Princess Juniper of Torr

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  Juniper was not letting her subject go yet. “So the Mant—that is, Malvinia—cashed in her Golden Bequest, and she asked for the throne of Torr?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Clearly, the throne of Torr was not in my power to give. But what she demanded was the fighting force to bring invasion to these walls. And you must know that she and Lefarge enacted their own betrayal, causing the gates to be opened to allow our entry. We ourselves had no wish to set soldiers on Torrean soil, believe me.”

  “So this one woman and her Bequest twisted your arm, that’s what you’re saying? Forced the Monsian crown into action against its will?”

  The Scion shifted uncomfortably. “She did go, er, public with her Bequest. She spread the word far and wide. The crown had no choice but to act, or risk losing all face and credibility among the people.”

  “You’re saying you had no excuse but to attack Torr.”

  “Monsia did not attack Torr! Far from it. We would never dream of provoking our near neighbors in this fashion.” He looked so piously righteous that Juniper almost laughed.

  “You are really saying that you see a difference between going to beat somebody up because you want their dinner, and sneaking into their house with a big stick to stand there and force them to give their dinner to somebody else?” Juniper thought that was a pretty nifty analogy, but the Scion was unmoved.

  “I do not expect you to understand, young as you are, but when it comes to a Golden Bequest, this monarch’s hands are truly tied. Nevertheless, our agreement ended the moment Malvinia Lefarge claimed the throne. I give you my word, Princess Juniper: Monsia bears no ill will against Torr. It is true that our countries have drifted apart in recent generations. Yet we wish no enmity with you. And we would never willingly raise arms against your people.”

  “You did, though,” Juniper said pointedly.

  “If you cannot see that the Monsian throne was honor-bound to do so, even to our own hurt, then you are less astute than I thought,” the Scion retorted. “Be that as it may, even without the introduction of the Anju into the field, as I said: Monsia bears no grudge against Torr. We came here on the express invitation of Malvinia Lefarge. You can see that I brought no army—this guard was for basic protection only.”

  Juniper didn’t believe him for a second. She could, however, take his current position at face value. His odious soldiers were now safely outside the walls, and before the sun set would be scooting back to their country with their collective tail between their collective legs. The Mantis had been subdued. The full Anju army was on the way. The loyal palace guard had been freed (or Juniper hoped they had; the noise of battle had grown noticeably quieter).

  And now, at long last, they would be able to free her father.

  “My father will wish to speak with you, I am certain,” she said at last. She thought a moment, then gave a crisp nod. “Scion Garr of Monsia, I accept your assurances of a renewed peace between us. So long as the entirety of your forces remains outside of the gates, I shall allow you—and only you—to enter the palace and make yourself comfortable while awaiting my father’s pleasure.”

  “Assuming the palace has been retaken,” said the Scion, with a glint in his eye.

  Juniper bristled. “Yes,” she snapped. “And I’d best be off to see to that, hadn’t I?”

  • • •

  When Juniper emerged from the maze, she saw that Floris had landed directly in front of the fountain. Unsurprisingly, there was a large clear space around him, though the number of gawking townspeople had tripled since Juniper had left. Word of the novelty was spreading.

  “Juniper! There you are,” said Alta, running up. Her hair was disheveled, and she had a streak of mud across her nose, but her eyes were bright and blazing.

  “How did things go back in the palace?” Juniper asked.

  “Smashingly,” said Alta. “It took us some time to bypass the guards, but finally Root caused a distraction and we got in. Dropped a bag of hazelnuts—wouldn’t you know it? The darn things went everywhere, people were sliding all over the place, with no idea how or why. Those blasted things blend right in to the stone, so you can’t see them for a wink till they’re underfoot and then it’s nose in the air, and splat. Once we got the first few cells open, we had enough forces to retake the whole palace in record time. The traitors gave themselves up almost immediately—nobody wanted to be on the wrong side if the king was back in power.”

  “And my father?”

  “He’s still up in the Glassroom. We’ve just removed the guards down below, and I thought you might want to—be the one to, you know.”

  “I sure do,” said Juniper. She looked across the grounds to where the tall greenhouse-turned-prison glowed gently in the waning light. Climbing those stairs would take a long time, and getting back down even longer. Her father had to be weak from his captivity. Juniper’s eyes shifted. She caught the eye of Zetta, who stood guard over her friend and prize.

  Floris?

  Zetta nodded ever so slightly.

  Floris.

  29

  JUNIPER’S SECOND FLIGHT ON FLORIS LACKED the breathless unexpectedness of the first, but was no less thrilling for that. Zetta climbed on first and lowered a hand to pull Juniper up after. Floris’s broad back had plenty of space, so Juniper called Erick up at the last moment.

  Her friend’s eyes widened. “Me?” he asked, with the clear expression of one who is so used to experiencing his adventures within the pages of a book that he can’t quite reconcile meeting one in real life.

  “You,” Juniper confirmed. “Come on! My father is waiting.”

  Then they were on, the great beast spread his wings, and off they gusted on the back of the winds. In the buffeting airstream, Juniper thought the small Glassroom—barely the size of Floris himself—looked impossibly precarious, like the head of a tall sunflower overlooking the castle grounds.

  “How—are we going—to get—from here in there?” Erick said in her ear. His hands were iron bands around her waist, and she could feel his shoulders quivering behind her. She had been no better on her first ride and, truthfully, was just barely keeping herself together on this one. Still, she squeezed his hand as reassuringly as she could.

  “Have no fear,” Zetta yelled from the front. “We’ve got a trick or two, Floris and I.”

  As they approached the Glassroom, Juniper’s heartbeat quickened. Through the crystal walls, a shape could be clearly seen—a comfortingly stout body, a head topped with gray, a face all lines and creases, eyes now wide with shock and concern.

  “PAPA!” Juniper screamed. And then he looked past the mass of draco flesh and he saw her.

  His face lit up.

  Zetta scooted Floris up next to the little platform at the top of the climbing ladder. Juniper hopped off, with Erick behind her, while Zetta took off to circle Floris and prepare him for the return trip.

  Juniper flung herself at the Glassroom door . . . and nearly bounced right back off. They kept it locked? When it was this high up and this well guarded? Juniper was well past the time for thinking clear thoughts. But she didn’t have to, for Erick snagged a key from a peg on the outside of the landing and slid it into the lock.

  The king had been watching all of this with raised eyebrows. When Erick pushed the door open, Juniper burst through it, and the next moment she was in her father’s arms. They clung together, and she buried her face in his shoulder so he wouldn’t see how the tears poured from her eyes. After so long, to hold him, to feel his comforting warmth! He was thinner than she remembered, but everything else about him was familiar and just right.

  He was safe. All was well.

  “Junebug, my darling girl! What the goshawk are you doing here?” her father said at last. Then he peered behind her out the glass. “And what in the name of everything is that beast?”

  Juniper leaned back and brushed
her eyes with her hand. “There’s so much to tell you, Papa! But the important thing is that everything’s under control now. Torr is safe. We’ve come to rescue you. There’ll be treaties to ratify now with the Anju and with the Monsians. And a bunch of traitors to put on trial. You’re needed.”

  Regis looked flummoxed. “What—how—” Then he smiled. “Ah, my Junie. You’ve been keeping busy in my absence, haven’t you?”

  Juniper grinned. “As always! And I didn’t even need a schedule to do it.” She tilted her chin toward the blue flower wreath. “I see you got my message, too. And I got yours.”

  “Nearly chipped a tooth on that meatloaf ‘message,’” he quipped. He pulled the stone out and slid it into her hand. “But yes, I knew right away it had to be from you. Caused me more than a few sleepless nights, I’ll tell you. I’d thought you were safe in the Basin!”

  “I know you told us to stay there,” said Juniper, squeezing the stone tightly and tucking it into her pocket. “But we had to come back. You see that, don’t you? We couldn’t let the bad guys win. We had to come back and try to help.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with your results.” Her father leaned back, holding her at arm’s length. “You even look a little different. I can’t quite put my finger on what the change is, but I could swear there’s something . . .” He waved a hand at her vaguely.

  Juniper laughed out loud. People she’d known for years couldn’t recognize her through her disguise, and her absentminded father couldn’t figure out what had changed? “Never mind, Papa,” she said. “I haven’t changed in any way that matters. Not on the outside at least.”

  She grabbed him for another tight hug and wished she never had to let go. “Oh, the stories I have to tell! I can’t wait to explain everything from start to finish. And there’s ever so much still to do—all those historical treasures of Torr? They’re still up in the mountains. We’ll have to make a trip back to get them, wouldn’t you say? And when we get there . . . Oh, I don’t properly know where to begin catching you up!”

  There was a tap on the window: Zetta, tossing a pebble to get their attention.

  Juniper quirked her lips. “I guess now’s not the time for it. Let’s get you out of this cell, shall we?”

  Right on cue, Floris pulled up outside the front glass. Erick opened the door. They stepped out into the whipping wind.

  • • •

  And so it was that King Regis made his debut ride on the back of the fiery draco, with his daughter close at hand and Zetta of the Anju as their guide. Erick graciously offered to make his own way down the long climbing staircase, not wanting to overtax Floris (and perhaps having also had enough nonbookish excitement for one day).

  The first command King Regis gave when he reached solid ground was to raise the Torrean flag back to its proper place, unfurling it from the highest rampart of the castle. The flag of Monsia was brought down at the same time, of course, which the palace guards did with great distaste. Even the Scion of Monsia looked embarrassed when the wilted flag was returned to his care.

  Hostile takeovers could be so awkward!

  From there, King Regis and the Scion of Monsia held a brief but cordial exchange—a historic moment, to be sure; the first time the two rulers of these archenemy nations had been in one room since time out of mind. Then everyone retired to their chambers for the night—the moon being already high in the sky and the midnight hour not far off. There would be plenty of time on the morrow, the king declared, to think about treaties and trials and the like.

  • • •

  Malvinia Lefarge was locked away in the dungeons, under strictest guard. It was whispered around that her greatest regret was not having held the coronation ceremony at the start of Summerfest, so that she could have felt what it was to wear a queen’s crown, even for a day. Rupert Lefarge had regained full consciousness and was now under guard in his chambers, until he was restored to full health. Malvinia’s double-cross notwithstanding, Lefarge was fully responsible for his own betrayal, and Juniper knew he would have to pay the price. Her heart ached for Cyril, but at least his own change of heart and role in winning back the kingdom had caused the king to issue him a full pardon.

  Rogett Ceward and Jessamyn had made a clean getaway; an eyewitness had seen them legging it north on horseback as fast as they could go. Let them, Juniper thought, and good riddance. They hadn’t done anything illegal, not really (unfortunately, being a backstabbing coward was not against the law), but she had a feeling it would be a long time before they showed their faces in these parts.

  Egg was offered a permanent place at the palace, if she desired it. Torr could do with its own in-house spymaster, the king proclaimed. “And I could do with having such a loyal friend near to hand,” Juniper said. Remembering the sign Jess had taught her back at the start of their adventure, she brought her flat hand to her mouth and then ducked it down and out. Thank you.

  Egg’s eyes opened wide, and she grinned. She hooked her two index fingers together and twisted them. “Friend,” she said aloud.

  Juniper copied the sign. “I’ve got a whole lot to learn,” she said. “I hope you’ll be around to teach me.” As Egg swept her into a big hug, Juniper knew her friend wasn’t going anywhere soon.

  Meanwhile, the dungeons were absolutely packed with the traitorous palace staff and soldiers, who had been stripped of all titles and responsibilities.

  “We’ll go easy on them,” the king confided to Juniper as they sat on the couch in his outer chambers (which had been promptly cleared of anything Mantis-related). Two days had passed since his release from the Glassroom, and Juniper thought her father looked nearly as good as new. “After all, they had a pretty dire choice, with families to care for and doubtless fearing for their lives. But a couple nights in the cells will give them time for reflection, and hopefully provoke greater loyalty if it comes to such a choice again.”

  Juniper shuddered. “May it never.”

  “Junie,” her father said, turning to grab both his hands in hers, “I haven’t properly thanked you. How did you do all this, my girl? You saved our whole country—do you know that?”

  Juniper grinned. “Don’t worry about that, Papa dear. Honestly? It was kind of fun. And I didn’t do it alone. I had the best band of friends and country folks you could imagine. We’re Queen’s Basin, don’t you know?”

  King Regis laughed. “I do know. Best edict I ever made, that one. Queen’s Basin is a country worth its salt, and I mean it.” He squeezed her hand tight, then held it up for a closer examination. “Look what it’s done to you, though!”

  Juniper looked. These weren’t the soft, manicured hands of the cossetted princess who’d set out from Torr at the beginning of the summer. These hands had hard calluses from lugging paving stones across the Basin, scratches from forging rough territory during the Anju Trials, even a bruise or two from her fall when Jess drugged her in the dungeons. Juniper would not have traded those marred, ruined hands for any others in the world. “Every scar tells a story,” she said. “And every one of them was worth it.”

  “How well I know it,” her father mused.

  “You have your own history with the Basin, I know.”

  “That I do.” He sighed deeply as, in the adjoining chamber, the court musicians launched into a haunting rendition of Belle and the Moon.

  • • •

  The remainder of the Anju arrived at dawn the next day. Zetta had preceded them, flying as she had on Floris (and none too soon, either; Juniper shuddered to think what could have come of her delay), but had flown back out to join them for their grand entrance.

  When the gates swung open with the sun, there they all were: Zetta standing tall and proud as their new young leader; Mother Odessa wearing—oh!—wearing Juniper’s old cloak, which she had left on her last visit; tall and obnoxious Kohr, still standing stiffly at guard; even their former fellow co
mpetitors Libba and Tania (the latter of whom was sending significant looks Cyril’s way, Juniper noted with interest).

  As the Anju entered the gates, Torr’s official welcome party awaited them: King Regis in his full royal regalia, with Juniper at his side in her mother’s white cloak. Various nobles were present, as well as the Scion of Monsia, and of course the enthusiastic Queen’s Basin crowd.

  As the gates clanged shut against their stone buttresses, there was a moment’s pause, a moment that hung like an ocean between the two separate groups. The history between Torr and the Anju was deep and personal. For an instant, it almost looked like that distance might be too wide to bridge.

  Then King Regis swallowed and took three strong steps into the space between them. “Zetta of the Anju,” he said, “I welcome you officially, and your people. You are my guests in the palace and in Torr.”

  “It is my pleasure to accept your hospitality,” said Zetta, inclining her head, “for myself and my people.” She lifted a hand, and three muscled men stepped forward, each carrying a large bundle, which they set down in front of the king. One contained masses of twinkling sweetcrystal, another overflowed with lustrous chamoix pelts, and the third contained a tall stack of the heat-conducting stone that was so common in the Hourglass Mountains.

  Zetta continued, “Please accept these gifts as tokens of our friendship. Our people are known for being reclusive, but we wish to change this. Let this meeting launch a new time of cooperation between the Anju and Torr. Certainly our particular distance has personal roots; we hope that all will see their way to a reconciliation.”

  Her gaze went to Odessa, who stood straight-backed at her side. The king turned to stare long into Odessa’s wizened, lined face. Something indescribable passed between the two, and Juniper thought of all the history they shared—anger and betrayal and silence and death, but most of all, love for the same woman: the king’s wife and Odessa’s daughter. Juniper’s mother.