She took a deep breath, straightened, and gathered up the cloth and twine. She tied the bundle tightly back together, hiding those laughing faces from all the danger and uncertainty that was to come, tucking them away safely in their alcove where, she hoped, they would survive whatever lay ahead.
• • •
Only minutes later, things already weren’t going Juniper’s way.
“What do you mean, we can’t tell them?” said Erick. “Everyone here has family and friends back home. We can’t keep this news back. This isn’t like that little smoke cloud we saw the other day. This is big.”
“Don’t you see?” Juniper said, exasperated. “That’s why we can’t tell them. Think about it for a minute. Say we do that—gather everyone together, break the news. ‘The palace has fallen!’ Or wait—‘We think the palace has fallen; we don’t know for sure, but it looks that way.’ What happens next?”
Erick was silent.
“That’s right,” Juniper continued as though he had answered. “Chaos. Everyone starts crying, and yelling, and worrying—and most of all? Leaving. Running off back to Torr in a panic, when that’s exactly what we’re not supposed to do. We’re supposed to stay here. That’s what my father told us—what the king charged us to do.”
Erick was shaking his head.
“I’m the queen,” she insisted, “and it’s my responsibility to protect my subjects from things that are too hard for them to take. We can’t act—can’t do a thing—until we know exactly what’s going on back home. And that’s information we just don’t have yet. You see, don’t you? Why we can’t say anything?”
Erick shrugged. “It’s the principle of the thing, it seems to me.”
“Sometimes telling the whole truth makes things worse, not better. That’s how it is to be a ruler. Sometimes you’ve got to make tough choices.”
“Like how you told everyone I was only thirteen before we left?” he asked quietly. “You’ve always got some good reason, Juniper. But in the end, the truth’s the truth.”
Juniper steamed. She had to keep this letter quiet. Look at how worked up everyone was already about the new smoke sighting! How would they react if they heard the palace was in danger? She wished Erick could see this and be more of a support. She put her hands on her hips. “Anyway, I’m in charge here. I get to decide what’s best for my people, and that includes you.” She paused, then whispered, “You know I’m right about this.”
“You’re not right,” he said at last. “But you are the queen, and I’m going to do what you say. We’ll need to get everyone together right away and tell them about delaying the trip. They’re all expecting to head home next week. This changes things.”
Juniper slumped. “I know it does. I guess we’ll do that first thing tomorrow. They’re not going to be happy, are they?”
There was no need to answer that question. They turned in silence and started out of the cave.
“There’s something else,” Erick said after a minute. “I forgot about it with everything else going on, but I meant to tell you. It’s about Cyril.”
Juniper’s feet almost slid out from under her as she hit a patch of gravel. She caught herself against the rock face and moved more carefully on the downward path toward the settlement. “What about him?”
“Come this way,” said Erick grimly, “and I’ll show you.”
Cyril and Root had claimed for their quarters a big, two-room cave at the far end of the row. Many of the caves Juniper and Erick passed on their way had something draped over the openings—a thick cloak or a stretch of gauzy cloth—though several now had woven doors fixed into place.
Finally they arrived at the last cave, which was hung with a heavy, indigo velvet drape. Erick pushed aside the hanging and stepped inside. A window opening let in the daylight, and Juniper blinked at what she saw: some scattered sheets of muddy parchment. Two or three pairs of wadded-up undergarments. The half-rotted core of an apple and the gnawed bones from some dinner feast.
That was all.
There were no bedrolls, no packs, nothing to show that anybody had lived or even set foot in here for days, maybe longer.
“What’s going on?” Juniper asked, striding over to kick at the pile of smelly clothes. “Cyril and Root aren’t living here, that’s clear. But they haven’t said anything about moving their whole camp somewhere else. Where did they go—and when?”
“I’ve got no idea. I only found out this morning when I came by and happened to look inside.”
“There’s something poxy going on here. I hoped that banning them from meals unless they helped out would bring them back around to the group. Instead, it’s done just the opposite. And all this sneaking around? It’s like they’re pretending to still live here, the way they’ve left their door-drape hanging in place.” Juniper sighed. “I’m going to have to confront them again, aren’t I?”
“They don’t come to meals, but they’re not the type to go hungry. So they’re getting food from somewhere. Jessamyn, too. They show their faces here and there—”
“Dropping in to cause trouble,” Juniper interjected.
“—but they steadfastly refuse to work. Maybe some of the time they’re off lollygagging. But you know Cyril as well as I do. Unless he’s changed greatly since going off to school, he’s not just going to slurg around all day. I’d bet jumping beans to the sun that he’s got a plan. And it can’t be a good one.”
“I’ve had enough of those two.” Juniper was surprised to hear her father’s own steel in her voice. “This has got to stop. Track them down, Erick, and have them come to breakfast tomorrow morning. We might as well get all the announcements and confrontations over at once.”
• • •
As it turned out, Juniper’s announcements the next morning quickly sparked confrontations of their own.
“You want us to do what?” said Filbert incredulously.
No sooner had Juniper finished her carefully prepared speech than she knew she’d badly miscalculated. They’d be postponing their supply trip back to Torr, she’d said, but she gave no reason for the change in plans. Then she’d explained that the grand ball she’d announced the day before would also have to wait. This was a last-minute decision she’d made just before sitting down—and she knew it was the right one. Breakfast that morning was chicory scramble and a mash of wild grain patties with just a flavoring of pork grease. They weren’t running out of food yet, but if they really were stuck here for a while longer, they didn’t have food to squander on a big celebration.
“I want this to be a proper kingdom, with jobs and work—don’t you see?” she said desperately. “Not just fun in the sun all the livelong day. What’s the point in that?”
“We do work hard—every single day!” Oona protested. “And we stay up half the night on this fool’s errand of a guard duty, to boot. You promised us this party. We’ve all been looking forward to it since day one, and we deserve it! We’ve been working that double-hard you called for. We’ve earned ourselves a break.”
“I’m not saying we won’t have the ball,” Juniper said, searching in vain for the inner steel she’d so recently felt. “Just . . . not right now.” She had seen her father give plenty of unpopular pronouncements, and right now she sounded nothing like him. Inside, she felt even worse: all weak and trembly, properly mash-for-a-backbone. Yet she couldn’t back down. How could they throw a wild party, sing and dance it up, or even take another day off to swim and frolic about in the sun, when Torr was suffering who knew what atrocities? The smoke cloud had dissipated overnight and seemed to have taken with it all the others’ fears and concerns. Which she was glad for—but it sure didn’t make her job now any easier!
She looked across the circle to where Cyril and Root sat, legs splayed, arms crossed, looking smug and satisfied. Cyril had a fine growth of stubble across his face. Just another way of showing o
ff, she thought uncharitably. It had been a mistake to make him come this morning. What was it she’d wanted to confront him about again? She was having a hard time remembering. Cyril caught her eye and reached up to stroke his almost-whiskers and shake his head patronizingly. Show-off.
“We just don’t have time to gad about right now,” Juniper said, cringing even as the words left her mouth. “We need to keep working as hard as we have been for the next week or two, until we can get everything finished that needs doing. Figure out how to supplement our food supply. Make sure the buildings are secure. Then we can think about taking some time off.” By then, they should have word from the palace. Then she could relax. She clapped her hands together. “So, let’s get on about our jobs. You all have tasks in progress, I think, but come and find me if you finish and need something new, or if you’ve other ideas to share.”
She started digging through her waist-pouch and rustling her parchment as loudly as she could, hoping that might drown out the unmistakable sound of unhappy grumbling as the settlers began to get up and start going about their day.
“What say you, Root?” Cyril drawled. “Fancy a swim on this fine hot morning?”
Juniper closed her eyes. She had to stop chickening out. She had called them here determined to hit the problem head-on. Now Cyril was doing everything short of openly challenging her.
So this would be it, then.
Catching Erick’s eye, she registered his faint nod. She stood.
“This has got to stop,” Juniper said, meeting Cyril’s gaze. Erick came to stand next to her, arms straight by his side, hands balled into fists. It occurred to Juniper that Erick seemed to have grown in the few weeks since they’d left Torr. She wasn’t sure if it was all height or if something inside him was changing, too, if he’d found some renewed strength and solidity in this mountain air. Hopefully together they would be a match for Cyril’s rotten genius.
“What exactly are you referring to?” Most of the others had left already, but even now Cyril didn’t bother getting up from his rock. Root stayed, too, though he looked uncertainly from Cyril to Juniper as though not entirely sure which to follow. Jessamyn was draped over a nearby stone, tracking the exchange with hawk eyes.
“This is our country, Cyril. It belongs to all of us. And from the very start, you’ve done nothing but try to pull us apart. You’ve got to stop.”
“I never asked to be part of your country,” he replied scornfully. “Remember? Nor did Root, nor Jessamyn. You might not have a timepiece any longer, but you’ve had no trouble tying everyone down to the same backbreaking schedule they had back home. Last I heard, we’d been booted out of your group anyway. So it should be clear by now that we see absolutely no reason to bow to your laws.” He paused. “Or whatever it is you call them.”
Juniper stiffened and glanced at Erick. He shrugged ever so slightly. It always came back the same thing: What could they do?
“Look,” Juniper said, gentling her voice as though addressing a skittish stallion. “I know we have our differences, and if I’m honest, I didn’t especially want you to come on this trip, either. But you’re here now, and we’ve got to find a way to make it work. It’s just no good having two separate settlements, and you pulling off against the main group all the time.”
Cyril raised his chin and cocked an eyebrow. “What’s in it for us, then?” he challenged. “We’ve got all we need on our own. We’re pretty much self-sufficient, as I see it. Maybe we’ll start our own country. Why not?”
“You won’t.”
“Oh, won’t I?” Cyril slowly rose, stretched his arms over his head, and looked from one side of the clearing to the other. “Who’s going to stop me?”
Before Juniper could figure out an answer, he turned and strode out of the dining area, with Root and Jessamyn close behind.
Juniper took three quick steps out to follow him, heat burning in her cheeks, but Erick grabbed her arm. “Wait,” he whispered. “Don’t say something you’ll regret. We’ll figure this out.”
So Juniper stood there, trembling with rage, and watched the trio move away as though they hadn’t a care in the world. They reached the wooden bridge, where Roddy and Filbert had hammer and nails out, beginning the work of putting up a handrail. Cyril paused, looked back at Juniper, then returned his gaze to the two boys. Pitching his voice loud, Cyril said, “I was sorry to hear about you lot losing out on your party at this end-of-week. I thought I’d throw one myself instead. Make up for certain . . . lacks.” He threw a smirk in Juniper’s direction, then raised his voice so it carried all around the clearing. “Spread the word! Just follow the trail up past the swimming hole—you won’t be able to miss it. See you all there tonight at first moonrise. Oh . . . and come hungry.”
Juniper’s shoulders slumped. Cyril had caught her out yet again.
“WE CAN’T NOT GO,” ERICK SAID, FOR THE third time. “How would it look?”
“I don’t care how it looks,” Juniper replied stubbornly. “I’m not setting foot in his rogue settlement or going to his fool party.”
“You went to his swimming thing,” said Alta. She, Tippy, and Erick were the only ones who’d hung back with Juniper. They all sat on the newly carved wooden bench in the Great Tree, gazing at the silent Musicker while raucous laughter echoed through the clearing from the opposite slope.
“That was different,” said Juniper. “It wasn’t a direct challenge like this is.”
“I still think it’d be worse for you not to go at all. Doesn’t that mean he’s won?”
“He hasn’t won,” said Juniper firmly. “I mean, what is there even to win? Right?” There was an uncomfortable silence. Juniper looked from face to face, her heart sinking as none of them met her eyes. “Right?”
“He wants all of this, Your Princessness,” said Tippy finally, her voice thin and watery, voicing the fears Juniper hadn’t been willing to admit even to herself. “He wants your people and your place and everything.” She paused. “He wants to be king.”
Tippy was right, of course. And that was a challenge Juniper couldn’t let go.
“Let’s head on up,” Juniper said.
“I’ll stay here,” said Alta. “Someone needs to keep guard.” She didn’t have to remind them what had happened the last time the whole camp had emptied for one of Cyril’s outings.
Within a few minutes, the three of them were off, clambering down the tree and crossing the bridge and stomping the now well-tracked path past the vegetable fields toward the flickering dazzle of lights in the near distance.
They had no trouble finding Cyril’s gathering. The moon was a slim half crescent overhead, but the little encampment blazed with light. Laughter and merriment rang out, bouncing around the nearby peaks. Juniper climbed slowly, head held high, trying to compose herself. What kind of face should she present when she arrived? Should she slide casually into the group, take her seat among the others, avoid making a statement? Or should she march in and take charge, find some small but important thing to correct, some way to show her authority?
As it turned out, the decision was taken out of her hands. The moment she rounded the last embankment and set foot in the clearing, with Erick and Tippy close on her heels, all the noise abruptly sputtered and died.
Juniper studied the gathering. The kids sat loosely around a blazing fire, tall torches planted in the earth around the wider circle. A low rough log was being used as a table, with a tantalizing collection of roasted meat and nuts and other delicacies strewn across it. The clearing was mostly flat, but rose slightly on the far side, and on this elevated spot—just underneath a torch so the firelight played off his handsome face—stood Cyril.
Arms crossed over his chest, feet astride, Cyril flicked his gaze in her direction. “Well, well,” he drawled, “look who decided to show up!”
Juniper stiffened. She’d expected something like this, of co
urse, but here on Cyril’s own territory, facing down his arrogant self-confidence, she felt even more shaken than usual.
“Do sit down,” Cyril went on, waving at a makeshift bench. It was completely full, but at his words the kids scooted apart like scuttlebugs under light. Tippy made a quick dive for the seat, followed more hesitantly by Erick.
Juniper stood her ground, mirroring Cyril’s stance and cocking her chin at a challenging angle. “What do you want, Cyril?” she spat. “Why did you really throw this party? Let’s get right down to it.”
“Ah!” cried Cyril, rubbing his hands together. “Hitting the bulwark head-on. I approve.”
Juniper couldn’t help noticing the pleased titter that followed his words. She didn’t know if it was the food, the place, or the magnetism of Cyril’s personality, but the loyalty of the crowd was shifting. She well remembered her father’s warnings of the fickle nature of a group, and how quickly it could turn. She had to win them back, and fast.
“Talk, Cyril,” she said curtly. “Whatever tricks you might pull, or parties you throw, Queen’s Basin is still my responsibility. It was given me directly by our ruler, King Regis.”
“Ah yes, your father,” Cyril said scornfully, and Juniper drew in a breath. Was Cyril challenging not only her authority, but her father’s, too?
Before she could figure out how to respond to this, Cyril raised his hands in a calming gesture. “King Regis is a good man,” he said mildly. “And he’s been a good king. But King Regis is not here, and he’s not the ruler of this kingdom. What we have in front of us is”—he shot a look at Juniper, then turned to face the others, as though excluding her from the conversation—“let’s be honest—a very young girl . . . a princess, yes, but does that really qualify someone to rule?”
“What are you saying?” Juniper said, stunned.
“I’m saying,” said Cyril, his eyes never shifting from his rapt audience, “that you are the princess-heir of Torr, yes. But you are also a girl who just had her thirteenth Nameday. I’m saying that you are weak and soft, and have your head full of dresses and balls and little busy-work building projects. I am saying that you know nothing about building a country. This kingdom can have a better ruler—should have a better ruler.”
Princess Juniper of the Hourglass Page 15
