Princess Juniper of Torr

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  Within the next few minutes, a good portion of the fish-flopped masses was gradually replaced by attentive huddles of seated bodies. Erick and the girls did their job well: not a person ran or screamed or even showed visible fear. All eyes stayed fixed, wide and wondering and alert, every one watching the stage and the winding road that led in from the gates.

  Then a tap on her shoulder drew Juniper’s attention. Egg had reappeared, showing her armband.

  “‘Alta is stuck,’” Juniper read. “Wait, what do you mean?”

  Egg shook her head, wrote more: “Not captured. Too many guards at dungeon. They can’t get in. Need a distraction.”

  Draw the guards out from the dungeon? A grand idea, sure. But that would just plop them out of the pancake dish and into the syrup. Juniper and her crew were no better equipped to deal with attacking soldiers than was Alta. Arguably less so. In any case, Juniper could think of no way to do so, and she said as much.

  Egg nodded, then patted Juniper’s shoulder. She waved her hand at Juniper in a way that very clearly said, Have you peeked into a looking glass lately?! If Juniper couldn’t look like a queen, or even a princess, ideally she should not look like a street urchin.

  It was a valid point.

  “Juniper!” came Sussi’s shriek from down among the crowds. “They’re here—this is it!”

  Juniper spun around. Sussi was right: They were out of time.

  . . . Or were they?

  Juniper squinted up the road. The bannermen were just edging around the corner. “Hold that thought,” she said. She hopped off the back of the stage and ran to the fountain. Leaning over, she ducked her head straight in. The cool water shocked and refreshed her. Then she slid her bone-handled comb from her sleeve and gave herself a stiff grooming. Patting her face dry, she smoothed her rumpled outfit. It wasn’t much, but it would do.

  Refreshed and reenergized with a spritz of princess power, Juniper leaped back to her place at the front of the stage.

  Yes. Now they were truly out of time.

  The Monsian contingent had arrived.

  • • •

  Now at full alertness, Juniper strode to the front of the stage. A quick glance showed her that Egg had disappeared again, no doubt gone back to assist Alta's team. How did that girl manage to move so fast and unobtrusively? Spy power, indeed. Cyril took a step back, shifting in tighter alongside his stepmother. Erick, Oona, and Sussi had finished their crowd wrangling and clambered back onto the stage. They stood to either side of Juniper. On the ground, a few newly woken Torreans started shifting in place, standing and moving around. No! Juniper thought. Please don’t bolt now. What if they all started to run? Would the Monsians chase them?

  But then she looked—really looked. A woman was striding with purpose across the crowds, and her face was suddenly familiar. It was the farmwife to whom they had given the coins. She looked straight at Juniper, gave a crisp nod, then turned to stand boldly on the ground before the stage. She held a long skinny loaf of bread in front of her like a weapon. Without a word, a man came to stand next to her, hefting a hamhock over one shoulder. Another joined them bearing a lumpy pewter jug. They kept coming one by one, each raising weapons of food or utensils or branches or nothing at all, forming a living wall between the stage and the encroaching Monsian army.

  Juniper thought her heart would burst with pride and joy.

  But now the Monsians filled her line of sight, and her mind had room for nothing else but their approach. Three enormous stallions led the way: Those on either side were black as night and mounted by burly bearded men in chain mail. Just behind walked two soldiers, each bearing a tall banner emblazoned with the scarlet wolf of Monsia. In the center rode a third horseman, and this was the one who drew the eye. Unlike the others, this rider was clean-shaven, tall, and spindle-thin so that even mounted, helmetless with his long hair blowing to the side in the evening gusts, his look was an eerie echo of his country’s banners.

  His eyes scanned the platform, taking in Juniper’s bold stance, the others in position near and beside her, the scattered audience (including the fierce makeshift defenders), and the bundle of bound guards.

  “Well, well, well,” the newcomer said in a curt, gravelly drawl, bringing his party to a halt. “I’m not interrupting, am I? Perhaps we should step back out, give you a half hour to, er, resolve things among yourselves?”

  In a bound, Juniper leaped from the stage and strode toward the new arrivals. Roddy and Toby scurried to follow beside her (they had each swiped one of the captive guards’ swords, which reassured Juniper somewhat). Oona tagged at their heels. Cyril, Erick, and Sussi held their spots onstage. The crowds of Torreans shifted to make a path for her as she strode toward the Monsian intruders.

  Ten or fifteen paces from the lead horse’s muzzle, with the crowds a good ways back, Juniper stopped. She held out her arms to stop Roddy, Toby, and Oona, too, shifting them slightly behind her. “You may approach!” she called loudly.

  Her heart hammered in her chest, but she kept her face as smooth as marble. By the goshawk, she was a princess and she was a queen! Drippy and disheveled, perhaps, but right now, she was all Torr had. She would not cower.

  She would be enough.

  The spindly man chuckled. “Oh, may I?” With a sort of shrug, he oozed off his horse, shook himself as though popping his limbs into shape, then stood tall.

  Very, very tall. Juniper suddenly found herself squinting into the late-day sun. The dirt-blasted Monsian was nearly twice her height!

  Still. Juniper ignored him and looked from side to side, refusing to be rushed. But her mind ran fast and furious. What information did she have? She skipped her gaze to the procession. Behind the five horses was a gilt carriage, clearly meant for the unnamed ruler who stood before her, when he tired of riding. A group of foot soldiers followed, all settling back into inattention. Behind them were several large sturdy wagons, one with iron-barred windows, and another glinting with wicked-looking iron contraptions.

  Egg’s assessment had been right: These Monsians were armed to the teeth. They did not appear to have come to mount an immediate attack—they were clearly allies of what they’d thought was Torr’s new ruler—but this was a suspiciously large weaponry for a talk among friends.

  Juniper didn’t like it one bit.

  Taking a deep breath, tilting her head so far back her neck ached—but oh, she would meet him eye to eye!—Juniper blew her words out with the force of a trumpet. “Delegates of Monsia, you are trespassing upon the sovereign land of Torr. You come here with your banners furled and your swords visible. Who are you, and what is your purpose here today? For I guarantee you that things have changed since you last walked this ground some weeks ago. The chief difference is this: You are no longer welcome.”

  27

  THE STICKLIKE MAN LISTENED TO JUNIPER IN silence. Then he bobbed his chin toward the stage. “Is that Malvinia Lefarge I see up there? You’ve taken her captive? You and your . . . little friends?”

  Juniper bristled. “I neglected to introduce myself, and my rough outfit may have led you astray. I am Crown Princess Juniper Torrence. Our King Regis was betrayed and usurped from his rightful throne. My army is retaking the castle as we speak, and will soon have set him free.” She paused. She hated to concede any uncertainty or weakness, but she had to know. “And you are . . . ?”

  “I thought you would never ask.” The man smiled ingratiatingly. “I am Garr, Scion of Monsia. Our country has lately come to an . . . agreement with Torr.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Juniper spat. “And you can see what I think of your agreement.”

  At this, the Scion burst out in a loud, long laugh. It didn’t sound evil or even particularly harsh. It mostly sounded baffled, like he genuinely had no idea what was going on or how the world had suddenly gone so strange. “Child,” he said at last, while Juniper’s neck steamed
inside the stupid collar of her stupid boys’ vest and shirt. “Child, what are you doing? You need to step aside and let the grown-ups figure out these thorny issues of state. All right? We’ll just dust all this under the carpet and never speak of it again. Now, do be good and let me talk with Malvinia Lefarge.”

  Behind Juniper, the crowds shifted uneasily. How, how, how could she get this man to take her seriously? Juniper was used to being overlooked, viewed as nothing more than a pretty princess, a decorative item to be swirled in lace and paraded around the palace. She’d never minded much before. Then again, she’d never before had so much at stake. And, if she was honest, the long weeks she’d spent ruling Queen’s Basin, and competing alongside the Anju, had done a lot to reshape her outlook on life.

  She saw herself differently now. She knew her own worth.

  And she was hanged if she would ever let herself be underestimated again.

  “Malvinia Lefarge is a traitor to Torr. She has been dealt with and will be judged in accordance with our laws.” With pleasure, Juniper heard the cold steel in her voice. She thrust a steady hand up toward the Glassroom, where a figure could easily be seen, standing with both hands on the glass, looking down at the proceedings. “Do you see what has become of my father, King Regis? He has been imprisoned by this villain. But I assure you that his liberation is imminent.”

  A loud crash came from inside the castle. With it, fainter but growing in volume, the clank of steel on steel and the mounting bellow of voices. Alta had found her opening! The Scion evidently heard it, too. He tilted his head in puzzlement.

  Juniper’s heartbeat quickened. “As you can hear for yourself, my people are freeing the captive Torrean army and retaking the castle. The traitors will be behind bars shortly, and then we shall see justice served.” She could only hope this was the case. But the sound of battle was heartening; the three insurgents hadn’t just been bumped off. Fighting meant that there were enough people free and alive to fight. And as Juniper herself had learned, the newly freed had an extra vigor for battle that was all their own. Desperation is a fiery thing, driving people to heights they’d otherwise think impossible.

  Now there was just one last thing needed to bring the whole thing together. Where, oh, where were the Anju? Paul had been gone for several days—how long could that journey take? She knew the Anju were fast runners. Surely they would be here soon. Surely.

  Behind her, the Scion made an impatient growl at the back of his throat. His forces might not have their weapons at the ready, but any time he set his mind to it, they could overpower Juniper’s supporters in mere minutes.

  No, they couldn’t wait any longer. Juniper would simply have to leap, and hope that solid ground would form itself beneath her feet.

  This was becoming a bit of a habit lately.

  In front of her, the Scion’s face had pinched shut. His bushy brows were drawn together in one unhappy caterpillar line. “I’m sure you are—” he began.

  Juniper leaped. “That’s not all. In the past weeks, I myself, Crown Princess Juniper of Torr, Ruler of the Dominion of Queen’s Basin and temporary Regent of Torr (until we free my father), have made contact with the reclusive Anju people.”

  There was an audible intake of breath—from the Scion, but also from his near guards, and those in her supporting crowd who were close enough to hear the exchange.

  “That’s right,” said Juniper, warming to her delivery. “Everything you have heard about these awe-inspiring people is true. For centuries they have kept to themselves, but no longer. For the Anju have now forged an alliance with Torr. The people of the Hourglass Mountains have pledged their help to our nation when we need it and when we should call on them for assistance.”

  The Scion barked out a churlish laugh. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe—”

  “The Anju kingdom is formed of dozens of tribes situated all through the Hourglass Mountains. Do you really want to pit yourself against an entire network of peoples?” Juniper raised her voice to a shout.

  And it was just then, at this most delicious and pertinent of moments—though, in Juniper’s opinion, having stalled this speech as long as she could, the moment would have been welcome a good quarter of an hour ago, at least—that a great bluster of wind whipped through the square.

  Someone in the crowd thrust a finger toward the sky and screamed. Others whipped their cloaks around their heads. Still more dropped flat on the ground. The Scion’s head craned back, his eyes bulging, tracking the great copper monstrosity that now circled in the sky above the Small Gardens. For Juniper and her friends, the creature was a familiar, even welcome sight. But she knew what this looked like to the rest of the onlookers: a giant draco, airborne, long of teeth and terrible of claw, a creature never before seen in living memory.

  From the great fiery draco’s mouth came a burst of white-blue flame, which hit the fountain squarely in its basin, boiling the water to a cloud of scalding steam. On the draco’s back, a figure could clearly be seen, riding with legs astride and lifting arms overhead in a fierce shout.

  The Anju had arrived.

  28

  EVEN BEING FAMILIARLY ACQUAINTED WITH the fiery draco known as Floris—more than acquainted; Juniper had ridden that glorious beast herself on one memorable afternoon—even so, the display of firepower was impressive. Very few of those watching knew how tame and friendly the draco actually was. (Juniper knew it was no accident that the blast of flame had gone into the pool of water.) As the enormous wings beat closer, Juniper saw that riding on Floris’s back was Zetta, her former rival and now the ruler of the Anju people. To Juniper’s astonishment, a second head peered from behind Zetta’s back. This showed a fairly green face, and now that Juniper looked, she could see arms like iron bands clamped to Zetta’s waist.

  It looked like Paul was getting the ride of his life!

  Juniper swallowed a grin and turned back to the quavering Scion. It was time to raise her showmanship to its highest level. Floris had upped the game.

  “NOW!” Juniper bellowed, directing her words not just to the Scion, but to the entire Monsian army, to the trussed-up Mantis and her captive guards, even to the crowds of Torrean onlookers on the edges of the gardens—so that all would hear and know. “Representatives of the kingdom of Monsia, now do you see and believe?! Do you really want to align yourself not only against Torr, but against the combined forces of the greatest mass of people in the Lower Continent? And their most deadly firepower?”

  The Scion cleared his throat. He swallowed convulsively, but still seemed to be having trouble forming words. Finally he sputtered, “We need not be too hasty, after all. Monsia is a neutral country. We have kept out of such skirmishes—”

  “You have done no such thing!” Juniper thundered. “Your help made this invasion possible. Your armies battered our gates and enacted this takeover. And now you enter our land with your horsemen and your foot soldiers and your wagons heavy with arms.”

  A patter of hoofbeats rippled through the line of Monsians as a page on a wiry pony jogged up to the front. He was panting loudly, and Juniper could just make out his words as he addressed the Scion. “Sire, there is a whole column of warriors making their way down the Highway—a hundred, maybe more. They have a strange sort of weaponry and look fierce as can be. They are moving at a steady run and will be at the gates in under a day. I came to tell you right away.”

  Juniper nodded in satisfaction. Zetta had delivered on her promise: The rest of the Anju were on the move.

  The Scion of Monsia looked again at the circling Floris. Then he studied Juniper as though seeing her for the first time. “Your Highness Princess Juniper,” he said at last. “Will you walk with me? I believe we have much to discuss, you and I.”

  Juniper looked him squarely in the face. What she really wanted to do right now was drop everything and go and free her father. But she knew better than to leave th
e Scion alone; their agreement was not quite so assured yet that she felt comfortable turning her back on it. Plus, she hadn’t gotten the all clear from Alta; the palace wasn’t fully freed yet.

  “Very well,” she said. She narrowed her eyes at the Scion. “I will make time for a short dialogue. But first you shall remove all weapons from your person. And your entire army will leave the grounds of Torr Castle immediately!”

  • • •

  As they walked the ornamental maze, through the sculpted hedgerows and around twisting corners, the Scion of Monsia assured Juniper over and over that he’d had no ill intentions in reentering Torr—that he had done so only on the invitation of Malvinia, then-ruler that he assumed she was. The pileup of weaponry in those wagons made Juniper doubt this, but she let him carry on with his story. The Scion went on to tell the same backstory that their group had pieced together days before—along with a few missing pieces of his own. He confirmed that Malvinia Lefarge had her distant roots in Monsian nobility, though her family had married into Torrean society many generations back, before the divide between the two nations. Since discovering her many-times-great-grandmother’s unused Golden Bequest twelve years before, Malvinia had begun scheming for the throne of Torr. Rupert Lefarge had been a mere stepping-stone in that plan right from the start—a morose widower with a young son, but with good blood and connections, and well placed within the palace. Marrying him had been the perfect key to advancing her plan.

  “But these Golden Bequests,” Juniper said, “they can’t be very common, can they?”

  “It is, essentially, one limitless gift from the throne of Monsia,” the Scion said. “The bearer may ask for anything within the power of Monsia to give. Thus, ‘not common’ is an understatement. A Golden Bequest has been issued perhaps a half dozen times over our entire history.”

  Juniper whistled low. “That’s something!”

  “Indeed. It is more a thing of legend than of fact.” He smiled thinly. “Much like your winged monster out there.”