Princess Juniper of the Hourglass

by Ammi-Joan Paquette

  With that, he was gone, and Juniper sank back against the nearest wall, unable to meet either Alta’s or Erick’s eyes. She still felt like she was missing some bigger part of the picture, like there was more at stake here than even she properly knew. But one thing she did know for sure: She had been caught flat-footed and outwitted.

  Cyril had taken her on, and he’d won.

  • • •

  The rest of the day passed slowly. Alta spent the hours pacing the room, half muttering complicated plans and airing impossible goals. Erick spent his time studying the walls from top to bottom and analyzing the bars on the window and door, only to finally turn, shaking his head.

  “There’s no way out,” he said, and Juniper could hear his teeth grinding in frustration. “We’re stuck in here until that cockalorum says otherwise.”

  Juniper had figured as much. She herself had spent the whole day sitting motionless. She had no energy, felt no need to get up and move around, had no interest in helping Erick explore their surroundings or Alta brainstorm plans for escape. What was the use? She’d tried her very best, and her best hadn’t been good enough. Years ago, she’d lost her mother and hadn’t been able to do a thing about it. Now her homeland was invaded, her father’s safety unknown, war was declared—and she, Crown Princess Juniper of Torr, former ruler of Queen’s Basin, couldn’t even keep control of her tiny Hourglass kingdom. What kind of failure did that make her? The worst kind, that was what.

  Queen’s Basin, indeed!

  She sat a little lower and pulled her arms up over her head. All she wanted was to sink into the ground and disappear.

  Gradually she realized that the room had gone quiet. She lifted her head and looked around. Alta had stopped pacing and slumped against the far wall, eyes closed, a hand resting on her hip where her sword normally sat. Erick had stretched his cloak out on the ground and was sprawled across it. Outside the window, purple shadows gathered as the last of the sun disappeared over the far rim of the Basin. Distantly, Juniper felt their loss of morale. It seemed like something she should care about, should even try to do something about. But what could she hope to do?

  She turned back to the wall and pulled her hood over her head.

  Hours later, she opened her eyes and saw that a tray containing three plates of bread and cold meat and boiled carrots had been pushed through the door. She hadn’t even heard it open. Neither Erick nor Alta had shifted positions, so she figured they hadn’t, either.

  The cell was perfectly silent, except for a light snore coming from Alta’s side of the room. And then a sound in the distance caught her ear—faint, barely audible at first, but growing in volume until it was unmistakable: the sound of music.

  Juniper scrambled to her feet. The far-off notes tugged at something inside her, whispered with an unearthly tongue, spoke things to her soul that words could never say. It was the Musicker. A faint glim flickered in the leaves of the Great Tree, which was just visible out of the corner of her window. Tears filled Juniper’s eyes.

  “Erick,” she whispered, and saw him sit up and turn her way, blinking awake. “I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

  He didn’t answer, and she pushed on into the silence. “Not telling everybody what was going on back in Torr. We’re a team—all of us here. I can’t do everything on my own, and it wasn’t fair to keep that from people. Important information that would matter to them. You told me I should tell the others, and I didn’t listen to you. I did the wrong thing there, didn’t I?”

  She waited out the silence, finally turning to see him sitting up and looking at her with a gentle half smile. “Yeah,” he said at last. “You busted that one up a bit.”

  Her shoulders slumped. She’d had this chance, and she’d blown it. She had failed. Failed her country, failed her people.

  Or . . . had she?

  What had she wanted, after all? To launch out on her own, to build something that would last. To find out what she was truly made of. To listen for that distant music that made her soul dance, and to follow wherever it led.

  She’d been wrong. For sure.

  But did that mean she was finished?

  The music outside grew louder, and she heard a scuffle as one of the guards stood and walked over to the other: Jessamyn and Paul were out there now. There were never less than two at a time to guard the “traitors.” She couldn’t help feeling a grudging admiration that Cyril had gotten Jessamyn to do some actual work for a change.

  A distant shout bellowed across the clearing, and Juniper recognized Cyril’s voice. The music stopped. The light in the tree went out.

  But inside Juniper, the spark stayed.

  What was she made of? She’d lost control of her country. But was that the only goal she had set out to accomplish? And more important . . .

  Was her story really over?

  Juniper felt her heartbeat quicken. The battle for Queen’s Basin was not over. Not at all. This fight had just begun.

  • • •

  The rest of the night passed in a flash. Juniper felt the bones of a plan starting to come together in her mind, but there was still a lot of meat missing. Dawn was breaking over the far horizon when she heard a faint hiss. Moving soundlessly to the barred window, she first didn’t see anything. Then a blur of movement flashed outside. Juniper leaned in closer. Even this near at hand, the figure was barely visible: small, dark-swathed, with a muddy-looking face and a pert nose.

  “Tippy!” Juniper whispered.

  Tippy held a finger to her grubby lips. She moved her face to the bars, and Juniper leaned in till the little girl’s mouth was almost at her ears. “I can’t stay but a moment. Root is sawing logs, and Oona granted me a minute to give my respects, but she won’t stand with me if I get caught.” Her voice wobbled a little. “I didn’t want Your Princessness to think I deserted you, like. After you done so much for me and given me a proper place in your kingdom and all.”

  Juniper blinked, joy enfolding her like a warm hug. She reached out to squeeze Tippy’s hand through the bars and heard the girl’s smile wrinkle across her face.

  “Good,” Tippy said. “I didn’t think you did, but I wanted you to know it sure. I’m on your side. Only . . . well, I could see which way that blinking ballot was set to go. And I thought I might do more good if I looked like I was on that blaggard’s side, then got busy finding ways to cause him trouble.” She paused. “You heard the music, yeah?”

  Juniper felt tears filling her eyes. She squeezed Tippy’s hand harder and then reached up to turn the girl’s head, putting her own lips up to the small ear. “Thank you for that, Tippy! A million times, thank you. But listen, I have something I’d like you to do.” Tippy’s head bobbed in place. “Do you think you could get up to Cyril’s camp? Where he’s been staying all this time? I’m putting together a plan to get us out of here. But if we’re to have an advantage over that impostor, we need to know what he’s really up to. Can you get to his stuff, dig around a bit, see what you can find, and report back to me?”

  “I’ll do that for you, Your Royalty, yes, I will! I’m ever so sneaky.”

  “And, Tippy?” Juniper said, her breath hitching in her throat. “Don’t forget your good-night kiss.”

  Grinning even wider, Tippy leaned in to the bars, and Juniper placed a soft kiss right in the center of her cheek.

  “Mistress Ladyship Juniper of Everything,” Tippy said, with breathless adoration, “you are the most righteous queen ever to live. I am surely your loyal servant for life! Now, off I go to spy upon the real traitors.”

  Before Juniper could answer, the cold little hand slipped out of her own. Tippy disappeared like the night into the breaking day.

  Princess Juniper’s Daily Schedule:

  While Incarcerated

  Early Morning: Grooming, Calisthenics & Strength Training

  Rest of the Day: Worry. Plan. Prepare.


  “COME TO ORDER, EVERYONE!” CYRIL’S VOICE echoed around the dining area, managing to sound both bored and bossy all at once. Juniper, Erick, and Alta had heavy ropes wrapped around their ankles, each fastened from one to the other. Their hands had been tied behind their backs by an overly diligent Root before leaving the cave, and Juniper’s arms felt cramped and uncomfortable. Despite this, she kept her head high and her face expressionless. She would not cower for Cyril.

  Stepping into the dining area, Juniper was shocked to see how much it had changed in just the day they’d been locked away. Scraps of food and discarded personal items lay strewn across the space, and stacks of dirty dishes teetered off to each side. Apparently Cyril was keeping his promise of not working anybody “too hard.” Juniper turned up her nose at the smell of spoiling food. At the far end of the room—from which all the trash and dirty dishes had been shoved away, Juniper noticed—was a new item of furniture, which could only be called . . . a throne. The base of a tree trunk had been hollowed out at the center, sanded silky, and rubbed with some sort of shiny oxide. In this majestic seat Cyril now reclined, looking down his nose at his three captives.

  On the center table were strewn the signs of a great breakfast feast. Evidently the hens and goats were continuing to produce, for Juniper had not seen such an abundance in all the time they’d been in Queen’s Basin. Nor, she thought with a lurch to her stomach, had she seen such waste. The leftovers scattered about upon the plates would have been enough to feed everyone another full meal.

  “I have summoned you here out of a simple courtesy,” Cyril said, drawing her attention back his way. “So that you might be aware of what is to be the plan going forward.”

  Around them, the other kids lounged on their sitting stones, bellies bulging visibly. Apparently food coma was another control method Cyril used on his subjects. Juniper tried to catch one eye after another, but finally had to give up: Cyril had them completely gorgonized. The three captives were flanked by Root, Roddy, and Filbert, all hefting their dagnite spears. Juniper didn’t plan to escape, but it was clear that she couldn’t have anyway.

  “As you might imagine, it takes a good deal of effort and manpower to maintain the three of you in your current setting,” Cyril went on.

  Juniper’s head snapped up, but Alta got the words out first. “Maintain us? Keep us locked up, you mean!”

  In a flash, Root’s spear tip was aimed at Alta’s cheek. She froze.

  “Do not make me force you to stay quiet with gagging cloths,” Cyril said, sighing. “It would be so tedious. As I began to say, I have been pleased to accommodate the three of you in my own quarters, but the need for two nightly guards to ensure your good behavior does take a big toll.”

  Juniper pressed her lips together. It was hard to believe, but most of the kids seemed to take Cyril at his word. What about these ropes? she wanted to yell at them. What about those spears ready to jab us if we step out of line? But she forced herself to stay quiet, and listen, and await her moment.

  “There is also another matter. My subjects were given a promise. They were told they might return to Torr after a fortnight, to visit their families, to gather additional supplies, and to recruit new fellow settlers. They were told, in short, that they might go home. And while I think we all see the merits of this little place”—he waved a hand dismissively—“it most certainly is not home.”

  You never wanted to be here to begin with, Juniper argued in her mind. Of course you want to run away now.

  “And so I have decided that, while I acknowledge my rulership of this little land, and while I will continue as its de facto king, I plan to launch our official return as soon as possible. Tomorrow, we set out for Torr!”

  Juniper felt faint. She saw in her mind those charred fields and distant fires; Cyril wanted to bring everyone back to that? They had no idea what they would be getting into.

  “Cyril,” she said, keeping her voice smooth and level, “will you allow me to speak?”

  Cyril met her gaze, obviously weighing his options. He couldn’t keep up his good-guy appearance if he didn’t let her talk, when she’d asked so politely. Yet he was clearly not happy at being pushed into it. He grudgingly bobbed his head.

  Juniper chose her words carefully. “Have you given any thought to King Regis’s command that we remain here in the mountains until we receive his word that it is safe to venture out? This was what he charged us with before we left Torr, and he wrote the same and more in the letter that he sent to me via messenger little more than a week ago.”

  “Ah, yes,” Cyril drawled. “Your secret letter. That all-­important missive you did not see fit to share with any of us.”

  Juniper groaned under her breath. It had been a mistake to bring up the letter Cyril had used to sway her subjects against her. She tried again. “Look, the letter is of no importance. What is important is this: We all know Torr is under attack. The roads are not safe. If you take everyone out there now, you put them at enormous risk. The party could be set upon by Monsians—attacked, taken hostage, or even killed outright.”

  It was so obvious! Was he deliberately choosing not to see the risks?

  Cyril folded his arms across his chest. “All I am hearing from you is speculation. You have no idea what the conditions are like out there. And this king you refer to—” At some dismayed looks from the group, he added quickly, “Our own king of Torr, well, have we not heard that he himself has been taken captive? How, then, shall he send any further correspondence at all? Yet this girl—his daughter, the heir to the throne—wants to sit here hidden away, wants to look to her own needs and completely ignore her family, your families, and all those who are suffering out there.”

  Juniper wanted to cry. He made such a good argument she could almost believe it herself. But it wasn’t like that. Should they venture back to Torr, ignore the king’s command, and see if they might help? Maybe there was something they could do. Juniper’s brain hurt. She needed to think.

  Cyril stood up and opened his mouth.

  “Wait,” Juniper said. There was no beating Cyril in a direct attack, that was obvious. But this she knew: She couldn’t let her subjects venture out pell-mell into a battlefield, with no plan and no idea what was before them, pushed forward by an arrogant, power-hungry leader with no sense of basic hygiene.

  She needed to win back Queen’s Basin.

  And the first thing she needed in order to do that was a little more time.

  “Wait,” she said again. “Cyril, I wanted to compliment you on your new throne. It’s very nicely made.”

  Caught off guard, Cyril looked down. His cheeks pinked, and he broke into a reluctant smile. “It did come out rather well. Paul and Sussi had to work through the night, but it was well worth it.”

  Neither were here this morning, Juniper noticed, as she glanced around the messy dining area. Cyril sure had an odd sense of priorities in his work strategy.

  “It’s only,” she continued, pitching her voice to stay low and winning, “that after all that work, it seems a shame to abandon it so quickly.”

  Cyril’s smile fell off his face.

  Juniper flapped her hands uselessly in their bindings. “No, look. I’m not saying I agree with your plan to leave.” She could feel a line of sweat gathering at the back of her neck. “I still think it’s dangerous and would put everyone at unnecessary risk. But you’re the ruler now, and that’s a decision you get to make. All I’m saying—” She looked again at the fancy curlicues, the way the wood gleamed in the morning light, how Cyril’s hand reached out unconsciously to stroke the polished armrest. She was right about this, she knew it. “Well, it just seems a shame for you to leave the Basin without first having a proper coronation.”

  There were a few moments of perfect silence. Then an excited buzz started up behind her. Juniper kept her eyes on Cyril’s face. He showed no change of expre
ssion.

  “Go on,” he said finally.

  “I have certain items here in my possession,” she went on, her voice steady. “Treasures of Torr. One of these is the Argentine Circlet. You’ve heard of it?” He had; she could see the change in his face immediately.

  “You have the Circlet with you, here?” he whispered.

  Juniper felt something inside her crack as she watched the greed smear across Cyril’s face like duck grease. But she closed her mind against it and threw in the last hook.

  “I have it in a safe place. But it will not do me any good if I am captive, will it?”

  Cyril’s eyes grew sharp and suspicious. “Why would you offer to hand it over to me? What’s in this for you?”

  “Simply this,” she said. “I came here for a grand summer adventure. That’s really all I had in mind. And after all this time we spent setting up our kingdom and laying the groundwork, we were not even able to pull off one truly spectacular party. Now you want to take everyone away. You’ll be cutting my adventure short, but also? We’ll never get a chance like this again.” Juniper shuffled forward. The bonds tightened against her ankles, but she closed the space between her and Cyril. She almost had him; she could feel it.

  “Give us one week,” she said, low and urgent. “Let us out of our cell. We will organize, with you in mind, the grandest party that ever has been thrown. It will be a celebration to rival all others. The Coronation Ball. Once that is over, one week from this day, you may resume your plans to take us wherever you wish.” She paused, and swallowed. “What do you say?”

  “One week?” Cyril mused. His eyes went glassy as he gazed off into the distance. His fingers tapped across the armrests. Then he turned back to face her, eyes hardening. “Very well. You’ll get your time. But make good use of it, for at the week’s end, I will have your promised crown.”