“Tell me more,” said Juniper, pacing the floor whilst braiding and unbraiding her hair and glaring at her own reflection in the darkened window.
“I’ll tell you anything you like,” said John, slumping wearily in his chair, “if you’ll stop your incessant walking for just a moment! I’m growing seasick and we’re not even on a boat.”
Juniper halted her march with a stomp.
“And why, pray tell, are we not on a boat?!” she bellowed. “We should be out there, after them, this very moment!”
“We’ve been over this, Juniper,” John answered with maddening condescension. “We cannot navigate by night, not with this cloud cover and the shifting currents of the channel.”
“You mean you can’t, Highness,” Juniper growled, “but I could do it blindfolded!”
“You’re not coming,” John said, rising from his chair. “You’re feverish even now.”
She felt a growing flush begin to betray her, but realizing it was just fury, she drew a deep breath and mastered its outward expression.
“I’m quite well, now, John,” she said, almost sweetly. He watched her, arms crossed, without expression. She took a small step towards him and extended her hand.
“Feel,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. John faltered, confused, then took her hand in his. “I am steady, see?” She smiled, gazing up at him, and closed her fingers around his rougher palm, feeling the warmth of it stretch up her arm and into the rest of her body.
He moved closer to her, his breath growing ragged.
“Steady,” she breathed again, leaning into his embrace. “Steady enough to rip the throats of those bastards open with one dagger swipe…”
John stiffened, not in the intended way, and broke away from her.
“Be that as it may, Juniper,” he said, his voice cold once more, “I’m the one with the key to the mariner’s shed. You can take one of these skiffs if you like, I won’t stop you, but you won’t get far without oar, sail or rope.”
“How can you be so calm?” cried Juniper in fierce frustration. “Emerald could be adrift in the ocean or at a sword’s point even now!”
“I don’t think so,” John replied, stooping to fold the large threadbare rug into quarters. “The de Pourries believe their claim to the throne is a legitimate one. After all, if not for the tradition of matriarchy, the throne would have belonged to them seven times over for several hundred years now.”
“So, they’ll do away with her,” Juniper said, “their only threat, lost at sea.”
“No,” said John. “If Emerald is never produced publicly, then the story of the hidden princess continues, and their claim remains denied. They have a much greater stake in forcing her to the throne and destroying her from there.”
I won’t let that happen, thought Juniper, eyeing John’s belt.
No keys visible, nor pockets. He met her gaze and smiled, walking to extinguish the lanterns. She locked eyes with him, her breath held. Orange light flickered across the planes of his face, and then vanished as he blew out the flame. Stop it, Juniper, she thought. Stop it right now and remember who you are.
“You take the bed,” John said, motioning to the raised pallet in the corner of the room. He handed her the last lit candlestick and lay down on the folded rug.
Juniper raised her chin, prepared to fight him for the right of sleeping in the most uncomfortable location, but instead watched for a moment as he closed his eyes and rested his hands on his chest. She walked to the bed and lay herself down, prepared to stay awake for as long as it took.
A mere twenty minutes later, she heard John’s breaths grow heavy and even. She crept to where he slept and crouched down beside him. Her fingers traveled as lightly as feathers over his form, finding no hidden key or pocket, only cloth covering warm skin, contour, muscle.
John’s hand grasped her shoulder, and in a single instant, she found herself pinioned under him with a dagger pressed to her throat. His face, inches from hers, registered surprise as sleep left him. He shook his head and tossed the knife across the floor but did not relinquish his hold on her.
Juniper wriggled to free herself, but found her legs wrapping around his hips on their own volition. His eyes swam with desire.
“I could have killed you,” he whispered.
“I know,” said Juniper, amazed. She ran her hands through his thick hair and pulled him down into a kiss.
Time stopped as their mouths met. They spun in their lust. John’s body relaxed. Juniper grabbed the wine decanter and knocked him over the head.
He fell to the floor, unconscious, but still remarkably good-looking, even in emasculated disarray.
“Sorry,” said Juniper, and almost meant it. She grabbed John’s dagger and fastened it into her belt as she rushed outside. If the key wasn’t on his person, it must be in his saddle bag, she reasoned.
She rounded the corner of the wharf house and sprinted down the beach to where she’d left the horse. To her extreme dismay, she discovered quickly that there was not a saddlebag to be found on the idle beast, let alone a hidden key stowed away in one.
Juniper kicked a clod of sand and screamed something inaudible, as she was wont to do in times of frustration. An answering cry sounded from the air. Juniper looked up.
There, flying towards her, was her beloved falcon, trailing a small parcel from her ankle band. Craquelin alit on Juniper’s outstretched arm and cocked her head to pick at the package she carried.
“Why, wherever have you been?” Juniper scolded. “And who’s been feeding you? You’re looking positively pudgy!” Craquelin bowed her beak in shame. In a flash, Juniper remembered John’s signet ring, which he wore tonight. The last time she’d seen it, it had been in her own possession.
“You little traitor!” yelled Juniper, shaking her arm furiously. Craquelin fluttered her wings but stayed put. The little bag flapped open and dropped its contents, a single rusty key, to the ground. Juniper grabbed it with a grin. “Good girl, Crack-crack!” she said. “We’ll get you some fish when we’re safely at sea!”
In less than an hour’s time, one of the wharf’s meager skiffs was expertly rigged and under weigh. Juniper sent Craquelin ahead to scout for any ships ahead of them. The falcon returned just as the sun rose over the ship’s bow.
Discovering a bucket of tar in the small aft hold, Juniper blackened her cheeks and her arms, and drew her standard on the sail in rough strokes – a falcon, in honor of the bird who had served her extremely well today.
She spied the passage ship, not too distant, just off of the starboard bow. She smelled phantom blood in the salty air, grinned, and breathed it in with a lusty gasp.
Proud and focused, Juniper stood like that as she gained steadily upon her enemies, her arm wrapped around the mast and her foot poised jauntily on the four stacked boxes of gunpowder she’d brought along.
