Princess Juniper of Torr

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  Juniper blinked once. Twice. Then again.

  She’d just had an idea.

  • • •

  When the sun started to set, the little group crept around to the narrow side entrance Cyril had specified. The door in the bluevines had been left unlocked and they piled inside. They tiptoed across the lawns, clambered into the summer kitchen window, and eased through the Pockets to their nest in the Aerie.

  Intruders had been here, that was clear. Cushions had been overturned and furniture moved. The ghost bats were chittering at twice their normal volume, and Tippy stood near their cubbies, sending a soothing string of babble their way. Leena was running around straightening the disordered room, while Egg and Cyril stood frowning, hands on their hips.

  “What’s the story?” Juniper asked Cyril. “Will the guards keep on searching?”

  Cyril shrugged. “Hard to say. But I’m thinking no. Since the one actual dungeon escapee was that slippery spy, they feel he had special help breaking out and is long gone. They guess he’s not connected to a bigger threat.”

  “That’s some good news,” said Leena.

  “Honestly?” said Cyril. “I think my stepmother has bigger fish to gut right now. As long as those who matter are still locked up tight, she’s not too worried.”

  “All right,” said Juniper. The guards had been and gone. Their day of hiding in plain sight had been worth it. And Cyril was still firmly on their side; her trust in him had paid off. They were safe—for the moment. But her father was still in his lighted cell. And deep in the dungeons were Erick’s father and Tippy’s sister and countless others whom Juniper had not been able to save.

  Suddenly the pressure, the weight of all that needed doing and the obstacles stacked against them and the many who would suffer if they failed—who were suffering, right now—suddenly, it all felt like too much. The responsibility was like a giant thumb pressing down on Juniper’s head, and all she wanted to do was crawl under her covers and block out the world.

  Eventually they had talked themselves out and put the room back into some semblance of order, and everyone collapsed onto their sleeping piles. Even Cyril was too tired to head back to his room and pronounced himself ready for a good old-fashioned Queen’s Basin sleepover. But long after the others had sunk to snoozing, Juniper stayed wide-eyed, tossing restlessly from one edge of her folded quilt to the other. Finally the pale light of dawn started scratching at the horizon and she gave up and rose. Putting both hands on the open window, she leaned out to breathe deeply of the scented predawn air. Beyond the walls, the Bazaar was still quiet and mostly dark at this early hour—Summerfest Day 3 looming on the horizon—with only dim lights bobbing in the sleeping field as early risers prepared their wares for the day ahead. Across the castle grounds burned the light of the ever-glowing Glassroom. Her father’s prison chamber.

  Juniper clenched her fists. It wasn’t fair. Why should deception and betrayal and scheming machinations win the day? Why not truth and loyalty and hard work?

  Her eyes blurred with tears as she gazed at the glowing prison cell. And then she blinked. And looked again, closer this time. Through the glass walls, the rare flowers that grew inside could clearly be seen. Before, they had been a tangled riot of blues and reds and yellows. Now the yellow and the red were there in abundance. But the blue . . .

  Juniper caught her breath. How had she not seen this immediately? All around the inside of the glass dome swung a huge, elaborate wreath made entirely of cornflower-blue blossoms. The blue banner wrapped all the way around the walls, bold and bright and true.

  It was the same exact shade of blue as the stone Juniper had sent her father.

  Now the tears came freely. He’d gotten her message; he got it, and he answered it in the only way he could. He knew she was out here. He knew she was coming.

  This game wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

  They might be few and frail. They might be pressed down by all the thumbs of all the giants in the world, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Juniper Torrence was playing to win.

  In the still-dark room, she strode over and scratched the starter stones until the lamp flared up hot and yellow. Tousled heads lifted around the room, sleepy eyes blinking open, mouths stretching into grumpy yawns.

  Juniper smiled a little—there was a special thrill to waking up a group of sleepy friends—then clapped loudly. “Are we beaten?” she called.

  There was a silence, then Leena croaked, “If I say yes, can we go back to sleep?”

  Cyril rolled over and pulled the covers farther over his head. “What foolhardy plan made me stay here overnight?”

  “Oh! Oh!” cried Tippy, leaping up, instantly wide awake. “I know the answer to this one! Can I say it?”

  “Say away,” said Juniper, grinning and poking Cyril’s back with her foot. “Listen up, Cousin. Are we beaten, do you suppose?”

  “NOOOO!” bellowed Tippy, so loudly that Juniper exchanged a startled glance with Erick and they both looked furtively at the trapdoor that led to the main palace.

  “Quite right,” Juniper said quickly. “We are not beaten, not even close to it. Our plans may have been thwarted, but what of it?”

  “There’s a rank lot more plans where that came from, I reckon,” said Cyril dryly, sitting up with a yawn.

  “Fling the heralds!” Leena groused. “The lad is actually right for once.”

  Cyril sighed and threw off his covers, reaching into the knapsack he’d stowed by his rolled-up quilt. He pulled something out of a pouch and started sneaking looks into his palm. What was he . . . oh, Juniper realized, as Cyril turned the tiny looking glass from side to side, inspecting his teeth and smoothing his sticking-up hair. At another time, she would have seized the chance to tease him, but not today. Let Cyril primp and get himself into top form.

  It was show day.

  • • •

  “Thirty-six hours,” Juniper said a short time later, as they all sat gathered in a rough circle, picking through a hastily assembled breakfast of leftovers Egg had siphoned from dinner the night before. Pausing for a moment with a day-old cucumber sandwich in her hand (which managed to be both dry and soggy at the same time), Juniper reflected on how she had gone from eating delicacies on gilded bone china to passing around a beaten copper tray of the maids’ leavings. She hungrily picked up another and started a new mental list: Delicious Things to Eat Once We Get My Father’s Throne Back.

  It was a long list.

  “Thirty-six hours,” Juniper repeated, coming back to herself as she discarded a sandwich corner that was just too stale for comfort. Food was well and good, but right now she needed to focus. “That’s how much time we have left. That’s when the Monsian delegation arrives with whatever army they bring along. Shortly after that, the Mantis will crown herself queen. And after that”—she swallowed—“my father will be carted off to a proper prison somewhere too far for us ever to save him.”

  “What can we do, though?” asked Leena. “We’ve had any number of plans and ideas, and we keep tripping headlong over traitors and roadblocks of every type.”

  Across the circle came a loud snort. Cyril said, “When’s a good old-fashioned traitor ever stopped you lot before?”

  Juniper startled, but when she caught her cousin’s gaze, there was nothing in it but grudging admiration. Deep in her gut, some last tightly bound thread cut loose. She met his slow smile with her own.

  “But you’ve got a new plan for us, don’tcha?” asked Tippy anxiously.

  “Undoubtedly,” said Erick. “Princess Juniper makes lists and plans for her lists and plans. She’s probably spinning a half dozen right now as we speak.”

  Juniper grinned. “I thought you’d never ask. Now, it just so happens that I do have a new idea. It’s awful risky, though.”

  “As the best ones are,” said Cyril.

 
; “Indeed. It’s going to take a lot of work besides, and some creative thinking, which is bound to be fun.” She looked around the circle at each of them in turn. “Are we all ready for a little energetic mayhem?” To their enthusiastic nods, she leaned closer. “It’s going to be good, but there’s some preparation to be done beforehand. Listen up, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  21

  THAT MORNING FLEW BY. TIPPY, LEENA, AND Cyril kept to their palace work duties, dealing as usual with those around them to avoid raising any suspicion, as well as keeping their ears open for any new information to help the cause. Meanwhile, Juniper, Egg, Erick, and Root plotted and schemed and kept busy with the preparations needed to turn their rough-carved plan into a gleaming work of art.

  Or something like that.

  “Where’s Paul?” asked Root at one point, as they sat together in the Aerie. “He’s not been with the Bobcats for days.”

  “He’s gone to the Anju, right?” said Erick.

  “I believe Zetta is good for her word,” said Juniper with a nod. “She promised to send help if we needed it, and we couldn’t need a fighting force more than we do right now. Whether she can get her people to follow her to the lowlands—after all of our history—is another story. But I’m hopeful.”

  Before she could say more, the Aerie door slapped open.

  “Monsians!” gasped Tippy. “For the love of everything, they’re here!”

  Juniper leaped to her feet. What? The Monsian delegation wasn’t expected until tomorrow, and she’d been rather hoping that they would fulfill their reputation for poor scheduling and show up even later.

  Instead, they were a day early?!

  The whole group flocked to the north-side windows. They looked over the palace rooftops; past the gardens, mazes, and outbuildings; over the walls; and up the White Highway leading away into the distance. Far, far up the Highway, swathed in clouds of white dust, they could just make out the tall flags and banners flaunting the Monsian crest. Behind that was a hint of horseflesh and a flash of gilded carriage. Beyond that, the rest of the column wound away into the distance.

  The Monsians.

  It was too far to tell for sure, but they seemed to have spread over the whole roadway, as though no one else was of any importance. Juniper wondered how many wagons, horse riders, and pedestrians were being forced into the weeds while the troops marched past.

  “The gall of them!” said Erick. “They act like they own this country.”

  Juniper’s stomach hurt just watching them. There was one good thing, though: They were still a long way out. “We’ve got time yet,” she said. “But how much, I have no idea.”

  Erick tilted his head and pondered. “They won’t be here before nightfall. That’s a long road, and look how packed it is with people and carts. Moving all that out of the way in front of them will make for a very slow march.”

  “So, tomorrow morning, you reckon?”

  “Midday at the latest.”

  “Very well, then,” said Juniper. “Challenge accepted. We have until nightfall to win this game.”

  • • •

  “We’re just moving things forward by a day,” Juniper insisted an hour later. The time for caution was long past, they had decided, and all undercover Goshawk members had abandoned their roles in the palace. They were now clustered in the Aerie, bent over various tasks needed to launch their plan: mixing, sewing, packing, planning. Today was the first of four grand feast days, all of which would culminate in the final end-of-Summerfest bash inside the palace. They’d planned to use today to gather information and logistics: how things would be run, where the Mantis would sit, how Bobcat would perform their routine. But— “Now we’re down to real push-and-shove. All we can do is plunge in and hope for the best.”

  It was scant comfort. But they’d been out on a limb before. Indeed, as Juniper’s father had often quipped, that was the best place to find the fruit.

  “So here’s what we should expect this afternoon,” Juniper announced, while her hands kept busy working. “A string of tables are even now being set up along the length of the entryway leading in toward the Small Gardens.”

  Tippy danced up on the very tips of her toes and whooped in delight.

  Juniper grinned. “All those smells you’ve been pining for? And helping work on, like as not? The tables shall soon be food-stuffed into tomorrow morning: meat pies and fruit tarts and cheese twists aplenty, fresh fruit bowls, loads of vegetables for munching. Pots of cream. Chocolate squares. Almond sponge fingers. Tiny crystal cups of sherbet. Oh, Tippy, just you wait!”

  “Shall we have time to graze a bit, then? All the while we’re saving the kingdom-like?”

  “There’s always time for good food,” Juniper said. “Though we’ll have to eat on the run, for there’s that much to do!”

  “I know, I know,” said Tippy. “Time’s a-ticking, and the Monsians won’t wait.”

  “So we’re really doing this,” said Leena, in the tone of a personal pep talk.

  “We are,” said Juniper. She took the heavy bowl that Egg had been mixing, sniffed it approvingly, then began to carefully pour the slurry into the waterproofed satchel in her lap. “How’s it looking out there?” she called to Root.

  Root took a long look out the window, then wobbled his hands. “The grounds are still pretty sparse, but it looks like the gates are being opened.”

  “Finally,” said Erick.

  “I’m surprised the Mantis is letting the commoners in at all,” said Leena.

  “She can’t bar them from Summerfest altogether,” said Cyril. “How would that look? She managed to keep them out of the palace proper, and she’s cutting the numbers down on those let in the grounds. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she finds other ways to trim corners. We’ll want to get out there just as soon as we can, get things under way.”

  Juniper nodded. “Let’s give the courtyards another hour to fill up, then we’ll venture out. Grab a few goodies as we go”—she grinned at Tippy, who pumped a fist in the air—“then head straight to the Bobcats’ wagon, which will be in the Small Gardens with the other performers. Then we get ready for showtime.”

  “Showtime!” The yell came from Leena, who seemed to surprise herself nearly as much as she did the others.

  “To victory!” said Cyril, and thrust a hand, palm out, into the center of the group. Juniper caught his eye, grinned, and slapped her hand on his. One by one, the others brought their hands to meet in the middle, palms on fingers on fists, in one glorious, determined huddle.

  First, the Aerie. Then, the castle.

  Showtime.

  22

  BY THE TIME THE FRIENDS BEGAN MAKING their stealthy way to the courtyard, the place was swarming. The doors to the palace proper had been barred off, along with the whole back of the castle grounds: the orchards and gardens, the stables, and the army barracks. The front half, though, was teeming with festivalgoers. Villagers, courtiers, merchants, and bare-legged ragamuffin children ran wild in a higgledy-piggledy mishmash. Moving amongst them, Juniper felt a fierce rush of pride and joy. It was almost possible to forget, in the ordinary whirl of this familiar and most beloved of holidays, all that was wrong behind the scenes.

  Almost. But not quite.

  Through the crowds of commoners and scattered nobles marched armed guards, stern and focused, their eyes alert for any signs of threat. They did not wear the familiar purple and silver colors of Torr—apparently the Mantis had kept the seamstresses busy rustling up brand-new uniforms on short notice. Now the unfortunate soldiers were bedecked in a garish pastiche of puce-on-black, looking rather like beetles in brightly painted carapaces.

  The friends rounded a bend, where Juniper dodged a pair of ruffians fighting over a loaf of bread and pushed past a hedge into her favorite place on the grounds: the Small Gardens. A stage had been erected in front of t
he marble fountain, which was elaborately decked out with fresh flower garlands and painted gold trim. A low stair curved the waist-high climb to its sleek surface.

  Still, so much in the gardens was familiar. Memories flashed across Juniper’s mind, lightning quick. This was the fountain where she had played as a tiny child with her mother, their special place to set aside their royal robes on late summer nights and lose themselves in the cool dappled water. This was the courtyard where she and Erick had waited anxiously all those weeks ago to see if any young recruits would join her expedition to start a brand-new, all-kids country. And this was the long gravel roadway that led from the Small Gardens to the front palace gates, along which the magnificent table of delicacies would be set up.

  The group ducked in together one final time, just out of sight of the crowds beyond the edge of the maze. Then Egg gave a conspiratorial nod, tapped her shoulder to indicate the bulky lump stuffed under her cloak, then dove into the throngs.

  “This is where we part ways as well,” murmured Cyril. “I have to go see to Artie. Don’t do anything foolhardy in my absence.”

  “Godspeed, Cousin,” Juniper said, squeezing his arm briefly. They all had their places in the kerfuffle to come. It was reassuring to know that someone on the other side would be there to watch her back.

  As Cyril moved out into the crowd, he threw back his head and shoulders, like a tall crisp banner unfurling itself in the wind, as though he were suddenly taking up twice as much space in the world as before.

  “How does he do that?” said Leena, and Juniper grinned.

  “I almost miss the days when I could count him as my rival. He did make such a delicious bad guy.” Juniper reached back to grab Tippy’s hand. “Come on, Tiplet. Let’s go grab us a few treats—but we can’t be long, mind! The performances begin at noon, so we must be all of us in the Bobcat wagon by the stroke of ten.” She peered up at the timepiece in the marble fountain’s base. “That’s less than a half hour off.”