Chapter Sixteen
Sixteen
Juniper did a lot of stomping on his way to town. He would have engaged in some whining, too, if he thought any of the old gods listened to that sort of thing.
This was why Juniper didn’t do things like this. This was why he didn’t leave his farm or his hometown of Tús. Feelings got out of hand on the open road, and Juniper. Was. Over it.
He took a wide berth around the charred remnants of the farm where they had met Bear and found the trail they had taken when they first made the fateful choice to come this direction. He also made sure to avoid a particular badger’s den. And the badger within it.
Had town been this far away before? He had been walking for ages.
When he reached Filleadh, it was even busier than before, just as Mo had predicted. People of all sizes and species were mulling around the streets, light and noise spilling from every building like flame from a dragon’s snout. Juniper’s very bones ached to be inside one of those taverns.
To put his feet up, drink heavily, and wake up in his own bed, with the door firmly shut between him and any pesky desire to kiss Mo on the mouth.
To just try it, even if it didn’t, couldn’t really mean anything, even if they were friends and never going to be anything more.
Even though Juniper knew how it would end.
Now that he’d reached town, there were two priorities: provisions first, prince second.
Juniper wiped his muddy boots at the door to the shop he and Mo had visited a few nights back, the high-pitched, squawk-like voices of the shopkeepers already audible through the heavy oak door.
A few patrons were lingering, mostly near the wall of weapons, but the first thing Juniper noticed was that the food stores were very picked over.
Mercenaries had flocked to this quest now, and if the prince was as furious with them as he had looked, it was only a matter of time before they found Mo and Bear. Juniper shivered.
“Hey,” the shopkeeper at the counter waved to him. “Can I interest you in our Complete Adventure Kit? It comes fully equipped with one of our most comfortable blankets, which nine out of ten dentists recommend, and a hatchet that—”
“Dentists?” Juniper grumbled. “What do they have to do with it?”
The dentists, or teeth collectors as they were more often called, were some of the most foul people Juniper had ever encountered, bargaining with the desperate to collect their teeth and then selling new sets of smiles to those who could afford it. Horrifying work.
Even more horrifying than the sharp, jagged little set of teeth Bear seemed to love showing off.
“Dentists are seasoned travelers, with a wealth of expertise in the world of outdoor adventure.” The shopkeeper was undeterred. “Divona’s sake, boy, you look like you could use some help. Though your teeth, at least, are just fine.”
At that, more sets of eyes settled on Juniper.
Ah, Divona’s sake, indeed.
If he was made in the very first store he entered—well, that still was less awful than almost kissing his best friend in the forest and then crying instead, and then losing an argument.
Not that it was much of an argument to begin with.
“I’m fine,” Juniper said. “I need a cloak, and a blanket, and some jerky, if you have it.”
The shopkeeper arched an eyebrow. “You’re covered in soot,” she said. For the first time, she was not selling anything or shouting about her wares to anyone who would listen. She was staring at him. Really looking.
Well, fuck.
For a moment—just a moment—Juniper could have sworn that the skin on her arm…rippled. That he saw scales and not skin.
Then he blinked, and she was just staring at him, waiting, and her skin was as normal as Juniper’s (if not quite as smooth and well cared for).
“I am not covered in soot,” Juniper lied confidently. “I am very dirty from falling down a hill.”
“How embarrassing,” she said, but seemed satisfied. “Perhaps you would like to look at our Hill Safety Kit, a very basic kit that includes a walking stick, a fine pair of gently used hiking boots, and—”
“That doesn’t say Hill Safety Kit,” Juniper pointed out, setting his coin down on the counter. “You can’t just rename things for any occasion. It’s just a pair of old boots and a stick. It’s not relevant to every occasion.”
Another shopper, a tall, lean woman with short black braids, brown eyes, and dark brown skin, smirked at him, bumping him with her elbow as she went past. “I’m sure they’ll tell you next week that it’s a Samhain Celebration Kit and eloquently describe how that stick helps to part the veil when it is at its thinnest.”
Juniper found himself grinning despite everything. “Yes,” he said. “And again at Yule, when those boots have Solstice Soles.”
The woman laughed. “I’m Fern,” she said. “My party and I are getting drinks at the tavern down the way if you’d like to join us. No special sales pitches necessary.”
“And here I was crafting the perfect pitch to sell you the mud from my boots,” Juniper said, but he could feel the smile slipping from his face. “I have to get back to my…friend.”
Fern arched an eyebrow, her look more calculating now. “Offer stands.” She shrugged. “We’re staying at the Nameless Inn if you want to find us. See you around…What did you say your name was?”
He hadn’t.
He specifically hadn’t.
“Fern,” Juniper blurted.
“Your name is also Fern?” she asked, her smile evaporating.
“Yes,” Juniper said weakly.
“I see,” she said, giving him a thoughtful once-over. “Well, see you around, traveler.”
Way to play it cool, Juniper.
He gathered his things from the counter and left, heat climbing his face as he did, hoping desperately that his hood obscured the rowan-red color his cheeks must certainly be displaying.
He could feel the eyes of other travelers—some of them undoubtedly mercenaries or even kingsmen, now—on him as he left. Curious. Wondering.
Juniper stopped at the baker’s next, inhaling the scent of fresh pastries as he restocked with as much bread and cheese as he could fit in his pack. The baker ran a hand over his snow-white beard and nodded to Juniper but said nothing.
The other baker, a tall woman with brown skin and curly hair that was just as white as her husband’s, even squeezed Juniper’s hand before he left.
And he didn’t even embarrass himself in front of them on his way out.
If things were looking up for a moment (as they tend to do in a bakery, or in the presence of wee old ladies who can spare a hand squeeze because they’re lovely like that), they immediately took a turn for the worse when Juniper exited the bakery.
A large party of mercenaries in cloaks and armor, most carrying swords, exited a tavern. Several of them had the king’s sigil embroidered into their cloaks.
Kingsmen. Here in Filleadh.
That meant, as Juniper had feared, that reinforcements had arrived, that confirmed word of a dragon had spread farther than a few nearby villages.
Well, there was nothing for it but to seek out the prince.
Farther down the street, Fern was striding purposefully in the direction of the inn. Juniper ran to catch up with her.
“Fern!” he called. “Excuse me? Have you heard word of a prince in town? Prince Edward?”
Fern’s gaze swept Juniper up and down, lingering at the mud, the soot, the tear in his trousers.
Her nose wrinkled a little at the mention of the prince’s name.
“He’s staying at the finest inn in the town,” she said.
“Though it’s strange, most of the rooms are so small they only have one bed.
These quests are riddled with inns like that. ”
Juniper didn’t have time for this—though he would have questions, at any other time, about this woman, and the quests she’d been on, and if she liked náiriú poiblí or brawling, because she seemed like she would. In another life, he’d befriend her.
“Thank you,” he said, quenching his desire for answers and náiriú poiblí at the same time.
“Why do you want to find him?” Fern’s look was still sharp, as if she was seeing all sorts of things Juniper didn’t intend to show.
But that, too, is the way of things on quests.
“Thank you,” Juniper repeated. He’d run out of things he knew how to do in this social interaction, and that meant it was time to leave. He hurried away down the street, feeling her eyes digging into him as he went.
Mo would be disappointed that Juniper was looking for the prince instead of avoiding him.
But Mo was in danger—Juniper was sure of it, and he’d been the one to put Mo in danger. Repeatedly. If the prince blamed them for what had happened, Juniper needed to know. He needed to know, because if he didn’t, how else could he prepare for every little thing that could go wrong?
So Juniper shrugged his hood lower and made his way into the inn at the center of town, shoulders tense.
Nobody noticed him.
Prince Edward was seated at a large table, surrounded by his men—well, by Bill and Phteven’s men, though now they belonged to Prince Edward, didn’t they?
Juniper found a spare stool and sat down, hood up, at a table just behind Prince Edward.
“We’ll find them, sire,” Bill was saying.
What a suck-up.
Juniper kept listening, without saying anything to reveal to Bill that he was there, because he had promised Mo.
“We’d better,” Prince Edward said. He paused, taking a deep draught of whatever liquor he’d been served—oh, how Juniper wanted a tankard of whatever that was for himself. And then:
“I want that man dead before my sister gets here,” Prince Edward continued. “She’s always ruining things. I think she wants a piece of the dragon, or maybe just a piece of me.”
Juniper’s skin had grown cold and clammy. If one royal was bad, surely two royals was far worse for…well, everyone. The legends in the gossip scrolls about the princes of the kingdom were all the same: They were handsome, chivalrous, only sometimes empty-headed.
But the gossip scrolls were all a little afraid of the princesses, so this was some awful news. There were even rumors that one princess—Juniper had no idea which one—had beaten a bruggane in hand-to-hand combat, and everyone knew bruggane were…well, unbeatable.
Juniper clenched his hands into fists.
A princess. A prince. Didn’t that muddy the plot too much? Surely they couldn’t have that many royals at Pointe Gan Filleadh?
And wait.
Wait.
He wanted them dead?
Not Mo, a small voice at the center of Juniper’s chest said. Not Mo.
So without another thought, Juniper shoved his hood back and—
“Wait!”
The sound of voices stilled.
As one, they all turned to look at him.
In fact, the whole tavern had quieted, all eyes on Juniper O’Reilly.
Juniper held up his hands. “I want to talk to the prince,” he said, as bravely as he could muster. “Alone.”