The Grey Ones

THE VASAATH

His breaths were shallow, frustrated, and his hands were balled into fists. Yes, why was she there? Why had she come back to him? There had to be a reason. Their argument had ended badly, and he did not like it. He rarely lost his temper like that—usually, he was very calm and collected in arguments; his judgments may be swift, but his words were calm. Tonight, they were not.

He made it sound as though he didn’t want her there, but that was as far from the truth as anyone could get. How could he make her understand that the bruises in her face caused him anger blacker than the blackest of darkness? How could he explain to her that he could not bear seeing her leave now? That he did not want to argue with her, but hold her? He shut his eyes and tried to compose himself. She was still infuriating at times, but he would rather be infuriated with her than be without her.

If she only submitted, he thought, everything would sort itself out. She would be maasa, and she would be his. He ignored the voice of reason inside his head that said the chance of her becoming one was minuscule—she was ohkasethen, bearer of great wisdom of her people, and it would not be proper for him to want her. It would never be. And yet, he did.

The morning after gave the promise of a beautiful day. The sun shone brightly on an endless blue sky and the sea carried chilly, soothing breezes. The Vasaath had his morning tea by the battlements, overlooking north. Kasethen was his company, and the two had discussed the next step in the plan. They had yet to receive word from the Kas army, but a forceful invasion was imminent.

Kasethen wasn’t pleased, but he knew better than to question the Vasaath’s decisions.

“And how are things progressing with the girl?” asked the advisor in an attempt to diverge from the horrors of war.

“Well, I believe,” said the Vasaath. “She responds well to kindness and gentleness, just as you predicted.”

“And flattery?” Kasethen hid his smugness very poorly.

The general glared at his advisor. “Yes, that too.”

“I must admit,” said Kasethen, still smug, “I am surprised that you allowed yourself to flatter her.”

“Seeing how it affected her, I am very pleased I did,” said the Vasaath. “In fact, I felt satisfaction from it as well.”

“Yes,” said Kasethen, “a blushing face is indeed a notable reward.”

“It is,” the Vasaath agreed, “but any woman from the mainland would blush if a lord complimented her.” He sighed. “In these wretched lands, women seldom hear words of encouragement and praise. They hardly know how to receive them.”

“So you worry she doesn’t see—or doesn’t return—your interest?”

The Vasaath exhaled deeply and squared his jaw. “She came back. That means something, doesn’t it?”

Kasethen knitted his brows. “And what would that be?”

“I don’t know, Kasethen. Why would she come here instead of running? She could have gone anywhere, start a new life in another city, be someone else. Why return here?”

“Perhaps she didn’t know what to do. I hear the spies say the guards have been looking for her—perhaps she felt as though this was the only place where she’d be safe.”

“Exactly!” said the Vasaath, impatiently. “She feels safe here! Safe, Kasethen. That means something.”

Kasethen sighed. “Sir, with all due respect, you can interpret all you want but if you don’t speak to her about this, you will never know. She’s a lady of the mainland—she is taught to keep her thoughts to herself and she would never confess anything of this nature to someone, least of all a man, above her own station.”

The Vasaath pondered this and hummed.

“Is it wrong of me to assume you are hesitant on bringing it up, sir?”

He hummed again.

“And why is that?”

The Vasaath looked at his advisor. “What if she doesn’t return the sentiment?”

Kasethen nodded. “A worry I can understand—no Kas female in her right mind would ever reject you, Great Warrior, but this girl is not of the enon. Foreign cultures are sometimes difficult to understand.”

“What if it frightens her? What if she expects what I cannot offer?”

“You mean marriage?”

“Yes.” The Vasaath hated that word—he hated the whole concept of marriage. The humans of these lands were obsessed with it, but it symbolised nothing but a bigoted way of either controlling another person or building brittle political alliances. It did, however, entail something else as well—a family. It simply wasn’t something he could offer her.

Kasethen nodded, deep in thought. “It is indeed a conundrum, but I still believe you need to communicate your wishes to the lady.”

“You’re right,” the Vasaath sighed. “As always.”

They remained at the battlements for a little while longer, finishing their tea, before the Vasaath headed for the tent. Juniper had risen and was having her tea. He was satisfied seeing her so comfortable there, as if she felt at home, but he also felt the tension that was still lingering from the argument they had had the night before.

“Good morning, sir,” she said when she noticed him there, and bowed her head.

“Vahanan,” said he and nodded. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.” She didn’t look at him and it bothered him.

He gestured towards the opening. “It looks like it will be a beautiful day. Perhaps you could accompany me for a walk after you’ve had your tea?”

She looked down into her cup and stood silent for a while before raising her eyes and gazing at him. There was sadness in them, defeat. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

He nodded but said nothing. It was a feeling quite rare for him, but he felt rather nervous. In his mind, he told her, plainly and simply, that he wanted her—and she told him she had been waiting for him to confess his desires. But he knew he could not be so blunt. No—he had to wrap his intentions in soft words and careful phrases, lest he frightened her with his forward manners.

The waiting was excruciating. He had left the tent and could do nothing but pace until she appeared in the entrance. He stopped to gaze at her; the sun made her silver eyes glisten; her black hair lay in a loose braid over her shoulder; her pale skin glowed golden in the sunlight, so bright even the bruises disappeared in the gleam.

The vision made him strangely breathless, but he quickly gathered himself and nodded at her. “Why don’t we take a stroll along the beach?”

The girl was reserved but nodded. She had her arms wrapped around herself and did not look at him as they walked towards the beach. The occupation of the harbour had yet to cause a cease of docking, so ships were still coming and going. Fewer humans moved through the docks, however, and the beach was as empty as it was serene.

They walked slowly side by side, both silent. The girl kept her arms wrapped around herself and kept her gaze on the water.

The Vasaath enjoyed her closeness but he did not enjoy the adverse tension between them. He sighed and said, “I regret the way our discussion ended last night. I do apologise for losing my temper.”

She kept her eyes away. “You have nothing to apologise for, my lord. It was improper of me to raise my voice to you. You were right, it was foolish of me to think you would abandon your quest. Please, forgive me.”

He snorted. “Don’t do that. Don’t undermine yourself. You did nothing wrong. We had an argument and didn’t see eye to eye, that is all.”

This made her turn her silver gaze to him. “So… you aren’t angry with me?”

“No.” He offered her his arm—as he knew men of the mainland did for women—and he waited patiently for her to take it. It was very proper, not invasive, and an honest gesture of peace.

Slowly, the girl released the grip she had around herself and gently took his arm. Her hand was warm and soft and her touch sent little bolts of lightning through his entire body—and he could not suppress a victorious smile. Slowly, they strolled along the beach, with the sea breeze from the north rolling over them like a soft caress, arm in arm.

Translation:

Maasa – healer

Ohkasethen –“advisor on foreign matters”