Princess Juniper of the Anju

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  The moonlight would keep a little longer.

  She followed Odessa’s example and strapped herself into a narrow leather seat that dangled down from the loblolly pine, then pulled herself up hand over hand until she reached the wide, high branch above. Two trees over, a burble of singsong voices chattered out a rhythmic melody. A whiff of incense crackled in the air. Stepping out of the harness, Juniper followed her grandmother along the well-worn tree limb walkway.

  Odessa’s house looked like a giant acorn: a fine wooden globe that swayed gently from strong suspending ropes. Juniper wobbled across a stiff connecting net and slid inside the cozy home.

  “It’s like being inside a hollowed-out egg,” she marveled. She lowered herself to the cushioned floor and tucked her legs under her.

  Odessa was digging in a chest and came out with a folded piece of bright white cloth. On top lay a small leather pouch, which Odessa put into her hand first. “This is for you,” she said.

  Juniper wiggled apart the drawstring opening, turned it over, and felt something heavy fall into her hand: a bright blue stone that winked and shone in the dim evening light.

  “Oh,” Juniper breathed. “It’s beautiful!”

  “That is to remember me by,” she said. “It is a little thing I came upon many years ago. It has brought me luck—or I have found my own luck while I kept it near me—and I think the time has come to pass that on to you. And this is for you, too.” Odessa slid the cloth into her hands.

  Juniper’s fingers moved to it automatically. The white was so bright that, in this dim space, it nearly hurt her eyes to look at it straight on. But the weave was dense and strong, and soft as finest silk.

  “There’s a story behind this cloak,” said Odessa, “though I’m afraid I don’t know it. It was your mother’s dearest possession. It’s made of a special weave—a rare milk-cotton plant. This fabric won’t tear, or burn, or even stain. It’s near indestructible, so far as I can tell.” Her eyes softened in a sad smile. “Alaina loved it because it was the same color as her hair. She said it made her feel like a fairy of the legends. When she put it on, she said, she felt invincible.”

  “Invisible?” Juniper asked, puzzled.

  Odessa’s eyes twinkled. “Perhaps that, too. Who can say? If ever there was an object to make a body lean toward the mystical, that garment is it. Not that I believe in such things, mind you. You’ll just have to try it out and see what it has to show.”

  Juniper shrugged out of her cloak and swung the new one over her shoulders. “I love it,” she said. “I will wear it in memory of her.”

  Odessa nodded. “You should be going now. Your kingdom awaits.” She turned away, and Juniper could tell the old woman wasn’t much for good-byes. So she reached inside her waist pouch, pulled out her notebook, and ripped a sheet from the back. Writing quickly, she scratched a few lines, then signed her name with a small symbol at the end. She creased the sheet in half and left it on her cushion, atop her own neatly folded cloak. Maybe her grandmother would find in this small token some comfort, some warmth.

  I’ll be back soon, Juniper vowed fiercely, repeating the words of her farewell note. I promise.

  Then she climbed out the door and strapped herself into the harness, tugged on the hand-ropes, and began to lower herself to the ground.

  To her surprise, Zetta was waiting for her at the bottom of the tree. Around her neck she wore a thick leather band covered in runic designs. This must be the symbol of the chieftaincy she’d heard talk of.

  Unfastening the harness, Juniper climbed to her feet. The two girls stared each other in the eye.

  “I’m not going to thank you,” Zetta said shortly.

  “Nor should you,” said Juniper. “I did what I had to, nothing more.” She turned to go, but Zetta caught her arm.

  “Just a second.”

  Juniper looked at her in silence. Finally she prodded gently, “You wanted to ask something?”

  “About Monsia,” Zetta said tentatively. “They are your enemy, are they not?”

  “They are.”

  Zetta studied Juniper a moment longer, then she smiled. “They are our enemy, too, you know. And ruler or not, you are one of us.” She paused. “Perhaps we should talk.”

  Epilogue

  LATE THE NEXT MORNING, THE CITIZENS OF Queen’s Basin gathered around the campfire back in their familiar, partly rebuilt dining area. Leena had made griddle cakes over the open flame, topped with a confit made with hazelnuts from Root’s mysterious and apparently never-ending stash. The group buzzed with an excitement nearly live enough to warrant its own breakfast.

  It was all settled: Zetta had promised to spread the word to the greater network of Anju tribes, who would put themselves at the group’s disposal as needed within the next few weeks. Floris, too, might be called on to make his own fiery appearance if the occasion warranted. (If Juniper had anything to do with that, it certainly would.) The great draco might be tame when it came to Zetta and her friends, but those who saw his approaching wingspan and stood on the receiving end of his flaming breath would be none the wiser.

  In the meantime, the Queen’s Basin crew would proceed with their expedition back to Torr—but Juniper had come up with the beginnings of a plan for that, too. She and Erick and Alta and Jess had been up very late the night before, after the rest of the group had collapsed on their pallets following the giddy walk home.

  There were a lot of nails still to be hammered into this rough-built plan they were cobbling together. But the foundation was sure, the direction was set, and the company couldn’t be beat. Now they just needed to forge ahead and hope it was strong enough to hold them.

  As the settlers milled around now, snacking and chatting, swapping stories of the night before, and voicing hopes for what was to come, Cyril ambled over to Juniper.

  “So,” he said, “that Sussi does make a mean mud mask.”

  Juniper grinned. “She does, doesn’t she? I must say, your complexion is looking remarkably even and bright today. Not a spot to be seen.”

  Cyril returned her grin, but the gesture was halfhearted.

  “What’s on your mind?” Juniper said. “You don’t want to talk to me about mud masks. You look like a goat in a sweetbriar patch.”

  “I was just thinking about our deal. Do you remember?”

  Juniper didn’t want to confess that it had clean slipped her mind. The Cyril who had needed complicated deals and concessions to keep in line seemed so far removed from this boy who, for the first time she could remember, she wasn’t ashamed to think of as her cousin.

  “I do,” she said cautiously.

  “I was to help you win the Anju contest, and in return, you—”

  “Would let you leave the Basin freely.” Juniper swallowed. “But—I didn’t win, did I?”

  Cyril smiled wryly. “You did, actually. You won the contest. For a few hours, you were ruler of the Anju. It’s not on my head that you chose to give that up to return to your little valley play-spot.” The words were pure Palace Cyril, but the tone was light and without malice. What was more, Juniper knew he was right.

  But . . . could she really just let him go? After all they’d been through on this journey, she’d grown closer to Cyril than she’d ever thought possible. But he still was—had been—a traitor. He and his father had worked with the Monsians, had betrayed their country straight out. Could she really let him leave, taking with him the knowledge of all their thoughts and coming plans, half-formed as they were?

  Agreeing to this had seemed easy from a distance, but now the truth of it stopped her cold. Was this what leadership was, then? Making unmakeable decisions, choosing between the impossible and the unbearable?

  There was no way she would go back on her word. She couldn’t.

  And yet . . .

  She felt a panic rising in her chest, felt her e
yes filling with tears. How could she just let him go? Finally she managed, “Is that what you want? To leave us now?”

  Cyril studied her, and she could see his face changing as he took in her expression. When he spoke, the lightness was gone from his voice. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t want to leave. But I wanted to know whether you would have let me. Whether you’d have honored your word.”

  Juniper opened her mouth to reply—of course she would have. How could she not, in the end? Whatever the price, a ruler’s word was everything.

  But Cyril didn’t give her the chance. He spun on his heel and set off back toward the cliffside.

  “Ahoy, all!” came a sudden yell. It was Paul, his voice coming from across the river on the North Bank. “Get over here, and fast. You won’t believe this!”

  Trying to put Cyril out of her mind—he would be all right; she’d talk to him soon and make sure everything was straight between them—Juniper jumped up and shielded her eyes against the midmorning’s glare. She couldn’t see clearly, but the grassy field looked . . . blue? Leaving her plate on her sitting stone, Juniper ran toward the bridge. Most of the others clustered along behind her. It took her until halfway across the bridge before she could see the ground clearly, but when she did, her breath caught in her throat. There stood Paul, in the midst of what had been the tattered remains of the vegetable garden.

  But it was tattered and tired no longer.

  For all across the sloped North Bank, where hours and days and weeks of painstaking work had been swept away in minutes by the churning floods—new life had begun.

  Paul was standing calf-high in a field of brightest blue, bell-shaped flowers. “What do you think of this?” he trumpeted. “Nightbells! Can you reckon it?”

  “Where did they come from?” cried Sussi. “How are they here?”

  “It has to be the flood,” said Paul. “It destroyed most everything it touched—and yet it also carried within itself the seeds of new life, and the mineral qualities to speed that process into the soil.”

  “Beauty from destruction,” murmured Juniper. “And with an end, the hope for a new beginning.”

  If there was a better way to start the next chapter of her adventure, she didn’t know it.

  Acknowledgments

  AS EVER, I OWE A HUGE DEBT OF GRATITUDE to those who have worked so hard to help bring this book to life. First and foremost, credit goes to my brilliant editor, Jill Santopolo, along with the eagle-eyed Talia Benamy, Michael Green, and the fleet of inspired designers, copy editors, proofreaders, and others, without whom this book would be nothing more than a puddle of ink on a page. To Erwin Madrid, whose artistic cover masterpieces each manage to supersede the last, to Siobhán Gallagher, for her exquisite design skills, and to Dave Stevenson, whose mapmaking skills have brought Torr to life in such vivid detail. To Tara Shanahan, for all your efforts getting Juniper in the hands and hearts of readers far and wide.

  To Erin Murphy, Tricia Lawrence, Dennis Stephens, Tara Gonzalez, and the rest of the EMLA team, my love and appreciation for all you do to maintain this nurturing creative space; and most especially to my clients, for your support and trust and patience with me as we walk this part of the road together. Kirsten Cappy, your creativity and enthusiasm know no bounds, and I’m so grateful to have you as a cheerleader! Helen Kampion, likewise, my thanks for your energy and efforts on Juniper’s behalf.

  My family and friends, as always, remain an invaluable part of the writing process: Zack, Kimberly, and Lauren—I love you more than I could say! The whole Paquette (and Askaryan and Clark) crew and the Neve family, thank you for your love and support and for believing in me. To my critique partners and writing buddies Nancy Werlin, Debbie Kovacs, Julie Berry, Julie Phillipps, Kip Wilson, Natalie Lorenzi, Sarah Beth Durst, and Diana Renn—you make it all not only possible, but enjoyable.

  Writing a sequel turned out to be a more challenging experience than I’d expected. A finished first novel has been so finely curated, and so much care has been put into honing the arc and growth and resonance within that single unit; to open a fresh page and begin those threads anew, yet provide sufficient ties linking both backward and forward, tested me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Yet in the end, this book ended up being one of my most satisfying writing experiences to date. That’s why my foremost gratitude will always be for YOU, my readers, who make it all possible. We’re on this journey together, Juniper and her friends and you and I—this is just the next step in her adventures, but who knows what’s lurking right around the corner?

  Till we meet again, and soon, back in Torr!

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