (according to Egg, Malvinia had been furious at this destruction), the Monsians had not pushed their invasion beyond the castle walls. So the Queen’s Basin team didn’t have to worry about enemy troops running around the rest of Torr, which was a relief.
• Several battalions of Monsian soldiers were on-site and on duty in Torr Castle, but the day-to-day running of the palace was fully in the hands of the Lefarges. Thus, their battle was currently a hostile takeover, not an enemy invasion—a difference that was subtle, but critical.
• With Rupert out of action, the one in charge (for now, at least) was Malvinia alone.
“So this is truly our best window for action,” said Erick, pulling a book onto his lap and stroking its spine lovingly. “Right now, the Monsian presence is small, led by a single leader, and so more vulnerable to our counterattack.”
“Right now,” said Jess. “But when will reinforcements come?”
“Soon,” said Egg.
“That’s right,” Juniper agreed. “We already know they are on the way, for my father is to be taken to Monsia by the end of Summerfest. That will be when they sweep in with the rest of their army, lock down the palace, and begin enacting the next stage of their mayhem.” She looked around the circle. “Torr is safe for now, but by the end of next week—who can say?”
Cyril’s role in all this remained uncertain. How much would he get involved with his father’s and stepmother’s nefarious schemes? How fierce an enemy would he prove to be? From personal experience, Juniper knew what lengths Cyril could leap to when he wanted something.
But what did he want, exactly?
Another important factor: Across the palace, Malvinia Lefarge was widely disliked. Most of the longtime palace staff and guards had been locked up in the dungeons below the palace. The Torrean army had been replaced with Monsian soldiers and rogue swords-for-hire, but the new palace workers were mostly townsfolk from Torrence and other nearby villages, who took the opportunity to gain a cushy palace job in exchange for swearing a loyalty oath to the interlopers.
“Dirty traitors,” growled Erick, in an uncharacteristic display of anger.
Juniper felt much the same, but Jess cut him off smoothly. “They have to survive, like anyone,” she said. “Ho
wever these traitorous rulers came to their power, they are now in command. We can’t blame folks for taking the opportunities handed to them.”
“Can’t we, though?” Juniper jumped in. “Do you really think these lowlifes could stay in control if there were no maids or cooks or floor scrubbers or bottle washers to keep the palace upright around them?” She felt her cheeks heat as she said this; a month ago, had she even known what it took to keep a kingdom running, even a small one like this palace? But all she’d learned in building and ruling Queen’s Basin was deep within her now. No, she couldn’t completely blame the poor workers who had been drawn over to what seemed the winning side. But she didn’t think they were blameless, either.
“Still,” said Erick, his voice level again and the flush of anger gone from his cheeks, “this is good for us on the whole. Lily-livers or not, these new palace workers are all Torrean citizens.”
“Yes,” said Leena. “They might have sworn some fool oath, but that doesn’t mean we can’t win them back to our side—or bring out their true colors if they feel safe enough to display them.”
“Everyone hates her,” said Egg, moving her hands in a broad gesture.
“That’s a good starting point,” said Juniper. “It’s something we can use. Now we just need to get the rest of the way there. Get us in—and her out. Save the king and liberate the castle.”
How to Overthrow a Palace When You Are Understaffed, Underarmed, and Underaged
#1: Know your enemy.
It pays to know all you can about who you are fighting. Why is important, but what is essential. What are their habits, routines, or rituals? What do they like and what do they hate? The more you know, the more there is to exploit.
#2: Sweat the small stuff.
Your goal might be huge, but the best way to get there is with small steps. Keep an eye out for little ways to wreak your havoc. The tallest walls are built brick by brick—and they can be toppled the same way.
#3: Await your moment.
Princess Juniper of Torr Page 6
