Princess Juniper of the Hourglass

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  On this dark, moonless night, she couldn’t see the details of her little kingdom, but in her mind’s eye, it was as clear as any Marchello masterpiece: from the paved walkways to the animal pens to the clay-and-daub roof of their dining area, to the stream that sliced the kingdom neatly in half, and on over to the lush grasslands and the early vegetable gardens and the orchards of the far end. Up the craggy slopes she could just see the red-coal glow of Cyril’s campfire—several red glows, actually. What was Cyril up to, in his secret hideaway? Juniper pushed the troublemaker out of her mind and focused on her kingdom.

  All of this was hers, entrusted to her by her father. But the sight didn’t fill her chest with the kind of hot-springs fizz that it used to. All she could think of was the devastated countryside of Torr and how she’d had one task, just one simple task: establish a country, rule it, keep its people safe until she heard from her father. Instead, here she was, feeling like a horse latched to a carriage that was far bigger and heavier than it had ever expected.

  Cyril! She’d bet that if he were to rule this kingdom for a week or so, he’d realize that it wasn’t all fun and games. Maybe she should let him have it, just to show him a thing or two.

  But even as her hands tightened on the trunk, she knew she would never do that. She’d seen the way Cyril’s gaze slid carelessly past those he spoke to, swinging always back around to his own personal space. She’d seen him push aside needed duties and tasks for the sake of momentary pleasure. She’d seen him skim the best things—food and other comforts and conveniences—without a moment’s care for the provision of others.

  She thought of how her father had toiled every day of his life, establishing laws and bylaws, hearing complaints, resolving disputes of all ranges and types. His primary concern was always to meet the needs of every subject in his kingdom to the best of his ability.

  That was how a ruler should act.

  Cyril didn’t deserve this kingdom. He couldn’t win the ballot tomorrow—he just couldn’t.

  Official Ballot Rules for Queen’s

  [Role Pending] Basin

  Each subject shall receive two stones: one white and one gray.

  At the time appointed, each subject must drop ONE (1) stone within the ballot basket.

  Any GRAY stone means a vote for CYRIL LEFARGE.

  Any WHITE stone means a vote for JUNIPER TORRENCE.

  May the BEST claimant win!

  THE NEXT DAY DAWNED DULL AND OVERCAST, with such a smoke-gray sky that Juniper could think of nothing but the dead fields stretching down from the Hourglass through the spine of Torr. She was up before the sun—even though she felt like she’d closed her eyes only minutes before, which may well have been true. Tension coiled in her belly like a hunter’s trap. There was nothing she could do about Torr, for now. But what she could do, what she had to do, was fend off Cyril’s challenge.

  She had to win this ballot.

  Yet in actual, practical fact, what could she really do? Building a country out of nothing was no easy task, and she knew that in going about what needed to be done, she’d had to knock heads with more than one of her subjects. The truth? There was nothing she could do to make the vote go her way.

  On the other hand, Cyril had no way to do that, either.

  All she had to do, then—all she could do—was to continue as she had, to be herself, to show her strength and the qualities of leadership she’d been taught her whole life. And hope that Tippy was right and that everyone saw Cyril for what he was—a scheming, opportunistic party lion.

  She herself had risen early to help Leena make a truly spectacular breakfast. For the first time in a while, the hens had laid heaps of eggs, and there was enough to make a large cinnamon and sweetroot soufflé. Even the goats had been on task, with Toby delivering nearly a full bucket of their warm, frothy milk. Leena had whipped it up with the last of the carob powder for a steaming hot drink.

  Over the silent, satisfied faces of her breakfasting subjects, Juniper caught Cyril’s eye and slowly stood up. They had agreed that they would each give a speech, and he had insisted that she go first, in what he painted as a gallant gesture. But she was pretty sure he just wanted to hear her angles before plying his own.

  “So,” she began, “here we are. It’s been a good few weeks, hasn’t it?” Encouraged by the milk-happy smiles and the murmurs of encouragement, Juniper continued, “It’s hard to believe that we came to this empty, unsettled valley—just us, no proper adults—having no other help, with only the things we could bring along. And look around you. Look at what we’ve done. All of us together!”

  She waited a moment, while the kids craned their necks from side to side. The roof over their heads was sturdy and the posts supportive. The food smelled delicious, and just out of sight, the river could be heard skipping over the stones. The day was still overcast, but a tremulous bird began a lighthearted serenade on a nearby tree. Juniper smiled. She looked at Erick, and he nodded his support.

  “I set out to build this kingdom because I wanted a place where each one of us could matter, where we could all find our own bit of glow. We don’t need anyone outside to tell us what to do—we can make our own way, build our own country, live the way we choose.” She took a deep breath. Some things just had to be said. “I know I’m pretty young, and I’ve still got a lot to learn as ruler. But I think you’ll agree that I’ve had the chance to learn from the best. And what’s more important, I care about this place. I care about you. And if you’ll allow me to—if you’ll choose me to continue on as your queen—then I promise to lead you on to even bigger and better things.”

  Before she’d fully finished, the group burst out in enthusiastic applause. Filbert stamped his big feet in rhythm on his stone, and Oona gave her a rare smile. There were even a few whistles and cheers. Juniper sank into her most regal curtsey and returned to her seat.

  When she looked up, Cyril had taken her place in the center of the group. His hands were thrust into his pockets; his gaze was on the ground. He oozed gravitas and depth and mature responsibility—pretty much the opposite of his actual personality, Juniper thought wryly. He looked up, held her eye with a thoughtful nod that was clearly for the sake of the onlookers. Then he spun to address the group.

  “You’ve heard from our lady princess,” he said, his voice ringing across the open room, “and I have just a small something to add.” He held up a hand. “Small, but very important. Before this, though, I’d say that Juniper has done well at getting this place set up. What needed doing first, what seemed most important, assigning tasks—perhaps not the best choices in all cases, but . . .” He paused, gave the barest shrug, and Juniper bristled at the condescension in his voice. “But it hasn’t been awful, either. Still, there’s one thing that matters most when it comes to ruling a nation, one thing that’s beyond dispute, which every subject has to be sure of in their leader: integrity, truthfulness, honesty.”

  What on earth was Cyril getting at? The kids cast sidelong looks at each other, obviously wondering the same thing. Juniper sat up a little straighter.

  “The fact is, while Juniper has been working hard—and working you hard—there is also a darker side to the picture. Believe me, there is a lot you don’t know. A lot you have not been told.” Cyril raised a hand to quell the chattering that had started at his words. “Hear me out. This is important. Have you ever wondered about this harebrained scheme, how it came about to begin with? From one day to the next—poof!—a brand-new country has been established, and a group of settlers—children, no less—dispatched to colonize a bit of the far wild north. Almost as though . . .” He looked shiftily from side to side. “Almost as though someone wanted you out of the way for some reason.”

  “What are you getting at?” Alta called out.

  “I am getting at this. Your so-called queen has been keeping you very busy over the last few weeks. But the truth is, duri
ng that time, she has been concealing information from you. And I am here to bring everything out into the open.”

  Juniper drew in a breath, because suddenly she knew exactly what Cyril was going to say. She had no idea how, but he knew.

  “Here is the truth: Torr has been invaded.”

  “We know that already,” said Paul, from his place on the far edge of the group. “That happened the night we left—it’s why we hotfooted it out under cover of darkness.”

  “Do you, though? What exactly were you told?” Cyril’s voice was hard. “Was it the simple child’s tale of a ‘raiding party’ that you were given, the story of a petty attacker easily repelled and quickly dispatched? Or . . . shall I tell you what’s really happened?” He scanned the crowd, who now gave him their full attention, eyes wide and staring.

  Grim and gloating, Cyril went on. “Here’s what has actually taken place. A vast Monsian army has descended upon Torr. The palace has been overrun. The king has been taken hostage. And Juniper—this fizgig of a girl who calls herself your queen—has known about this all along. All this time, she has been hiding the truth. Lying to you. Playing queen-in-her-castle while your country burns.”

  The group erupted. Everyone was on their feet, crowding around him, wailing in despair or demanding more information. Juniper took a step back. Things were spinning out of control fast.

  Cyril lifted his hands. He stayed perfectly still, waiting until the others quieted. None of the kids returned to their seats, but at least the yelling stopped. A few sniffles echoed through the clearing.

  “This is a grave accusation, I know,” he said, his voice low and deadly. “If nothing else in this world is constant, a man should be able to trust his ruler. So let’s turn the tables now and ask our lady-of-the-moment to tell us a little more. Why did you choose to deceive us all, Juniper? Why did you hide the real truth about this expedition, choosing to pass it off as a summer adventure, then keep everyone occupied with busywork while this darker plan was at work all along? And why are you even now actively forbidding your subjects from returning to Torr?”

  Cyril spun around and pointed a finger straight at her. “Juniper Torrence, what else are you hiding?”

  On cue, every eye turned to Juniper. She swallowed hard. “That’s not how it happened,” she said, but her voice barely rose above the burble of the river. Too much was happening too quickly, and she was having a hard time figuring out how to skim out the truth from Cyril’s careful misinformation. Outside, the bird resumed its chirping; Juniper hated its lighthearted song with all her might.

  She squeezed her hands into fists. She had to regain the upper hand. “It was not like that. I had no advance notice of the raiding party, and that had no connection to the plans for this settlement. I found out about the attack when you did—that’s why we had to leave early, in the night. And that’s why my father expressly commanded us to await his word before returning home.”

  “But you did have more information about the Monsian invasion,” said Cyril, eyes wide and innocent. “The real attack. Did you not learn this information and choose to keep it hidden?”

  “I did have a letter last week telling me more about the attack,” Juniper admitted. “But that was—” The crowd began muttering, and her head spun. She had to make them understand.

  However, she didn’t get the chance. A voice rose from the back of the crowd: “Cyril for king!” Then another: “Down with Juniper. I choose Cyril!”

  Vaguely, Juniper registered that it was Root, in what had to be a calculated move, for he was standing behind everyone else, crouched slightly and muffling his voice between cupped hands. At the other end of the group, Jessamyn echoed the cry. But the crowd was beyond noticing such details. The emotion of the moment was ripe for harvest, and Cyril was out with his scythe at the ready.

  “Now, now,” he called out tolerantly, “I share your feelings, but we must do this properly. You all have your ballot stones: white for Juniper and gray for myself. Simply make your choice for ruler and place your stone in the basket yonder. No need to push—there’s room for all. Make your decision now, what type of ruler you really want, and place your stone in the basket.”

  “Wait,” Juniper called, but she knew it was no use. And what could she say? What reply did she have to give? Nothing, that was what.

  She had lost her kingdom.

  DETERMINING THE FINAL OUTCOME DID NOT take long. After everyone had dropped their stones, Juniper retired to the far side of the room, where Erick and Alta hurried over to stand defiantly by her. No one else would even meet her eye.

  As had been arranged, Leena approached the basket and, in full view of the onlookers, began drawing out the stones. She put the white ones to her left and the gray to her right. Juniper kept her eyes on the ground. She didn’t need to see the proof of her loss, but there it was all the same.

  “Here are the official ballot results,” Leena called out. “Stones for Cyril: eleven. Stones for Juniper: three.”

  Juniper’s eyes burned. It was obvious who her two supporters were; they stood by her right now. But had no one else truly seen her worth as ruler? Were they just swayed by the passion of the moment, or did the discontent run deeper? The whole group looked slightly stunned by the outcome. Tippy slumped on her stone, knees hugged tight against her chest, face buried in her lap.

  Even Tippy?

  As seemed to be happening more and more often since she’d begun this expedition, Juniper’s thoughts flew to her mother, wondering what she would have made of this situation. Her mother’s nomadic upbringing had ill prepared her for the sedate life of a ruler of Torr. She’d adapted, but still had never lost a certain wildness, a looseness of manner that didn’t quite fit her palace persona. Deep down, Juniper had always wondered if that Anju blood affected her own life in any way. She’d always loved the untamed side of herself, despite how rarely it could be let out. Only here, in this wild mountain landscape, had she been able to explore that untapped nature, getting a taste of a life free of the palace’s strict confines and her own royal expectations.

  And now, she’d learned that her nonroyal self might be her truest one after all. She could not rule. She could not even keep this motley crew of subjects content and on her side. This time of self-discovery had just managed to expose her utter failure at the role she had been groomed for her whole life.

  “All hail King Cyril of the Hourglass!” came the cry.

  Juniper bowed her head in defeat.

  • • •

  After that, things moved quickly. Before Juniper could say even a word, Cyril proclaimed, “I acknowledge your trust in me, good subjects! I assure you that I will not disappoint. And my first task as ruler is to rid our ranks of this traitor. And her cohorts.”

  “What are you talking about?” Juniper spat.

  Her protests were swallowed up as she, Alta, and Erick were surrounded by Root, Filbert, and Roddy, each hefting the guards’ very own dagnite spears. Cyril himself shifted his cloak to show a fine, gleaming sword holstered around his waist. Where had that come from?

  “Come this way, Miss Juniper,” said Root.

  Juniper exchanged a glance with Erick. So this was where their plan to arm and train the guards had brought them! Then Juniper caught the look in Alta’s eye. Since guard duty had begun, she’d taken to wearing her own sword belt again, and now her hand quivered on the hilt. She was coiled tight and ready to spring.

  “Stop,” Juniper told her quickly. “It’s not worth it. Let’s wait and see what happens—we’ll talk our way out of this, you’ll see. First we need to find out what’s going on.”

  “He’s obviously been planning this for a while,” Erick muttered.

  Cyril led the way back toward the caves, with Jessamyn and Oona trailing him like eager bunnies. Root and Filbert marched the captives along the narrow path all the way to Cyril and Root’s old c
hambers. The heavy cloak still covered the door, but Cyril yanked it down, tossing it to Jessamyn. She caught it with both hands and immediately dumped it on Oona.

  Juniper’s heart sank. A woven door now filled the opening, anchored firmly into the rock wall. Cyril swung it open easily, but it was obviously sturdy and well made.

  The cave had been converted to a prison.

  Erick ran his fingers along the door’s surface as he was shoved through the opening. Cyril smirked. “Recognize that material, do you? Dagnite, it is. I’ve had my eyes and ears open over the past couple of weeks. Maybe you thought I was gone slugabed while you all built roadways and roofs and other such nonsense?” He snorted. “Only try and get yourself out through this door. Of course,” he added hastily, “we’ll have the outside under guard at all times.” He tapped Root’s spear, and the point gleamed in the dull light. “Hardest wood in the kingdom, don’t you know? Could do a pretty bit of damage if it hit the wrong spot.”

  With that, Cyril pushed Alta in—reaching first to separate her from her sword—and pulled the door shut behind him. He jammed the latch into place, wound it tight with a lock of some sort, and turned to go. Root and Filbert settled heavily on the ground outside the door.

  “Wait!” Juniper called out through the door. “What happens now? You can’t just leave us here!”

  “You,” Cyril hissed, barely turning in place, “do not get to tell me what I can or cannot do. You and your friends are entirely at my mercy. And the sooner you learn that, the better.”