Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
Bear asked for a bedtime story as Mo set up a bedroll for Bear using his own pillow and cloak, so Juniper set out his bedroll and racked his mind for any he had told Mo that would also be child-appropriate.
The silver goose story contained rampant sexual innuendo.
All the stories he’d heard (and repurposed, with permission) from the bruggane were immensely vulgar.
And the ones about the headless giants with forks for fingers would give the bravest baby dragon nightmares.
Divona be damned, those gave Juniper nightmares and he was the one telling them.
“Mo?” Juniper asked. “Any ideas?”
Mo looked up, considering Juniper in the dying light with a look that made Juniper warm all the way down to his mostly numb toes. “Well, not the headless giant one,” he said with a small shiver. “Juniper, your mind.”
Juniper chose to take that as a compliment. He pulled a bit of dried fruit from his pouch and held it out to Bear as a bedtime snack, and then settled in his own bedroll. “Get cozy while Mo lights the fire, and I’ll—”
Bear opened her mouth and roared in the direction of the small stack of logs Mo had gathered, and it lit instantly.
“Ah,” Juniper said. “Well, that’s one way to go about it. Mo? You all right?”
Mo was frozen, bedroll in hand, but he grinned at both of them. “Well done,” he said, in that warm, gravelly voice.
Bear beamed at him. “I’m good at lighting fires,” she said. “Mama said I’ve burned down more villages than anybody else my age.”
“Oh, dear,” Juniper said. “Well, it’s important to celebrate personal accomplishments, I suppose. So? Bedtime story, then?”
“Do you know the one about the seven hungry wolves and the runaway dragon king?” Bear asked him as Mo helped tuck her blanket over her. “Or the one about the bruggane nightwatch and the magical dragon princess?”
“I do not, but I could make one up,” Juniper said.
That seemed to satisfy her, and as Mo settled in his own bedroll and the fire flickered warmly in their camp, Juniper spun a tale of dragon princesses who loved cheese and always traveled with a full pouch of it, the bruggane nightwatch tasked with keeping her safe and her snack chest full, and the sly, wily little man who so villainously tried to steal it.
If the wily little man bore any resemblance to any Bill Bronsons, living or dead, no he didn’t, and that wasn’t the point.
After one particularly adventurous tale in which the dragon princess had set a house on fire, Mo cleared his throat, catching Juniper’s eye.
The night was pitch-black, the moon obscured by clouds, and the fire had died down to a gentle flicker. Bear yawned lazily in the direction of the fire and the flames leaped up again.
“Junebug,” Mo said. “Can I talk to you?”
Juniper stood, groaning as his knees crunched and his neck cricked loudly. “Yes,” he grunted. “What’s up?”
Bear curled further into Mo’s blanket, which she had commandeered at some point during the story. “Where you going?” she demanded, showing those sharp little teeth.
Juniper shook his head. For such a little thing, she had such uncomfortably sharp teeth. But then again, so did Mumford, and Juniper loved him just as much anyway.
“We have to talk,” Mo told her in a tone that was as low and soft as the one he used to tell Juniper Go back to sleep when Juniper jolted awake from a nightmare in his rocker at home. “We’ll be right over there.”
Bear settled back down into the blanket.
Mo’s hand wrapped around Juniper’s bicep. Juniper swallowed hard at the sight, as was common for two men who shared a bond of deep but friendly camaraderie. “I’m worried about sleeping out in the open like this,” he said. “We need to find better shelter. Another old farmstead, maybe?”
Juniper’s aching shoulders and sore legs screamed in protest as they walked a few steps farther away from Bear and the fire. “More walking?” he asked.
“Don’t sound so glum,” Mo said. “It’ll be an adventure.”
It would be a chore, and if Mo wasn’t insufferable (Divona bless him), he would know that.
“Sure,” Juniper said. “Oh…you mean now?”
“Either that, or one of us should keep watch all night,” Mo said. “I don’t know if the prince went back to town for the night, or if they’re still combing the forest, but—”
“I still think if we just explain,” Juniper interrupted. “Maybe he didn’t realize how young she was, or that she could be reasoned with, or—”
There were an awful lot of excuses coming out of his mouth, and despite the darkness, Mo’s brown eyes were visible. The disappointment in those eyes was visible, too.
“It’s a risk,” Mo said after a pause. “And she’s a child.”
Juniper nodded, swallowing hard. “We’ll take shifts,” he said. “I can go first. I’ll wake you.”
It was only after Mo was asleep, his broad chest rising and falling in a steady, mesmerizing rhythm, that Juniper realized they didn’t exactly have a plan for what they would do if the prince or any other mercenaries did find them.
Was Juniper to wag his finger at them in disapproval?
Attempt to fight an entire band of mercenaries armed with swords?
That last one sounded like something he would do, Juniper reflected as he paced around their campsite. Bear had drifted off to sleep, too, and sometimes when she snored, a huff of smoke or a tiny crackle of flame emerged.
It was the warmest night out here yet—not least because Bear had kept the fire lit so late—but unfortunately for Juniper, that meant sleep kept creeping up on him.
One moment he was enjoying the view (Mo was sleeping on his stomach now, his finely sculpted ass directly in Juniper’s line of sight).
The next, Juniper had sat down somehow and was leaning against a log, his eyelids drooping.
How soon was too soon to wake Mo for relief? Juniper squinted up at the moon, which was now peeking out from behind the clouds. Mo would know what time it was, based on the position of the moon, probably. The next thing Juniper knew, a small hand was on his shoulder, shaking him awake.
“Junebug.”
Bear’s face was right next to Juniper’s, her wide brown eyes staring at him.
He let out an undignified scream.
“You’re asleep,” she said.
“Why aren’t you?” he demanded, aghast. “Bear, it’s time to go to sleep.”
This was exactly like trying to co-parent Mumford with Mo, except for Mumford couldn’t talk and hadn’t yet set them on fire.
Bear pouted. “I’m scared,” she said, her small lip jutting out.
Juniper stared back at her, his sleepy mind turning.
When he had been her age, he would never have gone up to his father to tell him he was scared.
Then again, he wouldn’t have gone up to his father for just about any reason, unless he was planning to nick a few coins from the man’s pocket after he’d passed out. Finally, he sighed and opened his arms.
Bear grinned—not looking scared in the slightest, but instead looking very satisfied with herself—and launched herself into his arms, tiny little fireball that she was.
He wrapped his cloak around both of them, and she settled against his chest, her small head tucked under his chin. She was asleep within moments.
It was still dark, the moon in the sky looking no different than it had before. Either it had been only a few moments, or it was nearing dawn, and Juniper had no way to tell which of the two it was.
Juniper woke still slumped against the log, the sun already high in the sky. There was not a hint of the rain clouds of the day before, though the air had a chill that had set in. He groaned and stretched, reaching for his tallow pouch. Moisturization first thing was key.
It was nowhere to be found.
Juniper startled, opening his eyes farther. He’d fallen asleep on guard. Twice.
Mo was sitting on a log beside the finally dead fire, Bear next to him. Mo was giving her the last of the meat he’d packed, and Bear was chattering in between bites, in the first full sentences he had heard her say.
“Where’s my tallow?” Juniper asked groggily.
“Good morning to you, too,” Mo said. Very gently, he ran one big hand over the girl’s head. Her hair was brown, but not quite as dark as Mo’s now that he saw it under the sun. It had a hint of strawberries and wildfire, just like Juniper’s, but her eyes looked the way Mo’s did in the sun.
She could be their daughter.
That was what Juniper’s mind kept returning to. That, and tallow, and the fact that all he really wanted was to go home with a man who didn’t want to return there.
“Morning,” Juniper groused. “Today we should go and get more cheese.”
Bear cheered.
They had that in common, at least.
“Mo,” Juniper said. “Have you seen my tallow?”
“No,” Mo told him. “And I know it’s important to you, but I think we need to focus on other things first. After breakfast, we’ll map our route into the mountains before the prince comes this way. The area will be crawling with mercenaries now.”
“Now that I threw a flaming fire ale cocktail over my shoulder?” Juniper groaned. “Do you think he knows that was me? I hope he doesn’t.”
At the time, it had seemed like the only possible option. But that was always the case when you threw a flaming fire ale cocktail, in Juniper’s experience: It seemed like the best possible idea at the time, and then it always came with a brand-new set of problems afterward.
Don’t throw flaming fire ale cocktails, kids. Unless you’re really, really sure about your desired outcome.
“I think the prince will move on if he finds himself a dragon,” Mo said. “I haven’t figured that part out—how to give him what he wants without giving him what he wants.”
“I’m a dragon,” Bear added helpfully. “Is he looking for me? Should we set him on fire?”
Juniper rummaged through his pack, looking for his tallow. He had at least two separate pouches with jars of tallow inside, his regular travel set and his backup emergency moisturizer. “Mo? Are you hearing this? She’s arsonous this morning.”