Juniper did see, though she felt her heart plummet down to her rib cage. “When, then?” she croaked.
“Go through the Trials. Prevail. Let them see what you are made of, my blood.”
Juniper’s head swam. A cluster-welter of words scrabbled inside her, all wanting out at once, leaving her tongue-tied and awkward. “Is there . . . anyone else? Of my family, here in the village?”
Odessa’s eyebrows knit in confusion.
“You know—aunts, uncles, cousins . . .”
“Ah. No, I’m afraid not. Your mother was an only child, and her father passed on many years ago, may the wind take his ashes. You are . . . I suppose you are the last of our proud line.” Her breath came out in a rush. “Which is why I mustn’t, I can’t, lose you now. Girl, you were meant to come here, to be here at this time. It was clear to me from the moment I saw you back in that clearing and realized who you were.”
Juniper had no reply to this.
“Afterward,” Odessa said, “when all of this is over, we shall have a long talk. Many of them. For of a certainty we have much time to make up. But for now—you must go with the other candidates. No more delays.”
“All right.” What more could she say? Time, she hoped, would help her process this bright new world and the freshly discovered grandmother it now contained.
Odessa’s grasp tightened on her arm, a squeeze that was warm and sure. Then she gave a brisk nod and started to turn away, and Juniper dropped back into the present: the Anju, the Trials, Alta and the others. “One more thing,” she said quickly. “Can I have a moment with my group before going to our quarters? This all came about most unexpectedly, after all . . . We just need to sort out a few things.”
Odessa looked sympathetic, as though she felt responsible for getting Juniper into this. Which she partly was, in point of fact. “You may speak with your friends, but do so in haste,” she said gently, then lowered her voice. “Once again, we cannot afford any room for misinterpretation. Your challenge already lies rather delicately upon the group.”
Juniper nodded and rushed over to where the others had been standing off to the side, watching her exchange but apparently not wanting to intrude.
“Oh, Mistress Juniper!” Tippy gasped. “The pride of you, bursting into that fiery circle all aglow! I nearly fainted dead away, just to behold . . .” She, at least, seemed to have no complaints about Juniper’s rash change of plans.
Alta sideswiped Tippy on the shoulder, and the little girl swallowed her final words. Juniper could spare only a quick smile; then she was all business.
“I know this is unexpected,” she said, “and I am aware that you might consider this my worst decision to date.”
“Which is saying something,” said Cyril dryly.
Juniper ignored him. “Yet I’m sure you can also see all the reasons why I had to do it.”
“We support you, Miss Juniper,” said Alta wearily, in a tone that didn’t quite match her words. “Only, what will those back in the Basin think? We were to be gone mere hours, and now ’tis a day and a night gone by. And you’re staying away even longer to boot. Cyril, too,” she said, as an afterthought.
“You’ve got to return to the Basin, Alta, just as we planned,” said Juniper. “You and Tippy both. Tell Erick and the others what’s going on and have the group start getting ready for our trip to Torr upon my return. Bring the horses with you and deliver the spy cat to Jess. Help her out in any way she needs with her messages to the palace. You heard the time frame here? Three days of preparation, then three days for the Trials. It shall be over in no time at all. If all goes well, we shall be ready to move out within a week’s time, and with a full tribe of warriors at our back.”
Alta frowned. “How can you be so sure it will go as you hope?”
“I am sure of nothing,” said Juniper. “But it’s my job as ruler to prepare for success, and then to handle what does come to the best of my ability. That is what I will do.” She softened her tone. “The fact is, we must return to Torr, and the sooner the better. Don’t you see? The fate of the whole kingdom rests in our hands alone. If it must be that fourteen youths form the whole of that resisting force, then we shall seek out a plan to make the most of that narrow advantage. But if I have my way, we shall meet that venture with the strength of a half-dozen tribes or more. And then we shall show Monsia that we are a force to be reckoned with.”
Alta nodded, while Cyril preened nearby. That was as much agreement as she would get from him, Juniper knew. Tippy shadowboxed across the grass, evidently rehearsing for her imagined role in the battle to come.
“We’ll keep in touch somehow,” Alta said, and Juniper relaxed to hear the resentment ease out of her tone. “We must! Maybe Erick could find a way for your father’s messenger to deliver you messages from us at the Basin? After it’s back from the palace, that is.”
“Perhaps,” said Juniper. She wasn’t sure if that could actually work, but they did need to find a way to communicate. The more important thing right now was that Alta was fully in agreement with her at last. “Your support means everything to me, truly it does! With luck and guts on our side, the outcome will not take long.”
“And will go in your favor,” Cyril observed. They turned to look at him, and his mouth puckered. “What? What did I say?”
Alta looked at Juniper, then said bluntly, “Is it quite safe leaving you alone with him, Juniper? Not many days ago, he was locking you in a moldy prison cell.”
Juniper met her cousin’s gaze squarely. “I fancy that Cyril thinks he has the upper hand now . . . maybe even thinks he can pull some kind of a fast getaway if the moment is right. But he’s not as smart as he thinks he is.”
Cyril frowned.
“I noticed that discomfort—dare I say, fear—that you showed upon our first meeting with the Anju. And I thought to myself, What could give a big, strapping boy like Cyril the shivers when it comes to this reclusive mountain tribe? I may not be Academy-tutored, but lucky for us all, I pay attention in my lessons. And Political Discourse is one class my father never let me skip. You know where I’m headed, don’t you, Cyril?”
Cyril’s cheeks had paled by several shades, and he swallowed audibly. He didn’t reply, though.
Juniper went on. “Here’s what I remember from my historical studies: The Anju didn’t always live scattered throughout the Hourglass Mountains. Long ago, they traveled up and down the Lower Continent’s western coast. The Horn of An, does that sound familiar? It’s what the Anju claim as their point of origin. Of course, once Monsia took over, there was no question of sharing the territory or coexisting. This was all centuries and centuries ago, but it’s my understanding that among the Anju, the hatred for Monsia runs extremely deep. Wasn’t that the main purpose of my mother’s group venturing down from the mountains to parley with the King of Torr, trying to negotiate a partnership? Joining forces to present a unified face to the Monsians.” Juniper nodded, though the others already had her full attention.
“I know the Anju are peaceful and shy away from confrontation; that’s the whole reason I even need to go about gaining control to enlist their help. But they also don’t seem the type of people to pass up the opportunity for revenge, should it land in their laps. Perhaps in the form of a dyed-in-the-wool Monsian spy?”
Tippy clapped her hands in dawning realization. “You mean to expose Cyril and hand him over to the Anju if he steps out of line!”
“I certainly do,” Juniper replied. “I wonder how they might respond to that . . . a curious conundrum, wouldn’t you say? What do you say, Cyril?”
Cyril made one last attempt at bluster. “I was the one who offered to be your second, don’t forget. You need me more than—”
Juniper raised a finger. “You shall certainly be of help. But don’t for one instant forget who is in charge. And if you even think about running off on me, trying to
escape to the lowlands with further betrayal in mind, remember that the Anju know these mountains like the back side of a branch. You wouldn’t get sixteen paces before being hunted down and dragged right back.”
And how would my grandmother react to hearing how you tried to take over my throne and locked me up in a prison-cave? she thought, with a silent smile. It was quite a pleasing thing, the idea of having blood relatives at your back.
“So maybe I was thinking some of those thoughts when I signed on as your second,” Cyril snapped. “What of it? I’d expect no less from you if our positions were reversed.”
“They’re not, though, are they? I think you and I can get along famously, Cyril, as long as you can respect these boundaries and banish from your mind any thoughts of a double-cross. Now, what do you say?”
Cyril slumped, then gave a shrug. “It’s not in my interest for you to win their challenge, though, is it? If your goal is to get their help in fighting Monsia, why should I be any part of that?”
“You should be—you will be part of that because, deep down, your first interest is your own health and self-preservation. If I lose the challenge because of your efforts, what do you suppose is the first thing I’ll do?”
Cyril’s mouth twisted in acknowledgment. “I still don’t see any real benefit in helping you win.”
“You make a valid point,” Juniper said. She pondered a moment. “Very well, then. Help me win this challenge—throw your lot fully on my side in every way. And if I win, I give my word that I will set you free to leave our company and go as you please.”
Alta’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and Tippy let out a gasp of horror. But Juniper kept her focus on Cyril. Surely gaining the rule of the Anju people was more than worth the loss of one traitorous noble. “What do you say, cousin?”
Cyril held out his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Let’s take these Anju down a peg or six.”
13
EACH CANDIDATE WAS PROVIDED WITH A pouch of food, two horns of water, a pair of flint stones for starting a fire, two wool blankets, and an expandable oilskin frame that could be erected into a makeshift shelter. They could bring whatever other objects of their own that they deemed needful, but only what they could carry on their person. Juniper had her journal and charcoal stylus, her trusty bone-handled comb tucked up the hidden pocket in her sleeve, as well as the valuable tome, Mountain Ranges of the Lower Continent (which she had been studying with a fierceness that would have made Erick proud). Beyond this, Juniper and Cyril had little of use in their carry-bags; she could only hope what they had would be enough.
The quarters set up for the four candidates and their seconds were a series of small rooms clustered around a high-ceilinged common area inside a giant fallen dropsy tree. The heart of the tree had been hollowed in a silky, natural-looking finish reminiscent of Juniper’s cozy bedroom back in the heart of the Great Tree—only on a much bigger scale. With a pang, she realized how she’d come to think of Queen’s Basin as home, and how much she missed it.
Juniper and Cyril spent the next three days resting, exercising, and preparing as best they could for the Trials to come. From time to time, Juniper glimpsed Odessa across the clearing or on a nearby tree-porch, and the pull was so strong, she had to wrap her arms tightly around her middle to keep from chasing her grandmother down on the spot. To be so close, and yet so far removed . . . it was the purest form of torture.
Once the Trials are over, she told herself over and over, there will be time then. Time aplenty.
It wasn’t nearly enough, but for now, it had to do.
For the most part, they avoided the other competitors across the narrow passageways of their shelter. Juniper peppered Cyril with endless questions and found him to be a fount of knowledge about Anju history and culture, which she soaked up like a thirsty plant under a new watering pot. Unfortunately, Cyril knew nothing about the Trials themselves. Grudgingly, Zetta admitted during one of their more cordial exchanges over an evening meal that the other candidates were not much the wiser.
“Nor would we speak of it if we knew,” she said. “It’s a sacred tradition, and the details of the quest are bestowed in confidence at the start of each cycle, from chief to candidates. Because Chief Darla is not here to share the terms with us, as would ordinarily happen, we will hear them from Mother Odessa instead. But to talk of it among others, to scavenge and scrounge for information is simply not done!” She glowered, but Juniper met her gaze levelly.
“I understand, and I will respect your traditions fully. They’re my traditions now, as well.” She paused. “Look, I’m not here to be your enemy, Zetta. I just—why shouldn’t we all be as one? Why do there have to be so many dividing lines: people and tribes and borders?”
Zetta looked at her stonily. “I don’t know why there have to be. But the fact is, there are. And you trying to take over as ruler of my people will not change that in the least.”
“They’re my people as well as yours, you know,” Juniper snapped. Then she felt a touch on her arm—Cyril, of all people, checking her temper. The world was tipped completely on its head!
“All I know is this,” said Zetta. “It must be very easy to sit on your side of the line, looking longingly at my tribe and wanting them as part of one big happy group—your group. I wonder if you would think the same if such an invitation came your way from a different direction—oh, from Monsia, say?”
To this, Juniper had no reply.
• • •
Despite such minor upsets, the three days passed quickly enough. On the last night before the Trials, Juniper tossed sleepless on her pallet bed, wondering if she was prepared enough. So much rested upon this contest—perhaps even the fate of all Torr! Once again she saw her father’s face as she’d seen him for the last time: his hug, his grave look as he wished her safety and godspeed, the shine in his eyes like his very heart was tearing loose from his body. Had he really looked like that? Or was she just projecting her own terrible longing upon that memory?
Oh, Papa! she thought. I will see you again, and soon.
She had to win the chieftaincy of the Anju. She just had to.
To clear her head, she walked out into the dark, cool night. She meant to take several turns around their dwelling, to stretch out her legs, which were cramped from the day’s bout of calisthenics. Instead, she’d barely cleared the doorway when a nearby bush began to judder violently, then expelled a roly-poly girl with ragamuffin hair.
“Oh, Your Perfectly Timed Majesty!” Tippy exclaimed, catapulting across the open space and into Juniper’s arms. “Hours and hours I’ve been haunting this spot, only hoping your royal self should venture out one last time before the big day!”
Juniper’s heart warmed at the words; she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed Tippy’s madcap exuberance. Being cooped up with only Cyril and six Anju rivals for company had sorely chapped her soul. Hugging the little girl tight, Juniper said, “What brings you back here so soon? And where is Alta?”
“Why, she’s back home, with the rest!” said Tippy, puffing up like a proud bullfrog. “I knew I could make the trip and I did—bridge-crossing and all. Here I am, ain’t I? Alive and in one piece.”
“They let you make that whole trip alone?” said Juniper, aghast.
Tippy cut her eyes to the side. “Not let me, exactly. They might not have noticed when I crept off all sneaky-like. They were plotting a proper long expedition, only they weren’t sure how it should best work, and so I . . . you know. But never mind that. I left them a letter, so they shouldn’t worry. And here I am now, but I mustn’t talk long. The Elders said I could await you, but only through nightfall. For then your focus must be all upon the Trials, and I should be a distraction. So they said, anyway.”
Juniper nodded; she’d heard from Zetta that mingling with non-contestants during the Trials was frowned upon, if not actually forbidden.
Tippy brightened. “That’s why it’s peachy you come out now, see? For I can jabber my mouth on all I like, just so as I’m off before sunrise.”
Juniper squinted at the muddy skyline, but Tippy was fumbling in her bag. “Only it may be I haven’t many words for you after all. Here’s what I’ve truly come to deliver. A letter from Erick!” Triumphantly, she thrust a rolled parchment into Juniper’s hand. “Those back home are well, awaiting with eagerness word of your victory to come.” Tippy looked from side to side, as though the victory might be hiding in the bushes.
“Hush, you goose! Who knows how the Trials shall go? But thank you for this. I shall take it inside and read where there’s some light to see by. Can you wait while I do so and then while I write a quick reply to take back?”
In reply Tippy lifted her skirts, and Juniper saw a gray, furry lump twining around her ankles. “Jess’s cat!” she whispered.
“Fleeter,” Tippy agreed. “He’s gotten even prettier these last few days, imagine that.”
Juniper couldn’t imagine it, in point of fact. “What’s he doing here?”
Tippy puffed out her chest. “I’m trying out a ’speriment. Jess says he’s trained to carry messages just as quick as a flick. He’s fleet of foot, get it? Fleeter? Only he needs to travel the path first, so he knows where to go. Then he can be let loose and is just as speedy and trusty as can be. So I’ve brought the handsome and clever Fleeter here along with my message, and if all goes well, he shall be the one to deliver our responses up ahead. So we can write each other freely back and forth while you’re about the Trials, see?”
To Juniper, this idea seemed optimistic at best, but she didn’t bother arguing. “Will you come in, then, while I pen a return message?”
Tippy shook her head. “You go on. I’ll just dally out here in the fresh air.”
Juniper nodded, her mind already in Queen’s Basin, and ducked back inside. With eager fingers, she cracked the pitchstones together and lit the fat beeswax candle that sat on the common room table. By the winking light, she read:
Princess Juniper of the Anju Page 11
